So sorry I seem to have left out chaper 4!! If you can bare to read 4 then go back a read 5 & 6 it will make more sense. Won't do it again.
Chapter Four
James came to rather too suddenly. As soon as consciousness took hold so did the pain. His neck felt like someone had tried to snap it and left it badly out of shape, his headache from the day before had moved up a gear and was now trying to beat all records. He realised he had fallen asleep in the chair he had been slumped in all evening, which would explain the neck situation. It would also explain why his shoulders and back were joining in with his head.
With great care he stood up. And just as carefully sat back down again, the movement had woken his stomach. Looking at his watch he realised he hadn’t eaten for nearly twenty four hours, and that was on the plain which didn’t really count as proper food. His watch also told him that he was very late for the meeting he had arranged to go over the New York trip. He groaned as he realised that Henry and the rest of the board would be in the conference room right now. Unfortunately before he could do anything about it his body lurched him, without his permission, towards the kitchen sink to be very, very sick.
When he had eventually finished with the sink he staggered into the hall to the phone. He automatically dialled Henry’s mobile number; he knew he would have to explain his absence.
‘Henry March.’ In those two words James knew that this was not going to be an easy call.
‘Henry. It’s James….’
‘Where the bloody hell are you?!’ Henry cut him off, when he was in one of these moods he didn’t speak, he spat.
‘I know how late it is….’
‘You sound bloody awful, what’s the matter? It had better be serious.’
‘Very bad jet lag I think. I’ve only just woken. I need a shower but I’ll be there as soon as I can.’
‘You’d damn well better be. You’ve got half an hour.’ Henry’s voice was tightening and he was starting to hiss through his teeth.
‘I’ll be there. By the way Henry.’ James tried to sound as off hand as he could. ‘Is Imogen with you?’
‘No. Why? Isn’t she there?’ Henry was suspicious. He was like a bloodhound when it came to scandal, and once he’d got hold of something he turned into a determined terrier, and would not let go.
‘I expect she’s stayed with a friend. She’ll be home when I get back I’m sure. I’ll see you soon.’ And he hung up before Henry could question him further.
James knew Henry would want to quiz him about Imogen, he wondered if he should take her letter with him. He decided that it might not be such a good idea, for now it was private and James didn’t want to involve anyone else until he knew what was going on himself. Anyway right now he hadn’t got time for any of this, he had to go to work. He had to smooth things over with Henry and the rest of the board. Later he would give some thought to this stupid muddle, right now there were more important things to deal with.
When James opened the front door he realised that the car must have been waiting for him for hours. The look on the drivers face was one of furious contempt and angry impatience. James didn’t apologise or even look the man in the eye; he just climbed into the back seat and waited to be driven. It was the same driver that had been chauffeuring him around for the last five years but James had no idea of his name or anything about him. His secretary had a name but no life outside the office as far as James knew; in fact he had no idea what she did in the office when he wasn’t there. As long as everyone did as they were told and didn’t bother him then he really didn’t care.
After a full English breakfast Imogen checked out. She would have loved to stay forever, but Cornwall beckoned and she had to get going. Reluctantly she left the beauty of the Cotswolds and turned towards the grimness of the motorway. It might have been possible to do the whole journey without the M5 but she had to make up the time she had lost yesterday. She still had responsibilities, one of which was an appointment with Rowena’s solicitor.
The motorway was deadly. Why did they have to make them so straight and boring? It was no wonder people fell asleep at the wheel. It was no good. She had to get off as soon as she could. She took the Barnstaple junction and hoped the A39 might be more interesting.
It turned out to be a fascinating drive with lots of charming stops. In Kilkhampton she found a proper tea shop and ate scones and clotted cream until she was sure she would be sick. There was also a farm shop which sold proper vegetables, not shrink wrapped and date stamped; she loaded up the passenger seat.
The further into Cornwall she got the more she relaxed. The world around her through the car windows started to change, and she felt the years dropping away. By the time she saw the sign for the small fishing town in which Mr Pengellan, the solicitor, was based she could have almost have been in another world, she felt so far away from London.
The harbour was the same bustling place Imogen remembered, but she was struck by the lack of fishing boats. When she was a child there were so many that she used to marvel at them all getting a mooring. Now there were less than a dozen. There were still plenty of boats but most were for the tourists or private sailing. It was such a shame. Like everyone else in London she had herd on the news about the decline in the fishing industry, and listened to the fishermen complaining about their lot. Then like everyone else she turned over to watch something more entertaining. Now she felt ashamed of herself.
She gave her name to the girl behind the desk and was asked to wait. As she sat there she could see right across the bay and out to sea, it was breathtaking.
‘Mrs Lampress?’ The sound of Mr Pengellan’s voice startled her and she turned round.
‘Yes.’ She took the hand she was offered.
He led her through to his office and they settled themselves on either side of the large oak desk.
‘I do appreciate you coming all this way Mrs Lampress. Unfortunately this is not something that can be done safely by post. I’m not happy sending such important documents.’
‘I quite understand. I was coming down anyway, I intend moving into the cottage.’
‘I see.’ Mr Pengellan didn’t sound like he saw, he sounded rather surprised. ‘Well we’d better get on with things.’ He went through a pile of papers and brought a few to the top.
‘There are one or two things for you to sign first.’ He handed her the papers and a pen.
After glancing at them Imogen signed and handed them back. Mr Pengellan looked them over, nodded to himself, and put them on another pile behind him.
‘Very good.’ he said and got up. He went over to an impressive looking safe, which wasn’t locked, and took out a set of keys.
‘Here we are.’ He handed them to Imogen.
‘Thank you.’ Imogen took them and held them tightly in her hand. Even if she had not known what there were for she would have recognised them. There was every key to everything in the cottage, whether it was kept locked or not, and most of it was not, and they hung off of three key rings linked together, the same key rings that had been used for the last thirty years. There was the enamelled green one with the gold Harrods logo, the silver R with its little diamond, and the gold metal locket which contained a photo of Rowena’s parents and one of Imogen as a baby. She stood up she slipped them into her pocket.
Mr Pengellan also rose and showed her to the door. They shook hands again, he wished her well and hoped she would consider him for any legal advice she might need in the future. Then she wandered slowly back to the car.
Thursday 29 January 2009
Wednesday 28 January 2009
Mulberry Gin Chapters five and six.
Chapter Five
Molly and Eleanor worked hard all morning removing the rest of the covers form the furniture, dusting, polishing, scrubbing and bleaching, clipping and weeding. Every now and then Molly would slip away to call for Boris, now no longer expecting anything but feeling she must do it anyway. Soon the cottage gleamed and the garden was once more a charming muddle. They made themselves a much needed cup of tea and collapsed into the deep, plush, cuddly armchairs.
‘I’m glad I don’t have to do that everyday. I will defiantly be more sympathetic to my own cleaner and gardener now.’ Eleanor sighed. ‘In fact they asked me yesterday if I wanted them to come up and help. I wish I’d said yes now.’
‘I know! I’m amazed Row still did all the gardening herself. Still we promised we would do it so it was only right that we did it ourselves.’
‘I suppose so.’ said Eleanor. ‘Especially the garden, it was her pride and joy. I remember her telling me how frustrated she felt when she lived in London. The garden was so huge with such a huge team of gardeners that she said she could never get any privacy; there was always one of them lurking in the shrubbery. And then, of course, her own house only had the communal garden in the square. She used to say that she didn’t know which was worse, gardeners lurking or neighbours.’ Eleanor laughed.
‘It must have been terribly frustrating.’ Molly agreed. ‘She certainly spent more time out than in.’
‘And do you remember when she first arrived? We all thought she was quite mad. Do you remember the motorbike?’ Eleanor started laughing again. ‘I will never forget the look on Mr Tregagh’s face when he first saw her on it! Priceless! He said that if she thought he was going to serve her in his post office after making such a spectacle of herself she had another think coming. He did though. He wouldn’t have dared not.’
‘Yes.’ Said Molly laughing too. ‘I remember he was always scared of her but I never did know why. Mind you she did look formidable on that bike. My Robert came home scandalized that a woman, and a lady at that, should think it proper to ride a motor bike. Row must have thought she had gone back thirty years.’
‘I would imagine it was still quite unusual to find ladies of a certain class riding around on Triumphs, even in London. It was nearly forty years ago after all.’ Eleanor took a gulp of tea to calm her giggles.
‘What shocked me was how beautiful she was when she took her helmet off, all that blonde hair. Oh I was so jealous of that hair, and her eyes. I always thought it was a waist that she should hide all that beauty away down here. And it always surprised me that she didn’t marry; she could have had her pick, even without the money.’ Molly sipped her tea and looked thoughtfully out of the window. ‘I know she had her reasons but I always thought it was a shame.’
‘I gather that was one of the reasons she moved. She was under pressure to marry. I know she moved out of home because her parents kept bringing ‘suitable’ young men home and making her have tea with them. The sixties were starting to swing and she wanted to swing with them. Shame they never swung this far.’ Eleanor sighed.
‘I don’t think I would have liked that.’ said Molly wrinkling her nose. ‘I never liked the sound of it. Row used to talk so fondly of the clubs and parties, but I was never convinced.’
‘It was a shame she stopped riding the Triumph.’ Eleanor said.
‘I don’t think anyone could blame her after the accident.’
‘I know most people would have been put off by it, but Row wasn’t most people. I was really surprised when she put it in the garage and covered it. Has it ever been out since?’
‘Not that I can remember.’ Molly drained her cup and put it back on the tray.
‘I suppose the car was more practical but she always said it wasn’t the same, but it was certainly safer though.’
‘I always suspected the damage to her back was more serious than she let on and that she couldn’t ride the bike rather than wouldn’t.’ Molly mused.
“Possibly. But she did ride the push bike; she wouldn’t have been able to do that if her back was that bad.
‘True. Oh! Do you remember when she put Pudding in the basket and rode into the village to the vets?’ Molly started to laugh again. ‘Why on earth didn’t she take the car?’
‘That would have been predictable wouldn’t it? And anyway he liked it. He went everywhere in the basket of that bike.’ Eleanor smiled at the memory.
‘And only Row would have been able to train a cat to do it, and after Pudding she got Boris to do it to.’ The two friends chuckled for the rest of the morning.
From Mr Pengellan’s office to Mulberry cottage should only have taken half an hour, but Imogen decided to meander. Every nook and cranny was familiar and brought back memories of her childhood. She had started coming to stay with Rowena when she was six. Henry had suggested it as a way of getting a small child out of his hair for the endless weeks of the summer holidays. Rowena had been delighted. Never having had children, and never wanting them if she was honest, she liked to spend time with other peoples. Local people thought it strange that someone who was so good with children, and so loved by them, never had any of her own, but there were a lot of things about Rowena March that the locals could never fathom. So a terrified Imogen had been packed off to spend the summer with a relative stranger.
She could still remember being met at the station. To Cherith’s, and everyone else’s, horror Henry had sent his young daughter by train from London to Cornwall with one of the girls from the office, who abandoned her as soon as they set foot on the platform and went in search of the local young men, She had stood there looking helplessly about her when a tall, slim, breathtakingly beautiful woman with the longest blonde hair Imogen had ever seen, wearing the most unusual clothe she had ever seen, came up to her.
‘Hello Gin. I’m your aunt Rowena.’ It was the start of a relationship that would continue even after Rowena’s death.
Now Imogen drove slowly along the same lanes. On that first trip to Mulberry cottage they had gone in the car, but later she had been taken at high speed on the back of the Triumph. Imogen was amazed that so little had changed in all those years, how many years? Imogen counted them out. She had come here last when she was eleven, that last summer before the big row when the visits were stopped. That was fifteen years ago and yet the lanes and farms looked as if no time had passed at all. And Imogen herself started to feel as if time had not passed either. She had not grown fifteen years older, had not been married for six years, she was a carefree child again. Of course she knew it was not so, but for now she wallowed in the better parts of her past. She remembered taking Rowena’s hand and allowing herself to be put in the car and being driven to Mulberry cottage. She remembered pulling up by the gate and wondering where the house was, she remembered thinking that maybe her aunt didn’t live in a house at all but slept in the garden with the fairies, she had a thing about fairies at the time. The cottage was a surprise when she first saw it. She had been expecting a grand house. Instead there was a small, squat, pale pink building with large French windows that looked totally out of proportion, and no doors.
