The Perfectly Imperfect Woman

by Milly Johnson

  ‘How come you know so much about it, all of a sudden, David Parselow?’ asked Titus with narrowed eyes.

  ‘I thought everyone knew that. It’s not rocket science, is it?’ David answered. ‘Admit it, we’ve had it far too good for far too long. We pay stupidly cheap rents and between us all we have creamed off the estate and yet here we all are, in a “state of shock” ’ – he wiggled his fingers in the air as Ruby had done – ‘that Lilian has been subsidising us all out of her own money for years.’

  ‘But we didn’t know that, David,’ said Roger.

  ‘Oh come on, Roger, how much is the rent on the shop and your flat above it?’

  Roger pursed his mouth, gravely affronted. ‘I don’t think that’s anyone’s business but—’

  ‘Okay, I’ll tell you what I pay on the pub. I pay twenty pounds a month. And I’ve always paid that. My father paid even less. And that covers all my heating, my water, my rates, any maintenance. And because I hardly have any customers, I also get a business stipend from the estate – a loyalty payment, as she called it. I hold my hands up’ – and he did, physically – ‘I didn’t question it. I didn’t go to Lilian and say that she should put my rent up and stop paying me a bonus. I took it because it was offered and I believed that the estate was so rich it could afford to do that.’

  ‘I don’t think that Marnie pays anything on Little Raspberries,’ sniffed Una. ‘From what I gather . . .’

  ‘I don’t think she’s the only one who doesn’t pay rent though, is she?’ asked Lionel, his voice rising, his eyes sweeping across everyone in the room. Kay Sweetman lowered her head immediately. ‘For a start, half the cottages in Wychwell are standing empty and have done for years since their residents died and so they’re bringing in no revenue whatsoever.’

  ‘No one who stays in Little Raspberries has ever paid rent,’ put in Alice Rootwood, who lived in Orange House and had always thought that they’d had it too good to believe.

  ‘Precisely,’ Lionel went on. ‘It’s a charity cottage, given to whoever needed it: Jessie Plumpton and before her my great uncle Jack. And I happen to know that it sits very heavily with Marnie that she lives there rent-free, but it was Lilian’s cottage to let it to Marnie on whatever grounds she chose. And that was their private business, not ours.’

  ‘How do you know all this, with respect, Mr Temple?’ asked Ruby, her veneer of politeness stretched thin over a depth of annoyance. ‘She’s only been in the village for two minutes and suddenly she’s the flavour of the month.’

  Emelie made a nervous cough. ‘I think you are being unfair, Ruby,’ she said. ‘Lilian knew her very well and they were incredibly fond of each other.’

  ‘It’s very easy to be fond of someone when you know they own a manor and are ill,’ Ruby threw back. ‘Don’t you thi—’

  ‘Marnie isn’t like that at all,’ Herv cut her off, his voice hard. ‘Don’t make out that their trust in and respect for each other was fake when it wasn’t.’

  Ruby, doubly wounded by Herv turning on her and defending her arch rival, shrivelled into herself.

  ‘Titus, you did the books for the estate. How was it that you didn’t know that Lilian was in so much financial trouble?’ asked Emelie, finding her voice now. And her courage.

  Titus, annoyed beyond belief that this question could have come from Emelie Tibbs, a woman his father detested and for good reason, managed to overcome his impulse to scream back at her that she shouldn’t be here in this meeting, in this village. She shouldn’t even be sharing the same air as the rest of them considering what she was, what she came from. He switched on his best patronising smile instead. ‘My dear Emelie, what are you inferring?’

  ‘I’m not inferring anything,’ she came back at him, mirroring that fake smile. ‘I’m merely asking why you didn’t see what trouble she was in. Or maybe you did?’

  Titus’s facade slipped. ‘Lilian only let me see what she wanted me to see. I had absolutely no idea of any of this. My family have advised the Dearmans for generations. We are kinfolk. Do you think I would have let this happen if I’d known?’

  ‘Yes, I do,’ said Emelie defiantly.

  Titus’s face coloured. Anticipating a war, Lionel stood up and held out his hands, a gesture of peace.

  ‘Look, let’s keep the heat out of this. We have had the meeting as agreed and we are no further forward. We do not know who the new lord or lady of Wychwell is. All we do know is that we are in a mess and Lilian Dearman made plans before she died with this person to place Miss Salt in charge of the estate. We can do nothing other than give her our support and let her get on with trying to rescue the situation. Lilian trusted her and we should do the same.’

