Silent Faces, Painted Ghosts

by Kathy Shuker

  ‘I came down to get a book and I wondered what was going on. What have you got in your hand?’

  Angela looked down at the knife. ‘Oh, this, I...’ She put it down hastily on the side table and looped a hand through his arm. ‘Peter, darling. I’m so sorry I got cross earlier. I’d had too much to drink.’

  He shook her off. ‘I’ve been standing outside the door, Angela,’ he said coldly.

  ‘Darling, what’s the matter? Oh, it’s the picture isn’t it? I’m so sorry. Really I am. But we can get it restored can’t we? They can do wonderful things now. I don’t know what got into me. I...I had a brainstorm, that’s what it was. I’ve been under a lot of pressure recently.’

  Peter’s lip curled contemptuously. ‘It’s no good, Angela. I heard everything. I can’t believe you allowed me to think Josie killed Tom. The hell it’s been all these years, thinking she’d done it, blaming her but blaming myself more for letting her become so unstable. What must she have...?’ He broke off and ran a distracted hand across his forehead, closing his eyes for a moment. He opened them again, fixing Angela with his pale gaze. ‘And you’ve got the nerve to suggest I neglected you. We’d hardly been married six months when Tom died and I’d done everything I could to make you happy in those early days. You lacked for nothing. And you repay me by having an affair with one of my own students? And while my precious son was drowning? For Christ’s sake Angela. Terri was right: what sort of woman are you? God knows I’ve blamed myself for not making you happy these last years, but not then.’ He shook his head. ‘So it’s been all the way through has it? I don’t suppose Lindsey’s even mine, is she?’

  ‘No, Peter, it wasn’t like that...really...’

  Peter turned to Terri.

  ‘Terri, please leave us.’

  She nodded. Peter put a hand briefly to her shoulder as she passed him.

  ‘How can you treat her like that Peter?’ she heard Angela say, plaintively, as she walked out into the hall. ‘She’s fooling you.’

  *

  Terri closed the door behind her and stood, dazed. She heard the voices in the sitting room rise in anger and quickly walked away, reluctant to hear any more. Wandering into the kitchen, she removed the stopper from an opened bottle of red wine, poured herself a glass, and meandered through to the drawing room. It was empty. The lights were still on but Celia had gone, leaving the patio doors wide open. The room smelt of expensive perfumes, wine and coffee; odd cups and glasses still lay abandoned in places, some half full. Terri flicked the lights off, paused a moment to let her eyes adapt to the gloom, then picked her way down the room and walked out of the patio doors onto the terrace. The moon was new – an elegant crescent hanging in a clear dark blue sky. Ultramarine or indigo, she remembered Celia asking. Who cared?

  Her attention was caught by a flicker of light on the other side of the terrace. Someone sitting on one of the wicker seats under the pergola had just lit a cigarette. In the soft light shed from the sitting room window, there was something very familiar about the person’s shape and manner. Terri walked slowly across the terrace.

  ‘I thought you’d given up smoking,’ she remarked mildly as she drew near.

  ‘I have,’ said Luc, looking up at her.

  ‘May I join you?’

  ‘Je t’en prie.’

  Terri eased herself onto a seat next to him and put the glass of wine on the table.

  ‘I thought you didn’t like drinking too much,’ he said.

  ‘I don’t.’

  They sat in silence.

  ‘I’ve been wanting to talk to you so much,’ said Terri eventually.

  ‘About what?’

  ‘Oh...lots of things. Why are you sitting here?’

  ‘Because I was hoping to see you.’

  ‘I don’t know why. After all the things I said, I didn’t think you’d ever speak to me again.’ She paused, searching to meet his eyes. ‘I’m sorry Luc. I should have trusted you. I didn’t even give you a chance to explain.’

  He drew on the cigarette and exhaled slowly. ‘I could have tried harder. And the truth is...’ He paused, flicking her an apologetic glance. ‘...I was tempted by Grace’s offer. More tempted than I was prepared to admit to myself. That’s why I reacted so violently to your accusation. I was embarrassed. All those notes... I told myself it was just for my interest, for how the story might shape. And it would have made a great story. It’s hard to break old habits.’

