Victoria Connelly - The Rose Girl Page 8

  The sisters were walking down the path now, stopping every so often to admire a new rose or to check leaves for black spot.

  ‘I mean, you must have thought about it before, Gertie,’ Celeste said after a moment.

  ‘Thought about what?’

  ‘About selling up.’

  Gertie looked out across a stretch of lawn but she didn’t seem to be looking at the scene before her.

  ‘Gertie?’ Celeste prodded. ‘Have you?’

  She took a deep breath. ‘Evie would kill me if she knew this, but I have, actually.’

  Celeste nodded. ‘I thought you must have. Remember all those dreams you used to have about travelling around the great gardens of the world and seeing all the beautiful palaces and castles?’

  Gertie gave a little smile. ‘I still have those dreams.’

  ‘But they don’t need to remain dreams,’ Celeste said. ‘If we sold the manor, we’d all be free to do exactly what we wanted. I know, up until now, you’ve been tied up with the job and Mum, but that doesn’t need to be the case anymore.’

  ‘I can’t just leave, though,’ Gertie said. ‘Even if we all agreed to sell the manor – and I’m not entirely convinced that’s the right decision – we’d still have to keep the business going, wouldn’t we? You’re not suggesting we sell that too, are you?’ Gertie’s face had paled.

  ‘No, of course not,’ Celeste said. ‘But it would be nice to have a few more options open to us, wouldn’t it? If we sold, we could move to a much smaller premises and there’d be money left over to employ more staff so we wouldn’t be so tied to the business. Just think about that for a moment.’ Celeste could tell by the look on her sister’s face that she was, indeed, thinking about it. Celeste had been thinking about it too. When she’d first arrived back at the manor, she’d been quite determined to do her job as quickly as possible and then leave it all behind her, but she’d slowly found herself becoming immersed in her old role again – a role that was evolving and that she was beginning to have second thoughts about. Could she really give it up again? She wasn’t at all sure.

  ‘Evie would never agree to it,’ Gertie said, bringing Celeste back to the present.

  ‘She’d have to if it was two against one,’ Celeste said and she saw Gertie’s eyes widen at the suggestion.

  ‘Please don’t put me in that position,’ she said. ‘I don’t want to be the one with the casting vote. I really don’t.’

  Celeste tucked her hair behind her ears. ‘I’m not going to make a decision today, okay? I just want you to think about things. Will you promise me you’ll at least think about them?’

  Gertie looked at her as if she didn’t quite trust her. ‘I know you, Celly. I know what you’re like when you make a decision.’

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ Celeste said, immediately on the defensive.

  ‘It means that you charge right ahead once you’ve got an idea in your head, just like when you left home to marry Liam.’

  ‘Oh, come on,’ Celeste said, her hands on her hips. ‘That was a long time coming. Nobody can accuse me of running away from home at the first hurdle I met with.’

  ‘I know you didn’t,’ Gertie said, ‘and nobody blames you for what you did. All I’m saying is that you’ve got that same look about you now – that resolute look that I think is going to knock us all flat if we try and stand in your way.’

  Celeste shook her head. ‘You really think that of me? You honestly think I won’t listen to you and Evie?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Gertie said honestly, ‘but I know how you feel about this place. It doesn’t have the same hold on you as it does Evie and me. It means something different to you, doesn’t it? And I wish it didn’t.’

  Celeste closed her eyes for a moment as if that could make everything fade away into oblivion. And then an image surfaced and a tiny smile found its way onto her face.

  ‘What is it?’ Gertie asked.

  ‘Remember the day Grandpa came home with the Jean-Louis Cassell painting?’

  Gertie nodded. ‘He’d wrapped it up in pink tissue paper. There were layers and layers of it, weren’t there?’

  ‘It was like Christmas, wasn’t it?’

  ‘And I used to love him telling us about that auction where he’d bought the Fantin-Latour,’ Gertie said.

  ‘With him bidding against some old eccentric who was sitting at the back under a huge hat?’

  ‘Yes!’ Gertie said with a laugh. ‘And the bidding went on for hours, Grandpa said.’

