She lay back on the bed. Her head was on fire. Calm down, cool down. She must work out a plan. There was no rush. Take things slowly and carefully. Go to Rome. Learn the business. Make enough money to do things properly and then seek them out, every one of them, wherever they were all over the world.
*
It was late Sunday night. Dorothy’s head was clear. She swung her legs out of bed, slid her feet into slippers and crept downstairs. Nonna’s documents lay on the desk, just as Paul had left them. The briefcase was still open and Dorothy tucked the photograph back inside the lid. As she left the room, she heard whispered voices and muffled laughter on the path outside. By the time Gwen and Nonna had switched on the hall light, she was halfway up the stairs.
“Goodness, Dorothy!” called Nonna. “You’re still up! Oh, my darling, you look so tired! Is everything alright?”
“Everything’s fine. I was reading late, that’s all. Did you have a lovely time?”
“Wonderful!”
Dorothy smiled. “That’s good,” she said. “We’ll all want to hear every detail about it in the morning.” She blew them a goodnight kiss, straightened her back and carried on upstairs.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Two days before Miss Clements’s wedding, Nonna and all the Ferranti Joneses, apart from Lucy, had gone into town to help Gwen pack for her move into the big house. Lucy and Miss Clements were in the kitchen, finishing off preparations for the wedding buffet. One end of the long kitchen table was spread with ingredients and the other with work in progress. The worktops and window sills were covered with Dorothy’s finished dishes, cooling down ready for the freezer.
“Dorothy seems to be getting more and more like her old self every day. I think all this cooking is doing her good,” said Miss Clements, wiping her floury hands on her apron.
Lucy privately thought that this morning’s holiday postcard from Jason might have helped Dorothy just as much as the cooking.
“We can keep some of it in the fridge,” continued Miss Clements, “and some can stay in the larder because it’s only for a couple of days, and it’s always cool in there.”
As she spoke, there was a bang on the front door and the bell clanged.
Lucy stood up. “Let me go,” she said. “I want to practise on my crutches. It’s good exercise.” She moved off as nimbly as she could, and came back with a parcel tucked under her chin.
“It’s for you,” she said, dropping it down on the table in front of Miss Clements. “It’s from America.”
Miss Clements washed and dried her hands, put on her glasses and studied the stamps. She took the kitchen scissors out of the drawer and carefully cut away the wrapping paper to reveal a book and a letter.
“It’s from Marilyn,” she said, sitting down. “I’m so pleased! It must mean we’re reconciled. “Dear Primrose,” she read. “I enclose a book of American recipes as a wedding present.”
She stopped, and exclaimed, “How on earth did she know I was getting married?”
“I told her,” said Lucy, “when I wrote to thank her for her letter.”
“That was very thoughtful of you, dear,” said Miss Clements. “It made me sad to be estranged from her, though I tried not to think about it because, as you know, I don’t like to be distressed.”
Lucy nodded, thankful that she hadn’t done the wrong thing.
Miss Clements carried on reading out loud. “What you did was…” She stopped. Then she continued slowly, “worthy of a Judas, but I have forgiven you, and so no doubt has the Lord.”
She put the letter down, and Lucy was shocked at the stricken expression on her face.
“What’s the matter, Miss Clements? Are you alright? What does it mean – ‘worthy of a Judas’?”
Big tears rolled down Miss Clements’s fat cheeks. Lucy hopped over to a drawer and pulled out a clean tea towel. She handed it over, and Miss Clements buried her face in it and sobbed.
Lucy was frightened. “Are you ill, Miss Clements? Shall I fetch one of the grandmothers, or the doctor, or Mr Nicholas?”
Miss Clements caught her hand hastily. “No, no, dear,” she spluttered. “Is the door shut? Don’t tell anyone.” And she put her head down on her arms and cried.
Lucy sat down quietly next to her and waited for her to finish. At last, she sat up, mopped her face with the tea towel and smoothed back her hair. She stood up and went over to the sink and threw cold water over her face.
