“Come on in, Cara. Guy is just getting dressed, but I wanted to have a chat with you.”
Oh dear, thought Cara, going inside and following Selina to the drawing room. Is this the bit where you tell me to lay off your boyfriend?
“Please sit down. Can I get you anything? Tea? Coffee?” Selina was wringing her hands, and looked even more nervous that Cara felt. She sat down on the sofa and curled up. Cara took one of the chairs.
“No, thank you. What did you want to talk to me about? If it’s about me and Guy…”
“Oh, look, I’m so sorry, Cara. It was really selfish of me to turn up and drag him away like that. We left you all on your own. I can’t begin to imagine how you felt.”
“Well, I’m sure that as you haven’t seen each other for a long time,” said Cara, completely flummoxed by the way the conversation was going. Selina seemed so humble and … well, nice. Cara hardly knew what to make of it. Maybe Guy had lied to her too.
“Actually, I saw Uncle Hans just before he left for Midchester, but I had problems and needed a friend. He’s my best friend. He’s the only one who really looks out for me.”
“Uncle Hans? Sorry, but who are you? I thought you were Selina Cartier.”
“That’s who the world thinks I am. I’m Brigitte. Brigitte Schwartz.”
Chapter Fifteen
“You’re Greta’s daughter?” Cara could hardly believe it. Guy had mentioned searching for Brigitte, and saving her from an abusive marriage, but never once had she associated his niece’s story with that of Selina Cartier.
“That’s right,” said Brigitte. “Uncle Hans … I’ll have to remember that you know him as Guy … has been trying to find her for me. I just want to know what happened.” Brigitte’s pretty eyes filled up with tears. “I know she wouldn’t have abandoned me, but it’s the not knowing what happened that’s worse. You know?”
“Yes, of course, I’m so sorry, Brigitte. But I don’t understand. There were stories in the paper about you and Guy.”
“Oh, I know. It’s so embarrassing. We’re going to put that right, just as soon as I find out what happened to Mama. It’s a long story. Do you mind if I tell it to you?”
“No, not at all. I’m completely confused at the moment.”
“I ran away from home and got married at the age of fifteen. My first husband was an American so we lied about my age and hopped on a ship to America. When we got there, I found out that the big businessman I had married actually lived in a two room shack in Los Angeles with his parents and three brothers. I tried, I really did, but he drank and he was unkind to me. I walked out, got divorced and a friend helped me to get a bit part in a film. It turned out I was quite good at it, and the next thing I know, I’m famous, and married to a famous film producer. That’s when I became Selina Cartier. I reinvented myself as a southern belle from some faded gentry. Uncle Hans … Guy … found me about eight years ago, and not a moment too soon. I’d married a film producer by then. He was good to me at first, but then when his films started failing, he took it out on me. He was a real psychopath, so Guy got me away from him. Unfortunately, there was a reporter watching my house and we were seen leaving together. The next thing we know, they’re saying that we’ve eloped.”
“Why not just say you were his niece?”
“We’d both come up with different back stories, you see. I was the southern belle and Guy was the lanky Australian outback man who’d worked his way across America. We’d have had to admit we were both German and that’s not a good idea. Especially not with McCarthy breathing down everyone’s necks at the end of the fifties, looking for communists. You know what a witch hunt that was.”
Cara nodded. She had been quite young at the time, but she had read about it.
“Communists, Nazis,” Brigitte continued. “They’re all the same to Americans. Especially now that our part of Berlin is behind the Iron Curtain. So anyway, that’s how it all came about. I am sorry if I let you get a different impression last night. I really wasn’t thinking.”
“You’ve been hurt again,” Cara said. It was a statement, not a question.
Brigitte nodded. “Oh, I certainly know how to pick them,” she sighed. “They always seem so nice to begin with then … I’m off men for good.”
Cara laughed, but there was a bitter taste to it. “I was just saying the same to a friend.”
