by Caragh Bell
‘What?’ The little girl put her hand to her mouth. Surely not. Surely they wouldn’t separate her from Maggie.
‘She would hate city life,’ he pressed on. ‘It’s best that she stays here.’
‘Forget about the maid, what about our house?’ asked George in annoyance.
‘But I can’t leave her,’ Aurora gasped, her eyes filling with tears. ‘She’s old now. Who will look after her?’ A new realisation dawned. ‘Oh, what about Freddie? I forgot about him. He’s my best friend, Daddy. I can’t just leave.’ She got to her feet and clutched her hair, the panic rising up within her in waves. ‘I won’t go. I won’t go!’ She began to scream at the top of her lungs.
James put his arm around her small shoulders. ‘Hey, Borealis, you can visit. It’s not forever. This is for the best.’ He rubbed her hair soothingly. ‘Don’t be upset, please.’
‘I can’t leave. I can’t leave!’ She was openly crying now, big tears streaming down her face.
Henry looked on helplessly. He hadn’t realised the impact this information would have. Gloria had said that children were adaptable. He had expected her to be slightly upset, yes, but certainly not this outburst.
James picked her up easily in his arms. ‘I’m taking her to the kitchen,’ he declared grimly as she showed no sign of calming down.
The door banged shut.
George turned to Henry. ‘Now, what about our house?’ His roar reverberated around the room. ‘How dare you seat your sons here amongst these people without warning? There are legalities and a certain protocol. I’m fed up of your childish whims and ridiculous behaviour. Are you planning to sell, is that it? Sell up and split the money between your gold-digger of a wife and her army of brats?’
There was a shocked silence. Sebastian stood up and joined his brother. The battle lines had been drawn. They stared at their father mutinously.
‘Boys, we can discuss this later,’ began Henry, flustered. ‘Please don’t raise your voices in front of the children.’
‘We will discuss this now,’ corrected George. ‘Gloria should know what’s what. She will not be entitled to any of our mother’s estate in the event of your death. We need to be clear about this.’
‘Nor will she have a claim to this house,’ added Sebastian nastily. ‘I think it’s high time you signed it over to us. Go and play happy families in suburbia for all I care, but leave the Sinclair heritage to true Sinclairs.’
Henry ran his fingers through his hair, clearly mortified.
Laura, incensed at the ‘gold-digger’ comment, sprang out of her chair.
‘You two are just hateful!’ she shouted, her cheeks red with rage. ‘How dare you insinuate that my mother is after Henry’s money?We’re quite well off ourselves and we certainly don’t want a stake in this dump!’
William pulled her back. ‘Chill, Laura. Stay out of it.’
‘I will not!’ she fumed, her eyes flashing. ‘These two are completely out of order, Will.’
‘Enough, Laura,’ said Gloria calmly. ‘I’ll handle this.’ She stood up and straightened her blouse. Her blue eyes narrowed and she raised her chin. ‘I appreciate your concerns, George and Sebastian. It has all been noted. I am one hundred per cent behind a legal document being drawn up safeguarding your inheritance.’
George looked at his brother in confusion.
‘I married your father because I love him,’ she continued. ‘Not for his house and certainly not for his money. There will be no biological children between us so you’re quite safe, I’d expect. There will be no claim from our side when the time comes.’
Cressida watched the older woman with wide eyes. Her voice remained steady and she exuded serenity. It was the perfect antidote to the outburst minutes earlier.
‘This had been a huge shock for you, but you must realise that your father is a grown man and may behave how he pleases. Marrying a “gold-digger” may seem utterly abhorrent to you but he’s entitled to do that if he so wishes. But it’s fortunate that that is not the case.’ She stared at them coldly. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me, I want to pack my things. We have outstayed our welcome.’
‘Gloria!’ protested Henry, flummoxed. ‘Please don’t leave. I want them to leave instead.’
She shook her head. ‘No, Henry. We have done what we came to do. It’s time for a new beginning.’ She turned to Laura and William. ‘Pack up your things, kids. We are leaving in an hour.’
