by Kirsty Ferry
Clipped onto another page, hidden amongst the careful plans, was a loose sheet of different paper. On it was a terrible rhyming couplet, carefully printed out in block capitals. ‘Twas in the month of June and she danced naked ‘neath the moon. My love was gone too soon, and led me to my roon.
‘Yeuch,’ Cassie muttered. ‘I guess that was meant to be “ruin”.’ Stella had evidently felt the same in the “yeuch” stakes. She had scrawled Rubbish! Not amused. See me. You’re in big trouble – this is simply not worthy of the great “Jack Shelley”. Her writing was a little wonky and Cassie wondered if it had been champagne-fuelled.
Who was in trouble and why was a mystery. But she smiled anyway. She flipped back to the lists of names and scanned them. Some of them were only initials – people who were probably regulars on her party circuit: R, V, A, Rosie J, Oscar, M and L, Helen W, Stephen ran one list. It was entitled My Birthday! Hurrah!
The next list was shorter. Next to it, she had written Only Vronnie, Rosie, Mary, Lois, Helen and me. Poor boys! I am lost. So very lost.
The boys had disappeared – perhaps they’d joined up or been called up, but for whatever reason, they weren’t on any subsequent pages.
This was so frustrating. It had all clearly meant something to Stella, but her shorthand had never been designed to be deciphered by anyone else. Cassie closed the book and sighed. She didn’t think she was going to get much more done, and the light outside the attic window and the rumble in her tummy told her it was dinner time at the very least. There didn’t seem to be any noises from the rest of the wing, so she assumed Alex and Elodie were still out and she hoped everything was okay.
And she still hadn’t located their resident war poet – or Mr Grammatically Incorrect either – Astrophel. Because surely Robert Edwards couldn’t be the one responsible for that appalling rhyming couplet? The thought made her smile and, unbidden, a young man’s smiling face came into her head, gazing at her as she stood by the river under an archway of trees. But it was moonlight and starlight, and she didn’t know where it had come from. The image faded almost as quickly as it had come.
Resolutely, Cassie scooped up the vanity case and its associated contents and fastened the catches on it. The case was coming back to her cottage and she was going to reunite Stella with it.
Aidan, as good as his word, chased Petra and Iain out of the office as soon as Petra had a quote for him. Then he made a few phone calls and rattled off some emails, and called in he didn’t know how many favours. But by the end of that day, he had, in transit, enough supplies to make a start at Hartsford Hall a week on Monday if required.
He picked up his phone, intending to send Cassie a quick text, just to let her know when they could start work if Alex was happy with the price. But instead of opening the ‘message’ icon, almost unconsciously, he clicked on the ‘call’ icon.
Before he could register it, the telephone was ringing and it took only a moment before she answered.
‘Hello?’
‘Cassie?’
There was a beat. ‘Aidan?’ Then there was another, warm little, ‘Hello!’
Aidan smiled into the receiver, the expression coming out in the tone of his voice. ‘The very same.’
‘Did you get a quote for me already?’
‘Yes. I came straight back to the office and got it all sorted. Plans and everything.’ He gave her the quote, crossing his fingers and knocking even more off the price Petra had given him. ‘We can start the week after next, on the Tuesday if you’re happy with it. Can we arrange the deliveries for a week on Monday? My site manager will liaise with you for all that.’
‘Oh. Yes, of course. It’s less than Alex told me I had in my budget, so I’d say we’re good to go.’
Aidan smiled again and said something he really hadn’t been intending saying at all. ‘Excellent. I’ll confirm that for a week on Monday, then I can get involved a little further down the line.’
‘Okay.’ There was an answering smile in Cassie’s voice and it felt good. Maybe her involvement with that Tom guy wasn’t serious? One could hope.
‘So, have you been back into the secret room?’ Aidan was reluctant to end the conversation.
‘Yes. I went in and put it all back together, although I think I damaged the floor a bit. And I definitely damaged the chair. Never mind.’
‘Never mind,’ Aidan echoed. ‘Can it be fixed?’