The first few days were awkward and strange, but Imogen quickly settled in and the rest of the summer had been the happiest time she had known up till then, not that she knew much at six. Every subsequent summer had been the same, and she had never wanted to go home. When she found out she was no longer to be allowed to go she had been devastated. To this day she still didn’t fully understand why her father had decided Rowena was such a bad influence, or what the row was really about. Rowena was different to Henry in just about every way, but surely that was not a good enough reason? Apparently it was though, no other exclamation was ever given, and so the summer’s in Cornwall came to an end.
James sat in the back of the car for a few minuets before going into the office. The driver watched him in the mirror with great satisfaction at seeing his boss in such a state. Eventually James climbed out of the car and propelled his unwilling body towards the doors. He said nothing to his driver or the doorman or the receptionist, and they no longer bothered greeting him. In the lift he thought he was going to be sick again, he was sure his stomach had been left behind on the ground floor as he arrived on the third.
As he entered the conference room fell silent, all eyes were on him and he was more than aware that he did not look as good as he might. In fact he was looking dreadful, a fact that Henry noticed immediately, he bundled James out of the room.
‘Good God man, have you seen yourself? What the hell do you mean by arriving in this state? What’s going on?’ He said when he was sure they were out of ear shot.
‘I’m sorry Henry. I had a bad flight and an even worse night. But I have the presentation all ready and I think we ought to get that out of the way first.’
Henry glowered red with indignation but he agreed. ‘But you had better go and sort yourself out first.’
James went into the men’s room and took a long look at himself in the mirror, then wished he hadn’t. Henry was right, he looked shocking. After splashing a great deal of water over his face he started to look better, even if he didn’t feel it.
The presentation went as well as it could. He didn’t make too many mistakes and the didn’t ask too many awkward questions. He could tell by their faces they were not best pleased but they seemed to buy the story of jet lag and hard work, most suspected there had also been a large amount of alcohol involved but they didn’t ask why.
Henry waited until everyone had gone before allowing the full force of his displeasure to be unleashed.
‘If it had been anyone else you would have been out of the door you realise that? I will NOT tolerate this kind of thing from anyone, not even you. It was bloody unprofessional James and it made us look very bad. Some of those men are investing hundreds of thousands in the New York project and they expect more from us, and quite right. Now are you going to tell me what is going on?’
James sighed, Henry in full flow was hard to deal with at the best of times, you had to be quick to get anything past him and today James felt that was just not going to happen.
‘It’s nothing Henry. I had too much to drink on top of jet lag, fell asleep in the chair and didn’t have time for breakfast, that’s all.’ He knew Henry wouldn’t buy it.
He didn’t.
‘That’s not what I mean and you know it. What’s all this about my daughter?’
It had been a mistake to mention anything just yet, not until he was sure there was something to mention. Henry would not let it drop and James knew he had to think.
‘I came home and she wasn’t there. That’s all. I had forgotten she was going away for a few days.’ It was weak.
Henry was not convinced, but he was not prepared to make a scene in the office over something personal, not with people listening, so he let it drop, for now. James knew the subject would be returned to but he was got away to his own office.
Imogen finally pulled up by the familiar gate just before lunchtime. The trees had grown and the hedges were thicker but nothing else had changed. Opening the gate it made its familiar squeak, Rowena used to call it her door bell. Wandering idly up the path towards the cottage she stopped to touch this plant or smell that flower. On the corner of the last bend she saw the edge of the Mulberry tree. With every step more and more of it came into view until it was standing before her, its branches framing one side of the cottage. Around the bottom daisies were in full bloom and pocking out between them was the little brass plaque with the simple inscription of Rowena’s name and dates. She stopped to take it all in, but her thoughts were halted by the appearance of Molly and Eleanor from the cottage.
‘Ginny my dear!’ Eleanor flung her arms around Imogen and hugged her so hard Imogen feared for her ribs.
‘Oh look at you!’ Cried Molly following close behind. ‘You’re so tall!’
The two friends fussed and flapped, making Imogen feel like a child again. She was soon ensconced in one of the garden chairs with a cup of tea and a piece of cake.
‘So how was your journey?’ Molly asked.
‘Lovely. I mean, well…Yes I do mean lovely. It was so nice seeing everything again. The village looks just the same. Does anything ever change down here?’ she said laughing.
‘Not much. There are a few new houses here and there, and the shop has changed hands once or twice, but apart from that…’ Molly said.
‘There have been one or two scandals too. A few people running off with other people’s wives or husbands, that kind of thing.’ Eleanor gave Imogen a nudge with her elbow.
‘Ginny doesn’t want to hear about all that.’ Molly cut in disapproving.
‘I probably wouldn’t know who they all were now anyway.’ Imogen said.
Eleanor opened her mouth to say something else but stopped and sat staring at the hedge. She gave Molly a nudge and pointed. Molly followed Eleanor’s finger, gave a cry and sprang up.
‘Boris!’
Chapter Six
As soon as Molly and Eleanor had gone Imogen went back to the Mulberry tree. She stood underneath its canopy looking up through the braches to the sky like she used to as a child. If you got in the right spot you could watch the clouds slip past without the sun dazzling you. Sometimes she would lie down and spend hours there, just watching. Now she sat and pressed her back into the firm trunk. She looked down at the little brass plaque next to her. She put her hand out to touch it; but drew it away quickly as if it might scold her. She didn’t realise she was crying until she saw a tear drop into her lap. Watching as it socked into the fabric of her skirt turning it a deeper shade of blue. She put her hand to her face and felt her wet cheeks. She didn’t try to stop herself. She sat under the tree and gave in to the full force of her sobs. They came in overwhelming waves. Boris came across the lawn and quietly sat down next to her. He closed his eyes to the warm sunshine; he would wait until she was ready.
Imogen sat in the garden for a long time before she could bring herself to go indoors. Being back there without Rowena was almost too strange. Eventually she allowed Boris to lead her up to the cottage and she opened the windows. It was as it had always been. Rowena had never moved the furniture, the rooms were too small, and there were the worn patches on the rugs, a little more threadbare perhaps. Rowena always kept things in the same place because she didn’t see the point of moving something for the sake of it when it was perfectly happy where it was. As a result the whole cottage looked exactly the same as it had done on her last visit. Except the most important element was missing.
By day three Imogen realised that the Mercedes was completely unsuitable and put an add in the paper. Later she had a look in the garage. There was the old VW beetle Rowena had bought when she started to get fed up with the cold and wet of the Cornish winter on the bike, and which she had used all the time after the accident. She also found the Triumph under its dust sheets. Imogen decided that could stay where it was.
Taking the car out for a tentative drive, just to see if it still went, she found it was more fun than anything else she had ever driven. It was noisy and the suspension was dreadful, but it made her feel safer than any of the big new cars James had bought her. He insisted they have a new car every two years so that he could have all the latest safety gadgets. The Beetle had no safety features, apart from the seat belt that stuck, and was completely gadget free, and it was wonderful. She carefully reversed it out of the garage and swung it into the lane. It certainly was different. She decided she would just take it as far as the end of the lane. At the end of the lane she decided she would take it as far as the crossroads. At the crossroads she decided she would take it as far as the lay by just as you came into the village. By the time she had got to the lay by she had decided she might as well go into the village, she needed milk anyway.
James spent every day growling at everybody who dared to get in his eye line. This was all just too ridicules, Imogen would be home when he got back tonight he was sure. At least she bloody well better be. It had been three days now. For the moment he was sticking to the story that she had gone away for a few days holiday, but he knew it was a rather shaky line to be taking and that people wouldn’t buy it much longer, especially if he couldn’t tell them any details. She hadn’t been the same since Rowena died. Why her aunts death should affect her when they hadn’t seen each other for years he couldn’t think. He shook his head; women had always been a mystery to him. When he met Imogen as a child she seemed so straightforward. She also seemed to know what was expected of her. He never had any trouble with her like Jonathan had had with Olwen. Not that he had much sympathy for his little brother. As far as James could see Jonathan was just too soft. He should have stood up to Olwen as soon as she started throwing her weight around. Instead Jonathan had given in, James had even caught him washing up! And now it was looking like James was going to have to get the marigolds out himself. Well he’d lived on his own before, and he’d managed perfectly well then. But his mother had still been alive and she had taken care of everything, found the cleaner and the gardener. She’d even found someone who would come twice a week to collect his laundry and return it dry-cleaned and ironed. James had no idea where all these people had come from and he hadn’t much cared. He was sure Olwen would know people like that. Surely she could organize all that for him? Well she’d just have to because he couldn’t do it, not with Henry breathing down his neck. Anyway it wouldn’t matter because Imogen would be home when he got back tonight and she would have taken care of everything.
Imogen bumped the beetle back to Mulberry cottage and wondered if now would be a good time to call Cherith. Henry should be at work and she very much wanted to hear her mother’s voice. All week she’d been thinking about this phone call. She’d intended to make it as soon as she got there. But there was something about the sunshine, the blossom and the soft sea breeze that kept stalling her, that and the fear that Henry might answer the phone. However she had been gone three days now and she knew Cherith would be getting anxious about her. She also knew that her father would be putting her mother through hell. She needed to explain to Cherith, try to make her understand.
She waited until eleven, Henry would definatly be at the office by now. She crossed her fingers and diled.
‘Hello.’ Cherith’s neat and tidy voice answered.
Imogen started breathing again. ‘Hi mum.’
‘Imogen! Oh my God. Darling what on earth… I’ve been out of my mind. Oh thank God. You silly girl whatever have you done? Were are you?’
‘ Mum please. I’m fine. I’m at Mulberry cottage. Dad isn’t there is he?’
‘No darling he’s been gone hours. He’s been having to work full days to cope with James. Apparently he’s all over the place, not keeping up with his paperwork. Your father’s having to cover for him.’ Cherith was slightly breathless, she didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. All week she’d been worrying about her daughter and having to put up with Henry’s fumes. She’d been willing Imogen to call and let her know she was all right. Now she had she wanted to slap her face for the mess she’d left behind. I mean just leaving like that without a word. Imogen always told her everything and yet she hadn’t said anything, not even dropped hints.
‘I’m sorry dad’s been inconvenienced but you must understand that I had to leave.’
‘No I don’t understand. I know James can be difficult but to walk out on him like that, and while he was away to. Do you know what you’re throwing away? James may not be perfect but he did look after you. One thing I will always say about your father, he’s never denied me anything. I think you should come home darling.’
‘Well maybe I could have handled it better. But I couldn’t see another way at the time, and it’s done now. Mum please don’t hate me. I’m not as strong as you and I couldn’t spend the rest of my life like that.’ This was harder than she had thought. What was she supposed to say? How could she explain to her mother that she didn’t want to end up like her? ‘I just woke up mum, that’s all.’
‘You sound just like Rowena.’ Cherith sighed. ‘You always were more like her than Henry, I was always glad about that.’ she sighed again. ‘Oh darling are you sure you’re doing the right thing? Is this going to make you happy?’
‘I don’t know, but I need to try.’
‘Just promise you’ll keep in touch.’
‘Of course I will. We’ll need to talk about what you want from the house. And mum.’
‘Yes darling.’
‘Please don’t tell dad you’ve spoken to me. And don’t tell him where I am, not yet. Please?’
‘You know he’ll find out. But no, I won’t tell him.’
‘Thank you. Bye mum.’
‘Goodbye darling.’
