‘Perhaps. But times are tough, Nate. If they can get a load of cash for it …’
He waved away my concerns. ‘Trust me,’ he said. ‘I really think this could work.’
I shrugged. ‘I’ve got nothing else to offer, so go for it.’
With a grin, he opened his folder. ‘I’m thinking a march round the village,’ he said. ‘Led by the kids, but we’ll try to get everyone involved. We can make banners like the ones the suffragettes carried, and wear sashes.’
‘Sashes?’
He showed me a beautiful drawing of a little girl – who looked a bit like Cara – wearing a green and purple sash.
‘Marc drew this,’ he said proudly. ‘It’s based on the Votes for Women sashes you see in the photos of suffragettes, but instead of Votes for Women they say Save Elm Heath.’
‘Okaaay,’ I said.
‘So we’ll all march to the park and we’ll have stalls and an old-fashioned fair, and maybe games and stuff, and you can do a speech.’
‘Nate, it’s going to be cold and probably raining,’ I said.
‘My dad’s mate is going to sort us out with a load of marquees and tents. It’ll be fine,’ he said. ‘We’ll all wear coats. And if we do it at the beginning of March it’ll be warmer anyway.’
I registered what else he’d said. ‘A speech?’
‘About how important the school is and talking about the history and about Esther and what she wanted from Elm Heath.’
I made a face. ‘I still don’t know.’
‘You’ll find out though. You’re not exactly someone who gives up at the first sign of trouble, are you?’
I looked at him curiously. ‘What do you mean?’
‘You had a rotten time of it, with your husband and that, didn’t you?’
I couldn’t argue with that. I nodded, still not sure where he was going.
‘But you just picked yourself up and kept going.’
From where I was sitting, it looked like I’d run away and hidden, but I supposed to some people it could seem as though I’d kept going.
‘Nate,’ I began, but he wasn’t finished.
‘We all think you’re brilliant,’ he said. ‘And we reckon if anyone can do this, you can.’
There was nothing like a bit of flattery to win a woman over. I smiled, despite my misgivings.
‘I suppose it’s worth a try.’
Nate clapped his hands. ‘It’s definitely worth a try. We’ve got nothing to lose.’ He paused. ‘I will sort the rally,’ he said. ‘I’ll do all the organisation and drumming up the support and stuff, if you …’
‘Yes?’ I was suspicious about what he wanted.
‘If you get your husband to use his contacts and get us some publicity.’
‘Ex-husband.’
‘He owes you,’ Nate said. ‘Pippa was right about that.’
‘It’s awkward.’
Nate’s expression softened. ‘I know.’ He reached out and patted my hand gently. ‘But we really need you to do this. It could make all the difference. The kids from Elm Heath will be so grateful.’
‘Ooh that’s cheap,’ I said. ‘Using the kids as leverage.’
‘I’m shameless,’ he said cheerfully. ‘But you know I’m right.’
I winced. He was right. The kids were more important than my wounded pride.
‘Fine,’ I said. ‘I’ll email him and see if he can help.’
Nate shut his folder with a snap and drained his wine glass. ‘Then we’re good to go,’ he said.
Feeling a bit browbeaten, I showed him out, and then thinking I had to do it before I changed my mind I found my laptop and emailed Grant.
I wrote a quick explanation of the school (‘so welcoming,’ I gushed) and the problems it was facing (‘the usual perfect storm of budget cuts and falling pupil numbers,’ I wrote airily as though it was no biggie). Then I outlined the ‘amazing and incredibly inspiring’ history of Esther Watkins and how she’d founded the school, and I wrote a bit about what we had planned to fight for Elm Heath.
‘We need publicity for this to really make a difference,’ I typed. ‘Can you help?’
I paused, tapping my fingers lightly on the keys as I thought about how to write ‘you owe me, you lying sod’, without actually writing ‘you owe me, you lying sod’.
‘I’m so pleased that with all the water that’s gone under the bridge, we can still be there for each other,’ I wrote. Then I changed the bit about being there to ‘help each other out’. That was better – less emotionally charged, I thought.