“Really?” said Brigitte, frowning. “But Guy… Oh, well, perhaps I should let him talk to you about that.”
As if on cue, the door to the drawing room opened. “Cara, there you are,” he said. He smiled, looking genuinely pleased to see her. “I’ve just been in the study, ringing your house, and talking to your mum. Did you see Peg?”
Oh, she thought, that was why he was pleased to see her. She still felt the pain of his abrupt behaviour of the previous morning. That Selina turned out to be his niece, Brigitte, did not really alter what happened. He had still made her feel cheap and nasty. “Yes, I did. She found what seems to be a bit of Anderson’s notebook.” Cara handed him the sheet of paper.
Guy read it out. “Who is Lotte?”
“You said there were several Lottes,” said Cara. “Could it be one of her friends?”
“No, Uncle Hans,” said Brigitte, chipping in. “There was only one Lotte.”
“How on Earth do you know, sweetheart?” asked Guy. “You weren’t even born then.”
“Mama used to talk about her all the time. She was Mama’s most special friend.”
“What?” Guy’s face went pale. “When did Greta say that?”
“Oh loads of times. She said I’d meet her one day and she’d be my special friend too.”
Guy sat down on the sofa quickly, as though he had been punched in the gut. “I’m sure you’re wrong. There was more than one Lotte.”
“Mama said that Lotte used to like dressing up and fooling people. It’s funny, but Mama reckoned that Lotte could never fool you, no matter how much she changed her look. Maybe that’s why you thought there was more than one.”
“Yes, maybe,” said Guy. “Is it possible we’ve been looking at this all the wrong way, Cara?” he said.
“I’m not sure what you mean,” said Cara. But it was beginning to dawn on her.
“I mean if Lotte was Greta’s … special … friend, maybe she’s the reason that Greta came to Midchester.”
“Peg said that the question could mean which one of the villagers was Lotte.” Cara paused, not sure how to proceed. The conversation had become very awkward. “Before she died, Nancy said that there may be things about your sister that you didn’t know. I’m sorry, Guy, but I didn’t say anything because I didn’t want to upset you. Anyway, I just thought Nancy meant Greta was a spy, and that somehow Sammy had found out.”
“Hang on a minute,” said Brigitte. “Are you both thinking that Mama and Lotte were close? Like lovers?”
“Yes,” said Guy. “In fact, it all makes more sense now. It was a surprise to the family that Greta married at all. She’d shown no interest in men. Then she met your father and we all supposed it was just that she’d met the right bloke at last. Maybe that wasn’t it at all. I’m sorry, Brigitte, I know this must be upsetting for you.” He reached over and squeezed his niece’s hand.
“No more upsetting than thinking she might have died because of it,” said Brigitte. She rubbed her swollen eye as if it had suddenly started hurting again. “In which case there’s nothing wrong with Mama’s feelings. Only the person she shared them with.”
“Well, I’d best go,” said Cara, feeling that she was intruding. “I’ll leave you both to talk things over. Guy there was something else. Remember Richard Haxby saying that there were forged notes circulating in Midchester?”
“Yes?”
“Sammy had one of them. I’m going to call my brother, Freddie, later in case Sammy said anything to him about it. But it does suggest that Sammy knew who the spy was. Anyway, I’d better be going.”
“I’ll walk you t
o the door,” said Guy.
“It’s okay, I’ll see myself out.”
Guy ignored her, and insisted on seeing her to the front door. Cara saw Brigitte smile encouragement at him as they left the room.
“Cara,” said Guy, when they were alone in the hallway. “I am sorry about last night.”
“Yes, you already said,” she replied, in cool tones.
“So why are you still angry with me? If it’s about Brigitte, I think she’s explained everything to you.”
“You could have told me yourself.”
“Yes, I know. I was waiting for the right time, that’s all.”
“The right time was before you ushered me out of your room like I was some cheap trollop,” said Cara, opening the front door.
