A Midwinter Promise

by Lulu Taylor

  He turned on his heel and marched back into the hall.

  Alex turned to Johnnie, horrified. Her brother looked pale and angry. ‘What do you think he means?’ she asked. ‘Do you think he’s going to challenge the will?’

  ‘Anyone can challenge a will,’ Netta said gravely, ‘but that doesn’t mean they’ll succeed.’

  ‘I don’t think he cares about that,’ Johnnie said, white about the lips. ‘He probably wants to hold up probate and stop us being able to administer the estate or receive our bequests. He can do that for years.’

  ‘But that means he and Sally don’t get their money!’ Alex exclaimed.

  ‘He probably thinks that’s worth it. Sally can stay where she is, as long as she has money to pay the bills. Mundo isn’t going to care about ten grand – he must earn twenty times that a year.’

  ‘On what grounds can he challenge any of it?’ Alex asked. ‘I thought the estate was all part of Mum’s bequest.’

  ‘I suppose that’s what we’re about to find out,’ Johnnie said, the fight going out of him.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ Netta said, putting an arm around him. ‘We can take him on together. You told me he was obnoxious, but wow. He gives a whole new meaning to the word.’

  Johnnie managed a grateful smile.

  Alex straightened her shoulders. ‘We won’t let him win,’ she said with vehemence. ‘We just won’t. We can’t.’

  Netta and Johnnie headed off, saying they would meet her back at the Old Barn. Alex went back into the hall to gather the girls together and get their things. She was tired: on top of her sadness from the funeral, the encounter with Mundo had left her troubled. She concentrated on getting the three of them out without bumping into too many of Pa’s old friends, or attracting the attention of Sally, who was with Mundo at the far end of the hall.

  She was just at the double doors at the entrance when a soft voice stopped her.

  ‘Excuse me . . . are you Alexandra?’

  Alex turned to see a well-groomed woman in her late fifties, smart in an expensive black suit and heels, with a boxy black handbag hanging on a silver chain over her shoulder. She had a glossy swinging auburn bob, light blue eyes and a long bony nose over slim lips.

  ‘Yes?’ Alex stared at her, seeing something faintly familiar in her face.

  ‘I wanted to say hello, and introduce myself. I don’t know many people here but I saw that it was David’s funeral today and I wanted to come. There aren’t so many of us left, after all. I think we need representatives of the family where we can get them.’

  Alex smiled at her, confused. ‘I’m so sorry, I don’t know . . .’

  The woman laughed awkwardly. ‘I haven’t said my name, how silly! I’m Violet Hamlyn. I was . . . I am . . . your father’s cousin by marriage. I wanted to express my condolences to you on his passing.’

  ‘You’re related to Sally?’

  ‘No. To your mother. To Julia. I’m her cousin Violet.’

  Alex gaped at her, and the image of the mural burst into her mind. She saw the meek, bland figure of Violet, small and dumpy, at the back of the picture where Julia dominated the foreground with her tawny, vivacious glamour. It was not immediately obvious, but now she could see traces of the younger face in the older one. ‘Of course. Cousin Violet!’

  ‘That’s right.’ Violet looked interested. ‘Did your mother talk about me?’

  ‘I don’t think so. But I was a bit too young to remember if she did.’

  ‘Of course you were.’ Violet flushed and looked apologetic. ‘I’m so sorry. That was clumsy of me.’ She smiled and her gaze flicked to the door. ‘I can see you’re heading off so I won’t keep you. My condolences again. It’s been so lovely to meet you. Goodbye.’ She turned to go back into the room.

  Jasmine pulled on Alex’s hand and muttered that she wanted to go home. Scarlett kicked lightly at the skirting board as she gazed at the posters on the wall. Alex stammered out, ‘Wait!’

  Violet turned back. ‘Yes?’

  ‘I need to ask you something – if you don’t mind, if there’s time.’ Alex turned to the girls. ‘Go and get some biscuits if you like.’ They scampered off as Alex pulled out her mobile phone and opened up the photograph file. ‘We’ve recently found an old painting – a mural – that used to be in the drawing room . . . Here it is. Maybe you remember it?’

