Pulled by a Dream

by Kathryn Greenway

  What surprised her was that eight times out of ten, she’d been able to recall them.

  There were still so many she couldn’t recollect, but some had definitely stuck in her memory. One glimpse at Jane’s solicitor, Oliver Tremmond, had brought with it a wealth of memories, all of them pleasant.

  “I remember you.” Emily smiled at him. “You were often at Jane’s house, weren’t you?”

  The white-haired gentleman clasped her hand in his. “I was. Jane and Clare were among my dearest friends.” He gave her a piercing glance. “Do you recall what I did when I paid them a visit?”

  Emily racked her brains, the memory almost there, almost…. “Chess,” she declared triumphantly. “You used to play chess with Jane.” She chuckled. “She said you were the only person who could beat her.”

  “Really? Oh my. She never told me that.” He sighed. “So many games we never got around to playing this past year.”

  Emily knew why. When Jane lost Clare, she’d also lost her zest for life. Even listening to her over the phone, Emily had known Jane had changed. She didn’t need to hear Fran’s reports.

  Is that why I was so reluctant to visit those last three months? Was I too afraid of what I’d find? The Jane who featured most prominently in her memories was aged between forty-two and fifty-four, the wonderful aunt with whom Emily had stayed each summer from the age of six years old, up to age eighteen. After that, everything changed. The long summer holidays were replaced by flying visits here and there, short bursts of time snatched from a busy life.

  Too busy.

  “Would you mind if we sit?” he asked her. “I’m not able to stand for long periods nowadays. Arthritic hip, among other things.” He gave a wry smile. “Old age, mostly.”

  “Of course.” Emily followed him to a table in the far corner of the pub, a cozy nook with bookshelves on two sides. He sank down onto the padded chair with a sigh of relief.

  “You were responsible for arranging the funeral and the reception?” Emily glanced toward the table in the opposite corner, covered with food. There seemed to be an open bar, since she’d seen no money changing hands.

  Mr. Tremmond nodded. “Jane and I had discussed this many times during her final weeks. The stroke had left her debilitated, but she was more than capable of getting her point across.”

  Emily couldn’t hold back her smile. “That sounds like the Jane I remember.”

  He regarded her keenly. “She always said you reminded her of herself in younger days.”

  “I did?”

  He smiled. “When I first met Jane, she wasn’t much older than you are now, and going through her divorce. Once everything was finalized, I assumed that would be the end of my services to her. Jane had other ideas, of course.” There was a faraway look in his eyes. “A friendship I will always treasure. They were two wonderful women.”

  Emily wasn’t about to argue with him. She leaned back against the chair and observed the crowded pub. “I did recognize a few people. The ladies who ran the post office, for example. I don’t think they’ve changed at all.”

  Mr. Tremmond laughed. “The Topping sisters are a village institution. Heaven knows they should be retired by now—they’re both in their eighties—but so far they show no signs of stopping.”

  “Do they still gossip?” Emily recalled Jane taking her aside after a visit to the Post Office, crouching beside her and whispering that she wasn’t to repeat a word of what she’d just heard inside. Emily hadn’t fully understood at the time.

  He broke into a peal of laughter. “Oh, my dear, gossip is their lifeblood. No change there.” He nodded his head toward the door. “I’m glad you and Frances remained friends. It is a rare thing these days.”

  Emily turned to see Fran at the bar. She smiled and gestured with her hand, mouthing drink? Emily nodded, mouthing in return white wine. Then she returned her attention to Mr. Tremmond. “I met Fran my second summer here. She often came to the house. I remember her sitting at Clare’s pottery wheel, while Clare showed her how to work it.” Emily smiled. “I think more clay ended up on Fran’s clothes than on the wheel.”

  “I have several pieces of Clare’s work. I keep them in a cabinet in my office. And speaking of which….” Mr. Tremmond cleared his throat. “If I may refer to the present occasion for a moment? My office is on the high street. I believe you did reply to my invitation to the reading of the will.”

