Once that conundrum was solved, life at Tenley continued as it always had done with a stream of guests, foreign holidays and jollies in Cornwall. The only blip was Dolly’s tragic death which knocked Georgie for six and exposed her fragility and in some ways, set off a chain of events that reverberated through the halls and walls at Tenley.
Dolly had been dead for five days before she was discovered in her flat at their Kensington house, and this fact alone distressed Georgie as much as her demise. Whilst they were up in Scotland having a ball, quite literally, at the castle of one of Kenneth’s old school chums, dearest Dolly had taken a fall and unable to reach the telephone, had suffered a lonely and painful end. Grief stricken and riddled with guilt at not ringing Dolly more often, Georgie insisted she was brought to Tenley and buried in the village churchyard.
After the funeral, Georgie didn’t bounce back, and her swift descent into depression rocked the household who were used to a tour de force, not a damp squib who remained in her room for over a month, smoking and drinking herself into oblivion. During this time, Sandy savoured the opportunity to sail the ship, becoming everything to everyone, especially Vanessa who, after a time, became rather impatient and irritated by Georgie’s behaviour. After being turned away from her stepmother’s room, a gloomy place that stank of cigarette smoke, Vanessa sought solace in Sandy who for once was able to bask. Not in adoration, but at least she had her child’s full attention.
They had little in common with regards to music or film so when Vanessa, bored by her own company in the evenings, showed interest in Sandy’s knitting, a thin woollen bond was formed as a mother taught her child how to cast on, each stitch a lost minute returned. For the next few evenings after dinner, Vanessa would sit next to Sandy on the sofa in the lounge, the closest she had ever been in body and mind and there, as they knitted one, purled one, they chatted about this and that until one evening, the past paid an unexpected visit.
“Sandy, I don’t mean to pry but why do you never speak of your parents? You said your mother taught you to knit so I presume you must have been close once. Do you not miss her, or your father?” Vanessa had dropped a stitch and as her clumsy fingers attempted to pick it up, she was unaware of the effect her question had on her instructor.
Of all the conversations Sandy had hoped to have with Vanessa, this was not one of them but there was no way around it, so as she schooled her voice to remain calm, stuck to the story she had told Georgie years before.
“No, I don’t miss my mother. She wasn’t the most loving of women but perhaps this stood me in good stead because I was able to manage without her. As for my father, I never knew him because he died in the war. Mother remarried and I didn’t take to her husband so struck out on my own. I am glad I did because the path led me here, to Tenley. Now concentrate otherwise you’ll have another hole in your scarf.” Sandy silently sucked in air through pursed lips, praying the conversation would turn. It did but not in the direction she had expected.
“Oh I see. I’m glad that you’re happy and I shan’t ask any more, although I do know what you mean about our paths because I am so happy that mine brought me here, so on that we are very similar.”
Sandy was unable to speak. Her throat was tight just like her heart which constricted with sadness. Vanessa, who was lost in her knitting and in a chatty mood for once had more to say on the matter.
“Had my mother not given me up I would have missed out on my life here at Tenley so I am rather thankful that she was perhaps of the same ilk as your mother, you know, not the most loving of women. We should both thank heavens for small mercies, don’t you think?”
Vanessa paused and glanced at Sandy who was fiddling in her sleeve for a handkerchief and had become rather flustered. “I say, Sandy, are you alright? I hope I haven’t spoken out of turn. I’m sure your mother was very decent and all that. Please say I haven’t offended you.” Laying down her knitting, Vanessa took Sandy’s hand and was rewarded with a small smile and a short reply.
“Of course you haven’t offended me, the fire is rather smoky tonight, it must be the peat that Ernest brought in. It’s made my eyes sting. Now, shall I make us some cocoa and perhaps some toast before bed? You finish a few more rows while I’m away.” With that, Sandy patted Vanessa’s hand and hastened from the room, knowing that Vanessa would never refuse supper but most importantly, Sandy needed to escape and gather herself in private.
