Stolen

by Susan Lewis

  Families were frustratingly complex and confusing at times, she was thinking to herself as her mobile started to ring, rife with intrigue and ghosts, and sometimes every bit as damaging as they could be nourishing.

  Running back to the kitchen, she grabbed the phone, and seeing it was Simon she felt her spirits lift.

  ‘You rang,’ he said when she answered.

  ‘What took you so long?’ she quipped.

  He laughed in a way that made her laugh too. ‘I have some good news,’ he told her. ‘I’m scheduled to be in London the week after next, and I don’t see any reason why I can’t tie in a trip to Glos that could possibly last as long as a week. Now, if you tell me that isn’t good news, or you won’t be there, it’ll be followed up with a very big why?’

  ‘It’s the best news ever,’ she cried happily, ‘and I will be here. Oh, Si, this is fantastic. Will Giselle be coming with you?’

  ‘Alas no. She’s going to be in Rio, or is it Rome? It’ll come back to me. So, now, how’s today going down at the family pile? Are you letting the place out for raves yet?’

  Sarah laughed. ‘No, but don’t rule them out once I’ve got the place in better shape, which brings me to the reason I rang. Are you absolutely sure you don’t have any objection to me putting your collection of old cars and soldiers into the next auction?’

  ‘Of course I don’t. What the hell else am I going to do with them?’

  ‘If they turn out to be valuable I’ll …’

  ‘They won’t be,’ he assured her, ‘so don’t start getting your hopes up.’

  ‘I’m not, but surprises can happen and if we did have a secret fortune stashed away, think how much sooner we could get this house restored to its former glory. I feel awful that it’s taken me so long to get round to it, it’s just that I haven’t been able to face anyone coming into the house.’

  ‘Then it’s great that you can now, and when I’m there I’ll be able to help you sort out the best tradesmen and …’

  ‘I won’t have the money by then. The next auction isn’t until the third week of August.’

  ‘If you stay local. What about selling it on eBay?’

  ‘I could, but then I’d have to get involved in taking payments and packaging and delivery and all that fiddly stuff that would drive me nuts. And it’s good to support a local business, especially one that I’m hoping to get involved in.’

  ‘You are? As what?’

  ‘Well, they employ lots of locals at the time of the auction to help display the items, or handle the phone bids, or take payments. I guess there are a thousand things that need doing, so hopefully the new owner will find a use for me which will at least get me out of the house once in a while.’

  ‘New owner? Does that mean the Fishers are selling?’

  ‘No, they’re handing over to their daughter who I think might already be here, because I’m sure it was her car I saw pulling into the farmhouse drive about an hour ago. Did you ever meet her? Her name’s Lucy.’

  ‘If I did I don’t remember, but wasn’t it her husband who tried to pull the stunt with the wardrobe?’

  ‘Yes, but apparently he’s staying in London, and Lucy gave me the five hundred pounds her parents had listed it at, which was extremely generous considering we had no way of knowing what it might have fetched.’

  ‘You’re right, I’d forgotten that part of it, so she’s on a reprieve. If he starts to get involved though, we might want to take our business elsewhere. Hang on a sec, Giselle’s shouting something at me … OK, she’s running out the door but she sends her love and says she’s going to try to get over to England sometime in September so she can have the pleasure of seeing you.’

  Sarah immediately felt cheered again. ‘Fantastic,’ she cried. ‘Can I start organising the wedding now, because it’s high time you married her, don’t you think?’

  With a groan he said, ‘Sarah, this is me you’re speaking to. You know I don’t do commitment.’

  ‘You’ve been with her for over ten years, if that’s not commitment …’

  ‘Let’s not do this.’

  ‘It’s time to make an honest woman of her.’

  ‘It’s not what she wants.’

  ‘Have you asked her?’

  ‘I have an instinct for these things.’

  Sarah rolled her eyes. ‘You’re hopeless,’ she told him, while thinking how happy it would make her if she herself could spend the rest of her life with him. No betrayals or complications, no fear of another woman, or of losing a child. Only friendship and loyalty and lasting brotherly love.

  ‘I’m afraid I’m going to have to head out myself now,’ he told her. ‘But before I go, has Mum told you that Becky’s ordered her to get married again?’