  Violet gasped as she looked down at the image. ‘The old mural! How fabulous! I haven’t seen that for years! Last time I went to Tawray, it was gone. That was decades ago. Oh, how marvellous.’ She took the phone and spent a few moments exclaiming over it, her eyes bright, then handed it back. ‘That’s lovely. Thank you for showing me.’

  Alex took the phone. ‘You should come and see it when we put it up again. But I have a question . . .’ She pointed to the woman in the middle of the mural: young, fair and blue-eyed, with fine features, wearing a mustard-yellow blouse and a denim skirt with some seventies chunky-heeled slip-ons.

  Violet looked. ‘Yes, that’s Lala.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Don’t you know? Your mother’s older sister, Lala. Well, her half-sister, from her father’s first marriage.’

  ‘Half-sister?’ echoed Alex, astonished.

  Violet seemed surprised. ‘Do you not know about her?’

  ‘No.’ Alex looked back at the figure in the painting. ‘Not a clue! How bizarre. No one has ever mentioned a half-sister.’

  ‘I think there was an argument of some kind,’ Violet said vaguely. ‘I’m not sure really, I wasn’t close to Julia. I only heard what was going on from my mother. But I know she told me that Lala left Tawray after a bad falling-out, and didn’t go back.’

  ‘Do you know where she is now?’ Alex asked, and her heart began to beat faster.

  ‘Not exactly. We weren’t close and we’ve never been in touch. I can tell you what I know. I’m sure you could track her down if you want to.’

  Alex beamed at her, the smile growing broader as she realised the implications of what Violet was saying. Mum had a sister. I can find her. ‘That would be absolutely brilliant, Violet. Yes please. Tell me everything you know.’

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Johnnie and Netta walked along the beach hand in hand. It was freezing but the majesty of the sea crashing on the beach in ceaseless motion made the cold worth it.

  ‘That meant a lot to me, Netta,’ he said to her, squeezing her hand. ‘What you said to me yesterday with that bastard Mundo right there.’

  Netta looked at him, the wind ruffling her cropped hair into little dark feathers. She smiled. ‘I know we’ve had our problems, but you’re worth a hundred of him, Johnnie. I thought about how horrible it would be for the boys if a man like that were their father. They’re so lucky to have you. They adore you, and I know you love them.’

  ‘I do,’ Johnnie replied. ‘All three of them.’ He emphasised that. She had to be completely certain that he was committed to Bertie. ‘I want a life down here for them if at all possible – but only if it works for you.’ They strode along on the sand, matching their footsteps so that they made prints in exact pairs.

  After they’d been walking out in long strides for a while, each lost in thought, Netta spoke. ‘There are definitely some advantages to moving. I like the idea of clean air and a spacious home for Bertie. The pollution around London is awful. You can taste how pure the air is here. I think that’ll be good for him. And I’ve found a couple of schools that look interesting. Worth investigating. No promises,’ she said quickly, seeing his delighted face. ‘But my mind is open.’

  ‘Oh God, I’m sure you wouldn’t regret it, Netta,’ Johnnie said fervently. ‘I’ll do everything I can to make you so glad you agreed. I reckon I could get Robert to rent us the rectory again, if you’d like that. Or we could find somewhere else if you’d prefer.’

  ‘I haven’t said I will yet,’ Netta cautioned. ‘Don’t rush me.’

  ‘Of course . . . take all the time you need.’

&n
bsp; They walked in companionable silence for a while, and then Netta said, ‘We’ve got to stay in any case.’

  ‘Have we?’

  She smiled at him. ‘There’s no way I’m letting that vile little man win. You told me about what happened when you were growing up, and I didn’t believe a word of what he said yesterday – about you two ganging up on him. I know you and Alex, and I can see that you’re not like that. If anything, you’ve both been struggling all your lives with the result of the way you were treated as children. Mundo’s arrogance and coldness were blindingly obvious. So I’ll be damned if he gets to cheat you and Alex out of what you’re entitled to. We’ll stay here and we’ll fight him.’

  ‘Atta girl!’ cried Johnnie and he broke into a run, pulling her after him until she started running too and they careered around the beach, laughing and breathless.

  I’m alive, Johnnie thought. He remembered screeching to a halt just feet from the bonnet of the oncoming car and the sense of helpless despair as he’d contemplated his life being over. The profound, overwhelming knowledge of how precious it all was, how much he wanted to live. He’d felt differently ever since. Life and death were so very close, the barrier between them so fragile. Pa had lived, loved, made children and died. Death would come for Johnnie one day, and then for the boys, and then for their children, and so on forever. But right now, he was here. With Netta.