Laura couldn’t mask her glee. William pulled himself up with supreme effort. He just wanted to go back to bed. This was officially his first hangover. Stuart Barnes at school had experienced three in his lifetime. His description in the school canteen had been inaccurate, by all accounts. It felt like absolute hell.
George and Sebastian watched Gloria’s back as she exited the drawing room. They glanced at each other and self-satisfied smiles played on their lips. Who would have thought that the old bird would be quite so malleable? The fight they had expected had not come to fruition. Sebastian winked at his older brother and smirked.
Henry stalked out the other door and slammed it loudly. Climbing the stairs, he barged into his room to find Gloria folding her dress from the night before.
‘I’m ever so sorry,’ he apologised, hanging his head. ‘There’s no excuse at all.’
She held out her arms. ‘Come here,’ she requested, smiling. ‘Money doesn’t matter. All I want is you, do you understand? They’re naturally worried as I’m a threat to them. Let’s just move on.’
He buried his head in her shoulder. ‘You’re the light of my life,’ he murmured. ‘Thank you for saving me.’
Chapter Thirteen
Aurora drew a moon shape in the wet sand with a stick. The water was grey and churning and the easterly wind whipping past them made their ears sting with the cold. James was sitting on the sand next to her in silence. He knew that she was desperately trying to process the news.
‘I guess it won’t be so bad,’ she said softly, a big fat tear rolling down her cheek. ‘I’m supposed to go to boarding school next year anyway.’
‘Boarding school?’ James started. ‘Are you serious? He’ll hardly send you now.’
‘Oh, he will,’ she said sadly. ‘He put my name down when I was born.’ She sighed glumly. ‘Maybe it will be fun. Maybe I’ll be like Harry Potter and put into a cool common room.’
James stared at the sea for a moment. He would have to nip that in the bud right away. Was Henry completely bonkers? He was planning to send away a small girl to school after her lonely childhood. Laura went to the local Catholic school; it wasn’t a posh private boarding school, but it had a great reputation. He could see Aurora fitting in quite nicely. She could join the hockey team and perform in the Christmas play.
‘I’ll have a chat to him,’ he announced determinedly. ‘Everything has changed now, Borealis. He’s not the only one who’ll have to adapt.’ Noticing her gloomy countenance, he nudged her playfully. ‘Let’s think of all the good things about you becoming a city slicker.’
Aurora sighed. ‘I can’t think.’
‘Right – you’ll have a TV in the sitting room for a start.’
‘I suppose.’
‘You’ll have a sister.’
Aurora made a face. ‘She’s very bossy.’
‘Yes,’ agreed James, laughing, ‘but she has a heart of gold. Her outburst earlier wasn’t directed at you, Borealis. Underneath all that grown-up exterior, Laura is only a child.’
Aurora said nothing.
‘You’ll have lots of friends your own age and weekly shopping trips into town.’
‘I’ve no money,’ she said dolefully.
‘Then earn it,’ he suggested, tickling her. ‘Earn some pocket money. Do some chores around the house.’
‘Chores?’ she repeated. ‘Whatever do you mean?’
‘Sort the laundry and empty the dishwasher, that sort of thing.’
‘Dishwasher?’
‘We have a machine that washes di
shes,’ he said with a laugh. ‘Not a Maggie, like you.’
‘Oh, I remember seeing it at Christmas time!’
‘So, there you are, Princess Aurora. Earn some money and then blow it all in the shops like other teenagers.’
‘I’m only ten.’
He made a face. ‘You’re being impossible. Now, cheer up. There’s far worse going on in the world.’
She sighed. ‘I suppose.’
‘No more moping. We should go back. The others will be worried.’ He stood up and brushed the sand from his trousers. ‘Race you to the cliff.’
‘Okay,’ she conceded, getting to her feet. ‘I’d like to go somewhere first. Will you come with me?’
‘If you like.’ James frowned. ‘Are you going to tell me where?’
She shook her head sadly. ‘Just follow me.’