When she returned carrying a tray and two steaming mugs of cocoa, the aroma of toasted bread filled the room. Sandy hoped that the matter would be closed but unfortunately, it seemed that Vanessa was set on righting her perceived wrong. Sandy’s heart was about to be tugged in two directions, in one lay the truth, in the other a box full of secrets.
Food always quietened Vanessa and it wasn’t until she’d wiped the butter from her lips and fingers that, in between sips of cocoa, she told Sandy she had remembered a snippet about her natural mother.
“You know how I said we were similar, you know, with our mothers? I have thought of another coincidence. I remember when I was very small and Daphne and Daddy explained to me that I was adopted, they gave me a box. I can’t remember it exactly but it had small flowers on the lid and inside, wrapped in tissue paper was an outfit. Daphne said it had been knitted for me by my real mother. It was what they brought me home in. Fancy that. My mother knitted too, like yours. I’ve only just recalled it but like I said I was very little at the time. Would you like the last piece of toast or can I have it?” Vanessa reached over and allowed her hand to hover, snatching up the triangle the second she saw Sandy nod.
While Vanessa chewed and sipped, Sandy was waging a battle between her heart and her head. She remembered every stitch of the pale lemon cardigan, with its matching bootees and hat. Now, only inches away sat her daughter, her own flesh and blood on whose lap laid a half-knitted scarf, a vital clue to her true identity. It would only take a few words to explain the truth, right there and then while the two of them were alone enjoying a moment of harmony, a common bond made of wool. Once Sandy had forged peace and her brain had accepted her decision, allowing her heart to settle its beat, her lips managed to speak coherently.
“Do you still have the box, Vanessa? I’m sure it’s a precious keepsake and your mother would be so pleased to know that Daphne was kind enough to give it to you. I would very much like to see it, if you didn’t mind.”
“I have no idea where it is… perhaps in the attic. I haven’t seen it since and have no desire to. All that is in the past, just like my real mother who didn’t want me, and Daphne who decided to have another baby when she already had me. Georgie is my mother now and for that I am so grateful. Even when she’s in a terrible fug, I still adore her to pieces.”
“Oh Vanessa, that is such a harsh thing to say. You have no idea why your mother gave you up so perhaps you should show some humility and understanding in your ignorance of the facts.” Sandy could not hide the hurt and annoyance in her tone which she regretted instantly because Vanessa picked up on it and rounded, never taking criticism well.
“I do know the facts. She didn’t want me and that’s that so I would prefer it if we didn’t speak of this again, Sandy. You have seen fit to consign your unloving mother to the past so why can’t I? And I do not appreciate being called ignorant. I am the injured party here not the woman who abandoned me. Now, if you don’t mind, I will say goodnight and check on Georgie before I turn in. I will see you in the morning.” And with that Vanessa flung her knitting in the basket and left the room.
Remaining by the fire, fighting back the tears, Sandy leant across and removed the half-finished scarf from the basket and with her free hand, dragged the stitches from the needles then began pulling each row undone. As the wool unravelled and fell into a heap on the floor, Sandy knew it represented the bricks of the bridge she had spent the past few weeks building with Vanessa. There would be no more knitting by the fire. Vanessa was offended and rarely forgave, and at the same time,
Sandy hadn’t the patience or the inclination to continue. All she could do was move on, bide her time and be patient. Just like always.
Sandy screwed the lid tightly onto the bottle. There would be no more drinking that night as she needed a clear head for the next day. There was to be a gathering for Vanessa’s twenty-first birthday. The lady of Tenley had emerged from her state of gloom just in time to celebrate but if Sandy’s suspicions were correct, the party atmosphere wouldn’t last, not for long anyway.
Kenneth and Georgie
In some ways, Dolly’s death had ushered in the end of an era, not that the Tenley household were immediately aware of it but privately, within Georgie and Kenneth’s relationship, things were about to change and their once-harmonious existence would come under threat.