  ‘He used to tell us that they had to stop for lunch in the middle of the bidding just so that they could keep their strength up, and then they’d resume bidding afterwards,’ Celeste said and she was laughing too.

  ‘He was such a storyteller,’ Gertie said, pausing to inspect a bloom on a rich pink Madame Isaac Pereire.

  ‘You’ll have to support those stems,’ Celeste said and Gertie nodded.

  They paused and gazed across the lawns towards the rose beds. There were tiny touches of colour everywhere, from the purest white to the deepest red, full of promise for the summer ahead.

  ‘Do you think Grandpa would be hurt by us selling the paintings?’ Gertie said.

  It was a question that Celeste hadn’t wanted to ask. ‘He wouldn’t want us to live in a house with no roof,’ she said, skilfully avoiding the issue.

  ‘I suppose not,’ Gertie said.

  ‘I’m sure he’d understand,’ Celeste said.

  ‘But he might not be quite so understanding about you wanting to sell the house.’

  Celeste took a moment to lean forward and inspect the wonderfully striped bud of Honorine de Brabant. It was resplendent in fuchsia and shell-pink stripes – warm and cool all at once. It was one of her favourite roses, and she adored the name Honorine de Brabant. So beautiful. So romantic. She wondered if Grandma or Mum had been tempted to name one of their daughters Honorine. She could have been Honorine Hamilton, Celeste thought. But maybe she would save the name for a daughter of her own one day.

  All thoughts of finances were forgotten as she gazed at the perfect bud. That was the effect roses had on you – they filled your head with beauty so that there was little room for anything else – but the dreamy concentration soon faded.

  ‘Nothing’s going to be easy,’ Celeste said as they left the beautiful Bourbon rose and continued on down the path. ‘I’m really going to need your support in all this, Gertie.’

  ‘I know,’ Gertie said, ‘and I’ll do everything I can to help, but don’t put me in the middle of you and Evie, okay? You’ve got to be really careful how you handle all this.’

  ‘I know,’ Celeste said.

  ‘Because I’m not sure how many losses Evie can cope with all at once,’ Gertie said. ‘So, are you going to see Esther Martin?’

  ‘I’m going to do that this afternoon,’ she said.’ Might as well do all the awful things in one day and get them over and done with.’

  ‘Do you want me to come with you?’ Gertie asked.

  Celeste shook her head. ‘I think it’s probably best if there’s just one of us for her to contend with.’

  ‘And you’re sure you’re the right one?’

  ‘What you mean?’ Celeste asked with a frown.

  ‘Well, she always saw you as the child that her daughter never had.’

  ‘Oh, that’s ridiculous!’ Celeste said. ‘Our father wasn’t interested in Sally. That’s what Mum told us.’

  ‘But Esther still holds a grudge all the same,’ Gertie said. ‘She still blames all of us for her daughter’s death.’

  ‘Then it’s about time that we sorted things out once and for all,’ Celeste said.

  Gertie took a deep breath. ‘Rather you than me,’ she said.

  The Lodge was a sweet little building on the edge of the estate, almost perfectly round and made of brick and flint with tiny windows that winked in the afternoon light. To the front was a small garden stuffed with roses that had been given to Esther from the H
amilton collection, and Celeste recognised a few that were beginning to open. There were three well-established Constable bushes that would blaze fabulous crimson blooms in the next week or two, and several Summer Blush bushes lining the path to the front door, their pink buds about to unfurl. But Celeste tried not to let herself be distracted by roses. She had business here and had to get on with it, so she approached the black wooden door and knocked.

  ‘Who is it?’ a voice said a moment later.

  ‘Esther? It’s Celeste. Celeste Hamilton.’

  ‘Who?’ the old voice croaked on the other side of the door.

  ‘Penelope’s daughter.’

  ‘Penelope died.’

  ‘I know, but I’m her daughter and I’m very much alive and I’d really like to talk to you. Can I come in, please?’

  Celeste heard a chain rattle and, finally, the door was open and the small slight figure of Esther Martin greeted her. She had white shoulder-length hair and her eyes were a pale blue, but she wasn’t smiling. She did a half shuffle away from the door and Celeste assumed that that was her invitation to come inside.