“Put the kettle on, would you, dear,” she said. “I’m going to pull myself together now, and we’ll have a nice cup of tea and a caramel biscuit.”
Lucy grabbed one crutch and hopped, and managed to fill the kettle and put out the tea cups with one hand. She would have felt quite pleased with herself if the situation hadn’t been so troubling.
“I’m very sorry, dear,” said Miss Clements, dabbing at her blotchy cheeks. “It will never happen again.”
They sat in silence for a while, until eventually Miss Clements said, “I owe you an explanation. A Judas is someone who betrays someone he loves, for thirty pieces of silver. I once did something so dreadful I can’t speak of it or even think about it, and that is what Marilyn’s referring to.”
She passed the letter over to Lucy.
“Miss Marilyn says she forgives you. Doesn’t it say in your church that if you repent you’ll be forgiven?”
“Yes, but by whom? If the whole world and God himself forgave me, I couldn’t forgive myself.”
Oh dear, thought Lucy. She was not used to this sort of thing. If she or David were upset, Dorothy would just tell them to pull themselves together, and give them a lecture on positive thinking.
“Can’t you go and confess it, or something?”
“No. That might make me feel better, but it wouldn’t make the thing I did any better.” Miss Clements stood up, gave her face one more wipe and checked her straggled hair in the mirror next to the back door. “No,” she said, with a look of determination on her face. “It’s something I’ve got to live with all my life, and that’s my punishment.”
She turned her face towards Lucy, and already it was almost back to its usual bland expression.
“But how could Miss Marilyn say something so nasty if she’s forgiven you!” cried Lucy.
“You see, dear,” said Miss Clements. “I’ll tell you a secret, which I trust you to keep. Our parents, Marilyn’s and mine, were… how shall I put it? They were not at all kind to us. It affected us differently. It turned Marilyn sour – she wasn’t always like that, you know. She was sweet when she was a little girl. As for me, I’ve taught myself the knack of suppressing any unpleasant thoughts and, indeed, I think that has saved my sanity over the years. I don’t think I’m very strong-minded, you see.”
She had another good wash at the sink, and dried her face and hands on a clean towel. With a final sniff, she returned to the table and picked up a patty tray.
“Right then, back to work!”
They rolled and cut and decorated in silence for a while.
“Oh, and I know everyone’s wondering why I’m not marrying in the church,” said Miss Clements. “Well, that’s the reason why. I’ve not been to church since I did that unforgivable thing. It would be hypocritical. And even if it weren’t for that, I would much prefer to go to the Registry Office and be married by my good friend Mary. She’ll wear her lovely red suit – so cheerful, you know – and it’ll make me feel much better to be married by a dear friend.”
She moved a bowl to make more room on the table, and remembered Marilyn’s parcel. “Oh my goodness!” she exclaimed. “I still haven’t looked at the American recipe book.”
She put a tray of tarts in the oven and shut the door, then wiped her hands. The book was still on the table, underneath a bowl of brown sugar and a bunch of celery stalks. She picked it up and leafed through it slowly. At last, s
he put it down and turned to Lucy with a look of genuine puzzlement on her face.
“Where on earth does she expect me to find elk and bison in Wales?” she said.
Chapter Thirty-Five
It was Dorothy’s eighteenth birthday. The residents of the big house were gathered in the hall, while Mr Everard, the photographer, set up his equipment. Nain Jones had arranged the session as her birthday gift. The children were excited. Apart from Thomas’s snap of Lucy, and one each for their passports, none of them had had their photos taken before.
First, Mr Everard sat them one after the other against a dark curtain, and took a portrait of each of them individually. Then he positioned them together on the stairs, arranged as gracefully as he could persuade them. He took away Lucy’s stick, changed their poses slightly, and stepped back to admire the scene.
“Say cheese!” he said.
They all giggled.
