Hothouse Flower

by Lucinda Riley

  ‘I do, your Ladyship.’

  ‘I will speak to Elsie, and tell her I know,’ Olivia added. ‘I will not be made a fool of by my own maid. And the three of us will keep this secret until the day we die.’

  ‘Yes, your Ladyship,’ Bill agreed gravely.

  ‘Then that is settled.’ Olivia held up her head and walked past him towards the door. She paused, then turned back to him. ‘Please know I do not blame you, Bill. You were merely doing as you were bid. My husband, poor fool that he is, has little understanding of what you have done for him. You have been a loyal and faithful servant. And I bear you no grudge.’

  She gave him a short smile and left the hothouse.

  The following day, when Harry returned from London and heard that Bill was home, he excused himself from lunch, saying he was keen to see the specimens Bill had brought back with him. Olivia accepted this excuse, aware of his true motives, but taking some small satisfaction from knowing all the facts herself.

  Bill did as he had been asked; he lied for the sake of Wharton Park and all who depended on it. He told Harry that Lidia had died some weeks before he arrived in Bangkok, that he had visited her grave and laid orchids upon it. Then he held Harry in his arms as he wept uncontrollably for his lost love.

  When Harry was calmer, Bill mentioned the baby girl he had rescued from an orphanage, and said he must come to the cottage to see her, when he felt better.

  ‘Of course, Bill, one day soon,’ Harry agreed, not really listening, then stumbling out of the hothouse, despair leaking from his every pore.

  Olivia had not expected her husband to come to her that night, and he didn’t. At breakfast the following morning, she was back in control, thinking of her baby and of Wharton Park. But her heart had closed to Harry forever. She watched him at the far end of the table, saw his drawn face betraying his inner agony and knew Bill had done as he had promised.

  Olivia read her husband’s grief on his face and found she felt … nothing. No longer would she be hurt by his lack of interest in or affection towards her. Instead, she revelled silently in his pain.

  Only two days later, she was suffering her own pain.

  The doctor was called and, although he did what he could to prevent the onset of Olivia’s labour, a few hours later a perfect, tiny boy made his premature entrance into the world.

  Christopher Harry James Crawford, heir to the Wharton Park Estate, died three days later, after a valiant struggle to hold on to life.

  And although Harry tried, once his wife was recovered, to come back into her bed, Olivia had no further physical contact with her husband until the day he died.

  49

  Wharton Park

  I sit in the library, trying to make sense of the story I have just heard. A tragic story of love, deception and pain – a story of which I seem to be the direct result.

  Harry Crawford is my grandfather … I have Crawford blood running through my veins … My mother was half Thai, brought from the other side of the world … Elsie and Bill are not related to me by blood … and I am, somehow, but just now I can’t fathom how, related to Kit …

  Yet, even though the things I’ve heard have been shocking and revelatory, I find I am calm. This house, Wharton Park, has always been a part of me, yet I have never known why. It is simply the place where I have always felt I belonged. I know now that three hundred years of my ancestors have lived within these walls. Their essence must have soaked into the very fabric of the building.

  Wharton Park and the Crawford family – my family – are inextricably linked. The house reaches out, drawing us back, demanding we return. It is as if the house owns us all, and there is no escape. Even a tiny baby girl, born many thousands of miles away, a child who should not have been born at all, was claimed by and restored to it.

  My mother, Jasmine, the only direct bloodline of her generation, born illegitimately in the chaotic aftermath of war, never aware of her heritage or legal right to the house, still flourished secretly on its very soil. And, once she was safely reclaimed, she left behind further Crawfords; one of whom, with a dash of fate and chance, now finds herself back within the walls of the house.

  The stark truth suddenly dawns on me. But does it comfort or frighten me?

  Wharton Park does not belong to the Crawfords.

  We belong to it.

  Julia felt the tension in her body, looked down and saw she was clutching Kit’s hand tightly. She glanced over at Elsie’s grey, drawn face.

  Eventually Kit broke the silence: ‘If I’ve got it right, Julia and I are technically third cousins?’

  Elsie managed to nod. ‘Yes, Kit, you are.’

  ‘And did Harry ever discover that the little girl growing up a few hundred yards away from him was Lidia’s daughter?’