‘Hope all is good with you,’ I added, finishing with an L and a kiss. Which I also deleted. He didn’t deserve my kisses, virtual or not. But I didn’t send the message – not yet. I still wanted to make sure it was absolutely the right thing to do. So instead, I saved it into my draft folder. I’d send it in the next couple of days, I thought.
To distract myself I checked my Facebook messages and with a thrill realised Fiona Willoughby had replied.
‘Happy to help,’ she’d written. ‘I have some boxes of papers, and other bits and pieces that belonged to Agnes. Would you like to come and have a look?’
Grinning to myself, I replied that I would love to visit if possible, and gave her my phone number so we could arrange it.
With a sense of achievement I put the wine glasses in the dishwasher and turned it on, then I went upstairs to bed, thinking perhaps all was not lost after all.
Chapter 26
Lizzie
‘When are you going to meet her?’ Danny asked, as he put my drink down in front of me. It was Thursday – finally – and we were in the pub for our date. I’d been filling him in on Nate’s plans for the rally and my correspondence with Fiona Willoughby. I’d not mentioned writing the email to Grant, but then I’d not sent it yet anyway. Maybe I’d send it tomorrow.
Now I smiled at Danny and straightened my wine glass on the beer mat.
‘Paula and I are going on Saturday,’ I said. ‘She lives in Sussex so we can easily be there and back in a day.’
‘And she’s got information about Esther Watkins?’
‘Well, information about Agnes Oliver and her involvement with the suffragettes. And we know Esther was the governess for Agnes’s children, so I’m hoping it’s all relevant.’
‘You’re putting a lot of work into this.’
‘Not just me. Nate’s working hard, and Paula. Everyone really. It’s worth it.’
Danny nodded. ‘Sounds great,’ he said. I looked at him carefully. He didn’t sound like he thought it was great.
‘Are you okay?’
‘Just tired,’ he said, running his fingers through his hair. He did look a bit rough round the edges, with smudges under his eyes and more stubble than I’d ever seen him with. He wore it well, though. He was really very nice to look at.
‘Lizzie?’
I jumped and, realising I was staring, I squinted at a picture behind Danny on the wall of the pub instead of at his lovely face.
‘Isn’t that a wonderful painting,’ I said in a hurry. It was an abstract canvas covered in red and orange swirls. ‘I love the energy in it.’
Danny looked behind him. ‘Do you?’ He raised an eyebrow. ‘Really?’
‘Oh I do,’ I said. I felt my cheeks reddening. ‘Who painted that?’ I asked the barmaid who was cleaning glasses from the table next to us. ‘Do you know where it’s from?’
She gave me a disdainful look. ‘It’s from IKEA,’ she said.
Ah. Maybe I should just admit I was looking at Danny next time. Might be less embarrassing.
‘Is the art appreciation class over?’ Danny said. His eyes crinkled in amusement and I looked down into my glass to stop myself drifting off again.
‘I do really like it,’ I muttered, knowing I should just let it go. If I didn’t stop, I’d end up with a violent orange canvas on my cottage wall by the end of the week.
‘Marc’s firm isn’t pitching for the development, then?’ Dann
y said.
‘No, Nate said they’d turned it down.’
Danny nodded.
‘Do you ever work with him?’ I asked. ‘Marc? Remind me what it is you do exactly?’
‘Marc’s an architect so I don’t work directly with him. But sometimes our paths cross. I work for a company that secures private finance for public sector projects. Mostly big stuff like hospitals and roads. The occasional new public transport scheme, like the new railway line by the coast.’
I studied him over the top of my glass. ‘Schools?’
He nodded – I thought reluctantly.
‘Sometimes schools. I really only deal with the finance.’
I remembered his cross exchange of words with Chris at the barbecue back at the end of the summer.
‘Is that how you know Chris?’
Danny grinned. ‘Chris knows everyone.’
Under the table he put his hand on my knee. It felt nice there.
‘Let’s not talk about work,’ he said. ‘Let’s talk about fun stuff.’
‘Like what?’
‘Christmas. It’s only a few weeks away.’