  Sarah started to turn cold. She couldn’t imagine her mother with anyone apart from her father, nor did she ever want to. ‘Why, has Mum met someone?’ she asked, already feeling shut out if her mother had confided in the others and not her.

  ‘Not that I’m aware of, but you know Becky and her self-assertion guff. Personally, I think it’s highly unlikely Mum will take the plunge again. She was too close to Dad and I can’t see anyone ever filling his shoes, but that’s probably because I don’t want to.’

  ‘She doesn’t either,’ Sarah said firmly. ‘She’s perfectly happy with her life the way it is. She’s got a lot of friends down there now, and someone’s always turning up for a visit.’

  ‘Exactly what I told Becky. Anyway, I have to fly. Love you, Sarah Delicious. Speak to you later.’

  ‘Love you too,’ she whispered, as the name her father had always called her flooded her with the memory of his tenderness.

  After ringing off, rather than torment herself with the fear that her mother was moving on in a way she felt incapable of herself, she decided to call and find out. Minutes later she’d been assured by her Aunt Sheila that her mother had not become involved with anyone in a romantic sense, or even in a friendly one. ‘It’s just Becky being Becky,’ Sheila had sighed, ‘but I’ll get Mum to call when she’s back, shall I? She’s out doing a spot of shopping at the moment.’

  Sarah was still imagining her mother meandering around the market stalls that lined the picturesque medieval streets of their nearby town, a basket over one arm and a straw hat shading her still beautiful face from the fierce Mediterranean sun, when she noticed one of Cromstone’s newest residents looking up at the house. Since it was quite usual for visitors to assess the place for its architectural merit, Sarah waited to catch her eye and raised an arm to wave. With a surprised and cheery smile Mrs Mckenzie waved back, then suddenly she was being propelled to a bench beside the duck pond where her husband wanted her to star in his next shot. Sarah warmed to the natural humour that seemed to exist between them, since it reminded her of how easy her parents had been with each other. Maybe she should go out there and welcome them to Cromstone, but by the time she’d decided she would they were already walking away.

  Her eyes followed them as they trekked towards the farmhouse where Lucy’s daughter – Sarah couldn’t remember her name – was perched on one of the gate pillars, apparently talking into her mobile phone.

  She’d give Lucy some time to start settling in, she told herself, then she’d go over to register her little collection of bric-a-brac for the next sale.

  Having managed to carry most of her and Hanna’s belongings into the house, Lucy was now wandering around the courtyard that separated the enormous auction barn across the way from the main farmhouse, while her mother oversaw a delivery from the removal company she used for house clearances. From the moment her parents had first brought her to see this place, Lucy had felt a kind of connection to it that she’d never felt with anywhere else they’d lived, and over the past few years it hadn’t gone away. If anything, it had seemed to grow, and now she was here, ready to take it on herself, the heady mix of excitement and trepidation was starting to eclipse even the wrenching loss she’d felt when she’d got up tha
t morning to discover that Ben had already crept out.

  In spite of understanding that he’d done it to avoid a scene, she’d still had a terrible struggle forcing herself not to go running down to the shop to drag him back again. In fact, had Hanna not thrown such an awful tantrum the minute she got up, Lucy knew it was highly likely she’d have ended up disgracing herself again, because the dread that she’d already seen Ben for the last time had been even worse than she’d feared.

  Fortunately she was calmer now, since she was only incapable of dealing rationally with the first minutes of the actual parting. Once that was over, she could, more or less, get on with her life. And the fact that he’d rung twice already, once on his way to the airport and then just before he boarded the plane, was, she hoped, a sign that he’d keep his promise to be in touch at least every other day.

  Putting her head back now to absorb the countrified scents mingling in the air around her – dry earth and silage, freshly mown grass and all kinds of piquancy from the trees overhead – she set aside her concerns for Hanna who, last seen, was storming off down the drive with her mobile. Lucy wanted, just for these few quiet minutes, to immerse herself in the promise of her new home. This ramshackle courtyard was at the hub of it all with the auction barn forming the longest side, the cowsheds that had been converted into offices making up the other, and a smaller, unrenovated barn at the far end which was used mainly for storage. Behind her was a high drystone wall with an arch that joined it to the rambling old Cotswold stone farmhouse and allowed access through to the front drive, or into the kitchen. It was another world back here, Lucy always thought, with all kinds of treasures spilling out of the barn like booty waiting to be claimed: old bed frames and mirrors; garden tables, stacking chairs, plant pots, marble and plaster statues, iron gates and even a Victorian church pew.