  ‘Who is this Miss Salt anyway?’ asked old Dr Court. They were the oldest living couple in Wychwell and the possible changes were very worrying to them. ‘I mean where has she come from?’

  Titus had his suspicions but he wanted to keep that to himself for now. Until he knew for certain. Until he had checked out a few things.

  ‘Lilian met Marnie on the internet,’ said Cilla, merely answering the question and not expecting the uproar that followed.

  Johnny Oldroyd didn’t say a word though because he’d met his girlfriend through the internet and she was brilliant. Titus, however, took that as being the best possible indicator that Marnie was a crook.

  ‘Lilian wasn’t a fool, Titus,’ said Lionel, keeping tight rein on his temper. ‘She was an insightful judge of character.’

  ‘Aye, great judge of character if she’s run off,’ huffed Una.

  ‘Marnie will be back, I have no doubt about that. Lilian didn’t put her faith in people lightly,’ said Lionel, adding to himself with one most blatant exception and flicking his eyes towards the odious Titus.

  Herv stepped in again. ‘What you all may be not taking into consideration is that Marnie and Lilian loved each other. Lilian died in Marnie’s arms. I was there, it was terrible for her. She tried to bring Lilian back and failed.’

  ‘How convenient,’ tittered Kay Sweetman.

  ‘Please tell me you aren’t insinuating that Marnie killed Lilian,’ said David.

  ‘Well, if the cap fits.’

  ‘How dare you,’ bawled Lionel, with a growl in his voice that none of them had ever heard before. He was joined by others who thought to imply murder was too much and Kay, who’d been expecting a hail of ‘hear hears’ not jeer jeers found herself shamed into silence.

  ‘If I can continue,’ boomed Herv. ‘For Marnie to have this trauma and then to discover that she has been landed with a burden of responsibility she was not expecting which would bring with it all this hostility . . . well, maybe she needed some time away to sort out her head, as you might say.’

  ‘Well said, Herv,’ said Derek, which earned him a thump on his leg from his wife.

  ‘What if she puts our rent up to a thousand pounds a week?’ asked Una.

  ‘She can’t,’ replied Roger. ‘Surely? Can she? Titus?’

  Titus cleared his throat. ‘Well, theoretically, yes she can.’

  ‘There are laws to stop that,’ said Ruby.

  ‘Because of the original charter, set up in 1538, Wychwell is not subject to general English law with regards to properties et cetera,’ explained Lionel. ‘If Miss Salt is in charge, then – with the permission of the owner – she can do as she pleases.’

  ‘And if we all refuse to pay?’ said Kay with a defiant twist to her lip.

  David Parselow, who wasn’t a fan of the Sweetmans, was only too happy to answer her.

  ‘Then we’ll all be out on our arses, won’t we?’

  Chapter 27

  Marnie was just lifting the last box out of her car when Lionel Temple arrived at her side.

  ‘Here, let me take that from you. It looks heavy.’

  It was the red box full of things which Gabrielle had decided were Marnie’s. She hadn’t a clue what was in it.

  ‘Thank you,’ said Marnie, nudging open the
cottage door for him. ‘Put it anywhere for now.’

  He carried it inside and placed it on the kitchen table. When he turned around, he had a wide, beaming smile on his face.

  ‘You came back,’ he said. ‘I knew you would.’

  ‘Yep,’ said Marnie. ‘I did.’

  ‘Tea or coffee, I’m not fussy. Plenty of milk and two sugars, please if you’re offering.’

  ‘I’m offering.’ Marnie put on the kettle and thought how lovely it was to be back in the cottage. It felt glad to see her again, crazy as it sounded. Warm and welcoming.

  ‘You look very smart,’ said Lionel, when Marnie brought two mugs of tea into the lounge. She hadn’t had a chance yet to change out of her black suit.

  ‘I’ve been to a funeral,’ said Marnie.

  ‘Not anyone close, I hope.’

  ‘My mother’s,’ replied Marnie, thinking that at this point a normal person would show some emotion: their voice would crack, their lip would tremble.

