by Rachel Hore
“Mummy,” Summer cried out. “Mummy.” Her face was pale and clammy.
“Mummy’s asleep, darling.”
“No, I’m here,” whispered Claire, pushing open the door. Light from the landing fell across Summer’s bed. Jude stood out of the way, feeling rather unnecessary as Claire comforted her daughter.
“I was frightened, Mummy. You weren’t there. I couldn’t find you,” the little girl sobbed.
“Don’t worry, darling. You’re awake now and I’m here. It was just a nasty old dream. It’s gone now.”
After a while Summer grew peaceful and her eyelids fluttered and closed.
The women watched her for a while, then Claire pulled the duvet around her daughter and stood up.
“I’d take her into my own bed,” she whispered to Jude, “but then neither of us sleeps. She’s awfully wriggly.”
“I’ll keep an eye on her,” promised Jude and they both went back to bed.
Jude lay awake for what seemed like hours. It was the same dream that she’d had, she was sure of it. Her heart quickened as she remembered. “Maman!” Maman, the French word. Running in the dark, tripping and falling into leaf mold, bruised, terrified, alone. Often as a child she’d woken to find her father there—not her mother—and was relieved to feel his comforting arms around her before he settled her down to sleep once more. Poor Summer. What could have set this off? Could a dream run in a family? It seemed unlikely, but what other explanation could there be?
She lay listening to Summer’s gentle breathing, worrying and worrying, until the first birds began to sing and she finally drifted back into sleep.
CHAPTER 7
The next morning, when Jude turned into the drive to Starbrough Hall, she found herself following a Mercedes sports car that flashed silver in the sun. She parked next to it on the forecourt just as an elegant blonde woman got out of the driver’s side. Could this be Alexia, Robert’s wife? she wondered as she locked her car door, but a quick glance revealed the inside of the Mercedes to be pristine and there were no child seats. The woman said a cool “Hi” and they agreed that it was another beautiful day. She didn’t seem to know about the front door not being used, and Jude, though not confident of the way herself, suggested she follow her under the arch.
Jude knew most of the personnel at Christie’s and Sotheby’s, and she certainly didn’t recognize this ice maiden, but she couldn’t stop herself checking. “Excuse me asking, but you’ve not come to look at the library, have you?” She was profoundly relieved when the woman looked puzzled.
“The library? Why?” She didn’t volunteer the nature of her business so Jude didn’t elaborate.
“Never mind. Just an idea I had.”
Jude knocked on the back door. When Robert opened it the two setters bounced out, barking enthusiastically. Jude petted them, but the other woman backed away in alarm, so he called the animals in and shut them in a utility room.
“Come in, ladies.” He introduced Jude to the other woman, Marcia Vane, rather stiffly, then led them through to the hall. There he showed Marcia into what looked like an office and suggested Jude make her way along to the library.
“My mother’s waiting for you there,” he said. “I’m so sorry to be tied up again. Ms. Vane rang half an hour ago and asked if she could call in.”
“That’s fine,” said Jude, “honestly,” and she walked into the library, pleased to find Chantal pouring coffee. She felt she needed a gallon after her broken night. This morning Claire had studied her daughter anxiously, but Summer had seemed her usual cheerful self, busy packing a pink rucksack with fashion-doll paraphernalia to take to her friend’s house.
“What excellent timing,” Chantal said warmly. “I’m so sorry that it’s just me again.”
“Oh that’s really all right,” said Jude. “I’m used to being left on my own altogether, so I’m very lucky that you’re looking after me so well.”
“That wretched woman. Nine o’clock on a Saturday morning. Does she have no life of her own?”
“Pardon me?”
“That Marcia person.”
“Who is she?”
“John Farrell’s lawyer—the man who’s bought the woodland.”
“John. His name’s John?” Definitely not Euan, then. So what was Euan doing up at the folly? Trespassing like herself, possibly.