  ‘No. Bill and I kept our promise to her Ladyship, and didn’t say a word to no one. Harry never set foot in the kitchen garden or the hothouses again. It saddened Bill terrible, it did, that the bond they’d formed between them in Changi was broken. He understood, though, that his Lordship didn’t want anything to do with what reminded him of Lidia. I don’t believe he set eyes on his daughter for over twenty years. Until one day, when he knew he was dying, he turned up on our doorstep.’ Elsie turned to Julia. ‘Your mother opened the door to him. He must have seen then, for Bill always said Jasmine had grown up the image of her mother. Anyways,’ Elsie shrugged, ‘his Lordship came inside, looking like he’d seen a ghost. I think then he knew for certain who she was.’

  ‘Must have been one hell of a shock for him,’ murmured Kit.

  ‘Yes,’ Elsie agreed, ‘the poor man was shaking. I had him sit down and made him a cuppa with plenty of sugar. And even though he was talking to me about wanting Bill to have his Changi diary, his eyes never left Jasmine. She’d just come back from the hothouses, where she’d been painting some of her dad’s orchids. His Lordship saw them on the kitchen table and asked her about them.’

  Tears appeared in Elsie’s eyes at the memory, and Kit let go of Julia’s hand so that she could go over to the old lady and put an arm round her. ‘Elsie, if this all too much for you …’

  ‘No,’ Elsie said firmly, ‘I’ve started and I want to finish. Anyway, his Lordship asked Jasmine if he could have her paintings, because he liked them so much. She said yes, and then he kissed her and said goodbye. And that,’ she lowered her head, swallowing hard, ‘was the last time I ever saw poor Harry alive.’

  ‘It was probably best that he didn’t know until right at the end. For Jasmine too,’ Kit comforted.

  ‘That’s as maybe, but I’ll not forget the look on his face as he left. He was only forty-eight or so, but seemed years older. He didn’t have much of a life, did his Lordship. He and her Ladyship were married in name only. The shock of finding out about Jasmine, then losing her own baby, meant Olivia was never the same again. Even though I loved her, she turned from a sweet girl into a bitter old woman. Harry got no comfort from her, that’s for sure. I’ve often said it; I really believe he died of a broken heart.’

  ‘So that’s how those four paintings ended up in the Sale of Contents here a few months back?’ Kit said with a flourish, looking at Julia.

  Julia didn’t reply, her mind still in turmoil.

  ‘And Jasmine never knew who her real mother and father were?’ Kit asked.

  Elsie shook her head defensively. ‘No. What good would have come of it, for any of us? Oh,’ she yawned, ‘pardon me, this tale-telling is taking its toll.’ She looked at Julia. ‘Are you all right, my love? It must be a terrible shock, this. But at least your mum was your mum and your dad was your dad, even if I’m not your blinking granny. I’ve always loved you just like I was, mind.’

  ‘I know you have, Granny,’ Julia rallied.

  ‘Well, it was a terrible secret to keep for all those years, but you do what you need to. And that’s what Bill and I did.’

  Kit’s thoughts were not clouded with emotion, leaving him free to grasp the ramification
s of what he had been told. ‘But surely this means that Alicia, as your older sister, is more of a direct heir to the Wharton Park Estate than I am? Of course, as a woman, she could never carry the title, but she might have a claim to the actual estate.’

  ‘No, Alicia wouldn’t.’ Elsie shook her head wearily. ‘But that’s for another time. I think I need some shut-eye.’ She made to stand up and Kit assisted her.

  ‘Thank you, Kit. You’re a real gentleman, a proper Crawford.’ She smiled, put her arm through Kit’s and he walked with her across the room. Elsie paused in front of Julia, who was still sitting immobile on the sofa. ‘I’m sorry, my love,’ she said softly. ‘I’ve agonised over whether to tell you or not. But seeing that fate has led you back to Wharton Park, and Kit, I thought it was the right thing to do. I hope it was.’

  Julia roused herself, stood up too, and put her arms round her grandmother’s shoulders. ‘Yes, it was. And I’m really grateful to you for doing it.’

  Kit and Julia stood side by side and watched Elsie leave the room.

  ‘Do you think I should go up with her?’ asked Julia.