I shuddered. ‘Oh don’t,’ I said.
‘You’re not one of those people are you?’ Danny said, darkly. ‘The “it’s just one day” brigade?’
I laughed. ‘Actually, no I’m not,’ I said. ‘I like Christmas but I’ll be at my mother’s in my teenage bedroom. It feels like a backwards step, you know?’
‘Just you and her?’
I gave a grim smile. ‘Oh heavens no. My perfect brother and his perfect fiancée will be there for a while. And I’m sure various other family members will drop in. It’s just not how I expected to be spending Christmases in my late thirties.’
Danny squeezed my knee sympathetically and I felt a surge of attraction towards him.
‘What about you?’ I squeaked. ‘Where will you be?’
‘Ireland. It’s my family’s turn to host us this year. Cara loves seeing my parents and I always find Irish Christmases a bit easier than when we do the day with Sophie.’
‘Is it hard to spend so much time with Sophie?’ I said.
He shrugged. ‘No, not really. I’m being unfair. She’s wonderful with Cara. And I have to be honest, I can’t blame her for being cautious because I was a bugger when I was younger.’ His face softened. ‘Cara loves her so much, she adores Cara, and they’re really good for each other. You know she’s taught Cara to speak French?’
‘She has?’
‘They chat away to each other. Drives me up the wall. I’m always sure they’re talking about me.’
‘They probably are,’ I said.
Danny rolled his eyes. ‘Probably.’
‘Sophie’s going to run our after-school club for us,’ I told him. ‘She was thrilled when we asked her and she’s got lots of plans already. And Paula’s daughter Chloe is busy recruiting sixth-formers to help out too. She’s found some sporty types to run football and netball sessions, and one of her friends is doing music A Level and she said she’d like to start a school choir for part of her assessment. I might get Sophie to throw in some French lessons too.’
‘Sounds brilliant,’ Danny said. ‘I’ve signed Cara up for a couple of afternoons a week.’
I grinned. I knew that. ‘We’ve got a waiting list already,’ I said. ‘It’s very popular.’
‘It was a great idea,’ Danny said.
‘I hope it works.’
We chatted for a bit longer and ordered more drinks and some chips to share. I went to the loo before the food arrived and sat in the cubicle for a moment, grateful to have some time out.
Danny was a lovely man, I thought. He was funny and attentive and caring – I loved the way he was so devoted to Cara. He was really handsome and the way he smiled at me made my head spin.
And yet I still had that niggle about Paula, and Sophie and Isabelle.
It was good that we were taking things slowly, I thought. Although, it was easier to think about taking things slowly when I was locked in a toilet cubicle, than when I was sitting next to him. When I could see the way his eyes darkened as he looked at me, and feel the warmth of his hand on my leg, and smell his skin, and …
‘Stop it, Lizzie,’ I said out loud.
‘Everything all right in there?’ a voice said from the cubicle next to me. I’d not realised there was anyone else in the loo.
Embarrassed – again – I cleared my throat. ‘All fine, thanks,’ I said. ‘Thought there was no loo roll but I’ve found some.’
I waited for the woman in the other cubicle to flush the loo, listened as she washed her hands and then opened the door back to the bar, and then I finally went back to Danny.
Our chips were on the table in front of him.
‘You were a while,’ he commented, pushing the bowl towards me. ‘I’ve almost eaten them all.’
I shoved a chip in my mouth so I didn’t come up with some rubbish excuse, or worse blurt out that I’d been thinking about him, and smiled.
Danny leaned back in his seat, and watched me. ‘You’re something, Lizzie Armstrong.’
I swallowed the last bit of chip. ‘What does something mean?’ I said. ‘Clueless about art?’
He shook his head. ‘Determined. Focused. Brave.’
I felt heat in my cheeks. ‘I’m not any of those things.’
‘Ah, look at how you’ve got the bit between your teeth now. Researching your Esther Watkins, and organising rallies.’
I looked down at the table. ‘I don’t have anything else to do,’ I admitted. ‘It’s not like I’ve got a family or a husband demanding my time.’