“Cara, I didn’t mean to treat you like that.”
“Well, it’s the way you made me feel,” she said. “If all you were interested in was a one night stand, that’s fine. I don’t expect hearts and flowers. But to treat me as something you throw out with the rubbish…”
“Is that all it was for you? A one-night stand?”
“I … yes … I suppose so. I don’t know what it was. I thought it was special.”
“Of course it was special.” He reached over and moved a stray strand of hair from her face. “I had a really good time.”
“Well that’s me,” said Cara, bitterly. “A regular good time girl.” With that she yanked open the door and took off down the path.
Well that was mature, she thought to herself. A few moments later, Guy caught her by the arm. “Have you any idea what I’ve been going through these past few weeks?” he said, his face a mask of fury. “My sister might have been murdered, and my niece keeps getting involved with men who abuse her. Then I get a telegram from her when I’m miles away and can’t do anything to comfort her. But of course none of that is important as long as I make Miss Cara Baker feel good. Just because some idiot a few years ago treated you like a slut she doesn’t mean every man is the same if he’s not telling you how wonderful you are every second of the day.”
Cara wanted to die of shame. He was right. Of course, he was right. She had been selfish in forgetting the real reason Guy was in Britain. Added to which he must have been worried sick when he got Brigitte’s telegram. But none of that excused what he had just said to her. “I’m very sorry,” she said, choking back tears. “I do realise things have been bad for you, but I’ve also lost someone in the past couple of weeks. My best friend died, possibly because she or Sammy knew something about your sister.”
“Cara…”
“No, it doesn’t matter. I’m not saying it’s your fault it happened. It just did.” She sniffed loudly. “You know, I did feel good about myself when I was with you. You helped me to forget what had happened to Nancy for a while, and I’m grateful for that. I just didn’t realise I would be dismissed so abruptly. But as you say, you have other concerns, so please don’t let me keep you from them any longer.”
“Cara…” Guy ran his fingers through his hair. “Look, I’m sorry, okay.”
“Don’t bother to apologise, Guy. Because as cheap as Tony made me feel, he never hurt me the way you just did.
She dashed away before he could stop her again. She ran down the driveway, refusing to look back. Peg had been right. A man did not have to hit you to wound you beyond repair.
***
Cara did not want to go home crying yet again. It would only worry her mum. She wandered around the outskirts of the village until she felt calmer.
She had always known that it would not last with Guy. Even without someone like Selina Cartier in the picture, Cara knew that she was nothing like the sort of women he normally associated with. She fooled herself into believing that she could be sophisticated, like the fashionable girls in London, who moved happily from one relationship to another. A few weeks earlier she would have insisted that she was a very modern young woman. Now she realised that she was old-fashioned at heart. No matter how much she had tried to pretend she could have a casual affair with Guy, deep down her heart had always been involved.
It seemed to her that having sex so casually must eventually chip away at one’s soul. At least that was how she felt. She did not know if she would give up men. Hearing Brigitte say it had brought home how ridiculous she had sounded when she said the same to Peg at the vicarage. But she made a silent vow to more careful in future. She would not rush into a relationship again.
Her impetuous streak always seemed to get her into trouble. First with walking out of the pub in a huff just before Nancy died, and then with losing her temper with Guy. So much for being cool, calm and collected. She had behaved no better than a stroppy ten-year-old both times, and both times it had cost her dearly.
Perhaps it was time to leave Midchester. Being in London had shown her a completely different world; one where she could start behaving as an adult. In London she had not have to worry about the nosey neighbours watching her and commenting on her every move. They still saw her as the grubby little gypsy girl. The biggest problem was that a lot of the time, that’s how she saw herself. There was no escape from it in Midchester. But in London no one would know or care where she came from.
With her mind made up and her tears dried, she made her way back to the centre of the village.
“Cara!” Brigitte was standing near to Mr. Fletcher’s sweet shop. “I’ve been looking all over for you.”