During Georgie’s period of mourning, all of Kenneth’s best suggestions were batted away. His wife had no intention of coming downstairs to watch Lady Diana marry her prince, just like she’d refused to go up to London and join in with the street celebrations. The Kensington house was the scene of Dolly’s hideous death and ultimately such a crass suggestion resulted in Kenneth’s great grandmother’s Wedgewood vase meeting a smashing end. Similarly, when the idea of a week in the sun or a shopping trip to Paris was met with derision, Kenneth was told to bugger off – so he did exactly that, literally.
As they all expected, Georgie recovered in good time for their wedding anniversary bash and for a while, all seemed tickety-boo, as Kenneth was prone to say. Then after a terrible bout of bronchitis and then a dreadful spell where pneumonia wiped Georgie out, leaving Kenneth once again to his own devices, a hairline crack appeared in their relationship.
At first, glad that her husband had benefited from her social tutelage and wide circle of friends, Georgie encouraged Kenneth to get up to London and have some fun while she convalesced or as Vanessa pointed out to her father, visited Dolly’s grave far more often than was healthy. Not wanting to miss out on all the fun and with appearances to uphold, a weak and skinny Georgie dragged herself out of bed for a shooting weekend at a neighbouring estate. It was here that she sensed a shift. Her eyes, while slightly dulled and tinged with a hint of jaundice, were perfectly capable of spotting danger. In this case it came in the form of a young and beautiful young man named Simon.
It didn’t take long for Georgie to work it out; by the time they served dessert to be precise. After watching the exquisite and softly spoken Oxford graduate flirt discreetly with her husband, she decided to swap places with the old toad seated beside him. From there, Georgie undertook a mild and discreet interrogation of the enemy. It soon transpired the furtive lovers had know each other for a while, Simon’s green eyes looking straight into hers as he confirmed this fact, the challenge in them unmistakable. He was cool, confident to the point of arrogance, and enjoying every minute of regaling his friendship with her husband.
While Georgie plastered on a smile and held on to Kenneth’s hand which prevented hers from trembling, beetles crawled across her skin and a green monster writhed inside her stomach, its tail whipping her heart. Simon was infatuated with Kenneth and by the time they brought the brandy, Georgie suspected that unless she stepped in soon, the sentiment would be reciprocated.
Like any sensible wife, Georgie remained silent whilst gathering evidence and in the meantime, embarked on a revenge affair which she accepted was a ludicrous notion because really, Kenneth would not care. But she did, deeply. And contrary to what she imagined would be common opinion, it wasn’t all about Tenley and Vanessa, or their gorgeous house in Kensington and their jollies in Cornwall and Europe. Georgie loved Kenneth so very much. With Kenneth she belonged.
With him, when it was just the two of them, she didn’t have to act and although he loved her funny voices and parodies, with dear darling Kenneth, she was his Georgie, just like old times in the damp smelly attic apartment. In their private moments, away from Vanessa and prying eyes of socialites and gossip columnists, they would lie on his bed, her head on his chest, the scent of tobacco and the tweed of his waistcoat tickling her nostrils. He would explain why on some nights they could see the sun and the moon in the sky or tell her about the planting of rapeseed in the far field and why the damn Argies had invaded the Falklands. They would make plans for the summer and Kenneth would suggest some far-flung destination that Georgie would imagine in her head, planning her wardrobe and picturing her handsome husband in his panama hat and linen suit. For a few precious hours and minutes she was home, in heaven, with her husband.
Still, a deal was a deal and she may have been a thief and a part-time prima donna but Georgie knew she would keep her end of their bargain, even if it killed her. With every made-up reason to nip off or unavoidable overnight stay at a friend’s, she was convinced that losing Kenneth was inevitable and worse, it would be her undoing. The drinking didn’t help and it was this that caused their first row. He had arrived home after a weekend of polo to find Georgie in a bad way physically but still in control of her mind and tongue, just.
When Kenneth opened the door to the gloomy lounge, the curtains closed and music blaring from the record player, the room enveloped in cigarette smoke that he could almost part with his hands, for the very first time he lost his temper with Georgie.
