by Lulu Taylor
It was because she’d always loved the gorgeous things on sale here that her father had thought she’d be the perfect person to run the women’s clothing and accessories department. She had almost no experience but he’d been so keen for her to take on a role in the family business that Amanda had agreed. She’d learnt a lot very fast … not least what a hell of a hole the company was in. It was a great worry, she couldn’t deny that.
The problem was that her buying budget now looked to be under threat while her sales figures were not good, and getting worse. Young had bawled her out only last month, telling her that she was stocking the wrong things, that no one wanted to buy them. When she’d yelled back that it wasn’t the stock that was wrong, it was the customers, he’d stared at her as though he couldn’t believe his ears.
It was a ridiculous argument in retail, she knew that. The customer was, after all, always right. But she was sure that if Noble’s continued to attract only the older market, eventually demand for their goods would die out altogether. She could spend her time stocking safe florals and two-pieces for country weddings and nice smart shoes that were more comfortable than beautiful … but there was precious little creativity and excitement in that, and they would definitely never attract a younger market to the shop.
Amanda marched towards the lift, smoothing down her Preen black crêpe ripple-pleated pencil skirt as she went. It was exactly the kind of thing she wanted to stock on the first floor – if Young would ever let her invest in smaller luxury labels. That was unlikely now, she had to admit. At moments of stress, she liked to wander around the shop, seeing how everything looked, watching the way customers reacted to the wares on offer and checking out who was coming in. A huge majority of the people wandering round were tourists, wanting to see the famous emporium for themselves and usually leaving with nothing more than a Noble’s teddy from the gift and souvenir section on the ground floor.
Amanda rode down in the lift, admiring the carved wooden panels adorned with Arts and Crafts motifs of flowers and vines as she went. The doors opened smoothly and she stepped out on to the ground floor. The central atrium was devoted to Noble’s print scarves, ties, notebooks, toilet bags and other bits and pieces. It was all very nicely laid out, but it wasn’t exactly exciting. The usual gaggle of tourists were wandering around, picking things up and looking at them but usually putting them back.
This is our problem, Amanda thought grimly. Everyone’s looking and no one’s buying. She wandered through the ground floor, into the handbag department and over to the staircase that led up to the first floor. She began to climb it slowly, her heart heavy. The company was in dire straits. It was hard to imagine life without Noble’s in it, let alone to think of what else she might do with her future … It was simply too depressing.
Emerging on the first floor, she looked about the almost deserted womenswear department. As she moved towards the racks of clothes, an elderly lady came up to her and said, ‘I need an outfit for my grandson’s wedding – do you have anything I could see, dear?’
‘Of course. I’ll get a sales assistant to show you some of our beautiful skirts and jackets,’ Amanda said brightly. ‘I’m sure we’ll be able to find you something perfect.’ She signalled to one of the sales girls to come over and help the customer. Then she walked on, feeling even lower.
Then she heard a laugh, high and girlish, and turned to see where it had come from. Over in the next gallery she could see a woman, young and obviously fashionable in her nude-silk shorts and high tan sandals with criss-cross leather straps across the foot – Miu Miu, Amanda noted – and a loose peach silk shirt worn over a cream vest. She had long blonde hair and was wandering through the store, chatting on her phone as she went.
Amanda felt a flicker of interest – this was more like the profile of the customer she was hoping to attract. And then, as she got closer, a feeling of dread began to form in the pit of her stomach. The girl seemed familiar – that build, the hair, the way she moved …
Oh my God … it’s Octavia Beaufort! It was only a week ago that Gerry’s careful planting of the Beaufort story had made the front page of all the tabloids. Amanda had imagined that Octavia was hidden away somewhere, licking her wounds, having had that smug pride of hers well and truly dented.
Just as she thought this, she heard Octavia say, ‘Oh, Ferdy, you are mad. But I forgive you when I think of all the lovely things you do to me …’
Furious, Amanda flew across the polished floor, reached out and grabbed the girl by the shoulder. She spun round, her expression startled. It was indeed Octavia Beaufort. The last time she’d seen Amanda, she was drenched in icy water and gasping in shock. For a moment she didn’t realise who was confronting her.