  “I did, yes.” Across the pub floated her mother’s unmistakable voice, and Emily sighed. “Mr. Tremmond, my mother seems to feel that she should also attend.”

  His eyes widened slightly. “I’m sure she does, but notwithstanding, only five beneficiaries have been invited. Your mother is not one of them.”

  “Only five?”

  “Jane left precise instructions.”

  Emily already had a good idea what the will held in store for her. “I don’t think I’m in for any surprises.”

  Mr. Tremmond merely raised his thinning eyebrows and gave her an enigmatic smile. “Indeed. In that case, I look forward to seeing you at three o’clock.” He inclined his head. “And I think someone has a drink for you.”

  Fran appeared at their table, carrying two large glasses of wine. “I’m not interrupting anything important, am I?”

  Mr. Tremmond gave her a warm smile. “Not at all. I shall see you both at my office later.” He bowed his head to Emily. “If you will excuse me.” He got to his feet and walked away from the table with careful steps.

  Fran took the now vacant chair and placed the glasses on the table. She stared after him. “That man is such a gentleman.”

  His words had only just registered. “Are you at the reading of the will too?”

  Fran nodded. “No idea why.” Then she smiled. “Unless Jane left me that little ornament I was always so fond of when we were kids. Do you remember? It was a little girl holding a puppy. I used to comment on it every time I saw it.”

  “God, I remember.” Emily took a long drink, relishing the crispness of the wine. “I have a fair idea what’s in the will for me.” It was more than an idea: Jane had always told her the grandfather clock that stood in the hallway was to be hers. She could still recall the times that Jane hoisted her into the air so she could wind the mechanism. At the end of both weights was a carved wooden mouse, and with each turn of the key, they would inch higher. She and Jane would sing Hickory Dickory Dock every time.

  She leaned back and surveyed the pub, which was full to bursting, the air rich with chatter and laughter. The latter should have felt incongruous given the circumstances, but not when Emily reflected on her aunt. Jane Phelps had been a woman who lived her life to the full, usually with a wide smile on her face. Emily rarely recalled seeing her unhappy, although there had been one or two such occasions, and usually to do with the stout, red-faced man in the expensive suit who was talking animatedly with the landlord right that minute.

  It seemed churlish not to greet her cousin at his own mother’s funeral, despite what she knew of him. Besides that, she knew her mother would be watching. Better to speak with him, than have Mother lecture her on social niceties.

  Not that Emily would pay much attention. She’d become adept at tuning her mother out while outwardly appearing to be attentive.

  “I suppose I’d better go and speak to Phillip.” It wasn’t a task she relished: her previous encounters with him had been unpleasant, and the last time they’d spoken had been the final straw, as far as she was concerned.

  “Ah, yes, the mystery son.” Fran regarded him with frank interest. “He has the air of someone who works with money.”

  “Very astute. He’s a commodities broker in the City. Born into money, then made more.”

  Fran regarded her closely. “You don’t like him.”

  Emily chuckled. “What gave it away?” She watched him as he gesticulated, noting the landlord’s neutral expression. “I pity the guy whose ear he’s bending.”

  Fran snorted. “If I know Brian, it
’s going in one ear and out the other. And by the way, I will hold you to what you said earlier. I want to know the full story.” She grinned. “Do I need to get some wine in?”

  “Oh, God, yes, especially after today.” Emily had been dreading the funeral, and now that the hard part was over, she was fighting the urge to get drunk. Anything to buffer her feelings of guilt and regret.

  “We can stop by Havers on the way home.”

  Emily laughed. “Are they still going? I thought when the huge Tesco opened up on the Bath Road, that would have been their death knell.”

  Fran huffed. “My God, woman. You really have forgotten about life in a small village, haven’t you? Why get in your car and use petrol to go to Tesco, when you can walk out of your front door and across the green to Havers? They sell everything, just like they always did.” Her eyes sparkled. “And everything still costs more there, but no one says anything, because they want to keep the shop going.”