  What made it all so entrancing, to her mind, were the untold stories that lay behind each and every piece. Ever since she was old enough to remember, her mother had been bringing inanimate objects to life in a way that was so thrilling and romantic that Lucy could hardly look at anything now without imagining where it had come from and where it might be going. Her mother could take something as simple as a pebble and tell a whimsical tale of its journey to the beach they were on, the oceans it had travelled, the sea creatures it had met along the way, and end the story with a secret message the pebble had brought for a rapt young Lucy. An old cameo brooch was the image of a woman who’d been in love with its creator; it had been to balls and grand dinners, weddings and christenings, until eventually fashions changed and it was left to languish in a drawer. This was where a grandchild had found it, many years later, but by then the brooch was angry so it had stabbed the girl with its pin, which was why it was at the antique market where Lucy and her mother had just bought it. So they had to be kind to it now, make it feel appreciated again, before they sent it on its way.

  Though her father had often teased them for seeming to believe a candelabra or mirror, inkstand or tea set had feelings, he’d never walked away when they were conjuring the stories; sometimes he’d even join in and make them laugh, or cry, or want to box his ears. So it was fitting, Lucy had always thought, that her parents should have ended up here, running a kind of staging post for objects with dashing or tragic histories which were on their way to new owners and adventures.

  Hearing the slam of lorry doors at the other side of the barn, followed by the starting of an engine, Lucy guessed her mother would be on her way back, so after sending a silent message to all the treasures waiting in the courtyard, letting them know that she was going to do her best to find worthy buyers to take them on the next leg of their journeys, she returned to the farmhouse.

  A few minutes later she was staring at her mother in mounting frustration, while Hanna perched on the kitchen table pouring her own frustration down the line to Sadie.

  ‘But Mum, the last time we spoke you said Dad was on his way back,’ Lucy cried.

  ‘No, Lucy, what I said was that everything’s fine, and it is.’

  Resisting the urge to shake her mother, Lucy said, ‘So where is he?’

  ‘I’m not sure. I mean, yes, he’s at the cottage … Well, he was last night, by now he’s probably … He said he was going out to buy some shelves.’

  ‘Mum! For heaven’s sake! If Dad’s gone walkabout …’

  ‘He hasn’t gone walkabout,’ Daphne cut in. ‘Really, Lucy, you do make mountains out of molehills at times. He wanted to do some work on the cottage and stupidly forgot to tell me he was going down there.’

  Lucy gazed sternly into her mother’s softly lined face with its large brown eyes and delicate bones, and wasn’t surprised when she looked away, since she always did her best to avoid confrontation. ‘Does he have his mobile with him?’ she demanded.

  ‘Of course he does,’ Daphne replied, going to put the kettle on, ‘but as you know we can’t get reception at the cottage. When he called he was down the hill outside the Mason’s Arms.’

  Sighing, Lucy said, ‘OK, so when’s he coming back?’

  ‘I’m not sure. He didn’t … Well … Oh dear, look what I’ve done,’ she sighed as a box of tea bags tumbled to the floor.

  ‘Mum! I’m going to lose it in a minute,’ Lucy warned, stooping to help pick them up. ‘Dad disappears on you, now we can’t get hold of him …’

  ‘Will you two give it a rest,’ Hanna shouted, her eyes still puffy and red from having cried so much during the journey from London. ‘I’m on the phone here.’

  ‘Sorry, dear,’ her grandmother said softly.

  ‘Don’t apologise to her,’ Lucy snapped. ‘If you can’t hear take it back outside,’ she told Hanna.

  ‘I am like so glad I came,’ Hanna seethed, and storming towards the door she threw back over her shoulder, ‘If this is how it’s going to be I’m on the next train to London.’