‘You!’ hissed Amanda. ‘What the hell are you doing here?’
‘What?’ Octavia’s violet-blue eyes looked wide and frightened as she took in who had grabbed her. ‘Oh! It’s you. What are you doing here?’
Amanda gained control of herself somehow, despite the fury racing through her and making her head buzz. She drew herself up and took a deep breath. ‘This is my goddamn shop. You can get the hell out!’
Octavia’s expression was confused for a moment, then she said slowly, ‘Oh, I see. This is payback because I emptied a water jug over your head after you insulted my sister.’
‘Did you hear me?’ Amanda put one hand on her hip. ‘You’d better get off these premises right now or I’m having you thrown off!’
‘What is your problem?’ demanded Octavia, cross. ‘Why are you being like this? I’m shopping – or trying to – not that there’s much here to buy anyway.’
Amanda’s eyes flashed and she felt her temper rising. It didn’t take much to set her off usually, and this girl was making her see red in double-quick time. ‘You have ten seconds to get yourself out of this place or I’m calling Security!’
Octavia looked incredulous. ‘Is this how you treat your customers? No wonder this place is so empty.’
‘It’s how I treat spoilt little bitches.’
‘It’s not my fault if you’re pissed off because your ex prefers me to you,’ retorted Octavia.
Amanda pulled a phone from her jacket pocket and pressed a speed-dial number. ‘Hi, it’s Amanda here. I want Security on the first floor, by the lifts, now.’
‘I can’t believe you’d be so crazy,’ Octavia said, shaking her head. ‘Listen, I’m going. Believe me, I don’t want to stay here another moment. You and your shop can drop off a cliff for all I care. I’d heard this place was famous but it makes me think of a church hall jumble sale.’ With a shrug of her delicate shoulders, she walked elegantly to the lift and pressed the button. The doors slid open immediately, and as she stepped inside, Octavia turned, gave Amanda a ravishing smile and said, ‘You’re going to be sorry you got on my bad side. I’m so looking forward to seeing what I’m capable of in the revenge stakes.’
With that, the lift doors closed and she disappeared.
32
Otto had been obliged to return to Germany to work, but was calling Flora every day. The taxis full of gifts had stopped arriving, at her insistence.
‘The flowers are gorgeous but we haven’t got so much as a jar to put them in!’ she’d said, laughing. ‘And I really don’t need any more balloons, or anything. I just want you back.’
‘I’m desperate to see you,’ he’d said down the phone. ‘I’ll return as soon as I can.’
Flora, seized with romantic longing, had said she would be on the first flight over, that she could charter a plane if necessary, but Otto had explained that the house was having some work done on it and he wanted it to be perfect for her when she had her first glimpse of it. ‘Not yet, my darling. When you come to Schloss Meckensberg, I want it to be absolutely right. Besides, I’ll be back in a few days, as soon as my business here is sorted.’ His voice dropped. ‘Will you have an answer for me then, my love? I don’t know how long I can bear the tension of waiting …’
�
��I will have an answer, I promise. I can’t say what it is yet, but I will.’
When Flora had put the phone down she stared at it for a while, thinking. She hadn’t told Otto about the newspaper revelations and he hadn’t seen them as far as she knew. It seemed a strange coincidence that her past should come to the surface just as a new future opened up before her. It was that which had made her realise what she had to do before she could give Otto the answer he wanted.
Octavia was swimming her lengths in the pool, cutting through the water with ease, lost in the calming repetition of each stroke. As she came up for air and went to make her turn at the deep end, she noticed that Flora had come down to the pool and was standing at the side, watching her glide through the lucid blue water.
Octavia stopped her lengths and swam over her, breathless from the exertion. ‘Morning,’ she said, brushing drops of water from her eyelashes with one hand. ‘What are you doing here? Coming for a swim?’
Flora shook her head. She looked serious.
