“Oh, Graham ...” Elizabeth gave him a meaningful nudge, “grow up. Sometimes for a solicitor you strike me as very unworldly.” She looked impatiently across at the clock on the mantelpiece. “Now, hadn’t you better go and have a wash? Bart Sadler will be here in about half an hour.” Elizabeth put her nail buffer on the table beside her and looked at her husband. “I must say I shall be very interested to hear what Bart has to say about the scandal.”
This was not the first visit of Bart Sadler to the Temple household since his return to Wenham, or rather to Blandford where he was still living at The Crown, a lonely and rather isolated man who was already regretting his return to his native land. He came for dinner at least once a month. Elizabeth liked him – they enjoyed a mild flirtation behind Graham’s back – and her husband hoped to get lucrative business deals from him. He was good with the children and it seemed that here was a place where he could relax.
After dinner he sat in the drawing room facing his host and hostess, smoking a large cigar.
“So,” he said, looking at them from beneath his dark brows. “And what do you think will happen next?”
Dora and her goings-on had been almost the sole topic of conversation at the dinner table, and the subject continued over cigars, brandy and coffee.
“I think Dora will keep out of the way for a while,” Elizabeth said, “and then she’ll come back to her mother.”
“With or without May?”
“With, I would guess. People will soon forget. They have short memories.”
“And what will happen to May’s children?”
Elizabeth shrugged. “I shouldn’t think the father would let them go to their mother, ever again if you ask me.”
“I have heard that they might go to his sister who lives near Yeovil, on a farm, I think,” Graham said.
“You’re very well informed.” Elizabeth looked at him sharply.
“Bernard is suing for divorce. My firm has been instructed.”
“Is that so?” Bart’s eyes narrowed.
“Please don’t quote me on this,” Graham said hastily, conscious that he was guilty of professional indiscretion.
“Poor creatures.” Bart shook his head. “It is always the children who suffer.”
He applied the flame of his lighter to the end of his cigar which had gone out and puffed hard for a few moments. “Do you think Mrs Heering will be any more interested in selling her house now that her daughter has left her?”
Graham began to sweat again at the thought of his part in Bart’s deception. It was something he would dearly like to have resolved. It was not illegal to keep the name of a purchaser confidential, if he or she so wished, and the legal documents were in order. But he hadn’t left it at that. No, he had told Mrs Heering a lie and he wished he hadn’t. If the sale went through it could cause no end of trouble.
But Bart wasn’t deterred. “I think you should press her with it now,” he said, thumping the arm of his chair. “Now is the time to strike.”
“Do you want to buy Upper Park?” This was the first Elizabeth had heard this news and she looked at him with interest.
“It is my dearest wish; but she doesn’t want to sell it to me.”
“Whyever not?”
“Because of Laurence. She says I killed him.”
“Maybe I could talk to Aunt Eliza.” Elizabeth looked at him speculatively.
“Oh, please don’t, Elizabeth.” Bart held up is hand. “She can’t stand me. She has a personal dislike. The offer so far is secret through Graham’s firm.”
Graham studiously avoided Bart’s eyes.
“I expect she dislikes you also on account of Sophie Turner.” Elizabeth looked at him slyly. “I remember before the war hearing people say you put her in the family way.”
“Oh, people will say anything.” Bart sounded offhand, but Elizabeth continued to look at him, the same sly smile on her lips.
“Well?” she challenged him.
“I can’t say anything.” Bart shook his head. ‘I’m too much of a gentleman.”
“Then the rector’s elder son may be yours? Everyone says he looks like you.”
“As far as I know he is the son of the Reverend Turner,” Bart said virtuously. “But to return to the subject, Graham, now may be the time to strike. Catch her when she’s vulnerable. Without her daughter Dora for support Eliza Heering will feel very lost indeed. She might even wish to move away from the scandal.”
“What will you do if she finds out it’s you?” Elizabeth, as if relishing the situation, moistened her lips.