  The tiny hallway housed a large full-length mirror and an umbrella stand with three walking sticks inside and no umbrellas. Celeste followed Esther through to the living room at the front of the house. It was a charming room with a large fireplace and plenty of light streaming in through a bay window. A brass carriage clock sat on the mantelpiece surrounded by porcelain figurines of women in ball gowns but Celeste could see that each one was covered in a thick layer of dust.

  ‘So, you’re the eldest, are you?’ Esther said as she sat down in a winged armchair by the fireplace.

  ‘I’m Celeste,’ she said, sitting down opposite her even though she hadn’t been invited to do so.

  ‘I haven’t seen your sisters for years,’ Esther said.

  ‘Don’t Gertrude or Evelyn visit?’ Celeste asked in shock.

  ‘Oh, they visit but I don’t let them in.’

  Celeste frowned. ‘Why not?’

  ‘What have they got to say that I could possibly want to listen to?’

  Celeste bit her lip. This wasn’t going well.

  ‘Of course, I find the occasional Victoria sandwich on the doorstep,’ Esther went on.

  ‘That’ll be from Gertie. She’s a fabulous cook.’

  ‘My Sally was a fabulous cook,’ she said solemnly, her icy blue eyes seeming to pin Celeste to her chair.

  ‘Esther,’ she began, clearing her throat, ‘don’t you get lonely living here?’

  She shook her head. ‘No, I don’t,’ she said abruptly.

  ‘Wouldn’t you like somebody to keep an eye on you?’

  She shook her head again.

  There was no other way for it – Celeste just had to come out with it. ‘If you lived up at the house with us, things would be a lot simpler. You wouldn’t have to worry about looking after this place and you wouldn’t have any bills to worry about either.’

  ‘You’ve not come here to take care of me,’ Esther said, her eyes fixed unnervingly on Celeste. ‘You’ve come here because you want me out, haven’t you?’

  Celeste swallowed hard. ‘We need to rent this place out, Esther. The manor needs a constant source of income and we just haven’t got it.’

  ‘That’s not my problem,’ Esther said, her mouth a thin straight line of defiance.

  ‘It would be if we had to sell up,’ Celeste told her.

  There was a dreadful pause and then Esther said, ‘Your grandfather promised me a home –’

  ‘And you’ll have a home,’ Celeste said. ‘Nobody’s throwing you out. We just need to move you, that’s all.’

  The two women stared at one another as if willing the other to back down.

  ‘I really wouldn’t ask you this if there was any other way,’ Celeste said calmly, thinking that she’d better not dare mention her idea of selling the manor at this stage. It seemed best to take things one small step at a time.

  Esther gazed down at the swirling patterned carpet beneath her feet and then looked up at Celeste again.

  ‘You want me to move into that big old house with you and your sisters?’

  ‘Yes,’ Celeste said.

  ‘You’ve got some nerve, I’ll give you that.’

  ‘I’m afraid there’s no way around it,’ Celeste said. ‘We really don’t have much choice.’

  Esther’s eyes lowered to her lap where her tiny hands lay cupped in each other. The knuckles looked large and swollen and they were terribly pale. Celeste swallowed hard. She was asking this old woman to give up her comfortable cottage for a place in a draughty old manor house whose ceilings were collapsing.

  ‘And where are you thinking of putting me exactly?’ Esther asked.

  ‘There’s a lovely guest bedroom with an en suite on the ground floor. It overlooks the rose garden and gets full sunshine all morning,’ Celeste told her.

  ‘What about meals?’

  ‘There’s plenty of room in our kitchen and you’d be welcome to join us or make your own arrangements.’

  Silence descended again and Celeste watched Esther’s fingers twisting themselves around each other. She saw a large ruby ring on her left hand. She hadn’t ever known much about Esther’s husband, but he had died years ago and Esther had been a widow for a long time.

  ‘I’m not making a decision now,’ Esther suddenly said.

  ‘Of course not,’ Celeste said as she got up to leave. ‘You need to think about this.’

  Esther got up from her chair and followed Celeste into the hall.