‘I doubt it. I found a letter in the chair cushion though. So it wasn’t all bad.’
‘A letter?’ Aidan leaned forward, his elbows on the desk. This was just the sort of thing he liked to hear about. ‘Who from?’
‘I don’t know.’ Aidan imagined her shrugging. ‘Someone who’d swallowed a punctuation guide I think.’
He laughed. ‘How come?’
‘His name.’ She sighed. ‘It’s a silly one. Something about apostrophes, the idiot.’
‘And what exactly is he called, this idiot man?’
‘Apostro … Apostro … Hang on.’ He could hear her rustling papers around. He wondered if she was in an office or at home. He looked at the clock. It was almost seven in the evening. Probably home then. He was the only one daft enough to be in his office at this time.
‘Ah. Here we are. Astrophel. Similar to Apostrophe. Not quite.’
‘Astrophel? That is a strange one. Why couldn’t he have been an Archie or a Stephen?’
‘I found a Stephen. Stella had a notebook with her friends’ names in. I think all her male friends went off to the war, though.’
‘Well, let’s hope you’re doing them all justice by bringing the Spa back to life again.’
‘Indeed. Is there anything I need to know for Monday week then?’
‘Nope. The site manager will come about nine o’clock and she’ll bring the plans with her. Then you can see what we’ve come up with for you.’
‘All right. And you? Will I see you too? Soon?’
‘You will.’
‘Thank you.’
‘You’re very welcome.’
‘Bye then.’
‘Bye. I’m looking forward to it.’
There was another smile. From both of them, it seemed.
July 1941
And then it happened.
It was dark. That was all Rob knew. It was dark and cold and he felt a curious mixture of cold and heat. He was shivering, but his skin was burning.
He could remember the noise and he could remember the screaming. The fireball that engulfed the plane and the seemingly endless plummet to the ground.
Then people. People near him, foreign voices everywhere. Then blessed darkness and blessed sleep and unbearable pain swamping him, and Stella’s face imprinted on the back of his eyelids as he slipped away into oblivion …
Stella read the letter seventeen-year old Jack had sent her. She had to read it three times, just to make sure.
Missing in Action. Over France.
The words didn’t change, however many times she read them.
They didn’t change when Leo read them either.
And they didn’t change when her brother gathered her up in his arms and she cried into his shoulder until she no longer had any tears left.
Chapter Eighteen
Present Day
Just because Aidan had spent most of a morning discovering secret rooms with Cassie, it didn’t mean, she told herself sternly, that he found her in the least attractive. Why would she be treated any differently from any other potential client? He was being nice, and he had a sort of link to Hartsford.
He was just getting his company to sort out that part of the estate, before it became a safety hazard.
She wandered off to the kitchen and poured a huge glass of wine, which she practically guzzled down there and then. She felt a little better, but not much. How awful if it was just professional on his side? And she was being silly by thinking it could all mean more? Yes, of course she was – there was the lovely Petra after all.
She took her s
econd glass of wine back to the dining table, where she’d been sitting. Stella’s picture was laid out next to the vanity case, and her notebook on the top of the case. Cassie had also put the odd letter from Apostrophe-chap down next to them and, to the side, she’d put the sketch book from Aidan.
She looked from one book to the other. There was a weird sense of togetherness there. All of these items had been at the Hall at the same time. While Stella had been partying and planning her jolly japes in the notebook, she’d been wearing her curlers and stuffing unpaid bills for pretty dresses into the case. Within this time frame, Robert Edwards had also been lounging around the pool and drawing pictures of people enjoying themselves at the Hall.
Cassie’s heart began to beat a little faster. She wondered if, for some reason, they were all connected in a different way? It was very tenuous, but who was to say? They couldn’t prove or disprove it. Especially with that awful poem and the fact that it did seem to be Stella on the side of the pool in that sketch – not to mention the shadows and memories she’d glimpsed of days gone by. It was an intriguing thought, and Stella was, maybe, just about wild enough to have a summer fling with a good-looking Cambridge graduate who might have promised her the world with his clever words. What a shame it seemed as if he’d gone to War and they’d lost touch. And of course it didn’t explain who Jack Shelley was, did it?