Bart leaned forward and looked at her. “Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof, my dear Elizabeth. Once the purchase is completed there is nothing she can do.”
Chapter Five
It was hard to believe it of Dora, yet at the same time, paradoxically, not hard. She was compassionate yet she was impulsive; she was also a little selfish and all her life had had a rather hard wilful streak, which had perhaps helped her to survive the rigours of her life in the war. All these attributes of her character also helped to explain her current behaviour. She was sorry for May; impulsively she decided to take her away. But she also loved May and wanted her for herself, and in this she showed little regard for May’s children or the effect of her behaviour on her family.
Carson, Connie and Eliza sat round the fire in the drawing room at Pelham’s Oak while a gale blew outside, reminding them that winter, if not upon them, was very near.
Eliza had just told them she had accepted the offer for Upper Park and was expecting to sign the contract soon.
“You’re sure you’re not being too hasty, Aunt?” Carson looked anxiously over at her while Connie sat back in her chair, her expression thoughtful. So far she had taken little part in the conversation.
“Well,” Eliza said, “it was what Dora and Hugh advised me to do. Now Dora has gone off and I don’t know when I’ll see her again. I don’t even know where she is at the present time.”
“But she has surely telephoned you?”
“Oh yes. She telephones, but they’re touring. I think they’re looking for property.”
“Then it does sound rather final.” Now it was Carson’s turn to look thoughtful.
“Oh, it’s final. She’s determined, but you see, Carson, if Dora does come back I don’t want May here too. This is a factor in making me decide to sell.” Eliza firmly pursed her lips. “I don’t like May. I didn’t like her when she stayed with us before. She behaved as though she owned the place. She was rude to the servants and I can’t stand that sort of thing.” Eliza shook her head. “No, May and I didn’t get on. Dora is my daughter and I love her and there will always be a home for her but,” she shook her head several times, “not May Williams.”
“And what does Jean say about all this?” Connie stopped to poke the fire.
“I haven’t asked and he hasn’t been in touch with me.”
“But he knows?”
“I’m not sure.” Eliza looked across at Carson. “Did you know it wasn’t a proper marriage, Carson?”
Carson shook his head. “I had no idea. Neither Jean nor Dora would talk to me about that kind of thing. But I am a little surprised at Jean because I know him to be a very physical man. He likes women.”
“But Dora didn’t seem to like men. She never had a boyfriend. That’s why I was so relieved when she unexpectedly married Jean. Oh dear ...” Eliza, as if on the verge of tears, produced a handkerchief from the pocket of her cardigan, and screwed it into a tight ball in her hand. “I so hoped there’d be ... grandchildren, and that she’d be ... happy.”
“But she is happy, Aunt Eliza.” Connie moved over to Eliza and put a comforting arm round her shoulders. “If she is happy with May then she’s happy. We can’t live other people’s lives for them.”
“I think it’s a good thing to get away.” Carson rose and, taking his pipe off the mantelpiece, began to fill it from a tobacco jar on a side table. “I think you should
move, Aunt Eliza. Begin a new life. Anyway you weren’t always terribly happy at Upper Park, were you?”
Eliza shook her head. “No, there were some terrible times.”
“Well, there you are.” Carson pressed the tobacco firmly into the bowl of his pipe and, taking a spill from the hearth, began to light it. After a few puffs he removed it from his mouth and stood on the hearthrug, one hand behind his back.
“I think you should come back to Pelham’s Oak.”
“Pelham’s Oak!” Eliza looked at him in astonishment.
“For a while. Put your furniture in storage and spend a few months here, thinking. Don’t you agree, Connie?”
Connie loved her husband and she loved Eliza, but ... this was another of Carson’s impulsive acts with the best intentions, but who knew where it would end? Would she like it if Aunt Eliza made it a long stay? Emphatically no, she wouldn’t.
But Eliza was already reading her thoughts. She leaned over and touched Connie’s arm.
“Don’t worry, darling Connie. I won’t.”
“Oh, but Aunt, I didn’t mean ...” Abashed, Connie looked across at Carson.
