‘Did she invest any of her savings with you?’ asked Griff.
‘I don’t like what you are inferring, Griff Oldroyd,’ Titus replied, his expression hard.
Lionel, sensing a meltdown, asked for calm. ‘I think that Marnie has answered all the questions we were going to raise. I didn’t realise she hadn’t been invited, Titus. What would have been the point in a meeting without her?’
‘Lilian was half-senile when this . . . this stranger breezed into her life and two minutes later Lilian is dead and the woman is running the estate. Is there any wonder that I do not trust her?’
‘Lilian was sound enough of mind to recognise a good soul when she saw one, Titus,’ said Emelie.
‘Yes,’ he spat back, ‘and that’s why she had a Nazi as a friend.’
‘Whoa.’ Herv was on his feet now. ‘There is no need for that.’
‘Shame on you, Titus Sutton,’ said Lionel, also moved to stand.
Emelie picked up her handbag to leave.
‘You horrible, stupid, ignorant man . . .’
‘Our business is done, I think,’ snarled Titus. ‘Can’t you see what that Salt woman is doing to us? Setting one against the other? Wychwell was a haven of peace before she came here.’
‘It wasn’t Marnie who started with the insults though, was it?’ said Herv, towering over Titus, his blue eyes sparking fire, but the money-bloated man wasn’t in the least cowed.
‘Well don’t blame me if you’re all turned out of your houses before the year is out. Whatever it says on those let—’
Hilary, at his side interrupted him, ‘But Titus, she said that wouldn’t—’
‘Oh do be quiet, Hilary,’ he snapped. ‘You don’t know what you are talking about.’
‘I think we should go,’ said Lionel, before things got even uglier and he was sacked from his post for belting one of his parishioners. ‘Thank you for the tea, Hilary. It was much appreciated.’
‘A pleasure, Vicar.’
Silently the villagers filed out of Titus’s house. Ruby pushed past the Rootwoods to catch up with Herv.
‘We’re going to the Wych Arms, Herv, would you like to come for a drink with us? I think we all need one after that.’
‘Thank you, Ruby, but I’m going to make sure Emelie gets home and is all right,’ he said, without breaking his stride.
Kay Sweetman saw her daughter’s face crumple.
‘You want to watch who you mix with, Herv Gunnarsen,’ she said, loud enough for her voice to travel past Lionel and Dr Court and reach him. ‘I have it from a very reliable source that your perfect Miss Salt isn’t interested in men unless they’re attached. She’s one of those home-wrecker sorts. Her last man was married with three children and a pregnant wife and she ran off up here with her tail between her legs when the wife gave her what-for in front of everyone she worked with.’
Kay saw the slight hesitation in Herv’s step before he carried on at an increased pace and she knew she had hit home with that bullet. She’d been saving it for the right moment. But she hadn’t finished yet.
‘She told Lilian all about it, that’s why she offered her a house here. Because she did to some poor other woman what your wife did to you.’
‘Mu-um, you shouldn’t have said that,’ Ruby said with an annoyed huff. ‘It’ll not make any difference.’
‘Oh yes it will,’ said Kay Sweetman triumphantly. ‘You just wait and see.’
Chapter 35
The rest of the week passed without incident or drama. Marnie didn’t see Herv to talk to, he was working away from the manor, mending windows, fixing tiles on Dr Court’s roof, doing general maintenance around the village. She spotted him at the top of a ladder when she was strolling back to Little Raspberries on the Wednesday. He turned, saw her – or so she thought – she waved, but he turned back, so she presumed he couldn’t have. She thought nothing more of it than that he needed to concentrate on not falling and breaking his neck.
Letters were either pushed through her own letterbox or were waiting for her at the manor from the villagers all accepting the new agreements. Una’s arrived with a hole in the paper at the end of her signature as if she had stabbed it hatefully with her pen. Herv’s hadn’t come yet, but she knew it would. Nor had Titus’s, not surprisingly. By Marnie’s latest calculations – and she was sure there was more she had to still uncover – he owed the estate well over a million pounds. Mr Wemyss had since found out that Mr Helliwell at the farm had been paying his due after all – and had a rent book to prove it. The monies had been going directly into a mysterious company bank account, it seemed, and the farmer hadn’t had sight nor sound of any loyalty payments.