She contemplated putting a display up in the squash courts to capitalise on the relationship she was playing out in her head, be it true or totally fictitious. Then she slumped forwards, her forehead touching the table. She couldn’t do that. She couldn’t make up what might be a huge, fat lie, no matter how tempting the story might be.
Cassie stood up to head out and refill her glass for a third time. In fact, she might as well just bring the bottle in.
As she passed through the tiny hallway, there was knock on the door. It had to be one of the family; nobody would be coming through the grounds to find her cottage in a door-to-door salesman capacity, so she altered her course to open it. She hoped it was good news about Elodie.
In fact, Elodie herself was standing there. ‘Here.’ She thrust a folder at Cassie. ‘Blueprints for your changing room. My system works.’
Cassie noticed she had bare feet, her face was pale, but her toenails were still green and black. ‘Elodie!’ She flung her arms around her awkwardly. ‘Come in. Please. I have nail varnish remover and cotton wool.’
There was the briefest of pauses, then Elodie nodded. ‘Deal. Have you got any colours you can put on my nails? The nurses laughed at me.’ She went straight into the lounge and sank heavily into the sofa. ‘Any colour will do, so long as I have ten matching ones.’ She wiggled her toes as if to make a point. ‘Just for next time. God, I’m pleased to be out of that place.’
‘But are you okay? I mean, I’m not going to get into trouble for persuading you to stay am I, if you’re still having problems?’
Elodie shook her head. ‘I’ve escaped and I’m staying escaped. I just want to feel normal again. I persuaded Alex to take Hughie out, so he’ll be gone for half an hour or so anyway. He’s still brooding over that bloody letter, I think – and then I haven’t helped things much.’ She looked embarrassed. She’d never forgiven herself for coming back from London with such severe asthma – something which had especially, she said, impacted on Alex’s life. Even though he always swore it wasn’t her fault and repeated that he didn’t mind how many times he rescued her from an attack – so long as he rescued her. ‘I said I was popping over here while he was out.’ Elodie frowned. ‘I think he’s taking it worse than me. He hasn’t seen me in such a state for some time. Look. I even brought this, for the little walk over here.’ She produced the inhaler. ‘Damn thing. But I don’t want to see him upset anymore. It’s been a fairly rotten day. And there’s all these undercurrents going on. I’m still not sure what he wants to do about your mum.’
‘I’m not sure what I’ll do either. But he’ll enjoy his ride, it’ll do him good. And you’ve come to the right place for normal. I have everything ranging from pink to purple and back again, so you can have ten normally varnished toenails. I’ll even do your fingers if you like. You choose a colour.’
‘I like the sound of purple. But I currently have sausage fingers and they’ll look awful whatever you do.’
Cassie laughed. ‘Purple it is then. We can always take it off the porkers if you hate it. Just give me a minute.’ She dashed upstairs and gathered together the bottles and cotton wool, then returned to the lounge. Elodie already had her feet up on the footstool. She looked just as at home as she had done when she lived there.
Cassie sat down in front of her and set to work. ‘You’re more than welcome in the secret room, you know. I don’t think you’d get wedged too badly. Or perhaps … no. I take that back.’ Cassie nodded at Elodie’s ever-increasing bump and they both giggled.
‘Hmm. Maybe later in the summer. Hopefully around your Bank Holiday weekend. Everything should be over with by then.’ Cassie had hold of her foot, and she felt a shiver going right through Elodie’s body.
She looked up in surprise. ‘Are you okay? Really okay?’
Elodie laughed humourlessly. ‘I’m bloody terrified. What if I can’t do it? What if I bloody die?’
‘Darling, they’ll make you do it. And you won’t die. If you even dare to die, Alex would probably kill you anyway!’
‘I suppose they’ve got to come out somehow, haven’t they? And if I’m dead, he can’t really kill me.’