Molly and Eleanor worked hard all morning removing the rest of the covers form the furniture, dusting, polishing, scrubbing and bleaching, clipping and weeding. Every now and then Molly would slip away to call for Boris, now no longer expecting anything but feeling she must do it anyway. Soon the cottage gleamed and the garden was once more a charming muddle. They made themselves a much needed cup of tea and collapsed into the deep, plush, cuddly armchairs.
‘I’m glad I don’t have to do that everyday. I will defiantly be more sympathetic to my own cleaner and gardener now.’ Eleanor sighed. ‘In fact they asked me yesterday if I wanted them to come up and help. I wish I’d said yes now.’
‘I know! I’m amazed Row still did all the gardening herself. Still we promised we would do it so it was only right that we did it ourselves.’
‘I suppose so.’ said Eleanor. ‘Especially the garden, it was her pride and joy. I remember her telling me how frustrated she felt when she lived in London. The garden was so huge with such a huge team of gardeners that she said she could never get any privacy; there was always one of them lurking in the shrubbery. And then, of course, her own house only had the communal garden in the square. She used to say that she didn’t know which was worse, gardeners lurking or neighbours.’ Eleanor laughed.
‘It must have been terribly frustrating.’ Molly agreed. ‘She certainly spent more time out than in.’
‘And do you remember when she first arrived? We all thought she was quite mad. Do you remember the motorbike?’ Eleanor started laughing again. ‘I will never forget the look on Mr Tregagh’s face when he first saw her on it! Priceless! He said that if she thought he was going to serve her in his post office after making such a spectacle of herself she had another think coming. He did though. He wouldn’t have dared not.’
‘Yes.’ Said Molly laughing too. ‘I remember he was always scared of her but I never did know why. Mind you she did look formidable on that bike. My Robert came home scandalized that a woman, and a lady at that, should think it proper to ride a motor bike. Row must have thought she had gone back thirty years.’
‘I would imagine it was still quite unusual to find ladies of a certain class riding around on Triumphs, even in London. It was nearly forty years ago after all.’ Eleanor took a gulp of tea to calm her giggles.
‘What shocked me was how beautiful she was when she took her helmet off, all that blonde hair. Oh I was so jealous of that hair, and her eyes. I always thought it was a waist that she should hide all that beauty away down here. And it always surprised me that she didn’t marry; she could have had her pick, even without the money.’ Molly sipped her tea and looked thoughtfully out of the window. ‘I know she had her reasons but I always thought it was a shame.’
‘I gather that was one of the reasons she moved. She was under pressure to marry. I know she moved out of home because her parents kept bringing ‘suitable’ young men home and making her have tea with them. The sixties were starting to swing and she wanted to swing with them. Shame they never swung this far.’ Eleanor sighed.
‘I don’t think I would have liked that.’ said Molly wrinkling her nose. ‘I never liked the sound of it. Row used to talk so fondly of the clubs and parties, but I was never convinced.’
‘It was a shame she stopped riding the Triumph.’ Eleanor said.
‘I don’t think anyone could blame her after the accident.’
‘I know most people would have been put off by it, but Row wasn’t most people. I was really surprised when she put it in the garage and covered it. Has it ever been out since?’
‘Not that I can remember.’ Molly drained her cup and put it back on the tray.
‘I suppose the car was more practical but she always said it wasn’t the same, but it was certainly safer though.’
‘I always suspected the damage to her back was more serious than she let on and that she couldn’t ride the bike rather than wouldn’t.’ Molly mused.
“Possibly. But she did ride the push bike; she wouldn’t have been able to do that if her back was that bad.
‘True. Oh! Do you remember when she put Pudding in the basket and rode into the village to the vets?’ Molly started to laugh again. ‘Why on earth didn’t she take the car?’
‘That would have been predictable wouldn’t it? And anyway he liked it. He went everywhere in the basket of that bike.’ Eleanor smiled at the memory.
‘And only Row would have been able to train a cat to do it, and after Pudding she got Boris to do it to.’ The two friends chuckled for the rest of the morning.
From Mr Pengellan’s office to Mulberry cottage should only have taken half an hour, but Imogen decided to meander. Every nook and cranny was familiar and brought back memories of her childhood. She had started coming to stay with Rowena when she was six. Henry had suggested it as a way of getting a small child out of his hair for the endless weeks of the summer holidays. Rowena had been delighted. Never having had children, and never wanting them if she was honest, she liked to spend time with other peoples. Local people thought it strange that someone who was so good with children, and so loved by them, never had any of her own, but there were a lot of things about Rowena March that the locals could never fathom. So a terrified Imogen had been packed off to spend the summer with a relative stranger.
She could still remember being met at the station. To Cherith’s, and everyone else’s, horror Henry had sent his young daughter by train from London to Cornwall with one of the girls from the office, who abandoned her as soon as they set foot on the platform and went in search of the local young men, She had stood there looking helplessly about her when a tall, slim, breathtakingly beautiful woman with the longest blonde hair Imogen had ever seen, wearing the most unusual clothe she had ever seen, came up to her.
‘Hello Gin. I’m your aunt Rowena.’ It was the start of a relationship that would continue even after Rowena’s death.
Now Imogen drove slowly along the same lanes. On that first trip to Mulberry cottage they had gone in the car, but later she had been taken at high speed on the back of the Triumph. Imogen was amazed that so little had changed in all those years, how many years? Imogen counted them out. She had come here last when she was eleven, that last summer before the big row when the visits were stopped. That was fifteen years ago and yet the lanes and farms looked as if no time had passed at all. And Imogen herself started to feel as if time had not passed either. She had not grown fifteen years older, had not been married for six years, she was a carefree child again. Of course she knew it was not so, but for now she wallowed in the better parts of her past. She remembered taking Rowena’s hand and allowing herself to be put in the car and being driven to Mulberry cottage. She remembered pulling up by the gate and wondering where the house was, she remembered thinking that maybe her aunt didn’t live in a house at all but slept in the garden with the fairies, she had a thing about fairies at the time. The cottage was a surprise when she first saw it. She had been expecting a grand house. Instead there was a small, squat, pale pink building with large French windows that looked totally out of proportion, and no doors.
The first few days were awkward and strange, but Imogen quickly settled in and the rest of the summer had been the happiest time she had known up till then, not that she knew much at six. Every subsequent summer had been the same, and she had never wanted to go home. When she found out she was no longer to be allowed to go she had been devastated. To this day she still didn’t fully understand why her father had decided Rowena was such a bad influence, or what the row was really about. Rowena was different to Henry in just about every way, but surely that was not a good enough reason? Apparently it was though, no other exclamation was ever given, and so the summer’s in Cornwall came to an end.
James sat in the back of the car for a few minuets before going into the office. The driver watched him in the mirror with great satisfaction at seeing his boss in such a state. Eventually James climbed out of the car and propelled his unwilling body towards the doors. He said nothing to his driver or the doorman or the receptionist, and they no longer bothered greeting him. In the lift he thought he was going to be sick again, he was sure his stomach had been left behind on the ground floor as he arrived on the third.
As he entered the conference room fell silent, all eyes were on him and he was more than aware that he did not look as good as he might. In fact he was looking dreadful, a fact that Henry noticed immediately, he bundled James out of the room.
‘Good God man, have you seen yourself? What the hell do you mean by arriving in this state? What’s going on?’ He said when he was sure they were out of ear shot.
‘I’m sorry Henry. I had a bad flight and an even worse night. But I have the presentation all ready and I think we ought to get that out of the way first.’
Henry glowered red with indignation but he agreed. ‘But you had better go and sort yourself out first.’
James went into the men’s room and took a long look at himself in the mirror, then wished he hadn’t. Henry was right, he looked shocking. After splashing a great deal of water over his face he started to look better, even if he didn’t feel it.
The presentation went as well as it could. He didn’t make too many mistakes and the didn’t ask too many awkward questions. He could tell by their faces they were not best pleased but they seemed to buy the story of jet lag and hard work, most suspected there had also been a large amount of alcohol involved but they didn’t ask why.
Henry waited until everyone had gone before allowing the full force of his displeasure to be unleashed.
‘If it had been anyone else you would have been out of the door you realise that? I will NOT tolerate this kind of thing from anyone, not even you. It was bloody unprofessional James and it made us look very bad. Some of those men are investing hundreds of thousands in the New York project and they expect more from us, and quite right. Now are you going to tell me what is going on?’
James sighed, Henry in full flow was hard to deal with at the best of times, you had to be quick to get anything past him and today James felt that was just not going to happen.
‘It’s nothing Henry. I had too much to drink on top of jet lag, fell asleep in the chair and didn’t have time for breakfast, that’s all.’ He knew Henry wouldn’t buy it.
He didn’t.
‘That’s not what I mean and you know it. What’s all this about my daughter?’
It had been a mistake to mention anything just yet, not until he was sure there was something to mention. Henry would not let it drop and James knew he had to think.
‘I came home and she wasn’t there. That’s all. I had forgotten she was going away for a few days.’ It was weak.
Henry was not convinced, but he was not prepared to make a scene in the office over something personal, not with people listening, so he let it drop, for now. James knew the subject would be returned to but he was got away to his own office.
Imogen finally pulled up by the familiar gate just before lunchtime. The trees had grown and the hedges were thicker but nothing else had changed. Opening the gate it made its familiar squeak, Rowena used to call it her door bell. Wandering idly up the path towards the cottage she stopped to touch this plant or smell that flower. On the corner of the last bend she saw the edge of the Mulberry tree. With every step more and more of it came into view until it was standing before her, its branches framing one side of the cottage. Around the bottom daisies were in full bloom and pocking out between them was the little brass plaque with the simple inscription of Rowena’s name and dates. She stopped to take it all in, but her thoughts were halted by the appearance of Molly and Eleanor from the cottage.
‘Ginny my dear!’ Eleanor flung her arms around Imogen and hugged her so hard Imogen feared for her ribs.
‘Oh look at you!’ Cried Molly following close behind. ‘You’re so tall!’
The two friends fussed and flapped, making Imogen feel like a child again. She was soon ensconced in one of the garden chairs with a cup of tea and a piece of cake.
‘So how was your journey?’ Molly asked.
‘Lovely. I mean, well…Yes I do mean lovely. It was so nice seeing everything again. The village looks just the same. Does anything ever change down here?’ she said laughing.
‘Not much. There are a few new houses here and there, and the shop has changed hands once or twice, but apart from that…’ Molly said.
‘There have been one or two scandals too. A few people running off with other people’s wives or husbands, that kind of thing.’ Eleanor gave Imogen a nudge with her elbow.
‘Ginny doesn’t want to hear about all that.’ Molly cut in disapproving.
‘I probably wouldn’t know who they all were now anyway.’ Imogen said.
Eleanor opened her mouth to say something else but stopped and sat staring at the hedge. She gave Molly a nudge and pointed. Molly followed Eleanor’s finger, gave a cry and sprang up.
‘Boris!’
Chapter Six
As soon as Molly and Eleanor had gone Imogen went back to the Mulberry tree. She stood underneath its canopy looking up through the braches to the sky like she used to as a child. If you got in the right spot you could watch the clouds slip past without the sun dazzling you. Sometimes she would lie down and spend hours there, just watching. Now she sat and pressed her back into the firm trunk. She looked down at the little brass plaque next to her. She put her hand out to touch it; but drew it away quickly as if it might scold her. She didn’t realise she was crying until she saw a tear drop into her lap. Watching as it socked into the fabric of her skirt turning it a deeper shade of blue. She put her hand to her face and felt her wet cheeks. She didn’t try to stop herself. She sat under the tree and gave in to the full force of her sobs. They came in overwhelming waves. Boris came across the lawn and quietly sat down next to her. He closed his eyes to the warm sunshine; he would wait until she was ready.