“No, I know what you mean. This is your home. People have a habit of dumping themselves on Carson, and I don’t want to be one of them. I don’t know when the Brents will want to move in. I mean, if they are abroad they may not come back for some time. Anyway, I can rent somewhere if I can’t find a suitable house immediately, or stay in a hotel. I may go abroad for a while, take a cruise ... who knows?” Eliza’s eyes momentarily gleamed with an almost girlish sense of anticipation. “I might start to live again. Nothing is holding me back.”
***
But the Brents apparently did want to move in, and in some hurry. The contract was signed shortly before Christmas and Eliza was asked if she could vacate by the beginning of February. Really, there was so much to do, and she had been so busy, that she hadn’t had a chance to think about what she was going to do or where she was going to go. The staff were all informed and were extremely sad. However, it was possible, she was told, that the Brents would want to keep them on. Nothing would be known until the new owners arrived, possibly in the middle of January.
In the end, Eliza and Hugh decided that she should have a break and they went to Menton for Christmas, travelling by train to the south of France. In all they were away three weeks and it was with some sense of relief, and with renewed energy, that Eliza returned to Upper Park in mid-January and began to make final preparations for the move. Precious carpets were rolled up, paintings taken down and items of valuable antique furniture carefully prepared for storage. At each stage a different part of her life with Julius was remembered, sometimes with pleasure, sometimes pain. In addition to Carson’s invitation, reinforced by Connie, Sarah Jane had invited her to stay at Riversmead. Sophie Turner at the Rectory, even Elizabeth, had extended an invitation.
No one wanted to see her without a home to go to. It was gratifying to know how much the family cared, how important her well-being seemed to them.
But in the end Eliza accepted Lally’s invitation to stay at Forest House, the house that many years before Ryder had built for Julius and where, as a result of an accident, he had died. Julius had sold the house to Prosper and Lally Martyn before he married Eliza, never having wanted to live there himself.
For a long time Eliza had been unable to visit Forest House, but gradually, over the years, although she didn’t love Ryder any the less, the memory of that dreadful day in 1895 when they brought his body back to Riversmead faded and, after the war, but more particularly after Prosper’s death, she laid the ghost and began to visit Lally quite often.
It was true that it was a very big house, a very beautiful one, and the fact that it had been built by Ryder was a memorial to him rather than a tomb.
One day towards the end of January, with everything at Upper Park packed in cases or wrapped in sheets and ready to be moved to a warehouse, she wandered round the rooms that Lally had set aside for her: a bedroom with bathroom, a spacious sitting room, and another room for anyone she wished to have stay, Hugh or Dora, and thought how fortunate she was. Lally had even had the rooms redecorated for her, had gone out of her way to make her welcome and comfortable, had filled them with fresh flowers and, as Eliza flung open one of the bedroom windows and leaned out, it was almost as though she caught a breath of spring. There were snowdrops at the base of the giant Sequoia on the edge of the lawn, and above it the sky was cerulean blue, almost as it had been in Tangiers.
Downstairs, Lally, an anxious expression on her face, was waiting to greet her.
“Is everything all right?”
Eliza almost fell into Lally’s outstretched arms and hugged her for a few moments, tears glistening in her eyes. “Oh, Lally, you’re so good to me ...”
“But I love you, Eliza.” Lally stood back and, taking a dainty handkerchief from her sleeve, dabbed at Eliza’s eyes. “And I want you to feel that this is your home and you are welcome here for as long as you like. You can come and go as freely as you wish.”
Eliza drove back to Upper Park feeling more optimistic and peaceful than she had been for weeks, maybe even months, since the suggestion to sell had first come up.
She had enjoyed her time in Menton and Hugh’s suggestion that they should go abroad a couple of times a year was an appealing one. She had a large fortune and could do what she liked and there was no need to shackle herself with a huge house. It would be nice to spend some of her wealth on foreign travel. She would eventually buy something that could be easily maintained by a couple of maids and a cook, and a small garden would be a boon.