  Kit shook his head. ‘I get the feeling she wants time by herself.’ He let out a sigh, which turned into a whistle. ‘Fancy a brandy? I think I could do with one after hearing that lot.’

  Julia shook her head. ‘No thanks.’ She sat down abruptly on the sofa, as Kit took a decanter from a cupboard under the bookshelves and poured himself a drink.

  ‘The one question I want to ask Elsie is whether your real grandmother is still alive. If Lidia was only seventeen when Harry met her, and that was in 1945, that would make her, what, eighty now? There is a chance she could still be living.’ Kit sat down on the sofa next to Julia and wrapped an arm round her shoulder. ‘Lidia must have really been something for Harry to be prepared to give up everything for her. And, my darling, we now know where you inherited your talent for the piano from: your grandfather, Harry.’

  That was a connection Julia hadn’t yet made, and she laid her head on Kit’s shoulder, thanking God that the blood ties between them were no closer than third cousins. ‘Yes, perhaps,’ she murmured.

  Kit glanced up at the cracks in the ceiling. ‘Of course, the moral of this sorry tale is that duty won over love. I feel extraordinarily lucky I’m not in Harry’s position. I can understand why he felt he had no choice.’

  ‘It’s Olivia that I feel sorry for. She knew from the start what had happened, but put the future of Wharton Park above her own feelings. No wonder she was bitter,’ Julia sighed, ‘her whole adult life, unloved and betrayed.’

  ‘Yes,’ Kit took a sip of his brandy. ‘I’m only sorry now that I didn’t pay her more attention when I was here in the holidays. I presumed she was just a dried-up, sour old woman.’

  ‘Having lost her own child, it must have been very painful to see my mother growing up on the estate, knowing she was Harry’s daughter.’

  ‘Life is so terribly sad, isn’t it?’ Kit sighed and hugged Julia to him. ‘That’s why I’m of the belief that one should seize the day. Now, perhaps, after all this excitement, we should wend our way upstairs?’

  Julia agreed, and they walked together to the entrance hall. Julia sat on the stairs as Kit went about the nightly task of switching off all the lights and locking the doors. He came to sit on the stair next to her. ‘You okay, sweetheart?’ he asked, reaching for her hand.

  ‘Yes,’ she nodded.

  ‘Granddaughter of a gardener one minute, then a lord the next!’ Kit teased her gently. ‘Mind you, rest assured you’re not the first, nor will you be the last. I could name you half a dozen local aristocratic families with skeletons in their cupboards. Come on, old girl, time you and I were abed. We have a busy day tomorrow.’ Kit pulled her to her feet and they walked, hand-in-hand, up the stairs.

  They lay together in bed, Kit’s arms wrapped protectively round Julia.

  ‘What I don’t understand,’ Julia spoke into the blackness, ‘is why Elsie didn’t insist that Alicia should hear the story too? After all, it’s as much to do with her as it is with me.’

  Well,’ Kit stroked her soft hair, ‘from what Elsie insinuated tonight, I reckon there are a few more secrets to be told. Night night, sweetheart.’

  Julia was up and about in good time the next morning, preparing Sunday lunch for her family. Elsie arrived in the kitchen just after nine o’clock, shocked she had slept so late. ‘It must have been the emotion that did for me,’ she said as she sat down at the kitchen table. ‘I’m always on my feet by six.’

  Julia put a cup of tea in front of Elsie. ‘Well, I’m sure it won’t have done you any harm this once. It’s nice for me to look after you for a change.’

  Elsie eyed Julia nervously. ‘And … how are you feeling about what I told you last night?’

  ‘Now that the shock’s worn off, as a matter of fact, I’m feeling fine,’ Julia replied honestly. ‘I mean, it’s not as if you were telling me that my parents weren’t my parents, is it?’ Julia put a hand on Elsie’s shoulders, bent down and kissed her. ‘And we may not be related by blood, but that won’t change how I feel about you.’

  Elsie reached for Julia’s hands. ‘Thank you, my love, for taking it so well. After all the shocks you’ve been through in the last year, I was worried it would be one too many. But I thought you should know. I mean, if you and Kit do get wed at some point, there is a blood tie. There seemed something –’ Elsie wrinkled her nose as she thought of the right phrase – ‘indecent, about not telling you.’