  “Havers it shall be then.” Emily watched as Phillip drank more of his pint. “Now or never.” She drank half the wine, then got to her feet.

  “I’ll still be here when you’re finished. Then we can walk back together.”

  Emily nodded, pasted on her politest smile, and headed in Phillip’s direction, but as she drew closer, a figure blocked her path. A familiar figure.

  “Excuse me, but you are Jane’s niece, Emily, aren’t you?”

  Emily regarded Jake Matthews coolly. “Mr. Matthews. What can I do for you?” Up close, his pale blue eyes were warmer than at first glance, and the laughter lines around his eyes spoke of someone with a good sense of humor. But she couldn’t shake her initial impression of the man who’d stared at her across Jane’s grave.

  Emily had the feeling Jake was a man on a mission.

  He blinked. “Oh. We haven’t met before, have we?” His voice was deep, rich with the Wiltshire dialect that gave his words a musical quality.

  “No, but it’s a very small village. Word gets around.” She delivered the remarks in a brisk tone. “Now, was there something you wanted?” Over his shoulder, she watched Phillip down the rest of his pint, and inwardly held her breath, hoping he’d leave before she had the chance to have a conversation with him.

  “I was wondering if we could meet up for a chat. I have something I’d like to discuss with you, and—”

  Emily shook her head. “I’m sorry, but right now really isn’t convenient.” She wasn’t about to tell him she’d be staying in the village for the weekend: she had no intention of running into him again. And heaven knows when I’ll be back here. Now Jane was gone, Fairdown had lost its attraction.

  “But you don’t even know what I want to talk to you about.” A hard edge crept into his voice. “Surely you can spare five minutes. Only five minutes.”

  Emily arched her eyebrows. “In my experience, people who say they only want five minutes are rarely satisfied with that, and in fact they know going in that the conversation will take a damn sight longer. I really don’t have the time. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to speak with my cousin.” An excuse, but then she would have said anything to get away. She waited for him to step aside.

  Jake regarded her steadily, his jaw set. “You’re not what I expected.”

  She gaped. “Oh really? And who provided you with these expectations that I apparently don’t live up to?”

  “Jane.”

  That one word, uttered quietly, his gaze focused on her, was enough to render her speechless. Thankfully, he took it as his cue to leave. “Miss Darrow.” A single curt nod of his head, and Jake was gone, heading for the exit.

  Emily stared after him, her scalp prickling and something quivering deep in her belly. The nerve of the man. She wondered what on earth Jane could have said to him. Because whatever it was, it seemed Emily had let her down.

  “I hear we’re both going to the reading of the will.”

  Her heart heavy, Emily slowly turned to face Phillip. “So I believe.” One glance at him reminded her that he was nothing like Jane, obviously taking after her ex-husband, whom Emily had never met. Phillip’s fleshy, pink face, his thick neck squeezed into the tight collar of his white shirt, and his slightly bulging blue eyes reflected little of Jane’s beauty.

  Once more she wondered at his presence, then figured she had nothing to lose. If she was lucky, this would be the last time she got to speak to him.

  “Why are you here, Phillip?”

  Phillip blinked. Then he frowned. “What sort of a stupid question is that? This is my mother’s funeral.”

  Emily fought to keep her features straight. “Please, don’t pretend you’re here as the grieving son. We both know exactly what you thought of Jane.”

  He narrowed his gaze. “How can you presume to have even the remotest idea what I thought of her?”

  Emily squared her shoulders. “Because she told me why you turned your back on her when you were nineteen. Why you chose to live with your father. Why you had nothing to do with her. So don’t give me that ‘woe is me, my mother has just died’ crap. Save it for someone who doesn’t know you.” He opened his mouth, no doubt to blast her, but she cut him off. “And we both know I didn’t need to take Jane’s word for it. You and I have history of our own. I know exactly what kind of man you are.” She kept her voice low.