Next, there was to be a formal group photograph. Dorothy, as the birthday girl, was put in the middle of the big square hall in an important-looking carved chair with arms, while Lucy and David sat one on each side of her. Paul leaned against Lucy’s good knee, and Donald lay on her foot. Great-Uncle Mario and Nonna Ferranti stood at the back, with Mr and Mrs Nicholas to one side of them. On their other side stood Nain Jones and Peter Pan.
Mr Everard checked the arrangement and the light and the distance. “Everybody smile!”
*
Dorothy had been excluded from the kitchen the day before the party. Mrs Nicholas had come over to help David, Lucy and Paul prepare the birthday tea. She had made the cake herself at home, and Paul had decorated it with sugar flowers. The wooden partition doors between the dining and sitting rooms had been folded back to create one enormous room, and the children had placed chairs in what they hoped were socially comfortable places. Bowls had been filled with winter berries and evergreen leaves, and a feast was spread over the dining-room table.
Lucy was surreptitiously poking the icing on her sugar buns to make sure it wasn’t runny.
“Hey, stop that! It’s unhygienic,” said David. He was feeling deflated. Great-Uncle Mario had found him reading How to Make a Million in Ten Easy Steps and had said sharply, “Drop it in the bin.” David had known he was right and did drop it in the bin, but the embarrassment lingered.
“Don’t be bossy,” said Lucy, and he managed a weak smile.
Paul had designed wonderfully coloured cards, inviting Dorothy’s school friends for tea from half past three to six o’clock. She secretly hoped they wouldn’t think the timing a little uncool, but she’d explained to them that she and Great-Uncle Mario were leaving for Rome very early in the morning, and he was anxious that they should have a quiet evening and go to bed early.
“It’ll be hours before we get to the airport,” he had said, “and although you may not need beauty sleep, I do.”
*
Robin was back from Spain. It had been quite successful, the refurbishment. The finca was really classy. He’d had it fitted with piped music, a Jacuzzi, and a kitchen that looked like something from outer space. Nothing but the best. You could see from the sunbeds alone that money had been spent. No one could say he didn’t have good taste.
The cave house was out of sight, just behind the main house, and it was well secured. Even Houdini wouldn’t get out through all that wrought iron.
It was a pity that Paul’s abduction had failed, but there you are, you can’t win ’em all, and he still had enough money to get on with his marriage plans. He’d pop up to the kids’ house tonight and wait outside to see if he could get a glimpse of Dorothy. Then he’d clear off back to Spain till after Christmas, maybe till the spring. This miserable climate was enough to polish anyone off. He’d got a couple of business deals to sort out and then he’d come back to fetch her.
*
At half past three on the dot the doorbell clanged and, within seconds, the room was full of Dorothy’s friends and a pile of prettily wrapped presents had been heaped onto the hall chair. There followed half an hour of opening packages, thank-yous and hugs, and lots of chatter and shrieks of laughter.
Lucy felt an irrational pang of indignation as she watched that Izzy from down the road paying very special attention to David. Was that what people meant by ‘flirting’? She tried to hide her annoyance by helping Paul as he dashed about busily, picking up discarded wrapping paper and putting it in the wastepaper basket. When she glanced up, Izzy had moved on and was talking to Jason. David caught Lucy’s eye and winked, and they both laughed.
At last, Mrs Nicholas, beaming with sincere contentment, carried in the cake and David shouted, “Time to eat!”
“What a banquet!” exclaimed Great-Uncle Mario, rubbing his hands together. He took a plate and several sandwiches, and settled himself comfortably in a chair by the window. Outside, the sun was already setting, leaving streaks of brilliant orange over the sea.
“There is something about this place,” he said to no one in particular. “It is a place where heavy burdens are lifted off one’s shoulders.”
The friends left at six o’clock, with much kissing on both cheeks, Italian-style, and promises to keep in touch and to visit Dorothy in Rome.
“Do you realise,” she said when the last one had gone, “None of us has ever had a birthday party before – or even a present, let alone a birthday present!”
The others then put her to sit in the important carved chair, and brought her their presents.