  As she swept off Lucy turned to her mother, who was looking decidedly troubled.

  ‘Don’t take any notice of that,’ Lucy told her. ‘It’s her threat of the moment. Next week she’ll probably be threatening to do away with me. Now we need to …’

  ‘I don’t want to argue any more,’ Daphne interrupted, taking a key from the dresser. ‘I’m going over to the office to …’

  ‘So that’s it!’ Lucy cried. ‘We don’t know where Dad is, we can’t get hold of him and now you’re just going to carry on as if it doesn’t matter.’

  ‘Lucy, I’m sure he’ll call later so you can take it up with him yourself.’

  As she walked away, Lucy clasped her hands to her head. ‘You are the most maddening person at times,’ she shouted after her.

  ‘And be sure you have your moments,’ Daphne retorted.

  ‘This is not the kind of welcome I expected,’ Lucy cried angrily.

  At that Daphne stopped, and when she turned round her expression was so contrite that Lucy wished she was better at biting her tongue. ‘I’m sorry,’ Daphne said, and holding out her arms she came to give Lucy a hug. ‘Everything’s a bit topsy-turvy at the moment with the move coming up, and I suppose I’m a little out of sorts.’

  ‘And I’m sorry I’m so irritable,’ Lucy responded, hugging her tight. ‘It’s not your fault that Ben crept out this morning without saying goodbye – and before you say it I know it was probably the wisest course, but I really wish he hadn’t.’

  ‘He’s going to be fine,’ her mother assured her. ‘He’s a sensible lad and before you know it he’ll be home again, so full of his adventures we probably won’t be able to shut him up.’

  ‘Roll on the day,’ Lucy mumbled, and going to remove the kettle from the Aga she began filling the teapot with hot water. ‘We do need to talk about Dad, though, Mum. OK, not now if you don’t want to, but if you two are going to live so remotely we have to get a better form of communication set up between us. Has BT put any lines in yet? Surely the other houses must have something by now.’

  ‘As far as I know everyone’s s
till using their mobiles, but we haven’t seen anyone for a while so I can’t be sure. Anyway, we know Vodaphone doesn’t provide coverage up there, so I’ll have to see about finding a company that does.’

  Lucy turned to look at her again, and seeing how unsure she seemed of herself her heart twisted with the same sort of protective love she felt towards Hanna and Ben. ‘What is it?’ she asked gently. ‘Are you having second thoughts about giving all this up? I’ll understand if you are. It’s meant a lot to you …’

  ‘No, no, I’m not having second thoughts. It’s just …’ Daphne shook her head and turned away.

  ‘Just what?’

  ‘Nothing. I’m sure I’m worrying unnecessarily.’

  ‘About what?’

  ‘Please, let’s drop it.’

  Lucy went to take her by the shoulders. ‘Is it to do with the Crumptons?’ she asked. ‘Are you worrying about how I’m going to get along with them?’

  Daphne’s eyes came briefly to hers. ‘You’re going to need them,’ she reminded her.

  ‘I know. So have you spoken to them? Do they accept that I’m going to be in charge from now on?’

  ‘Yes, of course they do.’

  ‘And you’ve made them directors and increased their salaries?’

  Though Daphne nodded, to Lucy’s confusion she didn’t appear entirely certain.

  ‘Mum? For heaven’s sake, what are you not telling me? I know there’s something, so come on, out with it.’

  With a protracted sigh, Daphne shook her head. ‘I’m … Well, I’ve been wondering if we made a mistake coming here.’

  Lucy couldn’t have been more stunned. ‘A mistake?’ she echoed. ‘But you’ve loved being here. Working with antiques is a dream come true for you, and what you’ve done with the business is nothing short of amazing.’

  Daphne put on a smile. ‘Thank you,’ she said, clearly pleased that Lucy thought so. ‘And I know you’ll make it even bigger and better. I have so much confidence in you, but …’ She swallowed hard as her eyes drifted away. ‘Do try to keep Maureen and Godfrey on your side, won’t you? They have a great deal of experience and …’ She broke off as the phone started to ring, and after glancing at it she looked at Lucy. ‘Shall I answer, or will you? It’s the business line.’