  Phillip’s eyes bulged. “I’m sure I have no idea what you’re talking about. And as for why I’m here, I could ask you the same question. Why should you be in her will? Unless that was the reason behind all those visits? Sucking up to her, staying in her good books? We both know how much she was worth, after all.”

  Emily took a deep breath and counted to five. Very slowly.

  “I am here,” she began, enunciating every syllable, “because a woman who was closer to me than my own parents are, has died. A woman I loved. And I am thankful that after today, there is no reason why our paths should ever cross again. So why don’t we get this over with, and then you can go back to the City and count your money, and I will finalize the sale of my company and decide what I’m going to do with my life. Whatever it is, I’m now certain it won’t be in London, for the simple reason that I could possibly run into you.”

  Before Phillip could get another word out, Emily turned and walked out of the pub, past her parents who stared at her, past the villagers who tried to approach her, doubtless to give their condolences.

  She needed some air, even if it came with cold November rain and a chill wind.

  Chapter Three

  Thankfully the wind had eased off, and although the sky was the color of lead, there was no rain. Emily wrapped her black coat tightly around her and walked down the lane from the pub, trying to get her bearings.

  Anything was better than staying in the pub where she had to look at Phillip, or her parents, or even Jake Matthews. What surprised her was that Jake’s remark still stung. The implication was that he and Jane had been close, a reasonable assumption if Jane had talked about her. Is that why it stings? The thought that there was someone else who shared her confidences, while…

  The words… while I wasn’t around… stuck in her head.

  Seventeen years.

  Seventeen years since she’d spent any decent length of time in Fairdown.

  Seventeen years of concentrating on her own life, her studies, her business—while everything else took a back seat. Including her family. Especially her family.

  Jane never once complained that she didn’t see me as often as in the past. She understood me, what drove me. They’d kept in touch via phone and email, and of course, there was Fran, Emily’s eyes and ears in the village. If something was wrong, Fran would have let her know.

  There had been visits, short stops when Emily had driven down from London to spend a weekend, but she’d never strayed from the farmhouse. She hadn’t come to see the villagers—she was there to see Jane and Clare.

  Clare. Emily’s chest tightened. She’d badly wanted to attend Clare’s funeral, but had be
en unable to get away. She still kicked herself for that.

  She walked slowly, taking in the village that had been a huge part of her childhood and adolescence, but which she’d sped through as an adult, hardly seeing it as she headed for the farmhouse. On the surface, it appeared to have changed very little. The houses were exactly as she remembered them, with their thatched roofs, and honey-colored stone that always glowed warmly in the sunlight. Not that the sun had shown its face once today.

  The sun is in mourning too. It was an odd thought, but strangely apt. Jane had been a ray of sunshine in so many people’s lives.

  The village green was bare, save for the memorial to the fallen soldiers of both World Wars that stood at the far end. Emily could still make out the wreaths of poppies around its base that had survived since Armistice Day, in spite of the wind and inclement weather. Around the green was a mixture of houses and shops: this was the heart of the village.

  What struck her was the silence and the absence of people. Even on a grim day, there would usually be people going to and fro, but today there was no one. The only sign that anyone was around was the full car park at the Vale.

  The wind tugged at her coat and she pulled it even tighter around her. The thought that the pub would be warmer was quickly pushed aside: her mother was in there, probably itching to have her say on Emily’s recent choices.

  Emily preferred the cold wind and the threat of rain.

  She put aside the torturous thoughts and gazed with interest at the shop fronts. Some were exactly as she remembered them: the butcher’s window still had the white tiles on which the trays of meat were displayed, along with the ceramic cow, sheep and pig that sat by each tray.

  The dress shop still retained its bow windows, but thankfully the mannequin was no longer there. As a child, Emily had been convinced it came alive at night, no matter how hard Jane and Clare tried to convince her otherwise.