Danny put his hand back on my knee. ‘I’m demanding a bit of it.’
I looked up and met his gaze.
‘I like you, Lizzie,’ he said.
‘I like you too.’
The moment felt charged as we looked at each other, and then he looked away.
‘I need to go,’ he said. He did sound genuinely regretful, which was something. I looked at my watch – it was almost ten o’clock.
‘Me too,’ I said. ‘Busy day tomorrow.’
We both stood up and Danny helped me on with my coat in a very gentlemanly way.
‘I’ll walk you home,’ he said.
I opened my mouth to say there was no need, because we lived in opposite directions from the pub, but then I thought it meant spending more time with him and I nodded.
We strolled down the main street, close together. We weren’t holding hands but our fingers brushed as we walked.
At my front door, Danny turned to me. ‘I had a lovely evening,’ he said. ‘Can we do it again next week?’
‘I’d like that.’
He kissed me on the lips, softly at first, and then as I relaxed into it, more firmly. My head was spinning with wine and longing, but I was also not nearly drunk enough to forget that snogging in the street was not a good look for a head teacher, so I pulled away.
‘Night,’ I said.
Chapter 27
Lizzie
Fiona Willoughby was an energetic woman in her late sixties. She lived in a large house that was full of family memories. I liked her immediately. She showed us into the kitchen and made tea. In the garden, an older man with shaggy grey hair – her husband I assumed – was planting bulbs with a small boy wearing wellies, while a slightly bigger boy dribbled a football round the two trees at the bottom.
‘We’re on grandparent duty today,’ she said fondly, following my gaze out of the kitchen window. ‘Do you have children?’
‘I’ve got a hundred of them,’ I joked to deflect any questions from my personal life.
‘Of course, you’re a teacher – you mentioned that in your messages.’
She handed me a mug of tea, and then gave one to Paula.
‘We both work at Elm Heath Primary – it’s the school that was founded by Esther Watkins,’ I said. ‘But like I explained, the council are planning to close us down and we think the schoo
l should stay open.’
‘We’re desperate for it to stay open,’ Paula said.
Fiona nodded.
‘We’re trying to find out as much as we can about Esther so we can prove the school is of special historical interest.’
‘Well, I’ve dug out all the bits and pieces I’ve got about the suffragettes,’ Fiona said. ‘It’s all in the lounge – come through and I’ll show you.’
We followed her into the large lounge that ran the length of the house. Two faded but pretty sofas, a coffee table and the television, were at the front end of the room, while the other end was lined with groaning bookshelves. There was a wooden dining table, with several boxes stacked on it and that’s where Fiona took us, gesturing that we should sit.
I pulled out a chair and sat down opposite her, with Paula next to me.
‘Agnes was my great-grandmother,’ Fiona began. ‘I don’t remember her unfortunately but my mother was close to her and she told me stories.’
‘About the suffragettes?’
‘About everything, but the suffragettes in particular.’
Paula leaned forward. ‘We’re organising a rally,’ she said. ‘We’ve been inspired by the action they took and we decided we weren’t just going to sit around talking.’
‘Perfect,’ Fiona said. ‘Deeds not words.’
‘Exactly.’ I was pleased she understood.
I pulled out my own bundle of research.
‘We found lots of information about Esther starting the school,’ I said, laying out some papers on the table. ‘She’d been to prison, I discovered, so obviously the education authority weren’t keen to let her open a school. I imagine they didn’t think she was a very good role model. But she gave them references from your Agnes, and from a policeman called Joseph Fairbanks, and she also wrote what sounds to be a visionary letter, spelling out her aims for the school, and she won them over.’
Fiona smiled. ‘How clever.’
‘We really want to find that letter,’ I said. ‘But it wasn’t in the council archive.’
‘I can’t imagine it’ll be here, but we can have a look,’ Fiona said. ‘Shall we get stuck in?’
She pushed one of the boxes towards Paula and me, and stood up to open the one nearest to her. I copied, standing up and opening the cardboard lid. The box was full of treasures – papers, books, newspapers, posters – and I gasped in delight.
The Secret Letter Page 15