Hothouse Flower

by Lucinda Riley

  ‘Julia, for goodness’ sake, Kit Crawford is the new owner of Wharton Park, one of the grandest estates in the county! He’s local royalty and of course he’s going to be gossiped about! And you will be too, if you stay with him, so get used to it! And perhaps, if you’d trusted me with the true version of events, I might have been able to put paid to some of it, at least. But you didn’t. Really, I sometimes wonder what kind of person you think I am.’ The delicate pink of Alicia’s cheeks had turned red with rare anger. ‘And if you had told me, I’d have been thrilled for you, once I understood the circumstances. I think Kit’s a lovely man and completely smitten with you. There aren’t many men who would have cared for you like he did when you were so sick. I knew how he felt about you then.’

  ‘Did you?’ Julia was genuinely surprised.

  ‘Absolutely. And I knew you liked him too, but were just too scared and confused to admit it, which I really understand.’

  ‘Oh.’ Julia drained her glass, feeling churlish for underestimating Alicia. ‘Anyway, now you do know, perhaps we can see a little more of each other,’ she said, as a peace offering.

  ‘Yes, that would be nice. Anyway, let’s move on, shall we? Is Dad coming today?’ asked Alicia. ‘I know his flight landed late last night.’

  ‘I think so, but he wasn’t quite sure what time. He told me not to hold lunch for him. I think he really wants to see Elsie.’

  ‘Have you told Dad yet about you and Kit?’

  ‘No. You know what he’s like, especially after a research trip; his head’s still full of flora and fauna. It wouldn’t have sunk in.’

  ‘And how’s Elsie?’ Alicia watched as Julia started stirring the gravy. ‘Has she told you any more of the story?’

  ‘Not really, no.’ Julia spoke guardedly, remembering Elsie’s plea. ‘I’m sure she will, but she was very tired last night. Right,’ she pulled the joint out of the Aga, ‘I think this beef is ready, don’t you? Could you ask Kit to come in and carve?’

  George arrived at the house halfway through the beef, looking tanned and healthy. Julia fetched a warm plate of food for him and, as he ate, George regaled the table with his new discoveries from the Galapagos Islands. When they had all finished, he helped Julia carry the plates into the kitchen.

  ‘Darling,’ he said as he put them down by the side of the sink, ‘you look like a different person. Or, in fact, more accurately, like the old Julia. I presume it’s that attractive young man of yours who’s brought about this transformation?’

  ‘Kit has certainly helped, in all sorts of ways,’ Julia agreed coyly. ‘I’m … much better.’

  ‘Well,’ said George, ‘haven’t had much of a chance to talk to him, but he seems like a nice chap. Is there such a thing as a dishwasher lurking somewhere in this kitchen?’

  ‘No. Far too modern a convenience for this house,’ Julia grinned, ‘so I’m afraid it’s elbows in the suds time. I’m living back in the fifties here, Dad. Not that I mind. It’s such a beautiful old house.’

  ‘It is indeed,’ George agreed, ‘and I admit, it’s an odd experience being greeted at the front door of Wharton Park by my own daughter, and finding my family on the estate once more.’ He put the plug in the sink and started running the tap.

  ‘Don’t worry about that now, Dad, I’ll see to it later. Perhaps you could take the pavlova and the raspberries out for me?’ She pointed to them on the kitchen table. ‘Shop-bought, I’m afraid. My new-found talents don’t extend to puds yet.’

  George picked them up and headed for the door, then paused and turned. ‘So, you being here at Wharton Park with Kit – do I gather this is a permanent arrangement?’

  ‘Who knows? As you once said to me, Dad, I’m taking one day at a time.’

  ‘Good girl, good girl,’ he replied. ‘I’m pleased for you, darling, I really am.’

  *

  After lunch, Kit rounded up the boys to play football, and Julia took the girls on a tour of the house, a situation she had specifically engineered to leave George and Elsie alone together.

  ‘My goodness,’ Alicia whistled as they walked down the long upstairs corridors, opening doors to room after room. ‘This is a huge renovation job. The whole house needs a complete overhaul.’

  ‘Well, I like it just the way it is,’ Julia said defensively.