Titus drove past her in his E-Type on the Thursday morning as she was walking up to the manor, and deliberately swerved to hit a puddle and drench her. She gave a throttled scream and shook her fist at the car hoping he would see her in his rear-view mirror. She was swearing a bouquet of profanities when Lionel caught her up.
‘I saw that,’ he said. ‘What an odious man.’
‘Sorry about the language, Lionel.’
‘I would have said the same,’ he replied, though Marnie doubted it. She twisted her shirt to squeeze out some water. Her whole right side was soaked.
‘Marnie, I wanted to say I thought you were magnificent at the meeting the other night,’ he said. ‘It’s been a long time coming. And I know that Lilian gave me a small stipend from the estate but—’
‘But nothing,’ Marnie broke in. ‘That will continue. Lilian would rise up and lynch me if stopped that.’
‘Marnie, that’s exceptionally kind of you.’
‘I might have to start coming to church to save my damned soul,’ she said and Lionel laughed then and said, ‘You are very welcome to call and see me if ever you need any spiritual guidance.’
‘I don’t think you’d know where to start.’
‘If Lilian Dearman liked you, I’m pretty sure you haven’t strayed too much from the path of righteousness.’
Marnie sighed, suddenly emotional. ‘I’ve made so many cock-ups in my life, Lionel.’
‘You wouldn’t be human if you were perfect, Marnie,’ he replied.
‘Oh I’m about as far from perfect as you can possibly get.’ She could feel rainwater dripping down her back from her hair. She must look like the woman from The Ring. ‘I was just off up to the manor house. I’ll have to go home and change now.’
‘Let me walk with you,’ said Lionel, and they fell into a step together, a companiable silence between them until Lionel spoke again.
‘Have you noticed Lilian’s collection of ceramics?’
‘The broken pots and plates?’
Lionel smiled. ‘Those are the ones. I’m presuming then that you haven’t heard of the ancient art of Kintsugi?’
‘Nope. I’m guessing it’s Japanese though,’ Marnie answered, given the exaggerated accent which Lionel had used to say the word.
‘Indeed. It’s the art of repairing pottery with gold in the understanding that the piece is more beautiful for having been broken.’
‘Oh, really?’ said Marnie, not really understanding why they’d moved from her soggy appearance and damned soul to an art lesson.
‘Take a good look at them when you go up to the manor because they’re very valuable, Marnie. More valuable now than they ever were in their original perfect state.’
She still wasn’t sure where Lionel was going with this.
‘Lilian was completely smashed by life and it was love that built her up and made her more beautiful and whole than she ever was before. Love is the gold that can mend a broken heart and make it stronger than ever.’
Ah, now she got it.
‘Are you talking about George Purcell?’ Marnie asked and saw Lionel shoot her a look as if he was shocked that she knew about that affair. ‘Lilian told me all about how he’d broken her heart. I didn’t realise there was someone after him who . . . mended her.’
‘Yes, there w
as. Not only mended but recreated her into the Lilian you adored.’ He moved the subject on. ‘By the way, you have quite a few well-wishers in the village. Derek Price for one thinks you should be canonised.’
Marnie cringed visibly. ‘Is he all right in his new abode?’
‘Happy as the proverbial pig in muck,’ Lionel chuckled. ‘As I said to Una, no one forced him to go. He was given the option and he took it. Lilian did consider letting him have Little Raspberries after Jessie died, but something held her back. Then she asked me if I thought it was wise to let him have Autumn Leaves and I said I wasn’t sure, so I presumed she’d changed her mind.’
‘Autumn Leaves?’ She had a sudden vision of Derek living in a huge pile of brown leaves. And still looking happier than when he resided with Una.
‘The old name for the gravedigger’s house, although no one ever calls it anything but the gravedigger’s house. That’s why Lilian didn’t bother to rename it when she did all the others, at least the habitable ones. She hated Wychwell, and who could blame her, so I suggested that it might help endear the place to her. I think it worked, in part.’