“Yes, John Farrell. A businessman, we’re told. Marcia Vane harasses Robert with endless questions about access and shooting rights. I wonder what she wants today? They ought to have sorted it all out when they bought the land, but she doesn’t take the hint. That woman has the hide of a rhinoceros.”
“It must be what she’s paid for,” Jude said, thinking that the rhinoceros skin in question would only be an appropriate comparison for such a polished, elegant woman as Marcia Vane if it came in the form of a beautifully tooled Hermès handbag.
“I suppose so.”
Jude couldn’t have shut the door properly, because it suddenly clicked open. From outside in the corridor, they could hear voices—Robert’s raised and agitated, Marcia’s low and firm. Then came the sound of the dogs barking and a door slamming. Shortly afterward, car wheels spun on the gravel and they watched the beautiful Mercedes reverse then tear off down the drive.
Chantal glanced at Jude, her eyebrows raised. “Well, well, she didn’t stay long,” she said.
“She didn’t look very happy.” Jude stared down the drive at the speeding car, remembering the sight of Marcia’s sullen face through the windscreen. Whatever was going on wasn’t her business. She turned from the window and reached in her bag for the laptop cord.
Contemplating yesterday’s computer list of entries, annotated with estimates, she guessed she’d been through most of the books now. She’d finish the others then devote the rest of the morning to the charts, the observation journals and the instruments. She quickly grew absorbed, and hardly noticed when Chantal excused herself to walk her dog.
She tapped in the last lot of particulars about the books and moved on to the journals. She had no idea whether they were worth very much—it depended on what they contained—but they might throw light on the rest of the collection. She would flick through them quickly and show them to her friend Cecelia.
As she put the last to one side, Chantal returned. Her expression was grim and Jude said, “Are you all right?”
“I spoke to Robert. It’s just something that woman said.” Her face was stony, but she didn’t volunteer any more.
Jude went over to the shelves of books to check whether there was anything she’d missed. There didn’t seem to be.
“I’ve finished, I think. Just printing off the figures now. The books and manuscripts alone could be worth £50,000. The orrery, the globe and the telescopes—well, maybe another £50,000, but I need to ask advice. Look.” She passed Chantal the paper her miniprinter had spat out. “If Robert’s happy with these and would like to go forward, I can arrange for everything to be collected.”
Jude saw the look of unhappiness cross Chantal’s face as she realized what this meant. That Anthony Wickham’s collection would soon be gone.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, going to sit beside her. “It’s sad. I do understand.”
“I know I must be brave,” Chantal said, hardly looking at the paper. “These books and things have always been a part of my life here, of all that I’ve loved about Starbrough Hall, and with William gone it’s like reopening a wound. It underlines that … I don’t belong here anymore.”
Jude wondered how on earth Chantal had ended up in rural Norfolk and whether it had been difficult to adapt.
“How was it you met your husband?” she asked.
“Oh, it was because of my aunt, Tante Eloise. She married an English army officer she met at the end of the war, and when I was twenty I was sent to stay with them at their beach house at Wells-next-the-Sea. My cousins were still young teenagers and I was supposed to help entertain them while improving my English.”
<
br /> “We used to go to Wells for holidays,” Jude remembered. “I love those pretty beach huts.”
“I do now. But I didn’t like Norfolk at all at first. It was so bleak and featureless and it seemed it was always cold and raining. Me, I was used to the bright colors of the Riviera for my vacances. I was so homesick and my cousins squabbled all the time. One day, about two weeks after I arrived, I escaped and sat in a beach café and wept. It was there William found me.
“The poor man. Later, he confessed that he, too, had been very unhappy that day. He had motored to Wells with a girl he very much liked, and another friend, a man, and during the course of the morning it had become apparent that the girl much preferred his friend, and so he’d made his excuses and left them together. Which was marvelously generous of him. He was always like that, very modest.