‘Rather a crude way of putting it, but yes, and you may be right about the killing aspect. It’ll be so lovely when they’re here, though, don’t you worry.’
‘Let’s talk about blueprints instead.’ Elodie pulled a face. ‘I can deal with blueprints. I can’t deal with babies. And I can’t deal with dying because of my stupid, stupid lungs. I hate London. I wish I’d never lived there! It’s because of that environment—’
Her voice was beginning to rise hysterically, and Cassie didn’t know much about asthma, but she did know getting agitated probably wouldn’t help. And it certainly wouldn’t help the babies, so she almost shouted, ‘Oh! The plans for the changing rooms! Does the secret room show on them? And for God’s sake calm down and breathe.’
Elodie gazed down at her, looking shocked for a moment. Then she made a huge effort and calmed herself down. ‘Sort of.’ She leaned to the side and pulled the papers towards her, then opened them up and disappeared behind them as Cassie finished off her little toe with a gorgeous, deep violet colour.
‘Done.’ Cassie sat back on her heels and surveyed her handiwork. ‘Looking good as well. I’ll do the porker fingers next.’
‘Thank you.’ Elodie peered out from the papers and looked at her toes. ‘I trust you more than Alex, that’s for sure.’
‘Sisterhood.’ Cassie raised her hand.
Elodie high-fived her back and laughed. ‘Sisterhood. Now, you sit up here with me and I’ll show you what I mean.’
Cassie hopped up on the sofa. Elodie spread out the papers and they studied them.
‘I found it in one of the cabinets upstairs. Someone had the foresight to put all the building plans together, and I knew all I needed to do was put my hands on it. You can see this is it all plotted out – the pool and the changing rooms in particular.’
Cassie looked at the date, which was all written in beautiful fountain pen script, and saw that the plans had indeed been drawn up in 1928. Exactly the time she wanted.
‘Fantastic! Aidan could use these to rebuild it all.’ She blushed and dipped her head, hoping her hair would flop down and cover her flaming cheeks.
‘Aidan? I knew there was something going on between you.’
‘There’s nothing going on,’ Cassie said, too quickly.
‘But you wish there was,’ Elodie shot back, just as quickly.
‘Maybe I do,’ she muttered, admitting it for the first time aloud, ‘but I’m sure it’s all just very professional,
because he seems to have a girlfriend called Petra who buys him French hand-printed silk scarves. It was a strange morning, that’s all.’
‘I can get you a hundred French hand-printed silk scarves. They’re nothing special,’ Elodie scoffed. Her parents spent six months of the year in her mother’s family home in France.
‘Depends who buys you them, I guess,’ added Cassie miserably.
‘But you bonded in a secret room.’ Elodie’s eyes twinkled. ‘That’s rather romantic.’
‘It is rather a nice room, I suppose, but it’s better when you’re with someone.’
‘You’re probably right. I suppose it might be a bit boring on your own. But look.’ Elodie tapped the blueprint with her fingertip. ‘I think the room was always intended to be there. See?’
Cassie followed where she was pointing and saw, in red ink, a dotted square at the back of the changing rooms.
‘Wow. It’s all been planned like he said.’
Elodie narrowed her eyes thoughtfully. ‘If we could only go back in time to talk to them. To see what they really used it for.’
‘Forget it. I don’t need to talk to anything down there to know it was well-used. And I have my theories about that too. I think that secret room was a nice place to hide away, if you get my meaning. Oh, and they liked to keep their champagne to hand.’ She shivered, remembering again that strange sensation in the basement beneath the secret room.
Elodie looked at the plans again and nodded. ‘Perhaps I do get it. I guess they rocked up there for some interesting evenings like you say.’
‘Very cosy.’ Unbidden, an image of Aidan and his fitted black t-shirt came into Cassie’s head. She tugged at the scarf that was still in her pocket. Petra’s scarf. ‘Aidan needs this back.’
‘Then you’ll have to find a way to give it back to him.’ Elodie studied the scarf and wrinkled her nose at the dried blood all over it. ‘But I suggest you give it a wash first.’