  He pulled her into his arms and kissed her hard, tasting the salt air on her lips, feeling her soft skin against his, inhaling her warm, sweet scent.

  ‘I love you,’ he said fervently when they’d separated. ‘And our boys, and our life. It’s not perfect but it’s ours. Let’s not waste it. Let’s be happy.’

  She smiled, the warm, open smile of the old Netta. ‘You know what? I think we can do that.’

  In the waiting area for the afternoon Eurostar departure to Paris, Alex felt her spirits lift. The girls were with Tim for the weekend and this journey away – an impulsive, last-minute one she’d only decided on last night – meant stepping out of normal life and leaving it behind.

  It’s exciting. And I have no idea what’s waiting for me at the other end.

  On the train, she settled into her seat and watched as they slid slowly out of St Pancras and away through Kent, headed for the tunnel. She got out her notes and her laptop and checked everything she meant to do. There was an email from her friend Gita, a journalist, who had set everything up, just in case the name Pengelly was not a welcome one. Gita had contacted Lala under the guise of wanting to interview her for a newspaper, about her life in fashion. But it would be Alex who turned up on her doorstep. When she felt on top of everything, Alex leaned back and rested, falling asleep and not waking up until they were almost at the Gare du Nord. It was dark and cold, and she took a taxi to her hotel, an eccentric little place on the Left Bank that she’d found years before on a trip with Tim. She’d loved it but he was doubtful, so they’d never gone back. Despite her nap on the train, Alex had only enough energy to change and get ready for bed, then she went soundly to sleep again.

  The next morning was a bright and crisp January day. Paris looked enticing but she turned her face against its charms and went to the station to catch the RER train for the hour-long journey to Versailles-Chantier instead.

  Am I doing the right thing? she wondered as she watched the Paris suburbs glide past the window. She’d been so sure when she booked this impulsive trip. Violet had given her enough information to track down her elusive aunt and now here she was, and she would have to face her. I couldn’t not try to find her. She’s got the answers we need, I’m sure of it.

  At Versailles, she walked from the pretty glass-and-iron station into the town, following the directions on her phone. The nerves were kicking in now, causing a sick sensation to swirl in her stomach. Was this cloak-and-dagger approach the right one? Perhaps it would have been better to be more upfront. Surprises were not always welcome.

  Ah well, it’s too late now.

  Her phone led her into the town centre and to the fashionable Montreuil quarter, and from there, off the busy main road and down a quiet little street with modern buildings and shops on one side, and old shuttered houses on the other. Halfway down on the right, a small house was tucked between two larger ones, like a child between two grown-ups. It was grey and looked battered and worn, but there was a charm to its dark shutters, red-tiled roof, and the climbing plant curling its way up and over the blue front door.

  This is it.

  Alex’s heart began to beat faster as she stood on the doorstep, trying to gather up the nerve to knock. Her courage was rapidly failing her, and she was just about to turn on her heel and head away when the door opened and a slender woman in late middle-age stood there in a tartan coat dress, her jet-black hair rather magnificently awry. ‘Oui?’ she said crisply. Then said something very fast in French that Alex didn’t understand.

  ‘Um,’ she said lamely.

  A voice from within said in English, ‘Don’t be so impatient, Lisbet, I think it’s this Gita lady, coming to interview me.’ Another woman came into view, a little older than the first. She peered at Alex through a pair of rimless spectacles. She was tall, elegant and her short hair was a soft white shot through with blonde. ‘Are you Gita?’

  ‘I . . . yes . . . I mean . . . no.’

  ‘Yes or no?’ the older woman said. ‘Which?’

  ‘Gita sent me,’ Alex replied. ‘But I’m not Gita.’

  A look of impatience crossed her face. ‘Why did she send you? If she couldn’t come, she should have rescheduled.’

  ‘I asked her to contact you, because I was afraid you wouldn’t see me if you knew who I am.’ Alex licked her lips and took a breath. ‘I’m Alexandra Pengelly.’