  Back downstairs, Julia made coffee and Alicia took the tray out on to the terrace. Elsie was sitting there alone, eyes closed, enjoying the afternoon sun.

  ‘Where’s Dad?’ asked Alicia as she sat down.

  Elsie opened her eyes slowly. ‘He sent his apologies, he did, said he only got a couple of hours’ sleep last night and wanted to get home before he was too tired to drive. He said he’d give you a call later.’

  ‘Poor thing, he must be exhausted,’ Alicia said, unaware there could be another reason for her father to leave without saying goodbye. ‘Now, shall I pour coffee?’

  When Alicia and Max had taken their brood home for baths and bed, Kit nipped out to check something on the farm, and Julia sat with Elsie, watching the sunset from the terrace.

  ‘I spoke to your dad,’ Elsie ventured eventually.

  ‘Right.’

  ‘What you must understand, Julia,’ Elsie sighed, ‘is that when you open up a secret from the past, it’s a can of worms. I know you’ve probably heard that many times before but, my love, it’s true. Because they wriggle out and spread themselves in places you never expected them to.’

  ‘It must be hard for you to have to do this, but I’m so glad you have, Granny,’ Julia replied warmly. ‘Already, there are things I’ve never understood about myself that are beginning to fall into place. Talking of which, Kit wondered whether you knew what happened to Lidia. Did she make it through the operation and could she still be alive?’

  ‘Well now,’ Elsie said slowly, ‘I’m going to let you into another little secret. Something that even Bill didn’t know. You see, when Bill told me how that poor girl had to hand over Jasmine to him, my heart bled for her, it did. Bill wrote to his friend, the flower man, as he’d promised, to tell him to let Lidia know Jasmine was safe at Wharton Park. Not mentioning, of course, she was living with us in our cottage, and not up at the big house with her dad. Lidia wrote back to me a few weeks later, to say she’d survived the operation and was slowly getting better. Well,’ Elsie continued, ‘I thought it would be nice for her to see some pictures of Jasmine, so I sent some to her. Over the years, we wrote to each other, me always pretending I was the nursemaid looking after Jasmine, so she wouldn’t get upset, like.’

  ‘What a lovely thing to do,’ Julia smiled.

  ‘Well, how Lidia could ever have thought Harry’s wife would accept his illegitimate child, I really don’t know. But if it made her happy to think her girl was being brought up a “Lady”, who was I to disillusion her?’ Elsie rubbed her nose. ‘Maybe they do things differently over in them hot countries.’

  ‘It did cross my mind that after Olivia lost her baby, she might have thought about adopting my mother,’ Julia admitted.

  ‘Never in a month of Sundays!’ Elsie grimaced. ‘For a start, it would have been impossible for her to pass Jasmine off as her own, Olivia being so fair and Jasmine being so dark, like. But, more importantly, she would never have acknowledged her as Harry’s child. Olivia knew he was in love with Lidia. She wasn’t going to have Jasmine as a daily reminder of that love, was she now? However empty her nest remained.’

  ‘No … you’re right,’ Julia agreed. ‘Of course she wouldn’t. Do you and Lidia still communicate, Granny?’

  ‘No. After your mum died, I didn’t write no more. Couldn’t bring myself to tell her. As we both know, mothers never get over losing a child …’ Elsie’s voice trailed off. ‘So, in answer to your question, I’ve no idea if Lidia is still alive.’

  ‘No,’ Julia answered quietly.

  ‘Oh, dearie me,’ Elsie sighed, ‘it’s no good thinking the past is in the past: it carries on, it does, and by telling yo
u and Kit what I have, it meant that your dad was faced with a decision too. I can only hope I’ve done the right thing.’

  ‘Well, whatever it is, I’m sure we’re a strong enough family to take it.’

  Elsie reached for Julia’s hand and patted it. ‘Yes, my love, I think we are.’

  51

  Three days later, Kit drove Julia to Stansted airport. Julia could easily have taken a taxi, but Kit had insisted. One way and another, they had hardly seen each other since the weekend.

  ‘Have you spoken to your father in the past few days?’ Kit asked, his eyes on the busy motorway.

  ‘I left him two messages and he finally called me back yesterday. He’s been at Kew, presenting his new Galapagos species to the horticultural Powers-That-Be.’