“I’ve been for a walk,” she said, crossing the road to Brigitte. “Is anything wrong?”
“No, I just wanted to chat to you again, without Guy around. He’s been in a foul mood since you went off earlier.”
“Oh.”
“He’s such a baby sometimes,” said Brigitte. She put her arm in Cara’s and they walked along the street together. It was as if they had been friends forever, which Cara found a bit strange. But she liked Brigitte, so she did not mind too much. “He’s like all men,” Brigitte continued. “They never can say the right thing, and then they sulk because they think we’ve misunderstood them.”
“I don’t think I misunderstood him,” said Cara with a sad smile.
“He’s been under a lot of pressure,” said Brigitte. “That’s partly my fault because of my messed up life. He’s been looking after me and Grandma for so many years. He had to grow up long before he should have, with Mama gone and Grandpa dead.”
“I know,” said Cara. “Well, I don’t know, but I can imagine.” She felt worse than ever. Brigitte clearly adored Guy.
“So does that mean you’ll forgive him?”
“Oh, I don’t know about that, Brigitte. Anyway, I don’t know what you think, but your uncle and I just had some fun together, that’s all. It was nothing more than that.”
“I see.” Brigitte nodded sagely. “That must be why he has a face like thunder and when I saw you walking down the road, you looked like someone kicked your puppy.”
Cara could not help laughing at that. “I know what you’re trying to do, Brigitte. But please don’t. This is between me and Guy. I don’t think anything you say or do is going to make any difference.”
“You don’t know how determined I can be.”
“I think I do. You ran away to America when you were fifteen. That shows determination. I wish I had the courage to do the same. I was just thinking about moving to London. It’s time I got out of Midchester.”
“Why? It’s a nice little village. Everyone has been really kind to me. Even Uncle’s Hans’s assistant, Enid and she’s usually so disapproving.”
“You’re Selina Cartier, movie star. Of course, they’re nice to you. Sorry, that wasn’t fair. You’re a sweetheart in your own right too. Why don’t you come to my house and meet my mum? I’m sure she’d love to see you. If you haven’t got anything better to do.”
“I’d love to meet your mum. Guy says she’s great, and that your house is just like grandma’s. I really miss her.
“When was the last time you saw her?”
“Why?”
“Because I look so much like my mother. At least when I’m not all made up as Selina.”
“Oh.”
They had reached Cara’s garden gate, when Martha came out of the house.
“Mum, this is …” Cara paused, not knowing how to introduce her companion.
“Brigitte Schwartz,” said Brigitte. “Guy’s niece.”
“Oh, you dear girl,” said Martha, opening the garden gate and practically sweeping Brigitte into her arms. “What a dreadful time you must have had. Let me put the kettle on. Are you hungry? I can do some egg and chips if you want.”
“I haven’t had egg and chips for ages,” said Brigitte. “I’d love some!”
As Brigitte spoke, Cara heard a loud metallic crash. She turned and saw a car had crashed into a tree just outside the house. A bloodied figure got out and headed for her in a blaze of fury. All she could do was stand and gape as big hands surrounded her throat.
Chapter Sixteen
I couldn’t stop thinking about the gypsy girl. She’s haunted my steps throughout this. First as a child and now as an adult.
She knows about me, I’m sure of it. She’s been talking to Peg Bradbourne and Guy Sullivan about me. If anyone proves to be my undoing, it will be her. I’ve always know that.
I saw how pensive she looked at the dinner party. She must have felt my hatred burning into her soul. All the times I’ve had to smile and encourage her in her writing endeavours. She was nothing but a dirty little gypsy, and no amount of education is going to change that.
With my hatred of the girl growing stronger by the minute, I decided to go down to the village and drive past her house. It might help me to decide how I was going to deal with her. Because there was no way I would leave Midchester whilst that girl was still breathing.
Bonfire Memories Page 14