‘I saw the Pink Lady on Monday,’ said Marnie.
‘Did you now?’
‘For the second time. I’m not convinced it’s a ghost, Lionel.’
‘I have never seen her, so I couldn’t comment.’ They were at Marnie’s door. ‘And now I have escorted you safely, I must take my leave because I have an appointment with Griff and a chessboard. I’ve been practising my opening gambits.’
‘Right-o,’ said Marnie.
‘Hasta la Vista, as Mr Schwarzenegger might say. And thank you again.’
‘Pleasure,’ said Marnie.
Lionel made a courteous half-bow. ‘Remember that word: Kintsugi.’ Then he was off.
Marnie went inside to change. For such a relatively short conversation Lionel had given her a lot to think about there: broken valuables and mended people and something else that had piqued her interest. Something to do with the gravedigger’s house. And, unless she was very much mistaken, Lionel didn’t seem half as surprised as she would have expected to hear that the Pink Lady might not be a ghost at all.
The manor was silent that afternoon. Herv and Johnny were out buying building materials and Cilla and Zoe finished at lunchtime. Marnie unfolded a huge blueprint of the estate plans which she had found in the box containing the ledgers. She studied it for clues, but she couldn’t find anything of interest, then she sat down with the History of Wychwell, a coffee and a plate of biscuits.
The Gravedigger’s House, is a one-bedroomed property on the edge of the church gardens. The cottage is the smallest property on the estate and was built c1790. It was originally a single storey building, a second floor was built approximately one hundred years later.
The house was originally called Autumn Leaves, inspired by the banks of leaves that always drift against it from the churchyard trees in Autumn, yet the name was never used. The last inhabitant of the cottage died in 2012, ninety-year-old Diggory ‘Ox’ Hoyle who had to be forced into retirement at eighty-five years old. Diggory’s father Seth was also . . .
There followed a long list of names and dates but nothing more about the house itself. Her moment of enlightenment, like Lilian’s, had flittered away before she’d had the chance to get her net out and catch it.
In all honesty, filling her head with a whodunit was preferable to leaving it empty so that Justin Fox could take up residence in it. She had no idea why she had agreed to meet him. What if his wife turned up with a machete? She permitted herself to think about snogging him in the car. He’d been a good kisser, or so she’d thought then: urgent and passionate and lip-bruising. It had seemed exciting, naughty, thrilling having sex on the back seat, snatching illicit moments with him, outlawed by Laurence and cocking a snook at his controlling wife. Looking back it was tacky, tawdry and bloody uncomfortable and she felt sickened. Herv Gunnarsen’s kiss had set a new standard, as brief as it was. And his big hands holding her face so carefully had done more to fire up her sexual hormones than Justin Fox and his hasty, blind-dart-player, way-off-the-bullseye fumbling had ever done. It hadn’t mattered at the time because she knew that the more they got to know each other, the more they’d get into each other’s rhythm. She’d taken care to read his satisfied ums and ahs but, thinking about it, he hadn’t really changed his technique to suit what she wanted. Maybe he was too attuned to what he did with his wife. Wham, bam and thank you, ma’am.
Why the farts did she say yes she would see him?
Because I want that apology, her inner self said. Because I want to have the last word. Because I want to show him that I don’t care.
She just hoped that when she saw him the following day, she really didn’t care.
Chapter 36
Justin had said more than once that he liked her hair down, flowing in gentle waves of black, so she pinned it up. His favourite outfit was her navy-blue dress with the peplum which showed off her figure and her trim legs, so she wore a dark green trouser suit. Her make-up was mother’s-funeral subtle, her shoes a block heel giving her a bit of height and also the chance to escape any wife wielding a sledgehammer.