Imogen sat in the garden for a long time before she could bring herself to go indoors. Being back there without Rowena was almost too strange. Eventually she allowed Boris to lead her up to the cottage and she opened the windows. It was as it had always been. Rowena had never moved the furniture, the rooms were too small, and there were the worn patches on the rugs, a little more threadbare perhaps. Rowena always kept things in the same place because she didn’t see the point of moving something for the sake of it when it was perfectly happy where it was. As a result the whole cottage looked exactly the same as it had done on her last visit. Except the most important element was missing.
By day three Imogen realised that the Mercedes was completely unsuitable and put an add in the paper. Later she had a look in the garage. There was the old VW beetle Rowena had bought when she started to get fed up with the cold and wet of the Cornish winter on the bike, and which she had used all the time after the accident. She also found the Triumph under its dust sheets. Imogen decided that could stay where it was.
Taking the car out for a tentative drive, just to see if it still went, she found it was more fun than anything else she had ever driven. It was noisy and the suspension was dreadful, but it made her feel safer than any of the big new cars James had bought her. He insisted they have a new car every two years so that he could have all the latest safety gadgets. The Beetle had no safety features, apart from the seat belt that stuck, and was completely gadget free, and it was wonderful. She carefully reversed it out of the garage and swung it into the lane. It certainly was different. She decided she would just take it as far as the end of the lane. At the end of the lane she decided she would take it as far as the crossroads. At the crossroads she decided she would take it as far as the lay by just as you came into the village. By the time she had got to the lay by she had decided she might as well go into the village, she needed milk anyway.
James spent every day growling at everybody who dared to get in his eye line. This was all just too ridicules, Imogen would be home when he got back tonight he was sure. At least she bloody well better be. It had been three days now. For the moment he was sticking to the story that she had gone away for a few days holiday, but he knew it was a rather shaky line to be taking and that people wouldn’t buy it much longer, especially if he couldn’t tell them any details. She hadn’t been the same since Rowena died. Why her aunts death should affect her when they hadn’t seen each other for years he couldn’t think. He shook his head; women had always been a mystery to him. When he met Imogen as a child she seemed so straightforward. She also seemed to know what was expected of her. He never had any trouble with her like Jonathan had had with Olwen. Not that he had much sympathy for his little brother. As far as James could see Jonathan was just too soft. He should have stood up to Olwen as soon as she started throwing her weight around. Instead Jonathan had given in, James had even caught him washing up! And now it was looking like James was going to have to get the marigolds out himself. Well he’d lived on his own before, and he’d managed perfectly well then. But his mother had still been alive and she had taken care of everything, found the cleaner and the gardener. She’d even found someone who would come twice a week to collect his laundry and return it dry-cleaned and ironed. James had no idea where all these people had come from and he hadn’t much cared. He was sure Olwen would know people like that. Surely she could organize all that for him? Well she’d just have to because he couldn’t do it, not with Henry breathing down his neck. Anyway it wouldn’t matter because Imogen would be home when he got back tonight and she would have taken care of everything.
Imogen bumped the beetle back to Mulberry cottage and wondered if now would be a good time to call Cherith. Henry should be at work and she very much wanted to hear her mother’s voice. All week she’d been thinking about this phone call. She’d intended to make it as soon as she got there. But there was something about the sunshine, the blossom and the soft sea breeze that kept stalling her, that and the fear that Henry might answer the phone. However she had been gone three days now and she knew Cherith would be getting anxious about her. She also knew that her father would be putting her mother through hell. She needed to explain to Cherith, try to make her understand.
She waited until eleven, Henry would definatly be at the office by now. She crossed her fingers and diled.
‘Hello.’ Cherith’s neat and tidy voice answered.
Imogen started breathing again. ‘Hi mum.’
‘Imogen! Oh my God. Darling what on earth… I’ve been out of my mind. Oh thank God. You silly girl whatever have you done? Were are you?’
‘ Mum please. I’m fine. I’m at Mulberry cottage. Dad isn’t there is he?’
‘No darling he’s been gone hours. He’s been having to work full days to cope with James. Apparently he’s all over the place, not keeping up with his paperwork. Your father’s having to cover for him.’ Cherith was slightly breathless, she didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. All week she’d been worrying about her daughter and having to put up with Henry’s fumes. She’d been willing Imogen to call and let her know she was all right. Now she had she wanted to slap her face for the mess she’d left behind. I mean just leaving like that without a word. Imogen always told her everything and yet she hadn’t said anything, not even dropped hints.
‘I’m sorry dad’s been inconvenienced but you must understand that I had to leave.’
‘No I don’t understand. I know James can be difficult but to walk out on him like that, and while he was away to. Do you know what you’re throwing away? James may not be perfect but he did look after you. One thing I will always say about your father, he’s never denied me anything. I think you should come home darling.’
‘Well maybe I could have handled it better. But I couldn’t see another way at the time, and it’s done now. Mum please don’t hate me. I’m not as strong as you and I couldn’t spend the rest of my life like that.’ This was harder than she had thought. What was she supposed to say? How could she explain to her mother that she didn’t want to end up like her? ‘I just woke up mum, that’s all.’
‘You sound just like Rowena.’ Cherith sighed. ‘You always were more like her than Henry, I was always glad about that.’ she sighed again. ‘Oh darling are you sure you’re doing the right thing? Is this going to make you happy?’
‘I don’t know, but I need to try.’
‘Just promise you’ll keep in touch.’
‘Of course I will. We’ll need to talk about what you want from the house. And mum.’
‘Yes darling.’
‘Please don’t tell dad you’ve spoken to me. And don’t tell him where I am, not yet. Please?’
‘You know he’ll find out. But no, I won’t tell him.’
‘Thank you. Bye mum.’
‘Goodbye darling.’
Saturday 24 January 2009
Mulberry Gin. Chapters Two and Three
Chapter Two
The plane was late and the car that should have been there to meet him hadn’t waited. By the time James had given hell to some poor girl at the office and a car had finally arrived he felt raw and scratchy, the combination of a long flight and a little too much airline whisky. He fell into the car without a word, speech beyond him, and he was starting to wonder if he would ever be able to do anything again. He leaned back and closed his eyes begging for sleep; just a few minuets would make all the difference. But it was no use. Instead sleep was replaced by a creeping headache that started at the back of his neck and slowly worked its way round. Soon his whole head was impersonating a hammer drill. He would never drink spirits on a plane again he promised himself, but right now her could really do with another one.
The car pulled up outside the house. Imogen’s car was gone which blackened his mood even more. He expected her to be there when he got back from his trips, he needed her to be there, he couldn’t have a good moan to himself. He stumbled out of the car without even a glance at the driver. He knew the man would return to the office and complain about what a stuck up bastard Mr Lampress was. This gave him some small satisfaction, if he was in a crap mood he liked to pass some of it on.
The silence of the house when he opened the front door confirmed the Imogen’s absence. He’d have words when she got back. Dumping everything he was carrying in a heap at the foot of the stairs he picked up the post and flicked on the answer machine. He did this in an automatic, robotic movement, the same every time he came home, but today he was too tired to be interested. He started to sort through the letters, vaguely aware of a series of faceless, nameless voices talking at him.
He went into the kitchen for coffee. When he got there he remembered that he would have to make it himself. He slapped the pile of letters down on the counter. Muttering a string of four letter words he started to fill the kettle. When he put the kettle back on its stand and flicked it on he saw the pink envelope. He frowned. What was that doing there? It took his whisky and pain fuddled brain a minute to realise that it wasn’t one of the bundle he’d just brought through, and even longer to realise that it was addressed to him in his wife’s handwriting. He opened it rather absentmindedly, trying to spoon coffee into a mug with the other hand. Eventually he put it down, caffeine was more important than Imogen at that moment.
The coffee was too bitter and too hot but it hit the spot, he started to regain control of his body. He picked the letter up again and opened it properly. Something on the answer machine caught his ear and he dropped it down by the phone. After jotting down a few names and numbers he took the rest of the coffee with him upstairs, he needed a shower and to get out of the clothes he felt he had been wearing for a month.
He threw his clothes in the rough direction of the linen basket and went over to the mirror. He stood there for a few naked minuets. For forty six he was wearing remarkably well, no one could deny he could still hold his own. Tall and lean with just a dusting of light brown hair across his chest. His muscles were not as well defined as they were twenty years ago, but what do you expect? Nonetheless they were still there. And you could count the grey hairs on the fingers of one hand, and not just on his head. Yes, he thought, looking himself up and down, even with rapidly approaching jet lag and what was starting to feel like a hangover, he was still a good looking man. He made this inspection at least once a week, just to make sure he wasn’t letting anything go. He wasn’t vain, oh no, he never used conditioners or moisturisers or any of those dubious, supposedly masculine, products.
He gave himself a last approving look and went for his shower feeling much better. He shaved and dressed, then he got a clean shirt ready for the morning. He was so wrapped up in the reports he would have to write and the notes he had to sort through. He would be expected to give a full account of each meeting and seminar he had been involved in over the last three days. He lived for his work. It gave him a buzz that he could not describe, that no one else could possibly understand. By the time he went back downstairs he was buzzing all over and ready to tackle the pile of work waiting for him in his briefcase, everything else forgotten.
The briefcase had landed near the little hall table. He gathered it up he noticed the half opened pink envelope. Imogen’s letter, of course. Well he supposed he had better read it. He yanked the page from the envelope, impatient to get on with some work. Still standing in the hall he started to read.
Dear James,
I hope you had a successful trip and a good flight. I’m sorry I’m not there to hear all about it( I should bloody well think so, ) but I have gone away (excuse me? ) I have spent a long time agonizing over the best way to tell you this, but the fact is there isn’t one, and I think you would rather I was honest.
I have left you James.
He stopped and started again from the beginning. Now he read each word very carefully
I hope this does not sound to cold and hard. I don’t know if you have been aware that I have not been happy for a long time. I felt the time had come to do something about it.
I hope you won’t miss me too much. As you may have noticed my things have gone.
He looked around but could see nothing missing.
I have only taken the things that actually belonged to me and I won’t be demanding half the contents of the house or anything. I hope I have left everything as it was before I came to live there.
I hope one day we will learn to forgive each other. (forgive him for what?)
Goodbye and good luck.
Imogen.
He stood for what seemed like a very long time without moving. His mind was racing around at great speed. In his hands was a letter from his wife apparently informing him that she had left him, but how could that be? What possible reason had she to leave him? Him for goodness sake! He dashed upstairs and nearly took the wardrobe doors off their hinges to get them open. She was right, it had all gone. He went into the bathroom and scanned the shelves, gone. He pulled open all her draws, gone. What the hell was going on here? How had he not noticed? He looked at his watch, eleven thirty. He wondered how long she had been gone. Had she just left or did she go as soon as she knew he was safely on the plane? And where had she gone? And why did it matter so much?
Eleven thirty. Imogen had been going for an hour or so and decided she needed a cup of tea and the ladies. She was also starting to wonder why James liked motorways so much. Her neck and shoulders were stiff and she had to wriggle her fingers to make sure they were still there. A sign told her she was coming up to a service station so she reluctantly decided to stop. They were always such large places with so many people. She looked around blankly. She had never done anything like this on her own before and she quickly realised she didn’t even know which queue to join. Her stomach knotted up and a nagging voice started to whisper softly, ‘what are you doing?’
With shaking hands she got her tea and managed to take it over to a small table tucked away in the corner by the window. She sat down and took a deep breath. She allowed the chatter and noise going on around her to drown out the little voice, she got the map out. Days ago she had planned the route, highlighting the motorway and all the main roads she needed to take. Now she started looking again at the B roads. They went through some lovely sounding places. It would take her longer but she could stop and have a good look round, maybe even stay overnight, James would never have allowed that. With a quiet smile she sipped her tea.