‘What’s up?’ Octavia asked. She held on to the side of the pool, kicking her legs in the warm water.
‘Tavy, I’ve come to a decision. I’m not sure what you’re going to think about it but … I’m going to see Aunt Frances.’
‘What?’ Octavia frowned. Both she and Flora had vowed that they would never go back to Homerton. If their aunt wanted to see them, she would have to come to them. And so far she hadn’t even contacted them to see how they were. ‘Why?’
Flora took a deep breath. ‘I want to ask her about our mother.’
Octavia stared at her sister, feeling confused and panicked. ‘What are you going to ask her?’
‘What happened, of course. I want to know. Don’t you?’
Octavia could see that her usually quiet twin was full of determination. It wasn’t like her. Octavia got the feeling that Flora was going to do whatever she wanted regardless of what her sister thought. ‘I don’t understand what you think she can tell us.’
‘I’m pretty sure she can tell us a hell of a lot actually.’
‘But …’ Octavia felt a surge of painful emotion take her in its grip. ‘For God’s sake, Flora, I think we should leave it be. If our mother is dead, then it changes nothing. If she’s not, then I don’t think I want to know her, if I’m honest. She’s dead to us, at any rate. I don’t think you should rake it all up. It’s bad enough that we’ve got all this shit in the papers as it is. I’m finding it hard to cope with all of that. I don’t need anything else to handle right now.’
‘I can’t let it lie,’ Flora said, setting her shoulders and fixing her sister with a steady gaze. ‘My life is changing. I might be going to get married. But I need to understand the past before I can move on. I hope that makes sense to you, Tavy, because I have to do it. Do you want to come with me?’
‘No!’ Octavia burst out, feeling herself buckling under the strength of her emotions. ‘Why would I want to see that horrible old cow? She hasn’t been in touch with us once, to see how we’re getting on or to ask to come and visit. Don’t you see? She never loved us, not really. She was only obsessed with our bloody father. I don’t want to see her!’ She blinked hard, not sure if the stinging in her eyes was from the chlorine or the tears she knew were there.
Flora sat down on one of the cane loungers by the poolside. ‘I don’t want to see her either – and you’re right, it’s hurtful that she hasn’t called to find out how we are. But she’s the only one who can tell us the truth behind those stories in the newspaper. She’s the only one who knows.’
‘The truth? We know the truth. Our parents are dead.’ Octavia splashed water as she said it, her face hard.
‘We never knew anything about that court case,’ Flora said. ‘And that’s kind of weird, don’t you think? We were always too afraid to ask Aunt Frances to tell us what she knew. But I’m an adult now. Before I can even think about getting married, I need to know everything she can tell us about our past.’
‘She won’t say anything,’ Octavia warned. ‘And who knows if we can believe what she says anyway?’ Then she cried out, ‘I don’t want to go back there, and I can’t believe you can bear it either. Every day I spend out of Aunt Frances’s control makes me realise how awful our lives were with her. I never want to see her again! Oh, go if you want. I don’t care.’ She turned and dived under the surface of the water, kicking herself off and then gliding away through the depths, her outline shimmering in the turquoise blue.
33
Flora and Vicky set off, Vicky at the wheel of her Audi, heading out of London and back to Northampton, to the place Flora had thought she would never see again.
They arrived within two hours, pulling into the familiar driveway and passing between the high iron gates. Flora knew that her aunt would be there – she had phoned the house and spoken to Maggie – but she hadn’t wanted to warn Frances herself, in case she tried to avoid the interview with her niece.
Maggie had arranged with the gatehouse that Vicky’s car would be allowed in. As it was, the gatekeeper brightened up when he recognised Flora in the passenger seat, and waved them through without question.
‘Here we are,’ Vicky said, as she turned off the engine. They both looked up at the forbidding grey exterior of the house. The windows were dark and dead. There didn’t seem to be any trace of life behind them. Was it always like this? Flora wondered. She had lived here almost her entire life, and yet it seemed odd and almost frightening to her now. She’d at first found her existence outside these walls so daunting that she’d come to think of Homerton as a place of safety and refuge. Looking at it now, she remembered all the confusion and fear she had actually felt here.