  The woman went still and stared at her, evidently taken completely by surprise. ‘I see,’ she said, her voice fainter. Then it regained its strength. ‘Well, Alexandra Pengelly, you’d better come in.’

  The rather dour exterior of the house successfully concealed the beauty within. Each room was exquisitely furnished in a mixture of rustic French and English antique styles, and alive with colour and vibrant fabrics. The walls were hung with modern art and the old tiled floor covered in herringbone coir rugs.

  ‘Please sit down. Lisbet, would you get us some tea?’ Lala Teague fixed Alex with a bright blue stare. ‘It’s a little early for wine, isn’t it? Even though I quite feel the need for some.’

  Alex took her seat on a sofa decorated with magenta and yellow ikat cushions. She was afraid and yet exhilarated: she’d been invited in. That was positive. Lisbet went off into a galley kitchen at the back and started boiling a kettle, while the woman Alex knew was her aunt continued to stare at her, drinking her in.

  ‘You look like David,’ she said at last. ‘But I can see something of Julia in you too. So, tell me. Why are you here? My guess is that it isn’t to interview me about my career in fashion.’

  ‘No,’ Alex admitted. ‘I got my friend to say that, just in case you didn’t want to see me.’

  ‘Why wouldn’t I?’

  ‘I don’t know. That’s why I’m here. Because I don’t know much, and I’m hoping you can give me the answers I’m looking for. You’re one of my only relatives on my mother’s side, and we’ve never met, even though you’re my mother’s half-sister. My aunt.’

  ‘Yes, your aunt.’ Lala hesitated, as if considering where she could start with this unknown, unexpected niece. ‘Well, if you want to know why we haven’t met before, the answer is very simple. First, we have met. When you were just a baby. And the reason why we didn’t meet again was that your father banned me from the house and from having anything to do with my sister. We had a fierce argument not long after you were born. I was bad for her, apparently. Sally was much better. Well, I was busy myself, and newly in love and setting up a home. I let time slip by, feeling hurt and rejected. I spoke with Julia, of course, but I never went back to Tawray. Then . . . after she died . . . I was
so heartbroken and I couldn’t bear to return.’ A sad expression crossed her face. ‘It was my home once as well. You probably don’t know that, but it was.’

  ‘I do – that’s how I found you. You’re on the mural.’

  ‘The mural?’ Lala sounded astonished. ‘How do you know about that? Did you find a picture of it? It disappeared years ago.’

  ‘No. We found it again. It wasn’t destroyed, it was taken down and rolled up for safekeeping. And when we unrolled it, we found you.’ Alex handed over her phone with the photograph on its screen and Lala took it, putting on a pair of rimless glasses and squinting through them.

  ‘Oh my goodness,’ she whispered. She stared at the picture for a while, and when she looked up, she was smiling, her eyes bright. ‘I never thought I’d see that again. And I never thought I’d see you either. I thought all that was gone for good and that you would have been trained to hate me by that woman.’

  ‘You mean Sally?’

  Lala nodded. Lisbet came through with a tea tray which she set down on the low table. She poured it out and handed it around, then went quietly away, leaving the other two to talk. Lala continued to talk all the while.

  ‘I warned your mother about Sally. I told her what would happen if she continued to let her live in the house and pay such obvious court to David. It astonished me that she couldn’t see it. It was flirtation on a mammoth scale – on a monstrous scale! And the wife was letting it happen right under her nose; she was letting her husband be stolen from her while she watched, and in her very own house!’

  Alex felt sick. ‘So that’s what happened, then?’ She realised suddenly that she had badly hoped that wasn’t the case. ‘Why was Sally living in our house?’

  Lala waved a hand and picked up her tea for a sip. ‘Sally had got pregnant outside marriage, and your mother hadn’t been terribly well when she had Johnnie and was worried the same thing would happen when she had you.’

  ‘Morning sickness?’

  ‘Something like that. David worked in London for the royal family, busy all the time, only there at weekends. So with Sally pregnant and virtually homeless, it seemed an excellent arrangement for her to come and keep your mother company. Poor Julia couldn’t see what a viper she was nestling to her bosom. My belief is that woman had her eye on David from the start. She couldn’t be bothered to go and get her own man. She wanted him, and she wanted everything Julia had.’ Lala looked suddenly fierce, her scorn for Sally evident.