The gravestone was large and imposing, made of white marble with pillars on the sides. It stood amongst generations of Sinclair ancestors in the small graveyard adjacent to the chapel on the grounds of the estate. Carved into its face were the words:
Grace Molloy Sinclair
1968-1993
Requiescat In Pace
Aurora knelt down and pulled some stray blades of grass from the base of the stone. They marred its pristine appearance, making it seem unkempt with their sporadic clusters. She threw them to the side and they scattered in the lively breeze. The tiny pebbles strewn on the ground were white like the headstone and they hurt her knees as she knelt down. Maggie always warned her not to stand on the actual grave as she claimed that it was disrespectful. Aurora didn’t agree. This was her mother; she knew in her heart that she wouldn’t mind.
She traced Grace’s name with her forefinger and then she reached out and rubbed the marble lovingly.
‘Aurora Grace – that’s my name, you know,’ she said.
‘It’s beautiful,’ said James. ‘Truly beautiful. Suits you.’
She smiled at him and pointed to a blood-red rose by the headstone. ‘See that rose? Daddy leaves it every year. She loved roses. Maggie told me.’
Henry had once told her that he had given Grace a dozen red roses after every performance until she agreed to have dinner with him. The rose was a symbol of love and beauty and he felt it was the perfect floral representation of her mother.
James put his hand on her shoulder. ‘Why did you bring me here, Borealis?’ he asked softly, his dark eyes filled with compassion.
Aurora sighed. ‘She died on my birthday. I always visit her on New Year’s Day.’
‘Of course,’ he said hurriedly, kicking himself. ‘How crass of me. I didn’t think.’
He stood back and let Aurora have a moment. Her long hair flowed down her back and her small frame was hunched as she knelt there. There was complete silence in the little enclosure. The only sound was the whistling wind as it whipped past them.
She wrapped her arms around her waist protectively. ‘I suppose I wanted to tell her that I’ll be moving away. I wanted to say that I won’t be gone forever. That I’ll come back and visit as much as I can.’
‘I’m sure she knows,’ he comforted. ‘She knows everything that you do, I’m sure of it.’
‘Daddy never speaks of her. I don’t know anything about her.’
He rubbed her shoulder. ‘It’s probably painful for him.’
‘But I want to know what she was like. I have no memories.’
‘Maybe when you’re older you’ll find out more.’
‘Will you bring me back here?’ she pleaded, turning to face him. ‘I can’t come by myself. Will you bring me back?’ Her brown eyes filled with tears. ‘I don’t want to forget, James. I don’t want to forget.’
She started to cry and he pulled her close, rubbing her hair rhythmically.
‘Of course I will,’ he murmured. ‘Anything you want, anything you want.’
Aurora let him hold her and closed her eyes. Everything she knew was about to change. Soon she would be living in a new house and have new friends. Her father was happy; anyone could see that. She was glad that he had found Gloria. She was perfect for him. It was just so hard to leave her home; it was the only link she had with her mother.
Pulling herself together, she rubbed her eyes and sat up straight. James looked at her in concern. Her pale cheeks were blotched with red and her nose was streaming.
‘We should go back,’ she said in an unsteady voice. ‘Maggie will have tea ready.’ Her heart felt heavy as she twisted her body around to stand up. She glanced at her mother’s headstone again and made a silent promise. She would never be too far away; she would never abandon her.
He held out his hand. ‘Come on then. I want at least two helpings of pie before I have to drive to London.’
She grasped his hand tightly and they walked away, her hair blowing in the breeze.
Maggie sat at the kitchen table, lost in memories. Henry had called her up to the drawing room to relate the news of their departure. She had been expecting something like this to happen, but it had still knocked her for six.
She remembered holding Aurora in her arms when she was a tiny baby. She would nuzzle into her breast, searching for milk and Maggie would chuckle. ‘I don’t ’ave no milk, little ’un,’ she would say, holding her close. Instead she would fill a bottle of formula and heat it gently on the Aga, singing Cornish folksongs to the squirming baby as they waited.