  He looked at the cigarette reproachfully then threw the butt onto the ground and trod it down.

  ‘Grace told me how you rejected her offer,’ said Terri.

  ‘Did she?’ He grinned. ‘She’s used to getting her own way. She was cross; that gave me some pleasure.’ The smile faded. ‘I saw you with Angela.’

  He nodded towards the sitting room window. With the curtains open and the table lamp on at the back of the room, the figures inside were clearly visible. Peter stood, rooted to the spot, while Angela either paced up and down, or stood facing him. Terri took a drink of wine then put the glass down on the table.

  ‘I couldn’t hear the words but I didn’t like the look of Angela,’ said Luc. ‘Was she threatening you?’

  ‘Not really...though she did have a knife.’

  ‘Merde, I didn’t see that or I’d have come in. What was that all about?’

  ‘She’d just trashed the portrait with it. I was too pumped up to be scared.’ She sighed. ‘I think it would have been better if I’d never come here. They were happy before.’ She shrugged. ‘Or at least not unhappy. Look at them now.’

  Luc reached across, picked up her glass and took a drink.

  ‘What are you blaming yourself for?’ he enquired.

  Terri took the glass off him and drank another mouthful of wine. She handed the glass back.

  ‘I opened Pandora’s Box,’ she said lugubriously. ‘I persuaded myself I had a right to know, that it was all about my mother.’ She paused. ‘I found Josie’s last diary.’ She told him the whole story about Basma and Angela and how Peter had overheard it all. ‘I don’t know if I would ever have said anything if Angela hadn’t challenged me like that.’

  She took the glass again and had another sip of wine.

  ‘It would have come out some time. Peter had a right to know.’

  ‘Yes, but did he want to know? Sami didn’t think so.’ She automatically glanced towards the garden. ‘Basma said Sami was so protective of Peter. He thought Peter was happier not knowing what his wife was up to. But to let Josephine be blamed like that?’ She frowned, put the glass down and tipped her head back to look up at the stars.

  ‘Peter probably wouldn’t have believed Sami even if he’d told him.’

  ‘I suppose not,’ she said vaguely. ‘You know, I reckon Van Gogh would have loved a night like this.’

  ‘Mm.’ He paused. ‘I wasn’t completely honest about the weekend I was away.’

  She forgot the stars and looked back at him, frowning. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I did go to see maman in Paris. But then I went on to London. I know someone who works at one of the art colleges. I persuaded her to make some enquiries and find out where Josie went. And she did; and she knows a teacher from that college too. But I’m not sure you’ll want to know what I found out.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘I’m afraid you’re not Josephine’s daughter.’

  It was like having a bucket of cold water thrown over her; sudden, shocking, taking her breath away. She took a moment to let it sink in, then leaned forward. ‘How can you be so sure?’

  ‘Because the teacher now at that college was a student in the same year as Josie: her name’s Kate Nayland. I spoke to her. Your mother was a year older and went to a different college but bunches of art students used to hang out in the same places and she knew her quite well. Anyway, Kate was friendly with Josie and was still in touch with her until a few years ago. Apparently, she lives in Australia now. She lost that first baby she was carrying but s
he’s had a family since then.’

  Terri was silent, trying to process this new information. She felt a twisting pain inside, hard to identify, harder still to understand, then a hollowed out feeling of emptiness.

  ‘You’re disappointed?’ said Luc.

  ‘I don’t know. Yes. Yes, I am.’ She nodded, frowning. ‘Yes. I felt I sort of knew Josie and I thought...well, you know...’ She shrugged, sat back, offered a weak smile. ‘But I’m glad she’s still alive.’

  ‘Are you going to drink that?’ Luc indicated the wine glass on the table. Terri shook her head and he picked it up and finished the last mouthful.

  ‘So this Kate...’ said Terri. ‘She was a friend of my mother’s then?’

  ‘At one time. She said they’d drifted apart. I sensed maybe a falling out. But I explained how you wanted to learn more about her and she said she’d be happy to talk to you...if you’d like that. Apparently your mother was a loner and a bit of a troubled woman. Her family wanted to emigrate to Australia when she was a teenager and she didn’t want to go. There was a big row and she left home. The family carried on with the emigration. I’m not sure she saw them again. She struggled to come to terms with it. Anyway, I can give you Kate’s number. She can tell you more.’