James took the letter with him into the study. He kept a tight grip on it while he poured himself a large drink. By the time he had finished his second and taken the third with him to slump in his chair it was no longer recognisable. He looked down at the ball of pink paper in his fist. He unfurled it and smoothed it out on his knee. He started to read it and re-read it, hoping he would find something in it that told him it was all a joke and that she would be home soon. What the hell was she doing? How was this going to look? His wife walking out on him without him even getting a hint of anything wrong was not going to show him in his best light, and a lot of people trusted him with a lot of their money. Hell! He hurled the glass at the wall and watched with satisfaction as it shattered and the glass flew across the carpet, the golden liquid trickled down the wall, he knew it would stain and he was glad.
After another glass he could no longer tell what he was drinking. He read the letter again. He was jet lagged and drunk and no matter how hard he tried he could not make the words make sense. He tried to recall the last six years. He screwed his face up and thought hard. She had everything. She wanted it he bought it, she only had to ask. Not that she ever asked for much, it had surprised him at first; he had always been led to believe that a much younger wife would require large amounts lavishing on her. Imogen had proved to be remarkably inexpensive. Eventually he stopped thinking and decided to settle down and finish the bottle while he waited for her to come home.
Chapter Three
Molly turned the key with a shaking hand; she had never known the French windows to be locked. Eleanor was late and Molly hadn’t wanted to do this alone. With a sigh she stepped softly into the sitting room, the sunlight followed her and lit up every corner. Rowena had loved this tiny room so much. But she was not going to cry, she had promised herself, she had promised Rowena. And her first priority was to Boris, Rowena’s cat.
No one had seen him since the day Rowena died. He had stayed on the bed with her once the doctor had confined her there, hardly ever leaving, until the moment she died. When he got off the bed and quietly crept from the room they knew. Molly, Eleanor and the nurse were in the sitting room when they saw him slip out into the garden; no one had seen him since. Every evening Eleanor or herself would put food out for him and every morning it was gone, but no one ever saw him. She went to have another look this morning, no food and no cat. While she was wandering around calling him she heard the gate squeak and saw Eleanor coming up the path.
‘Still nothing?’ Eleanor called.
Molly shook her head. ‘I hope he hasn’t gone for good, you hear such stories.
‘I wouldn’t worry too much. He must be about, the food’s gone again.’
‘But we don’t know that it’s Boris eating it. It could be a fox or something. And Imogen’s due soon. Oh dear.’ Molly was starting to work herself up.
‘He’ll be home when he’s ready.’ Eleanor said. ‘And we have too much to do at the moment. We’ll look later.’
Molly and Eleanor went back towards the cottage. Going in through the windows Rowena came out to meet them in a waft of familiar smells.
‘We have to do this.’ Eleanor said to a wobbly looking Molly. ‘We promised.’
‘But it’s so hard.’ Molly wailed.
‘I know. But we’re getting it ready for Gin.
‘Yes. For Gin.’ Molly let out a deep sigh and together they entered the room they had spent so much time in.
The cottage was in mourning. There was no furniture, instead white, mountainous lumps filled the rooms and the whole place looked deeply offended at being abandoned.
“Come on let’s get started.” Eleanor took hold of the corner of one of the dust sheets and threw it into the air with a theatrical flourish. Molly lifted her sheet more cautiously but between them they soon had everything uncovered. The sitting room started to look as it had always done, which only reinforced the feeling that something vital was missing.
‘BLOODY HELL!’ Henry thundered. ‘How DARE she, how BLOODY dare she!’ He shook the letter accusingly at Cherith, blaming the woman present for the deed of the one who wasn’t. His anger had rooted him to the middle of the kitchen floor and he was starting to turn a rather alarming colour.
‘What on earth’s the matter?’ Cherith had been trapped by the sink when Henry had come thundering in with the letter from Rowena’s solieter, she kept her distance, knowing what this spectacle meant.
‘Rowena. That bitch of a sister. Look at this, just look.’ He thrust the offending piece of paper at his wife. Calmly she took it and started reading. She had been expecting something like this. It was from Rowena via Mr Pengellen, It explained very carefully, honestly, and rather rudely why her brother was not in her will. Henry had been waiting for weeks to hear from him and had had several angry phone calls demanding to know what was going on. It was just like Rowena to make him wait.
‘Well you can’t be too surprised.’ Cherith said handing it back. ‘You must have known she wouldn’t leave you anything.’
‘That’s not the point. I’m her next of kin. I’m entitled.’ he spat.
Cherith sighed. ‘Well it looks as if she didn’t seem to think so. And she can leave it all to whom ever she chooses.’ Over the years she had decided that it was best to adopt the same attitude to her husband as she did to small children.
‘But who else is there? That was family money, from our father, and it should stay in the family. God alone knows what she’s done with it. Some stranger is going to get their hands on my fathers’ money. Well I’m not having it.’
‘No dear.’
Stow-on-the-Wold was beautiful, why had James never tried getting off the motorway? Imogen passed a small car park and pulled in. She was making an unscheduled stop on an unplanned route, whatever next? She felt a strange sense of liberation at this small act of defiance.
A few minuets looking around the shops turned into several hours. When she looked at her watch she realised that she would never get to Cornwall before dark. However brave she was feeling she was not brave enough to tackle a long journey in the dark. As she was thinking this she walked past a very nice looking hotel. With only the smallest hesitation she went in and asked if they had a room for the night.
The room was perfect. Luxurious without being ostentatious, comfortable without being indulgent. Her cases had been sent up to her room while she moved her car to the security of the residents’ car park. Finding things had taken time, she had not packed with the intention of stopping anywhere. Eventually she had found what she needed, and she took her wash bag with her into the en suite and started to run hot water into the very deep and inviting bath. Her baths were one thing James never complained about, although he never understood the desire to spend an hour up to your neck in bubbles. The water was hot and the bath foam had made a delicious head of soft, creamy froth. She sank down deep into it and closed her eyes.
A picture of the house and James came into her mind. How had he reacted? Would he have cared? He should care, she thought, but it would make life much simpler if he would just shrug his shoulders and carry on. Her vanity wanted him to be upset, even if it was only a little bit, but she didn’t like the idea of him suffering. At the same time she didn’t like the idea of him not being affected at all.
Then there was her father. She had been trying very hard not to think about Henry. She knew he had been on at Rowena’s solicitor asking why he had not been contacted about the will. By now he was sure to have found out he was not in it. It didn’t take too much imagination to picture his reaction. She pitted her poor mother, especially when he found out that Cherith was to be left something. Not that he would want anything to remind him of his sister, all he would want was the money and she, Imogen, had got that. How he would take that news she dreaded to think.
Her bath over she dressed and made herself up carefully. James had always liked her to be well presented, and insisted she went to the hairdressers every week. Although she would have loved to go down to the dining room in her jeans she knew it was not appropriate, and she did like to look nice sometimes.
The dining room was rather larger that she had been expecting and she had second thoughts as she stood and waited for someone to attend to her. Everyone would be looking at her, a woman on her own, she would stick out like a saw thumb. What would they think of her? The waiter seemed to be taking forever to get over to her and her nerve was starting to fail. She was just deciding that the room service menu was quite appealing after all when he came and showed her to her table. The small table was towards the back of the room and near the corner, she could have kissed him. No one would notice her there. She ordered a glass of Chardonnay and started to read the menu.
When the waiter came back she hesitated for a moment waiting for James to order for both of them as usual. A small thrill went through her as she realised she could order just what she liked. After another glance at the menu she went for the shell on prawns in garlic butter ( “too messy and sticky, not the sort of thing to eat in public, not to mention the reek of garlic“) and the roast cod (“ you shouldn’t have fish for the main course when you’ve already had it as a starter“), she ordered another glass of wine (“it’s never nice to see women drinking too much in public“) and she determined to have desert (“perhaps best not, we don’t want you getting fat now do we.”). It was all fantastically delicious and she savoured every mouthful. She ordered a third glass of wine and a second helping of chocolate soufflé.
The plane was late and the car that should have been there to meet him hadn’t waited. By the time James had given hell to some poor girl at the office and a car had finally arrived he felt raw and scratchy, the combination of a long flight and a little too much airline whisky. He fell into the car without a word, speech beyond him, and he was starting to wonder if he would ever be able to do anything again. He leaned back and closed his eyes begging for sleep; just a few minuets would make all the difference. But it was no use. Instead sleep was replaced by a creeping headache that started at the back of his neck and slowly worked its way round. Soon his whole head was impersonating a hammer drill. He would never drink spirits on a plane again he promised himself, but right now her could really do with another one.
The car pulled up outside the house. Imogen’s car was gone which blackened his mood even more. He expected her to be there when he got back from his trips, he needed her to be there, he couldn’t have a good moan to himself. He stumbled out of the car without even a glance at the driver. He knew the man would return to the office and complain about what a stuck up bastard Mr Lampress was. This gave him some small satisfaction, if he was in a crap mood he liked to pass some of it on.
The silence of the house when he opened the front door confirmed the Imogen’s absence. He’d have words when she got back. Dumping everything he was carrying in a heap at the foot of the stairs he picked up the post and flicked on the answer machine. He did this in an automatic, robotic movement, the same every time he came home, but today he was too tired to be interested. He started to sort through the letters, vaguely aware of a series of faceless, nameless voices talking at him.
He went into the kitchen for coffee. When he got there he remembered that he would have to make it himself. He slapped the pile of letters down on the counter. Muttering a string of four letter words he started to fill the kettle. When he put the kettle back on its stand and flicked it on he saw the pink envelope. He frowned. What was that doing there? It took his whisky and pain fuddled brain a minute to realise that it wasn’t one of the bundle he’d just brought through, and even longer to realise that it was addressed to him in his wife’s handwriting. He opened it rather absentmindedly, trying to spoon coffee into a mug with the other hand. Eventually he put it down, caffeine was more important than Imogen at that moment.
The coffee was too bitter and too hot but it hit the spot, he started to regain control of his body. He picked the letter up again and opened it properly. Something on the answer machine caught his ear and he dropped it down by the phone. After jotting down a few names and numbers he took the rest of the coffee with him upstairs, he needed a shower and to get out of the clothes he felt he had been wearing for a month.
He threw his clothes in the rough direction of the linen basket and went over to the mirror. He stood there for a few naked minuets. For forty six he was wearing remarkably well, no one could deny he could still hold his own. Tall and lean with just a dusting of light brown hair across his chest. His muscles were not as well defined as they were twenty years ago, but what do you expect? Nonetheless they were still there. And you could count the grey hairs on the fingers of one hand, and not just on his head. Yes, he thought, looking himself up and down, even with rapidly approaching jet lag and what was starting to feel like a hangover, he was still a good looking man. He made this inspection at least once a week, just to make sure he wasn’t letting anything go. He wasn’t vain, oh no, he never used conditioners or moisturisers or any of those dubious, supposedly masculine, products.
He gave himself a last approving look and went for his shower feeling much better. He shaved and dressed, then he got a clean shirt ready for the morning. He was so wrapped up in the reports he would have to write and the notes he had to sort through. He would be expected to give a full account of each meeting and seminar he had been involved in over the last three days. He lived for his work. It gave him a buzz that he could not describe, that no one else could possibly understand. By the time he went back downstairs he was buzzing all over and ready to tackle the pile of work waiting for him in his briefcase, everything else forgotten.
The briefcase had landed near the little hall table. He gathered it up he noticed the half opened pink envelope. Imogen’s letter, of course. Well he supposed he had better read it. He yanked the page from the envelope, impatient to get on with some work. Still standing in the hall he started to read.
Dear James,
I hope you had a successful trip and a good flight. I’m sorry I’m not there to hear all about it( I should bloody well think so, ) but I have gone away (excuse me? ) I have spent a long time agonizing over the best way to tell you this, but the fact is there isn’t one, and I think you would rather I was honest.
I have left you James.
He stopped and started again from the beginning. Now he read each word very carefully
I hope this does not sound to cold and hard. I don’t know if you have been aware that I have not been happy for a long time. I felt the time had come to do something about it.