“We spent such a lovely afternoon after I cheered up, just walking on the beach and visiting the town. And afterward he walked me back to the house and I introduced him to Tante Eloise—dear Eloise, I do miss her. Well, that was the start of it all. Forty-six years he and I had together. I know we were lucky, Jude. Lucky to have met by chance like that. Lucky to have had so much happiness together.”
She was staring out of the window now, fondling the little dog at her side on the sofa. Then she glanced at Jude and gave her the kindest of smiles. “I am sorry you had so little time together, you and your husband. Life can be so unfair.”
Jude said, trying to keep her voice steady, “We were only married for three years, but we knew one another for much longer. We met at school in Norwich, you see.”
Chantal nodded. “Were you … attracted to one another straightaway?”
“I think we were. I certainly was. And later, he told me that he liked me very much but that he didn’t realize it immediately.”
It was then that the door opened and Robert Wickham entered. He took in the scene, the women sitting together, Chantal holding Jude’s hand, and said, “Sorry if I’m interrupting something. I’m informed that lunch is ready.”
“Please don’t worry,” said Jude, rising to her feet. “I’ve just been showing your mother these estimates.”
At lunch she explained: “They are only estimates, of course. I told you I have to do further research. It’s possible that we could achieve a higher figure, especially with a good publicity campaign to attract the right bidders.” They talked about this aspect for some time, Jude describing how they used mailing lists and websites and articles in the company magazine to seed a campaign in the media.
Robert seemed pleased with the figures and with Jude’s proposals and said he’d like to think about the matter over the rest of the weekend. They would communicate again on Monday once she was back in the office.
“Then, if you’re happy, I can arrange for everything to be collected and cataloged,” she said. “As I said, the instruments will need a specialist’s eye and I’ll deal with that side for you.”
“That would be splendid,” agreed Robert.
“There is something I’d like to take now, if I may, though. The observation diaries. I have a friend, an expert, who might cast some light on what they contain.”
“And comment on their value, no doubt,” said Robert. “Yes, of course, take them with you. I’ll find something you can wrap them in.”
* * *
Jude drove away after lunch with a sense of satisfaction. If this job came off, as she thought it would—the very fact that the box containing the observation diaries was safely in the trunk underlined that—Beecham’s would be delighted. She would relish researching the background to the collection. It would be good, too, to see more of Chantal. Talking to her about Mark was painful, but she felt Chantal understood in a way that no one else did—even her widowed mother.
CHAPTER 8
Summer’s school friend Emily lived in a modern house half a mile out of Felbarton. Jude found it fairly easily, gathered up Summer and her backpack of doll stuff and thanked Emily’s mother, a pale, quiet woman with a baby on her hip.
“What shall we do now?” Jude asked Summer, as they walked to the car. “The beach?”
Summer shook her head. “Euan’s,” she said. “I want to ask him to make me a Jude doll.”
“Really?” How very touching.
“Yes, for the doll’s house.”
“That’s sweet of you. But surely we can’t just drop in on him without asking.”
“He won’t mind.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“He might not be there.”
“If he isn’t, we’ll go to the beach.”
“All right,” Jude said, as she opened the back door of the car for Summer, where Claire had clipped in the booster seat. In truth she wasn’t sure about this enterprise. The memory of Euan’s annoyance at the folly yesterday and her own bluntness brought a blush to her cheek. On the other hand, perhaps she ought to take this opportunity to apologize. She turned the car around and they set off back the way she’d come, toward Starbrough.
“There! You’ve gone past!”
Jude slowed the car, and, checking carefully in her mirror, reversed into a small lay-by in front of a battered estate car. Now she understood why she hadn’t noticed the property before. The drive on the other side of the road was half hidden by a huge hedge that ran the length of the property. In the drive, in front of a wooden garage, stood a cement mixer and a hill of sand. She was just going to walk up the path and knock on the door when Summer surprised her by wrenching her hand away and running off along the side of the garage into the garden behind.
“Summer! I don’t think you ought—”
“Auntie Jude, you’ve got to come around this way.”