  ‘He didn’t mention the conversation he had with Elsie on Sunday, then?’

  ‘No. And I didn’t press it either. He sounded a little distant,’ Julia shrugged, ‘but then, he often does. I’m sure he’ll tell me in his own good time.’

  ‘You’re right. And you’ve got enough on your plate, sweetheart.’ Kit reached across and squeezed Julia’s hand. ‘I wish I could come with you, you know. Are you sure you’ll be all right?’

  Julia nodded stoically. ‘I’ve just got to get this over and done with.’

  ‘Yes. And …’ Kit searched for the words, ‘I want you to know I respect how much you loved them. They won’t threaten me, Julia. I really accept that if Xavier was still here, you’d be with him. And I don’t want you to be ashamed or guilty about that. I can hardly resent that you’ve loved others before. Remember, I have too.’

  The two of them stood awkwardly by passport control. There were things Julia wanted to say to Kit, like how wonderful he’d been, how happy she’d been, and how much she thought she loved – yes, loved – him. But she couldn’t quite find the words. So, rather than saying the wrong thing, she remained silent.

  Eventually, Kit threw his arms round her and hugged her to him. ‘I’ll miss you so much, darling,’ he whispered in her ear.

  ‘I will too,’ she managed feebly.

  He stepped back and pushed a lock of her hair from her face. ‘Please try to take care of yourself. I know how bad you are at that. And, remember, if you need me, I’m here. And I’ll be waiting for you, however long it takes.’

  Julia nodded, close to tears. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘I love you, darling,’ he murmured.

  ‘Yes,’ Julia said, too choked to say any more. Then she turned away from him, gave a small wave and walked through the barrier.

  Sitting on the plane as it prepared to land at Toulon airport, Julia was surprised to find she was thinking less of what she now had to face, than she was of leaving Kit. Having spent three hours without him, and with no idea how long it might be before she saw him again, she felt … bereft. The intensity with which she missed him had taken her completely by surprise.

  When she smelt the sweet, familiar, pine-scented air, a large part of her wanted to turn tail, step back on the plane and return to the comfort of Kit and Wharton Park. By the time she had collected her rental car and was heading along the scenic coastal route to her home, Julia understood it was hardly surprising she wanted to run back into Kit’s arms: what she must face in less than an hour terrified her.

  But the sooner it was done, the sooner she could return to him.

  She had to say goodbye. And say it alone.

  The traffic along the coast road was heavy with holidaymakers. Julia wound her way patiently through the pretty resorts of Bormes-les-Mimosa, Lavandou and Rayol Canadel, watching families spilling off the beaches and into the busy bars and cafés. The whole of France moved south during August and there was little point in trying to get anywhere in a hurry.

  The winding road began to climb upward, affording wonderful views of the azure sea below. After the hardy baldness of the Norfolk landscape, which Julia appreciated had its own raw beauty, the Côte d’Azur offered spectacular, colourful intricacy. It was rather like comparing a rough diamond to an exquisitely fashioned and polished sapphire, yet they both had their own unique charms.

  At La Croix Valmer, Julia took the steep, narrow road up to the hilltop town of Ramatuelle. As she approached the village, adrenalin began to pump through her. She rarely felt the need for a drink, but she wished she could have one now.

  As usual, the roads in the village were packed with tourists, and Julia had to park some distance from her house. She took her holdall from the boot of the car and walked along the narrow path to her home, which stood just off the main square. Ramatuelle was a maze of narrow streets and hidden alleys, full of picturesque, ancient stone houses, with bougainvillea tumbling in fat, purple blossoms over the walls.

  The village was only ten minutes from the smart beaches of Pampelonne and the resort of St Tropez, so it was more sophisticated than most, with an array of expensive restaurants attracting a chic clientele. Julia loved it best in the winter, when the village was returned to its inhabitants.

  She stopped by the wrought-iron gates that opened on to the short path which led to her front door. She dug deep, garnering strength to open the gates, walk up that path and put the key in the lock …

  Any moment now, the door will open. Gabriel will know I am coming and will be waiting at the window with Agnes, ready to run down the steps and into my arms.