  ‘Right...thanks.’

  ‘You don’t sound that pleased. Won’t it be good to at least know?’

  ‘Yes, yes. It’s just...’ She fiddled with a leaf that had fallen on the table. ‘I’m absurdly nervous. Isn’t that daft? I’m maybe scared of what I’ll find out. But no, it’s good. I’ll give her a call some time. Thank you.’

  The terrace was plunged into sudden darkness as the light in the sitting room was put out.

  ‘I think it’s time for bed,’ said Luc.

  ‘I need a cup of tea.’

  Luc laughed, shaking his head. ‘Of course you do. OK, I’ll make you some tea. Just to show how much I care.’

  Chapter 23

  Peter was taken ill in the night. By the time Terri returned from the bergerie around one o’clock the next afternoon, he had been taken to hospital. She found Corinne in the kitchen, come in specially to clear up the debris from the party and, glad to have someone to tell, the bonne quickly passed on the little she knew. Apparently Peter had felt sick and had suffered chest and arm pains. Reluctantly he had finally called the doctor who had arranged for him to be admitted. Angela was gone too; she had already packed her bags and had left to stay with a friend.

  ‘They’re separating,’ Corinne said. ‘Angela will come back some time to get the rest of her things.’

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘Celia was here.’ Corinne rolled her eyes. ‘Monsieur Stedding spoke to her before he left.’

  ‘Is he going to be all right?’ said Terri.

  Corinne shrugged and pulled a face. ‘Who knows? He abuses himself. This was waiting to happen.’

  ‘Does Lindsey know?’

  ‘Yes. Celia contacted her. She was going to the hospital, I think.’ Corinne gave Terri a penetrating look. ‘So tell me what went on here last night. That picture in the sitting room is in a terrible state.’

  ‘Yes, I know. I’ll take it down to the studio.’ Terri was unwilling to elaborate. ‘I’ve been with Luc,’ she added. ‘I don’t know everything that went on.’ She wandered back out of the kitchen, only too aware of Corinne’s dark, sceptical eyes on her back.

  In the sitting room the portrait of Madeleine, a sad testament to the passions of the night before, still hung on the wall. Terri lifted it carefully from its place and examined the tears. It was badly damaged but she thought a good conservator might be able to do something with it. She left it propped up against the wall, went through to her rooms to change, then hung around the house, unsure what to do and unable to settle. Should she go to the hospital? Would they even let her see Peter? But Lindsey was there with him so Terri thought she’d feel like an interloper. He’d want family around him at this time and she had no such claim now.

  She took the portrait down to the studio, left it in her old office and returned to the house. Corinne was ready to go home.

  ‘There’s food in the fridge left over from last night if anyone wants it,’ she said. ‘Are you still leaving tomorrow?’

  ‘Possibly. I’m not sure.’

  Corinne insisted on hugging her and air-kissing both cheeks. ‘In case you go,’ she said. ‘And stay in touch, yes?’

  Terri was left alone. She tried to finish her packing, putting things in bags, endlessly rearranging them, her thoughts elsewhere. Regardless of Corinne’s opinion of the state of Peter’s health, she felt culpable: he was ill because she had brought this situation about. If he didn’t recover she thought she would never forgive herself. She wished she could stay. At least she’d like to be around long enough to be sure that he was going to be all right. And of course she thought of Luc; she had arranged to see him again for what was supposed to be her final evening at Le Chant.

  As it turned out, she didn’t have too long to wait. Just after five, there was the sound of the front door opening and closing, then voices. Sure that one of them was Peter’s, Terri hesitated, then went to investigate. He had discharged himself from the hospital and arranged his own transport home. She was in time to see him disappearing up the stairs to his bedroom, pale and a little more stooped than usual. Lindsey, who had accompanied him back from the hospital, went into the kitchen to make him a drink and Terri followed her.

  ‘How is he?’ she pressed.