Paul had drawn a picture of the four of them, standing facing the big house with their overnight bags on the pavement. Out of the front windows peered three faces. One was fat and smiling, the other was thin and sour, and the third was the whiskery face of a West Highland white terrier.
“It’s beautiful!” said Dorothy bending down to kiss him. “When I get my pay from my new job, the first thing I shall buy is a frame to put it in, and I shall treasure it till I’m an old, old lady.”
Lucy had bought her an almost-new Delia Smith cookery book from a charity shop, and David had carved her a little house out of wood that he’d found on the beach.
“Our house,” he said.
She hugged them both. Her lovely, brown eyes filled with tears. “I’m so lucky,” she said.
That evening, after Mr and Mrs Nicholas and Peter Pan had gone home and the children had cleared away the party food, they left the dividing doors folded back.
“I like all this space,” said Great-Uncle Mario, throwing himself down into a large wing chair. “It’s nice to have plenty of room.”
Gwen placed a coffee table next to him and put a glass of port in his hand. “Try this and see if you like it,” she said, “and then you can be comfortable.”
He sighed with pleasure. “I’m already comfortable,” he said.
“And I am too,” said Dorothy, stretching herself out in her favourite place, on the window seat. “I’ve had such a lovely day, I don’t think anything could have made it more perfect. Early to bed and then it’ll be tomorrow and we’ll be off to Rome first thing, so I’m going to savour this evening all I can.” Her cheeks were rosy with pleasure.
Peace fell over the room. The two grandmothers chatted quietly. Dorothy turned over the pages of her new recipe book, and Lucy lay on the sofa reading, with her bad leg propped up over a cushion. David and Paul were on their stomachs on the floor, building a magnificent Lego castle.
Uncle Mario sipped his port. His eyes closed and opened several times, and he yawned loudly. “I’m ready for bed,” he said.
The grandmothers stopped their chat and gave each other a little nod. Nonna Ferranti stood up and went quietly to the bureau in the corner. She pulled down the flap and took out a large envelope.
“Before you go up, my darling Dorothy, I want to give you my present, and it’s with all my love.”
Dorothy slid her long legs dow
n from the window seat. She slowly opened the envelope, and pulled out a piece of paper and studied it hard with a look of puzzlement on her face. At last, she looked up at her grandmother. “What is it?” she asked.
Great-Uncle Mario stood up, wide awake now, and ambled over.
“Let me have a look,” he said, taking the document from her. “Now, let’s see. Here at the top it says Deed of Gift. So that means that something is being given. Here it says that the gift is from Nonna to you. So far, so good.” He put his arm round her and gave her a hug, and then, his voice full of suspense, he said, “The mystery is, what is it that’s being given to you. It’s not just this piece of paper, is it?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “It’s a lot of words.”
“That’s what’s being given to you,” he said, pointing.
“That’s just our address,” said Dorothy.
By this time David was looking over Dorothy’s shoulder, and Lucy was struggling with her stick to get up off the sofa.
“For goodness sake, Mario!” exclaimed Mrs Ferranti. “Don’t tease the poor girl!” She stepped over to Dorothy.
“You’re right, my dear,” she said gently. “It is your address, and I’m giving it to you. I bought this house from Mrs Nicholas and now it is my gift to you on your eighteenth birthday.”
Dorothy gasped and sat down on the nearest chair. The others stood speechless.
“I can’t accept,” whispered Dorothy. “It’s too much.” She turned a troubled face to her grandmother. “You may need the money one day, for clothes, or for an operation, or to go to Rome or something. I’m going to look after you, remember?”
Her grandmother took her hand. “Darling, you have looked after me, all of you have, and you’ve done such a good job on me that I’m now as well as I’ve ever been. I’m back in the business with Mario. I’ve been through the books and the records, and caught up with it all, and I’ll be back and forth to Rome from now on. I can assure you, I don’t need the money. I have more than is good for me, so be kind to me and let me unload some of it on you.”
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