  I will hold him close to me, smelling his wonderful scent, made up of Xavier and myself, and something of Gabriel’s own. I will caress his freshly washed dark hair, too long by far for a boy, but I cannot bear to cut it and see the soft ringlets fall from his head.

  ‘Tu es rentrée. Je t’aime, Maman,’ he will say, as he hangs on to me like a small monkey and we go up the steps together. Agnes will be there, smiling to see us reunited, and I will sit Gabriel on my lap at the kitchen table as they tell me what they have been up to since I’ve been gone.

  He will climb off my lap and shyly bring me a painting he has done for me. The paper is stiff under the weight of the clumsily applied paint, but he is proud of it, and knows I will be happy to receive it.

  We will take a walk outside and Gabriel will hop on to his small tricycle, which he will pedal manically around the terrace, showing off his skills to me. Then he will tire and clamber back on to my knee, thumb in his mouth. He will settle down against my breast and I will feel his heart beating against mine. As he grows drowsy, I will lift him up in my arms and carry him to his cot to lie him down gently. I will lean over and kiss his forehead, loving the feel of his soft skin against my lips. I will stroke his head, murmuring to him of my love, and all the wonderful things we will do together now I am home. As he slips into sleep, he will open one eye to check I am still there.

  I am … and will be, always.

  Julia opened the door to the silent house and prepared to step back into the past. And the pain.

  She stood in the shadowy hallway, struck by the distinctive smell that pervades all old houses unlived in for a long period. The fact the smell was unfamiliar helped her, and she walked to the back of the house and into the kitchen. The shutters were closed against the harsh glare of high summer, so the room was in semi-darkness. Julia walked towards the long French-oak table, where a note was balanced against a bowl of fresh fruit.

  Dear Madame Julia,

  I hope you find the house as you would like it. I have stocked the fridge, and there is a casserole on top of the stove. I will be in tomorrow, as usual, at ten o’clock. If you need anything before this, please call.

  Welcome home, Madame,

  Agnes

  Julia plucked a ripe peach from the bowl, bit into its velvety skin and walked towards the door which led to the terrace. The old house lay in a crowded, narrow street, yet she was now standing on a hilltop. The magnificent view below was uninterrupted by other houses, the hillside covered in pine trees, olives and firs, and sweeping down, hundreds of yards beneath her, to the line of shimmering blue that was the sea.

&n
bsp; This was where Julia spent most of her time here, sitting under the pergola, draped with bulbous purple grapes, listening to the cicadas, to Xavier practising and Gabriel squealing with delight from the swimming pool.

  Now there were only the cicadas here, and she was alone. And there was no hiding from the memories. Julia’s legs began to give way and she slumped on to a wrought-iron chair.

  Only a year ago … it felt like a lifetime.

  And that day – that dreadful, earth-shattering, life-changing day – had started so simply, like any other. There had been no forewarning, no inkling of what was to come.

  A hot Sunday in July …

  Julia had been catching the mid-morning flight to Paris to perform a recital at La Salle Pleyel with L’Orchestre de Paris. She was playing Rachmaninov’s Concerto No. 2, her favourite piece. She remembered taking her bags downstairs to wait for the taxi and being happy it was only an overnight stay: she would be back in time for tea with Gabriel tomorrow evening. She always dreaded saying goodbye to him, but comforted herself that it was a good opportunity for her ‘boys’ to spend some time together. When he was at home, Xavier would lock himself away with the piano, becoming irritated if Gabriel disturbed him. So Gabriel had learnt not to do so. Julia knew he was wary of his father, whose volatile artistic temperament made him unpredictable.

  As it was a Sunday, Agnes was not there to take care of Gabriel, so Xavier was in charge. A conductor friend of Xavier’s had invited the two of them for swimming and a late afternoon barbecue just along the coast. There would be other children there for Gabriel to play with, and it would be good for father and son to spend the day together.

  ‘Maman,’ Gabriel said, throwing his arms about her neck. ‘Je t’aime. Come back soon. I miss you.’

  ‘And I you, petit ange,’ she replied, as she drew in the smell of him to keep with her whilst she was away. ‘Have a lovely time at the party and be a good boy for Papa.’

  ‘We are driving there in Papa’s new sports car. It goes so fast, Maman.’ Gabriel wriggled out of Julia’s arms and zoomed round the hall making car noises.