I hope you won’t miss me too much. As you may have noticed my things have gone.
He looked around but could see nothing missing.
I have only taken the things that actually belonged to me and I won’t be demanding half the contents of the house or anything. I hope I have left everything as it was before I came to live there.
I hope one day we will learn to forgive each other. (forgive him for what?)
Goodbye and good luck.
Imogen.
He stood for what seemed like a very long time without moving. His mind was racing around at great speed. In his hands was a letter from his wife apparently informing him that she had left him, but how could that be? What possible reason had she to leave him? Him for goodness sake! He dashed upstairs and nearly took the wardrobe doors off their hinges to get them open. She was right, it had all gone. He went into the bathroom and scanned the shelves, gone. He pulled open all her draws, gone. What the hell was going on here? How had he not noticed? He looked at his watch, eleven thirty. He wondered how long she had been gone. Had she just left or did she go as soon as she knew he was safely on the plane? And where had she gone? And why did it matter so much?
Eleven thirty. Imogen had been going for an hour or so and decided she needed a cup of tea and the ladies. She was also starting to wonder why James liked motorways so much. Her neck and shoulders were stiff and she had to wriggle her fingers to make sure they were still there. A sign told her she was coming up to a service station so she reluctantly decided to stop. They were always such large places with so many people. She looked around blankly. She had never done anything like this on her own before and she quickly realised she didn’t even know which queue to join. Her stomach knotted up and a nagging voice started to whisper softly, ‘what are you doing?’
With shaking hands she got her tea and managed to take it over to a small table tucked away in the corner by the window. She sat down and took a deep breath. She allowed the chatter and noise going on around her to drown out the little voice, she got the map out. Days ago she had planned the route, highlighting the motorway and all the main roads she needed to take. Now she started looking again at the B roads. They went through some lovely sounding places. It would take her longer but she could stop and have a good look round, maybe even stay overnight, James would never have allowed that. With a quiet smile she sipped her tea.
James took the letter with him into the study. He kept a tight grip on it while he poured himself a large drink. By the time he had finished his second and taken the third with him to slump in his chair it was no longer recognisable. He looked down at the ball of pink paper in his fist. He unfurled it and smoothed it out on his knee. He started to read it and re-read it, hoping he would find something in it that told him it was all a joke and that she would be home soon. What the hell was she doing? How was this going to look? His wife walking out on him without him even getting a hint of anything wrong was not going to show him in his best light, and a lot of people trusted him with a lot of their money. Hell! He hurled the glass at the wall and watched with satisfaction as it shattered and the glass flew across the carpet, the golden liquid trickled down the wall, he knew it would stain and he was glad.
After another glass he could no longer tell what he was drinking. He read the letter again. He was jet lagged and drunk and no matter how hard he tried he could not make the words make sense. He tried to recall the last six years. He screwed his face up and thought hard. She had everything. She wanted it he bought it, she only had to ask. Not that she ever asked for much, it had surprised him at first; he had always been led to believe that a much younger wife would require large amounts lavishing on her. Imogen had proved to be remarkably inexpensive. Eventually he stopped thinking and decided to settle down and finish the bottle while he waited for her to come home.
Chapter Three
Molly turned the key with a shaking hand; she had never known the French windows to be locked. Eleanor was late and Molly hadn’t wanted to do this alone. With a sigh she stepped softly into the sitting room, the sunlight followed her and lit up every corner. Rowena had loved this tiny room so much. But she was not going to cry, she had promised herself, she had promised Rowena. And her first priority was to Boris, Rowena’s cat.
No one had seen him since the day Rowena died. He had stayed on the bed with her once the doctor had confined her there, hardly ever leaving, until the moment she died. When he got off the bed and quietly crept from the room they knew. Molly, Eleanor and the nurse were in the sitting room when they saw him slip out into the garden; no one had seen him since. Every evening Eleanor or herself would put food out for him and every morning it was gone, but no one ever saw him. She went to have another look this morning, no food and no cat. While she was wandering around calling him she heard the gate squeak and saw Eleanor coming up the path.
‘Still nothing?’ Eleanor called.
Molly shook her head. ‘I hope he hasn’t gone for good, you hear such stories.
‘I wouldn’t worry too much. He must be about, the food’s gone again.’
‘But we don’t know that it’s Boris eating it. It could be a fox or something. And Imogen’s due soon. Oh dear.’ Molly was starting to work herself up.
‘He’ll be home when he’s ready.’ Eleanor said. ‘And we have too much to do at the moment. We’ll look later.’
Molly and Eleanor went back towards the cottage. Going in through the windows Rowena came out to meet them in a waft of familiar smells.
‘We have to do this.’ Eleanor said to a wobbly looking Molly. ‘We promised.’
‘But it’s so hard.’ Molly wailed.
‘I know. But we’re getting it ready for Gin.
‘Yes. For Gin.’ Molly let out a deep sigh and together they entered the room they had spent so much time in.
The cottage was in mourning. There was no furniture, instead white, mountainous lumps filled the rooms and the whole place looked deeply offended at being abandoned.
“Come on let’s get started.” Eleanor took hold of the corner of one of the dust sheets and threw it into the air with a theatrical flourish. Molly lifted her sheet more cautiously but between them they soon had everything uncovered. The sitting room started to look as it had always done, which only reinforced the feeling that something vital was missing.
‘BLOODY HELL!’ Henry thundered. ‘How DARE she, how BLOODY dare she!’ He shook the letter accusingly at Cherith, blaming the woman present for the deed of the one who wasn’t. His anger had rooted him to the middle of the kitchen floor and he was starting to turn a rather alarming colour.
‘What on earth’s the matter?’ Cherith had been trapped by the sink when Henry had come thundering in with the letter from Rowena’s solieter, she kept her distance, knowing what this spectacle meant.
‘Rowena. That bitch of a sister. Look at this, just look.’ He thrust the offending piece of paper at his wife. Calmly she took it and started reading. She had been expecting something like this. It was from Rowena via Mr Pengellen, It explained very carefully, honestly, and rather rudely why her brother was not in her will. Henry had been waiting for weeks to hear from him and had had several angry phone calls demanding to know what was going on. It was just like Rowena to make him wait.
‘Well you can’t be too surprised.’ Cherith said handing it back. ‘You must have known she wouldn’t leave you anything.’
‘That’s not the point. I’m her next of kin. I’m entitled.’ he spat.
Cherith sighed. ‘Well it looks as if she didn’t seem to think so. And she can leave it all to whom ever she chooses.’ Over the years she had decided that it was best to adopt the same attitude to her husband as she did to small children.
‘But who else is there? That was family money, from our father, and it should stay in the family. God alone knows what she’s done with it. Some stranger is going to get their hands on my fathers’ money. Well I’m not having it.’
‘No dear.’
Stow-on-the-Wold was beautiful, why had James never tried getting off the motorway? Imogen passed a small car park and pulled in. She was making an unscheduled stop on an unplanned route, whatever next? She felt a strange sense of liberation at this small act of defiance.
A few minuets looking around the shops turned into several hours. When she looked at her watch she realised that she would never get to Cornwall before dark. However brave she was feeling she was not brave enough to tackle a long journey in the dark. As she was thinking this she walked past a very nice looking hotel. With only the smallest hesitation she went in and asked if they had a room for the night.
The room was perfect. Luxurious without being ostentatious, comfortable without being indulgent. Her cases had been sent up to her room while she moved her car to the security of the residents’ car park. Finding things had taken time, she had not packed with the intention of stopping anywhere. Eventually she had found what she needed, and she took her wash bag with her into the en suite and started to run hot water into the very deep and inviting bath. Her baths were one thing James never complained about, although he never understood the desire to spend an hour up to your neck in bubbles. The water was hot and the bath foam had made a delicious head of soft, creamy froth. She sank down deep into it and closed her eyes.
A picture of the house and James came into her mind. How had he reacted? Would he have cared? He should care, she thought, but it would make life much simpler if he would just shrug his shoulders and carry on. Her vanity wanted him to be upset, even if it was only a little bit, but she didn’t like the idea of him suffering. At the same time she didn’t like the idea of him not being affected at all.
Then there was her father. She had been trying very hard not to think about Henry. She knew he had been on at Rowena’s solicitor asking why he had not been contacted about the will. By now he was sure to have found out he was not in it. It didn’t take too much imagination to picture his reaction. She pitted her poor mother, especially when he found out that Cherith was to be left something. Not that he would want anything to remind him of his sister, all he would want was the money and she, Imogen, had got that. How he would take that news she dreaded to think.
Her bath over she dressed and made herself up carefully. James had always liked her to be well presented, and insisted she went to the hairdressers every week. Although she would have loved to go down to the dining room in her jeans she knew it was not appropriate, and she did like to look nice sometimes.
The dining room was rather larger that she had been expecting and she had second thoughts as she stood and waited for someone to attend to her. Everyone would be looking at her, a woman on her own, she would stick out like a saw thumb. What would they think of her? The waiter seemed to be taking forever to get over to her and her nerve was starting to fail. She was just deciding that the room service menu was quite appealing after all when he came and showed her to her table. The small table was towards the back of the room and near the corner, she could have kissed him. No one would notice her there. She ordered a glass of Chardonnay and started to read the menu.
When the waiter came back she hesitated for a moment waiting for James to order for both of them as usual. A small thrill went through her as she realised she could order just what she liked. After another glance at the menu she went for the shell on prawns in garlic butter ( “too messy and sticky, not the sort of thing to eat in public, not to mention the reek of garlic“) and the roast cod (“ you shouldn’t have fish for the main course when you’ve already had it as a starter“), she ordered another glass of wine (“it’s never nice to see women drinking too much in public“) and she determined to have desert (“perhaps best not, we don’t want you getting fat now do we.”). It was all fantastically delicious and she savoured every mouthful. She ordered a third glass of wine and a second helping of chocolate soufflé.
Thursday 22 January 2009
Mulberry Gin. Chapter One.
MULBERRY GIN
Chapter One
Imogen went in and out of each room once more. She had already been through them twice, but one last time couldn’t hurt. Looking around she took in the familiar smells. Her perfume, the sharp tang of James’ aftershave and a subtler, underlying sent of their own bodies.
Even though she had taken her things out of each room, everything that actually belonged to her, it was hard to see any change. The few bags and boxes that now sat in her car weren’t much to show for her twenty six years. The house looked just as it had done on the day she first came to live there six years ago. James hadn’t offered to change anything when she moved in, so she hadn’t asked. Over the years she had gotten used to his tastes, and his things had become familiar to her.
She stood in the sitting room watching the sun stream through the vast windows and dance on the carpet. The rays caught something on the mantle piece and made it glint. She turned to see what it was. The silver frame contained their wedding photo. Imogen went over to it, held it in her hand and ran her finger over the glass. Just look at us, she thought, it was clear even then, for anyone who chose to look.
That dress had cost a fortune, it had all cost a fortune. She looked at herself, the blushing bride, the happiest day of her life, all the old clichés, and she could see. There was nothing in her eyes; they just stared at the camera like a rabbit caught in the headlights. It had been a great success, everyone said so, it all went perfectly and everyone had a wonderful time. People were talking about it for weeks afterwards. She looked at James, was he smiling? Oh yes he was smiling. And there was her father behind them doing a good impression of the Cheshire cat. As soon as the photos were over James and her father had wandered off, heads together, and had stayed that way for the rest of the day. There were a lot of her fathers’ business friends there and the reception had turned into a business meeting. She remembered that James hadn’t danced with her, not once. Every time she came over he had waved her away saying he would be with her later.
She sighed and gave a sad little smile as she put the photo back in its place; there was no need to take it with her.
She turned quickly and went into the kitchen. Glancing at her watch she decided it was time. She took the pale pink envelope from her pocket and propped it against the kettle. Her rings caught her eye. For days she had been tormenting herself over whether to keep then or leave them with the envelope. And if she kept them should she keep wearing them? They were beautiful, would have cost a fortune and most women would die for them. She decided to leave them were they where, she was still married after all. One day, maybe, she would take them off and give them back, but one day was a long was off.