  ‘I’m so sorry to have sprung this on you, Esther. I really do wish there was some other way of working things out.’

  ‘Like me dropping down dead?’ Esther said, her pale blue eyes mercilessly fixed on Celeste again. ‘That would be handy for you, wouldn’t it?’

  ‘Please don’t say things like that,’ Celeste said, opening the door and walking outside.

  There was another pause and Celeste tried desperately to think of something kind and placating to say but Esther spoke first.

  ‘You’re just like your mother,’ she said before slamming the front door.

  It was, perhaps, the very worst thing anybody could say to Celeste.

  10.

  A full week after his first visit to Little Eleigh Manor, Julian Faraday returned. Celeste heard his MG pulling up outside the house and, putting down her paperwork, walked to the window of the study to watch him. He wasn’t wearing a suit today. Instead, he was wearing a pair of blue jeans and a white shirt over which he sported a sky-blue waistcoat. Celeste did a double take. She’d never seen a man wearing a waistcoat outside of a clothes catalogue and couldn’t help but smile at the sight.

  She shook her head, feeling strangely disloyal towards the house for having thoughts about the man who was there to take away their beloved paintings. She might well have asked him to do just that but she couldn’t help begrudging him all the same.

  ‘Stay there, Frinton,’ she told her dog as she left the study, tucking her hair behind her ears. She crossed the hallway and opened the front door to a smiling face.

  ‘Thank you for coming, Mr Faraday,’ she said.

  ‘Please, call me Julian,’ he replied, reaching out to shake the hand that Celeste hadn’t yet offered him.

  She gave an anxious smile and held her hand out, and he shook it.

  ‘Not so cold today,’ he said.

  ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘Your hand,’ he said. ‘It was cold last time.’

  ‘Was it?’ she asked in surprise.

  He nodded. ‘But not so cold today.’

  ‘Oh, right,’ she said, quickly removing her hand from his and leading him through to the living room.

  As soon as he entered the room, Julian walked over to the Fantin-Latour. ‘So, you’ve decided to sell all the paintings?’

  ‘All of the rose paintings, yes,’ she said. ‘We just can’t afford to keep them – not when they’re worth s
o much and we have so little to keep the house going.’

  He nodded. ‘I’m sure it’s been a difficult decision to make but perhaps it is the best one.’

  Celeste took a deep breath. ‘I think it is,’ she said. ‘I’ve cleared the desk for you in the study.’

  ‘Thank you. I have a bit of paperwork and then we can take care of the paintings.’

  She led him through to the study and, as soon as the doors opened, Frinton leapt up from his little wicker basket and tore headlong towards Julian, his bark shrill and full of enthusiasm.

  ‘Whoa there, little buddy!’ Julian said, bending down to stroke the soft chestnut and white head. ‘Who’s this, then?’

  ‘That’s Frinton,’ Celeste said, ‘who should be in his basket.’ She pointed a finger in the direction of the basket and Frinton slunk back towards it.

  ‘He’s adorable,’ Julian said. ‘We used to have a Jack Russell when I was boy. I’ve never known a dog so full of mischief.’

  ‘I think all terriers have some sort of mischief gene,’ Celeste said.

  Julian laughed. ‘You could be right there.’

  ‘Can I get you a cup of tea?’

  ‘That would be most kind,’ he said and she left the room, returning a few minutes later with a small tray. She watched as he added a splash of milk and took a sip and then got down to work.

  ‘You said your grandfather bought a rose painting each time one of your family’s roses did well,’ he said as he examined the Jean-Louis Cassell.

  ‘That’s right,’ Celeste said, looking at the painting fondly. ‘I was just talking to Gertie about this one. Grandpa brought it home all wrapped up in pink tissue paper and Grandma was taking great care to unwrap it gently. She didn’t want to make a mess of the paper and Grandpa was getting more and more frustrated with how long she was taking. “Just rip it, woman!” he shouted. We were all laughing so much and then we saw the painting and we were all stunned into silence. It was so beautiful.’ Celeste paused, remembering the moment as if it was yesterday, her eyes moistening with tears so that the image of the white roses in the painting blurred.

  ‘You okay?’ Julian asked.