Jude took a last anxious look at the closed door and followed the direction of Summer’s voice.
Behind the cottage was a rough-cut lawn bordered by hedgerow. Summer was disappearing through a gap. Glancing briefly at the back windows of the cottage in case of accusing eyes, she hurried after her. At the gap in the hedge, she stopped dead in delighted surprise.
The small field beyond was sheltered by a row of poplar trees on the far side, their leaves flickering gray and silver in the breeze. It was what Jude had always thought of as a proper meadow—not with short, juicy grass for grazing, but fragile, sweet-smelling grasses and delicate flowers for hay. And there was Summer running ahead through the flowers to … it was a real gypsy caravan.
She almost rubbed her eyes in disbelief, but there it was, parked in the middle of the field, its woodwork bright, painted maroon with white patterning, and with a pale blue bowtop roof, straight out of a storybook. Its owner was sitting at the top of the steps, a newspaper open on his knee. At Summer’s cry of greeting, he folded it quickly and stood up. He was definitely the man Jude had met yesterday.
“Euan, here’s my Auntie Jude.”
“I think we’ve met already,” he said, coming down the steps. He and Jude stared at one another, then Euan put out his hand. After a second’s hesitation she clasped it. His was a strong, warm handshake and although he didn’t smile, Jude felt a tension inside her slacken. He released her hand and stepped back.
“Claire’s sister, eh? If I’d known I might not have been so plainspoken.”
“I’m so sorry about yesterday,” she said in a rush. “I made a real fool of myself.”
He raised his hands in a calming gesture.
“You were upset and hurt,” he replied. “I understand. And I was an idiot. Instead of explaining properly, I made things worse. I was already pretty churned up about the deer, you see, and it was the final straw to be bawled out for my good deed by some total stranger.”
“I’m sorry,” she said again. “I was very frightened actually.”
“By the shooting, yes. That poor animal. I hated doing what I did, but sometimes it has to be done.”
Summer looked from one to the other in puzzlement. These grown-ups appeared to have met already. “What ha
ppened?” she asked.
Euan sank down so that his face was level with hers. “There was a deer yesterday near the folly. It had wounded itself very badly on some wire. Rather than let it die slowly and painfully, I had to kill it. And then your aunt came along and I’m afraid we had an argument about it. But we’ve said sorry now—haven’t we?” He looked up inquiringly at Jude, who nodded.
Summer stared at him with huge eyes, trying to take everything in and for a moment Jude was worried, but then the girl said, “Did it hurt the deer to be killed?”
“No, not a bit,” said Euan firmly. “It was over quickly. Off to Happy Hunting Grounds.”
“I’m sorry for that deer.”
“So am I. It was being chased and very frightened. That’s why it ran into the wire.”
“Who was chasing it?”
“I don’t know.” Euan stood up and said to Jude, “I’ve been worried about what’s happening up there for a few weeks now. You didn’t see anyone, did you?”
Jude shook her head. “I just assumed it was you,” she said. “That’s why I was so angry.”
“I’m sorry. Like I said, I should have explained, but…” He looked so rueful, she rushed in immediately.
“You didn’t think I’d listen. You’re right probably. It was my fault really.” And finally they smiled at one another. He really was an attractive man, she thought, and now she realized that he wasn’t like Caspar—apart from his build, that is, and the dark, wavy hair. Euan’s eyes were dark blue rather than Caspar’s near black, and Caspar didn’t have Euan’s slow, patient movements and slightly diffident manner.
She became aware of Summer watching them thoughtfully.
“This little one’s mentioned you, of course,” Euan said, ruffling Summer’s hair, “but I’d no idea you were visiting. Are you just here for the weekend?”
“Yes. I’m going back tomorrow morning. I’ve been working at Starbrough Hall.”
“You’re an auctioneer, I gather.”
“Yes. Books and manuscripts are my speciality. Claire told me you write, and I saw your pictures on her wall. They’re lovely.”