Rowena March stood by the large French windows that led out from the kitchen into the vegetable garden at the back of Mulberry cottage. She lent her aching back against the solid frame and breathed in the cool spring air. Everything took longer on an Aga but she had always resisted advice to get more up to date. Today she was glad of the extra time it gave her. In her sitting room Molly and Eleanor were waiting for their tea and probably wondering why they had been asked there on a Tuesday rather than the usual Friday. Rowena had asked them because she had to tell them, but at that moment she still wasn’t sure how. She glanced over to the kettle, nearly. Turning back to the open window, she could see Frank bumping back to the farm on the old tractor. He would be coming in for his morning cuppa and she smiled as she watched him. Out to sea she could just make out a ship on the horizon and over head the gulls were screeching and shouting to each other, all around her life was going on as usual with no concern for her or the massive changes that were going to happen.
She realised that the kettle had been whistling for several seconds, the sound penetrated and brought her back. She moved across to the deep purple Aga and heaved the copper kettle over to the tea pot waiting on a tray already arranged on the kitchen table. As she poured the water she watched the steam rise and curl around the room, creep across the ceiling, fall back down and disappear. She had always taken as much pleasure in the little things. She loved finding the first violets of spring as much as buying a new painting for thousands of pounds. As time went by, as she got older, she found the little things became more and more important.
She took a firm hold of the tray and carefully made her way through to her waiting friends. Just before she entered the room she took a moment. She felt like some of the seagulls had left the sea and were circling around and inside her. At her age she thought she had had the last of such feelings, there could be no new experiences to be faced at seventy eight surely? It turned out there was, and she wanted to get it over with.
Standing at the door she told herself off. She had never been scared of anything in her life and she was dammed if she was going to start now. Pulling herself up straight se sent the gulls back out to sea where they belonged. Then she pushed the door open with her foot and greeted her friends with a large smile. She knew they had been talking about her by the way the two women suddenly fell silent. It wasn’t surprising. Tuesdays was not the day for tea and village gossip, and they had all been friends long enough to know when one of then needed the others.
She took the tray over to the little low table and unloaded it. There was still silence as she moved about the small room she knew they were watching her but she wasn’t going to say anything until she was ready. She poured the tea and handed it round, then she took her own seat, tucked the tray by the side of her overly large red velvet chair, and made herself comfortable.
‘I’m glad you could both come’ she said finally, breaking the silence.
‘We were wondering why you’d asked us. I mean it’s very nice of course.’ Molly said. She could bear it no longer and needed to say something. ‘We were saying that maybe you’d won the lottery.’ She gave a nervous little giggle which didn’t suit her, but which she always resorted to when she was unsure of what to say.
‘I know what it is.’ Eleanor said in her loud, dominant voice. ‘She’s found herself a man.’ She turned to Rowena. ‘You’ve decided that you had better settle down now you’re nearly eighty.’ She nudged Molly conspiratorially and gave Rowena an exaggerated wink. They all laughed, it had always been a joke between them and it lightened the atmosphere.
Rowena pulled her face back into a serious expression.
‘I’m afraid it’s a bit more serious than that.’ She finished her tea to give them all a chance to gather themselves. She knew she must tell them now before they started off on another subject which it would be impossible to get back from. And then the gossip would start and her chance would be gone completely.
Molly and Eleanor exchanged glances and settled their eyes back on their friend. They knew something was going on. They had been hoping it was something and nothing, now they were not so sure. Rowena took their silence to indicate their readiness to listen and decided it would be now or never, she took a deep breath.
‘Before I tell you anything I need you to promise that you will listen and not get excited and interrupt.’
‘If that’s what you want.’ Eleanor said, a little offended, she gave a shrug and leaned back in her chair. Molly didn’t say anything, just nodded and took another sip of her tea.
‘As you know I have been slowing up considerably recently’ Rowena began. ‘I know it’s not surprising at our age but I was getting those strange pains and they were getting more frequent. I know you’ve been nagging me so a few weeks ago I finally went to the doctor. He sent me to a specialist who sent me to another specialist. After a great deal of poking and prodding they finally decided what was wrong. It’s all too complicated to go into and I can’t pronounce a lot of the names but the upshot is I have only a few months left.’
Molly gave a funny little squeak and opened her mouth. Eleanor gave her ankle a kick and shook her head. Rowena paused in case anything was going to be said before going on.
‘They have given me about four months, maybe a little more. I am lucky enough to have the time to do the things I need to. And it is in this that I shall need your help.’ There she had said it. She gave an inner sigh of relief and sat back to wait for their reactions. It was one of the hardest things she had ever had to do and she would never forget the looks on their faces, but they were her closest friends and she couldn’t let them find out on the village grape vine.
‘Oh my dear.’ Eleanor whispered eventually. ‘Are you sure, are they sure?’ she knew it was a pointless question but she had to ask it.
‘Yes they are sure. I know it’s a shock for you, it was for me to, but I’ve had time to settle myself to it. Let’s face it I was never going to go on much longer; at least I’ve been given the chance to put things in order. Not many of us get to do that.’
‘Oh Row.’ was all Molly could manage before she burst into tears and had to dive into her handbag for a hankie. Eleanor leaned over and put a hand on her arm while she sat and sobbed quietly.
‘I’ll go and make a fresh pot.’ Rowena said. She got up and took the tea pot with her into the kitchen. It was best to leave them for a few minuets to absorb her news. For her it was no longer something new that had to be taken in and thought over and she felt guilty that her friends had to go through this. But what could she do? And she was luckier than most. She had had a wonderful life with no regrets, well not many, and she had been given the time to make her arrangements and say her goodbyes.
She went back to the windows while the kettle boiled. There was Frank bumping back to the fields. She smiled; life would carry on just as well with or without her.
In the sitting room things had clamed down. Eleanor was standing behind her chair looking out of the French windows and Molly had stopped crying, although she was still making the occasional whimper into her handkerchief.
‘Here we are.’ Rowena once again poured out the tea and handed it round. She gave them a reassuring smile.
‘So what do you want us to do?’ asked Eleanor.
Imogen picked up her coat and bag and gave a final glance around. It was a beautiful house, an estate agents dream straight out of ‘Homes and Gardens’. Everyone told her how lucky she was. If anything this had only made it worse. She was lucky, she knew she was. A lot of people would have done anything to be in her position at her age.
By the door she caught herself in the hall mirror. Outwardly she didn’t look that different from six years ago. There was the same pale complexion, the same long blonde hair, the same slim figure, the same clear blue eyes, but the sparkle had gone. Recently she had started to wonder if it was there in the first place. If there was it had been well and truly extinguished. The eyes that had looked back at her from the photo were not the same eyes that had looked at the world before James, and they were not the same eyes that looked back at her now. She put her hand up and touched her cheek, she may look the same but she was leaving as someone else, someone she didn’t know.
She turned away and opened the front door, slamming it firmly behind her. The car was waiting for her loaded with bags and boxes. She had been picturing this moment for weeks, ever since she had received the letter, but now it was here she didn’t feel the way she had expected. She wasn’t happy or excited or scared, just nervous at having to drive all that way on her own. She also felt a coward for waiting for James to be away before leaving. She should have told him properly. Instead she had waited until he had gone to New York. She shook her head and locked the door, then she turned and quickly posted the keys back through the letter box. The jangling thud they made on the mat made it final, she couldn’t get back in now even if she wanted to.
‘You know we’ll do everything we can.’ Molly sniffed and blew her nose. ‘I’ll organise a rota of people to come in and look after you.’
‘That’s very kind, but that’s not the kind of help I need. I’ll hire a nurse when the time comes. What I need you to do will come afterwards.’
‘Oh Row please don’t.’ Molly started to snivel again.
Rowena decided to leave her to it and turned to Eleanor.
‘What I would like you two to do is get the cottage ready for Gin, and look after her when she moves in.’
‘You’ve lost me dear.’ Eleanor frowned. ‘I don’t understand, why would Imogen be coming to live here?’
‘It’s really very simple.’ Rowena said. ‘I have, of course, made a will. In it I have left everything to Gin, well almost. She will get the cottage, car and most of the money. It will mean she can finally leave James.’ she said his name as if she was spitting out a nasty taste. “She should never have married him and now she can leave him.’
She was so matter of fact, so sure of what she was saying, that it took Molly and Eleanor aback.
‘Rowena! That’s dreadful.’ Molly was so shocked that she stopped snivelling and nearly chocked on her hankie. ‘You can’t do that!’
‘I must say I agree dear.’ Eleanor said more calmly. ‘What makes you think she will want to leave James?’
‘Oh please.’ Rowena snorted. ‘You know as well as I do that she should never have married him. And she wouldn’t have if it hadn’t been for that brother of mine. I have always been sure she didn’t want to get married; now she can do something about it.’
‘And…um…what if she doesn’t want to leave?’ Molly was almost afraid to ask.
‘I suppose if she really wants to stay with him then she will.’ Rowena said this as if the idea had never entered her head, which it hadn’t. ‘I haven’t made it a condition of the will.’ she paused and thought for a moment. ‘But I’m sure she will. And when she does she will need your help and support.’
‘I hate to be the one to bring it up.’ Eleanor said. ‘But what if she decides to only use it for holidays or even sell up. After all this isn’t everyone’s cup of tea is it?’ She waved her hand around to show she meant the location as well as the cottage.
‘She might do, but I very much doubt she would ever sell.’ Rowena said. ‘Even If she doesn’t move in this will be the first place she’ll come when she leaves.’
‘Oh Row.’ Molly sighed and sank back in her chair. It was no use arguing with Rowena when she had made her mind up.
‘Is that all you want us to do? ‘Eleanor asked, she too knew it was no use arguing.
‘No I want you to take charge of a bequest for Cherith. I want her to have any one item from the house, so long as Gin has no objections. However it must be what she wants, not what that greedy brother of mine thinks he can get the most money for. I have made it a condition of the will that Henry must not accompany her when she comes to choose, and that she must choose in person. Mr Pengellan says he will take care of it but we all know what a bully Henry can be. I want you to come with Cherith to make sure she is alone and takes what she wants.’
‘You leave him to me.’ Eleanor said fiercely. She had never liked Rowena’s younger brother, not since he had stopped Imogen from coming down to Cornwall in the holidays. She had seen how much pain it had caused Rowena and never forgave him. ‘Molly can mop up the blood.’ she smiled.
At the mention of her name Molly looked up. ‘Oh yes I’ll do whatever I can to help…I…well I just don’t think it’s very moral that’s all.’ She hadn’t been listening past the talk of Imogen and was thinking of the plans Rowena had for her niece.
‘Good God Molly!’ Rowena exclaimed. ‘At our age who the hell cares about being moral?’ And they all burst out laughing.
Chapter One
Imogen went in and out of each room once more. She had already been through them twice, but one last time couldn’t hurt. Looking around she took in the familiar smells. Her perfume, the sharp tang of James’ aftershave and a subtler, underlying sent of their own bodies.
Even though she had taken her things out of each room, everything that actually belonged to her, it was hard to see any change. The few bags and boxes that now sat in her car weren’t much to show for her twenty six years. The house looked just as it had done on the day she first came to live there six years ago. James hadn’t offered to change anything when she moved in, so she hadn’t asked. Over the years she had gotten used to his tastes, and his things had become familiar to her.
She stood in the sitting room watching the sun stream through the vast windows and dance on the carpet. The rays caught something on the mantle piece and made it glint. She turned to see what it was. The silver frame contained their wedding photo. Imogen went over to it, held it in her hand and ran her finger over the glass. Just look at us, she thought, it was clear even then, for anyone who chose to look.