  ‘Thank you. I wouldn’t worry though, our genes have been diluted through many generations. Now, I’ve got bacon and eggs in especially for you. Would you like some?’

  Elsie glanced at Julia with affection. ‘You know I’ll never say no to a nice fry-up, my love. Is your dad coming to lunch today?’

  ‘I’ve left a message asking him, but he hasn’t called back yet. He’s probably sleeping off his jetlag. He only got home from the States last night.’

  ‘Julia,’ Elsie’s face became serious. ‘I want you to swear to me that neither you or Kit will mention any of what I’ve told you to Alicia until I’ve had a word with your dad.’

  ‘Of course, if that’s what you want. Does Dad know any of this?’

  ‘No, he doesn’t, and if you don’t mind, I’d like to tell him myself. Explain in my own words why I never told Jasmine.’

  ‘Of course. Anyway, please don’t let it spoil your day,’ Julia implored. ‘Alicia, Max and the children are due here at half past twelve. And they’re so looking forward to seeing you.’

  ‘And I them,’ nodded Elsie. She took a sip of her tea. ‘Silly of me to be nervous about coming back here, wasn’t it? Thought it might bring back bad memories, and, instead, it’s brought back all the good.’ Elsie glanced around the kitchen. ‘It was like a morgue, mind, after Harry died, and her Ladyship rattled around here by herself. I used to dread coming to work. But now there’s new life in the place. It doesn’t feel sad any more. Of course, what it needed was two young people in love.’

  Julia blushed and changed the subject. ‘I was wondering if you could tell me how long I should cook this beef?’ she said, pointing to the joint on the sideboard as she cracked some eggs for Elsie’s breakfast into a pan. ‘I’m not really a very experienced cook, but I’m learning.’

  ‘Enthusiasm is all you need, my love.’ Elsie stood up and walked over to the beef. ‘First of all, I’ll show you how to baste it.’

  50

  Just after twelve thirty, Julia saw Max and Alicia’s car coming down the drive. She swung open the heavy front door and went down the steps to greet them.

  The children flocked around her in the hall, ‘ooing’ and ‘aahing’ over the grandness of their auntie’s new residence. Julia shepherded everyone through the house and on to the terrace, where Elsie was waiting for them. Julia saw her face light up as her great-grandchildren clustered around her. When Kit came out with a bottle of champagne, he was introduced to
the children, and Julia felt a warm glow as she watched the easy way he talked to them.

  After a while, Julia left them all chatting on the terrace and went to attend to her beef. Alicia followed her into the kitchen.

  ‘Anything I can do to help?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes, keep an eye on those carrots and tell me when they’re cooked,’ said Julia, pouring more oil over her roast potatoes. ‘I’m truly hopeless with vegetables.’

  Alicia forked a carrot out of the pan and put it in her mouth. ‘These are perfect. I’ll take them off the boil. Weird to see you cooking,’ she commented, moving the saucepan on to the hotplate.

  ‘I never had time before, but I’m really enjoying learning. Kit’s teaching me.’

  Alicia folded her arms as she watched Julia. ‘You know, I still haven’t a clue how you two got together. There was I, presuming you were back in France, and two weeks later I see you walking down Holt High Street, with Kit Crawford’s arm slung cosily round your shoulder.’ There was an edge to Alicia’s voice. ‘You might have told me.’

  ‘Yes,’ replied Julia guiltily, ‘I should have done. I’m sorry. I just … well, I wasn’t sure what to say. It’s hard to explain what happened. You might have thought I was making a rash decision.’

  ‘And disapprove?’

  ‘Yes, to be honest.’

  ‘Julia, after the hell you’ve been through, if Kit makes you happy, why on earth should I?’ snapped Alicia. ‘Honestly, do you really think I’m that judgemental?’

  ‘No …’ Julia shook her head, ‘I suppose I was just being selfish, wanting to keep it all to myself for a while, see how things worked out before I broadcast it.’

  ‘I presume the baby and his, er, girlfriend, have been dispatched now?’

  ‘That, Alicia, is exactly why I haven’t said anything!’ Julia shot back. ‘Annie wasn’t his “girlfriend” and her baby wasn’t his. Kit was simply helping an old friend in her hour of need, whatever the local gossips are still saying. People should mind their own business,’ she added crossly.