She remembered Aurora’s first steps when the little girl had been around thirteen months. One day she had let go of the kitchen chair and toddled unsteadily over to the dog’s basket by the back door. Maggie had clapped loudly, singing her praises, and the little girl had beamed and clapped too, delighted with herself. Her dark curls bounced as she grew more adept at walking upright and soon she was up and down the great staircase at speed, causing Maggie’s heart to jump.
She had been six years old when she had asked about Grace. Maggie had learned later that Freddie had been talking about his mother, Mary, earlier in the day and Aurora had asked him if Maggie was her mother. ‘Oh, no,’ he had answered. ‘Your mother’s dead.’
‘What’s dead, Maggie?’ Aurora had asked later as they were walking through the apple trees on the south side of the estate.
‘Do you remember Zeus the dog?’ the old lady explained. ‘Do you remember ’ee left us and never came back?’
‘Yes,’ she answered.
‘Well, your mother did the same,’ finished Maggie. ‘She ’ad to go but I know she watches over you.’
‘But why did she have to go, Maggie? I don’t understand.’
‘I don’t understand either, my lovely. Sometimes God wants people around ’im. He wanted Grace to sing for ’im, I reckon.’
Aurora had accepted this explanation but there was many a day that Maggie found her sitting beneath her mother’s portrait, staring up at the woman she had never met.
The kitchen door slammed and James strode into the room with Aurora in hot pursuit. Maggie wiped the tears from her eyes and stood up, a broad smile plastered on her face. She would have to be strong. She could not let her darling girl see her sadness.
‘Hello, Maggie,’ said Aurora, her cheeks pink from the wind.
‘You look frozen, you do.’ She gestured to Aurora to come close for a hug. Pulling the little girl into her arms, she squeezed her tightly. ‘Are you ’ungry, little ’un?’
Aurora shook her head. ‘I’m fine.’
‘Coffee, Master James?’ Maggie offered, releasing Aurora from her embrace.
‘I’ll make it,’ he answered cheerfully. ‘Sit down and rest your back.’
‘You’re real kind, you are.’ She regarded him fondly. ‘After all that walkin’ you must be ’ungry. Would you like some pie?’
‘You read my mind, Maggie.’
‘I’ll just get the pie, I will.’ She got to her feet and opened the Aga. Using a thick tea towel, she heaved out a large pie. The pastry was golden and the apples had caramelised around the edge of the dish. ‘Now, Mast
er James, would you like some with custard?’
James blew her a kiss. ‘Absolutely. I’ve been looking forward to it all morning.’
The Dixons left two hours later. Aurora watched James’ Golf disappear down the road with mixed feelings. It didn’t feel like the end, it felt like the beginning. Soon she would be part of that family, living in their house and abiding by their rules. She would no longer have free rein of the beach or the cliffs. Instead, she would be surrounded by concrete and traffic. James had winked at her before leaving, whispering that he would convince Henry not to send her away. It didn’t matter to her any more. Perhaps boarding school would be the answer. A fresh start: away from everyone else.
She wandered into her father’s study to find him ranting on the phone. His desk was as disorganised as ever: papers were thrown in messy piles around his computer and empty coffee cups lined the edge.
‘Good Lord, Gordon, how could you have been so stupid?’ he raged. ‘Now it will be plastered all over the papers.’
Aurora sat on the leather chair by the signed print of Portrait of George Dyer Talking by Francis Bacon. She didn’t really understand the funny-looking person in it, but she liked the pink and purple colours. Her father knew this painter quite well and often talked about him. She remembered telling Freddie about his surname: Bacon. They had laughed and laughed when Freddie had said, ‘Imagine if I were called that in my line of work, Sinclair? Freddie Bacon, the pig farmer.’
She watched her father pace the room.
‘I don’t care how charming she was. All journalists are guttersnipes. Everyone knows that. She bought you a double gin? My word, it doesn’t take much to buy you!’
He hung up the phone a minute later, running his fingers through his grey hair in frustration. His blue eyes looked troubled as he resumed his seat by his desk.
‘What’s the matter, Daddy?’ Aurora traced the embroidery on the arm of the chair she was perched on with her finger.
‘Your bloody uncle has gone off and told the papers about my marriage.’