Hugh had suggested she could also buy a flat in London, but the capital was almost as foreign to her as Menton. Even as the wife of Julius Heering, prosperous businessman, she had only ever been there half a dozen times in her life.
No, a small house in the country and two or three visits abroad with Hugh would be wonderful, especially as they were closer now than they had ever been. Of her three children, Hugh, the scholar, the classicist, reluctant war hero, had always been the most elusive. He was kind and considerate to his mother and, with his vast knowledge, an erudite companion on tours abroad. It would also enable her to try and get to know her enigmatic son better. She felt his leg shattered in the war had somehow isolated him from the company of other people.
Eliza reached the gates of Upper Park and was surprised to find them open. There was a car parked outside the portico and this too surprised her because in the state the house was in she was not expecting visitors. She drove round to the garages at the back of the house and one of the servants appeared from the kitchen door and ran to assist her.
“Visitors, Grieves?” she asked the butler.
“The gentleman says he is the new owner, madam.”
“Oh!” Immediately Eliza looked flustered. “Colonel Brent?”
“He didn’t give his name, madam.” The butler’s expression remained impassive.
“Did you let him in?”
“No, madam. I said you were not at home so he asked if he could take a stroll in the grounds.” Grieves appeared embarrassed. “I didn’t quite know what to say as he is the new owner, madam. I didn’t wish to appear rude.”
“I quite understand your dilemma,” Eliza replied after a moment’s thought. “All the same, Colonel Brent is not due to take possession until February the first.”
Eliza felt irritated, angry, but she could hardly ignore the new owner however she might wish to. Besides, there was a sense of curiosity about what, after all this secrecy, he would be like. He might after all be very charming, an asset to the neighbourhood.
“Which way did he go?” she asked the butler who pointed in the direction of the greenhouses.
“I told him I was not expecting you back until the afternoon, Mrs Heering. He said he would be gone by then.”
Asking Grieves to garage the car Eliza bound her scarf more tightly around her neck against the keen w
ind and walked in the direction of Julius’s beloved greenhouses. She found herself hoping that the new owners were keen gardeners. It was not her favourite hobby and she felt in a way that, although well-tended by the gardeners, they had somehow missed the loving personal care of a true devotee.
She approached the first of the three long greenhouses and saw through the windows the figure of a man wearing a hat and coat, hands in his pockets, shoulders hunched, staring ahead of him, as if deep in thought.
He seemed lost in a reverie and didn’t hear her as she quietly approached.
“Colonel Brent?” She composed her features into a pleasant smile of welcome but, as the man slowly turned to face her, Eliza’s hand flew to her mouth.
“Bart Sadler!” she cried, the smile replaced by an expression of outrage.
“Mrs Heering,” Bart acknowledged with a chilly smile.
“I think there’s some mistake. I was told the new owner was here.”
“I am the new owner, Mrs Heering.” He appeared to relish the information.
“I was informed a Colonel and Mrs Brent were the new owners.”
“That was the mistake, I am the new owner,” Bart said firmly. His smile had now vanished.
“Then this has been an outrageous deception.”
“Well, it is a house I very much wanted and you wouldn’t sell it to me. I had no option but to deceive you.”
“Then you instructed Graham Temple in this criminal act?”
“It is not criminal, Mrs Heering, to purchase a property through one’s solicitors acting confidentially.”
Eliza drew herself up until she almost stood on tiptoe.
“We shall see about that. Meanwhile, I’m ordering you off this property. You have no business here.”
“Until February first,” Bart said, suddenly bowing his head.“I’m sorry I was trespassing but I happened to see the car leave your gates as I was passing and I was tempted to go in and inspect the property I have just bought.”
“I will not allow you to buy this property, Mr Sadler.”
“It is bought, Mrs Heering. Signed, sealed and paid for. The solicitors will transfer the money to your bank the day I take possession. That is, I believe, in slightly over a week’s time.”
Past Love (Part Four of The People of this Parish Saga) Page 7