  ‘Oh, my dear girl, I’m so sorry,’ Lionel sighed heavily. ‘I presumed you’d taken some time out for yourself, not that you’d had to endure another death so soon after Lilian’s. Are you all right? Can I help you in any way?’

  ‘We didn’t get on,’ said Marnie, sitting in the large squashy armchair and dragging the small coffee table over so it could serve them both. ‘She always regretted adopting me. That’s not my imagination, by the way. She told me so plenty of times.’

  Lionel shook his head as if stumped for words.

  ‘I know it’s a ridiculous thing to say, Lionel, but I was much closer to Lilian than I was to my mother. She unknotted years of shit for me.’ Then her hand shot to her mouth and she apologised for swearing.

  ‘Don’t,’ replied Lionel softly. ‘I’ve always believed men of God should exist in the real world of swearing, shouting, drinking and not in some lofty plain above it. If swearing offended me, I could never have had Lilian Dearman as one of my closest friends.’ He laughed, that deep, church-bell-like sound again, and it made Marnie smile.

  ‘I expect I’ve been the talk of the town in my absence,’ she said.

  ‘Of course you were. We even had a meeting about you.’ Lionel held his hand up then in an effort to allay her fears. ‘Or at least about the situation. Some people will not take too kindly to change. But you had quite a few champions around the table too.’

  ‘Oh?’ asked Marnie, genuinely surprised by the ‘quite a few’.

  ‘Emelie Tibbs. She got right under Titus’s skin. David, at the Wych Arms, myself of course. We’ve all had it too easy for too long.’ He took a long sip of tea. ‘And Herv, Lilian’s gardener. He was very vocal in your corner.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Marnie, trying not to look as chuffed as she felt hearing that he had stuck up for her. She hadn’t alienated him then by her abrupt behaviour after the will-reading. She was glad about that. The man must have the patience of a saint and the hide of an old rhino.

  ‘Herv Gunnarsen is a good man,’ said Lionel. ‘You and he are proof that new blood is what Wychwell needs. Titus is a purist. He doesn’t want anyone to live here who wasn’t born here or married someone from here and the result is that half the properties are empty. I’m so angry at myself that I didn’t see what was going on. Marnie, I think you will have quite a task on your hands and I came to tell you that if there is anything – anything – I can do to assist you, you only need ask.’ He drained his mug in a single gulp and stood. ‘Anyway, I shan’t keep you.’

  ‘Thank you, Lionel, that means a lot,’ said Marnie. ‘I don’t suppose you know who the new owner is?’

  ‘Your guess is as good as mine, Marnie.’

  At the door she confessed to him. ‘I didn’t run off because of my mother’s death. I left because I didn’t want to do what had been asked of me. I even emailed Mr Wemyss and told him that I wouldn’t do it.’

  ‘But you came back?’ smiled Lionel.

  ‘I felt I had to. For Lilian.’

  Lionel nodded sagely. ‘She had faith in you for the right reasons then, didn’t she?’

  *

  Marnie went to bed early because she needed to be up at the crack of dawn to make the cheesecakes for Mrs Abercrombie. As soon as the van had left with the cargo, she changed into something not covered in splashes of cream to meet with Mr Wemyss, who was operating from his Leeds office, and not the Richmond one, for the foreseeable future. She hoped that she didn’t bump into anyone from Café Caramba in the city centre. Chances are she wouldn’t, surely? If she did, she’d walk quickly on and not engage.

  She was getting into her car when she saw Herv’s truck pass the end of the lane. Then she heard the brakes screech. Then she saw him reverse at breakneck speed towards her.

  ‘Marnie, you’re here,’ he called through the window so enthusiastically that she was convinced he would then bounce out of the vehicle to hug her, but he didn’t. And she found herself a little disappointed about that.

  ‘Yes, I’m here. I’m just going into Leeds to meet Lilian’s solicitor.’

  ‘I knew you would come back.’

  His grin lit up his eyes. His grin lit up his whole face. His grin lit up the whole village.

  ‘Lionel said that you’d stood up for me in the meeting you had. Thanks for that.’

  Herv shrugged his very big shoulders. ‘It’s okay.’

  How could he look that happy to see her? Could she really make anyone’s eyes shine like that? Especially as she had a real habit of being abrupt with him.

  ‘Well, I’d better get on.’