She arrived at the Blue Boy ten minutes before the allotted hour and was aware that she felt trembly from the inside out, not because she was excited to see Justin, but because she was afraid. Afraid of herself. Afraid of feeling things for him that she didn’t want to feel. She hoped she wasn’t kidding herself by assuming she was strong enough not to let him back into her life again. She had managed to build herself up from the stack of broken pieces she’d been reduced to a couple of months ago, but it wasn’t thanks to any Kintsugi gold; she was held together with Pritt Stick.
Well, you’re here now, said the voice inside. Pretend you’re in the SAS, get in, then get out with minimal damage to self.
She checked her face in the vanity mirror for lipstick on teeth and mascara transference and then walked over to the pub. There was no sign of his car yet. Just a very swanky brand-new Audi and a couple of Toyota Aygos parked up. She recited her Sammy Davis Junior mantra and headed for the front door. She had to be more committed to finally ending this episode of her life on her terms than scared of him making sure it ended on his.
She spotted him immediately. He was sitting in the booth where they’d sat last time they were there together. That was by design, she suspected. Stupid though, if it was, because she’d been really pissed off with him that day. He heard the door bump shut behind her, turned, smiled and waved and she felt something inside her involuntarily respond to the sight of him, as if it were looking at a star that had long since burnt out but was still visible to the eye.
‘Justin,’ she said, as he rose. She kept her distance and didn’t give him the chance to move in for a kiss or an embrace.
‘Marnie, it’s so good to see you.’
He was wearing jeans and a shirt – both Armani. The scent of Joop drifted towards her and attempted to poke fire into memories she’d thought were cold ashes.
He’d already got himself half a lager and her a diet cola. Well, she wasn’t going to touch it. And she wasn’t going to say it was good to see him either. The Pritt Stick was holding up well; she was impressed.
She sat down opposite him and noticed the dark circles under his eyes and wondered if he’d been kept awake last night from thinking about this meeting.
‘So,’ she opened quickly. ‘I was surprised to get your texts.’ She made the point of making the word plural, so he could be assured she’d ignored the first one with all the contempt it deserved. She, like Lionel on his way to see Griff to play chess, had been practising her opening gambits. In the bath last night. Move that pawn in front of the king forward and free up that mother of a bishop.
Justin steepled his fingers, elbows on the table. He’d stolen that from Laurence because that was his default pose when talking to someone on the opposite side of his desk. There was no flirty twinkle in his eye
s, which was a shame because she would have liked to have had the pleasure of shutting it down.
‘I thought we needed to clear the air, in order to move on,’ he said, caution evident in his tone.
‘From what I remember, you moved on very quickly.’
His eyes dropped from hers. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘I might have thought better of you had you had the decency to return my calls after you left me to the wolves.’ Bring the white knights into play. Get them both neighing that they’re going for that black king.
‘I . . . didn’t know how to handle it. I didn’t think things would get that far.’
‘You drove the pace, if you remember. And I let you because of your subconscious uncrippling.’ She knew immediately she’d got the phrase wrong and saw the side of his lip tweak towards that gorgeous sexy grin that always made her insides warm. Now her internal thermometer didn’t even waver from resting zero.
‘Oh, I have missed you,’ he said to her. Or at least she thought he did, because his voice was lower than a whisper. If that was an attempt to get her to lean towards him so he could kiss her, he could piss right off.
‘Why am I here?’ she asked, brooking no nonsense.
She saw his tentative smile wither. Surely he hadn’t thought that a glass of pop and a ‘sorry’ would have her dragging him to the back seat of her Renault.
Justin took a deep fortifying breath. ‘We thought a meeting would help us . . . recalibrate.’
She didn’t like the sound of that ‘we’.
‘We?’
‘Suranna and I.’
Was Marnie hearing this right? ‘I beg your pardon.’ She stood up.
‘Please don’t. She’s just gone to the toilet. She says she’ll leave me if she doesn’t meet you and sort this out.’
‘I absolutely couldn’t give a flying fu—’
‘Marnie.’ A female voice behind her.
Marnie turned around to face the small woman who had tried to rip her head off at their last encounter. She was a damned sight thinner than the last time they’d met. And not as blotchy-faced. And she was holding her hand out in greeting.
The Perfectly Imperfect Woman Page 28