‘Y-Y-Yes, h-h-here we are,’ stuttered Flora, faltering over the words. She looked at Vicky, who stared back with sympathetic eyes. The stutter always grew worse when Flora was suffering from stress. This visit was clearly going to be harder than she’d expected.
Maggie answered the door to their knock, gasped with delight and gave Flora a huge hug. ‘It’s lovely to see you again! Look at you! You look so much more grown up. Come in, come in.’
Maggie chattered away as she led them inside and it was only by promising that she would visit the housekeeper before she left that Flora managed to get her to stop talking and take them to Aunt Frances.
‘She’s changed since you left,’ confided the housekeeper, leading them through the house towards the conservatory. ‘It’s as though her main reason for existing has gone with you. She hardly does anything now … she and the Brigadier almost never go out. She spends half the morning dozing in the conservatory. That’s where we’ll find her now, I expect.’
Flora’s mouth was dry and her heart pounding as they approached it. They stopped in the doorway, feeling the humid warmth from within. The whole room was full of plants, a jungle of lush, tropical greenery with white cast-iron garden furniture hidden among it.
‘I’ll leave you to it,’ whispered Vicky. ‘I’m going down to the kitchen with Maggie. We’ll wait for you there.’
Flora nodded.
‘Madam is probably on the sofa near the back. She likes to be able to look out over the garden,’ murmured Maggie. She smiled at Flora. ‘Now don’t you be frightened. She’s just an old woman. Don’t let her make you feel like a small girl again. You’ve got your own life now, haven’t you? Can I bring you anything?’
Flora shook her head, a little comforted by Maggie’s words. She rubbed her palms on her jeans. She was most certainly nervous. Maggie’s right, she’s just an old woman. What can she do to me? she told herself. And advanced into the fetid atmosphere.
Her footsteps sounded unnaturally loud against the stone floor. She advanced through the conservatory, avoiding the encroaching foliage as she went. The whole place seemed to buzz from the sheer amount of vegetation crammed inside it. Towards the back, Flora came into a clearing. Instead of the white cast-iron furniture that stood everywhere else, there was a long rattan sofa covered in com
fortable cushions. Lying on it was an old woman, her feet crossed at the ankle, a book on her lap, open and standing like a tent, one hand fallen next to it as though she had dozed off while reading.
Flora approached, a sick feeling making her giddy. She stared down at her aunt for a moment: Maggie was right, she did seem older, her hair almost white and her face lined and tired-looking. Her mouth hung open and her breath came in loud semi-snores as she slept.
‘Aunt F-F-Frances?’ Flora’s voice came out reedy and hesitant.
The woman started, her eyes flicking open as she jerked awake. She looked confused for a moment, and then caught sight of her niece. ‘Flora?’ she said querulously. ‘What on earth are you doing here?’
That vulnerable old woman had vanished, noted Flora, to be replaced by the strict and frightening guardian she remembered so well; the woman who had forbidden her young charges to have anything to do with the outside world. She felt fear rising inside her and gathered all her strength to quell it.
‘Well?’ snapped Frances. ‘Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?’ She eyed her niece critically, staring at her jeans. ‘What on earth are you wearing? Surely I taught you better than to wear denim when making a formal visit?’
‘I’m very well, thank you, Aunt,’ Flora said as haughtily as she could, ignoring the comment on her clothes and only stammering a little over her words. ‘So k-k-kind of you to ask.’
Frances blinked at her in surprise. She wasn’t used to any kind of retort from the biddable Flora. Octavia, yes, but Flora … always the quiet one, the malleable one. The one who didn’t answer back.
‘Sit down.’ The old woman gestured to one of the hard iron chairs, and Flora took it. ‘So? Your new life … You’d better tell me about it. And what that firebrand of a sister of yours is up to. No doubt she’s getting into plenty of trouble. I’ve seen her flaunting herself in the papers.’