“What the hell do you think you’re playing at? Dear God, Georgie, are you purposely trying to kill yourself?” Kenneth was shouting as he marched over to the sideboard and lifted the needle from the record, plunging the room into silence. “Georgie, answer me. I mean it. This has to stop at once.”
Georgie was lying on the sofa with a large cushion over her face and when she finally removed it, revealed two panda eyes, the tracks of her tears evident on deathly white skin. After regarding Kenneth for what seemed like an age, she deigned to reply, her voice hoarse and laced with sarcasm.
“Why, it’s my darling husband. So very kind of you to make an appearance… Did you enjoy all that riding?” Georgie smirked while Kenneth ignored her comment and simply tutted which served to rile her even more.
“So, has Simple Simon allowed you to come home to wifey or is this just a duty call? Don’t let me stop you. I’ll be fine by myself, all alone in this fucking museum going slowly mad, just like all the Tenley women do in the end.” Georgie attempted to sit up but the room began to spin so she flopped back down again.
“Georgie, that’s uncalled for.”
“Really. You don’t know what it’s like, being left to run a house singlehanded while your husband is off gallivanting.”
Kenneth rolled his eyes and tried not to smile but Georgie had replaced the cushion over her face and couldn’t see. It didn’t stop her from talking though.
“Oh and by the way, Miss Mittens is dead. Ernest thinks she fell out of the window on the top floor. Apparently bloody Sandy left it open so on top of everything else, I’ve had a huge drama to deal with.”
“Good Lord, how very tragic. But I thought cats were supposed to bounce.”
“Clearly not.”
Kenneth ignored Georgie’s sarcasm. “Have you told Vanessa? She must be dreadfully upset.”
“Yes, of course I’ve told her and ever since she’s been in her bedroom. She says she’s fine but perhaps you might drag yourself up there and make yourself useful for once.”
“Do you think we should buy her another?” Kenneth felt sad for Vanessa and the cat.
“Not if it’s like Miss Mittens, that thing was feral. I’m sure of it. Anyway, back to pretty boy Simon. How is the queer little chap?”
Kenneth sighed and shook his head, refusing to rise to the bait. He hated to see Georgie like this. Her bouts of drunkenness were becoming a regular occurrence but this time, instead of being rather wild and abandoned, she sounded bitter, belligerent in fact. He felt under attack and it unnerved him so as he was prone to do, Kenneth decided to placate rather than defend himself.
“Darling, please, keep your voice down, someone might hear. I’ll pop up and see Vanessa then mak
e you some coffee and perhaps we can talk this through. I hate leaving you here all alone and I do keep asking you to come with me but you can be such a stubborn old thing. I don’t know what to do with you sometimes.” Kenneth feigned a jolly laugh, hoping to diffuse the atmosphere but instead he’d wound Georgie up.
“Old thing! Did you just call me an old thing? If that’s what you think of me why don’t you have me stuffed like those hideous beasts that are hung in your study? Old, am I? So that’s why you trot off with your rent-boy… How dare you, how dare you patronise me.”
“Georgie stop! Stop at once. I insist.” Kenneth leapt towards where she was laid, terrified that Vanessa would hear and in a desperate attempt to silence Georgie, seated himself on the sofa, taking her hand in his. Her next words cut him to the quick.
“What are you doing? Don’t think you can soft soap me. Oh and do be careful, darling. I’m sure your arse is rather sore after a weekend with Simon. Would you like me to bring you some cold cream or a soft cushion?” As Georgie smirked Kenneth gasped, withdrawing his hand sharply, and in that instant she knew she’d gone too far.
“Kenneth I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. That was unforgiveable, please forgive me. I’m just drunk and tired and yes, old and jealous. I miss you so much… I miss the old days and the fun we had. I can feel it all slipping away and I don’t know what to do. Please help me, Kenneth, please don’t leave me.” And with that Georgie broke down, sobbing uncontrollably into the pillow and it was only when Kenneth took her in his arms that she began to calm and listen as he soothed away her troubles.
The Secrets of Tenley House Page 19