  Lindsey sighed as she filled the kettle. ‘He’s my father. How do you think he is? I’ve no idea. He says he feels better. He’s had some tests and they’ve taken blood samples to do more. So far they haven’t found anything wrong with him except his blood pressure’s up. But, God knows, that’s not unusual. They’ve given him some tablets and he’s booked in for some scan or other – on Tuesday. But he insisted he was well enough to come home. ‘I’m not going to spend the night here.’ So he signed himself out. Now he’s supposed to rest. Huh. Fat chance of that. And he was given a load of advice about his diet and drinking. He won’t pay any attention to that either.’ She fixed Terri with a resigned look. ‘Can you imagine him drinking decaffeinated coffee and no whisky?’

  Terri shook her head.

  ‘Neither can I.’ The kettle boiled and Lindsey made a pot of tea. ‘I told him to go to bed. He wasn’t keen. The trouble is he gets bored. Maybe you should come up to see him. Perhaps he’ll listen to you.’

  ‘Me? No way.’

  ‘He might. At least your company might help distract him a bit. Please?’

  ‘If you don’t think I’ll make him worse?’

  ‘Nah. You can give me a break. I’ve had him all day.’

  Peter was lying on top of his bed, propped up with pillows, wearing a red satin dressing gown tied loosely at the waist. With the remote pointed accusingly at the television screen, he was flicking channels peevishly. His head turned as Lindsey appeared bearing a tray with a cup of tea and some crackers.

  ‘Tea. Good. I don’t know what they call it in that place but it certainly isn’t tea. Thank you Lindsey.’ He stared at the tray as she put it down on the bedside cabinet and his nose wrinkled in disgust. ‘Crackers?’

  ‘The doctor said you should avoid anything heavy.’

  Peter grunted. Then he saw Terri, hovering uncertainly in the doorway.

  ‘Terri. Come in, come in. Sit down.’

  Lindsey slipped out and Terri moved forward. There was a small padded chair against the wall and she brought it over to place by the bed.

  ‘So you’re feeling better?’ she said.

  ‘I’m fine. Should never have rung the doctor. He fussed.’

  She nodded. He was abnormally pale but there was still a familiar glint in his eye which was faintly reassuring.

  ‘If you’d like to be left alone...’ she began.

  ‘Nonsense. I’ve got things I want to talk about with you. Don’t you dare leave me.’


  ‘I don’t think this is the best time to talk.’

  ‘If you think I’ll rest without saying what I want to say, you’re wrong. And you’re supposed to be leaving tomorrow. That’s one of the things I want to talk about.’

  ‘Peter, I think I should tell you...’

  ‘Ssh. I’d like you to stay on a bit longer. Would you do that? Can you do that?’

  ‘Yes, I’d like to but...’

  ‘Good. I think we all need to draw breath. And I’d like you around for a while. Also, there’s a proposition I wanted to put to you.’ He stopped suddenly, as if the talking had exhausted him.

  ‘Peter, I must tell you: Josie was not my mother.’

  Terri wanted to tell him before he started making plans for her but it came out too abruptly and she searched his face anxiously, concerned what effect it would have on him. He was frowning at her.

  ‘How do you know?’

  She hesitated. Was this the time to be telling him this? But really, she had no choice.

  ‘Luc has found someone – a woman called Kate - who knew both my mother and Josephine in London. They were definitely two different people.’ She paused, giving him time to assimilate this. ‘But Kate saw Josie after she ran away from here. And later on, apparently, Josie moved to Australia and, as far as Kate knows, she’s still there and she’s got a family.’

  ‘She’s alive?’

  ‘Yes. They’d been exchanging Christmas cards until three years ago. Josie moved house. There was a mix-up with addresses and they lost touch. But, if you want, sometime, I could help you track her down.’

  Peter’s expression had frozen.

  ‘Are you all right Peter?’

  ‘Yes, yes, I’m all right. I’m fine.’ He nodded repeatedly, staring into the distance. ‘I can’t believe it. That’s wonderful. But she...she probably wouldn’t speak to me. I mean, why would she? After all I said...’ His gaze shifted to Terri’s face, eyes puckered with concern. ‘She’d probably not want me near her.’

  ‘You could write her a letter first. Tell her how you feel about everything. Then it’d be up to her to decide.’