That dress had cost a fortune, it had all cost a fortune. She looked at herself, the blushing bride, the happiest day of her life, all the old clichés, and she could see. There was nothing in her eyes; they just stared at the camera like a rabbit caught in the headlights. It had been a great success, everyone said so, it all went perfectly and everyone had a wonderful time. People were talking about it for weeks afterwards. She looked at James, was he smiling? Oh yes he was smiling. And there was her father behind them doing a good impression of the Cheshire cat. As soon as the photos were over James and her father had wandered off, heads together, and had stayed that way for the rest of the day. There were a lot of her fathers’ business friends there and the reception had turned into a business meeting. She remembered that James hadn’t danced with her, not once. Every time she came over he had waved her away saying he would be with her later.
She sighed and gave a sad little smile as she put the photo back in its place; there was no need to take it with her.
She turned quickly and went into the kitchen. Glancing at her watch she decided it was time. She took the pale pink envelope from her pocket and propped it against the kettle. Her rings caught her eye. For days she had been tormenting herself over whether to keep then or leave them with the envelope. And if she kept them should she keep wearing them? They were beautiful, would have cost a fortune and most women would die for them. She decided to leave them were they where, she was still married after all. One day, maybe, she would take them off and give them back, but one day was a long was off.
Rowena March stood by the large French windows that led out from the kitchen into the vegetable garden at the back of Mulberry cottage. She lent her aching back against the solid frame and breathed in the cool spring air. Everything took longer on an Aga but she had always resisted advice to get more up to date. Today she was glad of the extra time it gave her. In her sitting room Molly and Eleanor were waiting for their tea and probably wondering why they had been asked there on a Tuesday rather than the usual Friday. Rowena had asked them because she had to tell them, but at that moment she still wasn’t sure how. She glanced over to the kettle, nearly. Turning back to the open window, she could see Frank bumping back to the farm on the old tractor. He would be coming in for his morning cuppa and she smiled as she watched him. Out to sea she could just make out a ship on the horizon and over head the gulls were screeching and shouting to each other, all around her life was going on as usual with no concern for her or the massive changes that were going to happen.
She realised that the kettle had been whistling for several seconds, the sound penetrated and brought her back. She moved across to the deep purple Aga and heaved the copper kettle over to the tea pot waiting on a tray already arranged on the kitchen table. As she poured the water she watched the steam rise and curl around the room, creep across the ceiling, fall back down and disappear. She had always taken as much pleasure in the little things. She loved finding the first violets of spring as much as buying a new painting for thousands of pounds. As time went by, as she got older, she found the little things became more and more important.
She took a firm hold of the tray and carefully made her way through to her waiting friends. Just before she entered the room she took a moment. She felt like some of the seagulls had left the sea and were circling around and inside her. At her age she thought she had had the last of such feelings, there could be no new experiences to be faced at seventy eight surely? It turned out there was, and she wanted to get it over with.
Standing at the door she told herself off. She had never been scared of anything in her life and she was dammed if she was going to start now. Pulling herself up straight se sent the gulls back out to sea where they belonged. Then she pushed the door open with her foot and greeted her friends with a large smile. She knew they had been talking about her by the way the two women suddenly fell silent. It wasn’t surprising. Tuesdays was not the day for tea and village gossip, and they had all been friends long enough to know when one of then needed the others.
She took the tray over to the little low table and unloaded it. There was still silence as she moved about the small room she knew they were watching her but she wasn’t going to say anything until she was ready. She poured the tea and handed it round, then she took her own seat, tucked the tray by the side of her overly large red velvet chair, and made herself comfortable.
‘I’m glad you could both come’ she said finally, breaking the silence.
‘We were wondering why you’d asked us. I mean it’s very nice of course.’ Molly said. She could bear it no longer and needed to say something. ‘We were saying that maybe you’d won the lottery.’ She gave a nervous little giggle which didn’t suit her, but which she always resorted to when she was unsure of what to say.
‘I know what it is.’ Eleanor said in her loud, dominant voice. ‘She’s found herself a man.’ She turned to Rowena. ‘You’ve decided that you had better settle down now you’re nearly eighty.’ She nudged Molly conspiratorially and gave Rowena an exaggerated wink. They all laughed, it had always been a joke between them and it lightened the atmosphere.
Rowena pulled her face back into a serious expression.
‘I’m afraid it’s a bit more serious than that.’ She finished her tea to give them all a chance to gather themselves. She knew she must tell them now before they started off on another subject which it would be impossible to get back from. And then the gossip would start and her chance would be gone completely.
Molly and Eleanor exchanged glances and settled their eyes back on their friend. They knew something was going on. They had been hoping it was something and nothing, now they were not so sure. Rowena took their silence to indicate their readiness to listen and decided it would be now or never, she took a deep breath.
‘Before I tell you anything I need you to promise that you will listen and not get excited and interrupt.’
‘If that’s what you want.’ Eleanor said, a little offended, she gave a shrug and leaned back in her chair. Molly didn’t say anything, just nodded and took another sip of her tea.
‘As you know I have been slowing up considerably recently’ Rowena began. ‘I know it’s not surprising at our age but I was getting those strange pains and they were getting more frequent. I know you’ve been nagging me so a few weeks ago I finally went to the doctor. He sent me to a specialist who sent me to another specialist. After a great deal of poking and prodding they finally decided what was wrong. It’s all too complicated to go into and I can’t pronounce a lot of the names but the upshot is I have only a few months left.’
Molly gave a funny little squeak and opened her mouth. Eleanor gave her ankle a kick and shook her head. Rowena paused in case anything was going to be said before going on.
‘They have given me about four months, maybe a little more. I am lucky enough to have the time to do the things I need to. And it is in this that I shall need your help.’ There she had said it. She gave an inner sigh of relief and sat back to wait for their reactions. It was one of the hardest things she had ever had to do and she would never forget the looks on their faces, but they were her closest friends and she couldn’t let them find out on the village grape vine.
‘Oh my dear.’ Eleanor whispered eventually. ‘Are you sure, are they sure?’ she knew it was a pointless question but she had to ask it.
‘Yes they are sure. I know it’s a shock for you, it was for me to, but I’ve had time to settle myself to it. Let’s face it I was never going to go on much longer; at least I’ve been given the chance to put things in order. Not many of us get to do that.’
‘Oh Row.’ was all Molly could manage before she burst into tears and had to dive into her handbag for a hankie. Eleanor leaned over and put a hand on her arm while she sat and sobbed quietly.
‘I’ll go and make a fresh pot.’ Rowena said. She got up and took the tea pot with her into the kitchen. It was best to leave them for a few minuets to absorb her news. For her it was no longer something new that had to be taken in and thought over and she felt guilty that her friends had to go through this. But what could she do? And she was luckier than most. She had had a wonderful life with no regrets, well not many, and she had been given the time to make her arrangements and say her goodbyes.
She went back to the windows while the kettle boiled. There was Frank bumping back to the fields. She smiled; life would carry on just as well with or without her.
In the sitting room things had clamed down. Eleanor was standing behind her chair looking out of the French windows and Molly had stopped crying, although she was still making the occasional whimper into her handkerchief.
‘Here we are.’ Rowena once again poured out the tea and handed it round. She gave them a reassuring smile.
‘So what do you want us to do?’ asked Eleanor.
Imogen picked up her coat and bag and gave a final glance around. It was a beautiful house, an estate agents dream straight out of ‘Homes and Gardens’. Everyone told her how lucky she was. If anything this had only made it worse. She was lucky, she knew she was. A lot of people would have done anything to be in her position at her age.
By the door she caught herself in the hall mirror. Outwardly she didn’t look that different from six years ago. There was the same pale complexion, the same long blonde hair, the same slim figure, the same clear blue eyes, but the sparkle had gone. Recently she had started to wonder if it was there in the first place. If there was it had been well and truly extinguished. The eyes that had looked back at her from the photo were not the same eyes that had looked at the world before James, and they were not the same eyes that looked back at her now. She put her hand up and touched her cheek, she may look the same but she was leaving as someone else, someone she didn’t know.
She turned away and opened the front door, slamming it firmly behind her. The car was waiting for her loaded with bags and boxes. She had been picturing this moment for weeks, ever since she had received the letter, but now it was here she didn’t feel the way she had expected. She wasn’t happy or excited or scared, just nervous at having to drive all that way on her own. She also felt a coward for waiting for James to be away before leaving. She should have told him properly. Instead she had waited until he had gone to New York. She shook her head and locked the door, then she turned and quickly posted the keys back through the letter box. The jangling thud they made on the mat made it final, she couldn’t get back in now even if she wanted to.
‘You know we’ll do everything we can.’ Molly sniffed and blew her nose. ‘I’ll organise a rota of people to come in and look after you.’
‘That’s very kind, but that’s not the kind of help I need. I’ll hire a nurse when the time comes. What I need you to do will come afterwards.’
‘Oh Row please don’t.’ Molly started to snivel again.
Rowena decided to leave her to it and turned to Eleanor.
‘What I would like you two to do is get the cottage ready for Gin, and look after her when she moves in.’
‘You’ve lost me dear.’ Eleanor frowned. ‘I don’t understand, why would Imogen be coming to live here?’
‘It’s really very simple.’ Rowena said. ‘I have, of course, made a will. In it I have left everything to Gin, well almost. She will get the cottage, car and most of the money. It will mean she can finally leave James.’ she said his name as if she was spitting out a nasty taste. “She should never have married him and now she can leave him.’
She was so matter of fact, so sure of what she was saying, that it took Molly and Eleanor aback.
‘Rowena! That’s dreadful.’ Molly was so shocked that she stopped snivelling and nearly chocked on her hankie. ‘You can’t do that!’
‘I must say I agree dear.’ Eleanor said more calmly. ‘What makes you think she will want to leave James?’
‘Oh please.’ Rowena snorted. ‘You know as well as I do that she should never have married him. And she wouldn’t have if it hadn’t been for that brother of mine. I have always been sure she didn’t want to get married; now she can do something about it.’
‘And…um…what if she doesn’t want to leave?’ Molly was almost afraid to ask.
‘I suppose if she really wants to stay with him then she will.’ Rowena said this as if the idea had never entered her head, which it hadn’t. ‘I haven’t made it a condition of the will.’ she paused and thought for a moment. ‘But I’m sure she will. And when she does she will need your help and support.’
‘I hate to be the one to bring it up.’ Eleanor said. ‘But what if she decides to only use it for holidays or even sell up. After all this isn’t everyone’s cup of tea is it?’ She waved her hand around to show she meant the location as well as the cottage.
‘She might do, but I very much doubt she would ever sell.’ Rowena said. ‘Even If she doesn’t move in this will be the first place she’ll come when she leaves.’
‘Oh Row.’ Molly sighed and sank back in her chair. It was no use arguing with Rowena when she had made her mind up.
‘Is that all you want us to do? ‘Eleanor asked, she too knew it was no use arguing.
‘No I want you to take charge of a bequest for Cherith. I want her to have any one item from the house, so long as Gin has no objections. However it must be what she wants, not what that greedy brother of mine thinks he can get the most money for. I have made it a condition of the will that Henry must not accompany her when she comes to choose, and that she must choose in person. Mr Pengellan says he will take care of it but we all know what a bully Henry can be. I want you to come with Cherith to make sure she is alone and takes what she wants.’
‘You leave him to me.’ Eleanor said fiercely. She had never liked Rowena’s younger brother, not since he had stopped Imogen from coming down to Cornwall in the holidays. She had seen how much pain it had caused Rowena and never forgave him. ‘Molly can mop up the blood.’ she smiled.
At the mention of her name Molly looked up. ‘Oh yes I’ll do whatever I can to help…I…well I just don’t think it’s very moral that’s all.’ She hadn’t been listening past the talk of Imogen and was thinking of the plans Rowena had for her niece.
‘Good God Molly!’ Rowena exclaimed. ‘At our age who the hell cares about being moral?’ And they all burst out laughing.
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