  ‘See you around, Marnie,’ said Herv. ‘If you need me for anything, please ask. I’m working up at the manor until someone tells me to stop. I think we are all carrying on as normal because we don’t know what else to do. Maybe there is no place for me in the new owner’s Wychwell.’

  ‘I’m sure there will be.’ said Marnie. ‘In fact, if they’ve put me in charge of managing the affairs of the village, I’ll make damned sure of it.’

  ‘Thank you.’ His grin became lopsided, flirty, and so damned sexy. ‘Ah, so, you do think something nice of me then.’

  ‘Of course,’ she said. ‘You’re a good gardener.’ She made it sound as if her reasons were from a purely business perspective. But they weren’t.

  Mr Wemyss was delighted to see Marnie. He had a dark green pinstripe suit on today and Marnie imagined that he had a pinstripe suit in every colour in his wardrobe. When they shook hands, his large one enveloped hers. He led her through into a huge wood-panelled room that looked very much like a solicitor’s-office version of the gentleman’s smoking room in the manor. He sat behind his desk in a gigantic leather chair and invited Marnie to take a seat at the other side. Then he buzzed on an intercom for a tray of tea to be brought through.

  ‘I’m sorry that I told you I didn’t want to have anything to do with the estate,’ Marnie said, as he fiddled around with papers on his desk.

  ‘Knee-jerk reaction. Totally understandable. Didn’t believe a word of it,’ Mr Wemyss replied.

  The tea arrived. The lady who brought it served it up and after she left, Mr Wemyss got straight down to business.

  ‘The present owner and Lilian decided that you would be the best manager . . .’

  ‘Who is it?’ Marnie assumed she would be told now.

  ‘I’m not at liberty to disclose that,’ replied Mr Wemyss, much to her disappointment. ‘They have, however, made a list of recommendations for you to implement.’ Mr Wemyss handed over a large brown envelope. ‘There is also a set of the manor keys in there. Your salary will be paid from the monies remaining in the estate account, as will the staff directly employed by the estate, namely the housekeeper, gardener and assistants. The coffers are very depleted but there is enough left for approximately six months. By which time I do hope that monies will be coming into the accounts rather than leaving them. That is certainly the hope of the present owner.’

  No pressure then, thought Marnie.

 
‘Re your salary,’ continued Mr Wemyss, ‘I wouldn’t get your hopes up of buying a Ferrari with it.’ And he looked at her pointedly over his half-moon glasses. ‘Having had a cursory look at the accounts which Mr Sutton has – under threat of legal action – turned over to us, I can only wish you well.’ He raised his eyebrows. ‘The parts of the records which are legible – and I must say, there are few – make little sense. I’ll have them couriered to the manor tomorrow morning.’

  ‘I can save you some money and take them with me now,’ Marnie suggested.

  ‘Unless you’ve driven here in a flatbed lorry, having them couriered might be the wisest option,’ Mr Wemyss replied.

  ‘How is this going to work if I don’t know who the owner is? How am I supposed to contact them? And where do I start?’ asked Marnie.

  ‘Email me any plans that you have in mind and I will act as broker between yourself and the new owner. He – for sake of ease let’s say he rather than all that he or she nonsense – will directly communicate only with me. I shall forward his responses to you. The new owner has suggested you operate from the manor house. He thinks it will give you more leverage. Open the envelope. That should give you your starting point,’ Mr Wemyss urged.

  Marnie did as he requested and scanned the first of the new owner’s instructions.

  ‘Bloody hell,’ was all she could think of to say.

  The new owner was certainly going straight in armed and dangerous. Nice of him to hide in his shelter whilst sending her across a minefield in flip-flops.

  It was lunchtime when Marnie left the building and office workers everywhere were pouring out into the city centre to shop and eat. Marnie could have walked back to her car the way she came – the long route past all the shops – or the short one past Café Caramba. Her feet were aching in her heels and she was tired from getting up at an unearthly hour to make the cheesecake order. She just wanted to get back home as quickly as possible. Plus she was strangely curious to know what it would feel like to be outside her old HQ again, to see the building but know it wasn’t part of her life any more. She wouldn’t bump into Laurence as he never strolled around the city, and was as likely to crash into Vicky or Elena either way, so she might as well choose the short route. She’d ignore them totally if their paths collided. She hadn’t quite worked out what she would do if she bumped into Justin though.