She hadn’t dreamed him then. He was just as real and even more lovely than she remembered from the previous evening. What on earth was it that was making her feel as if she’d been reborn; as if she’d been turned inside out and her skin, her nerves, every damned bit of her left tingling at the very thought of his touch?
They never did get to see what was left of the animals in the zoo but, instead, remained jealously glued to their one tiny patch of grass that had somehow managed to escape the rubble thrown so carelessly over the verdant landscape. Although not touching or even looking directly at James – Madge was too terrified of her body’s reaction if she were to move closer to his arm, his outstretched leg, as he sat and talked, telling her of his war, of the sorties he’d already managed to come home from, and the terror that he felt and had to force back down somewhere in the pit of his stomach – every single bit of her was aware of him sitting next to her. It was as though there was some current, some invisible line, fizzing and connecting her to him.
As they walked back, hand in hand, towards Oxford Street, Madge felt a sense of utter desolation. What if James was killed? Tonight? Tomorrow? How could she have been given so much only to have it snatched back from her? How could she ever go back to being who she was before James? She’d been happy enough, content to meet up with Arthur whenever she’d had the chance, not upset even by Sergeant Briscoe’s scathing monologues as to her tough scones and pastry. She’d been who she was: Madge Gregory, the milkman’s daughter, who, once the war was over, would presumably return to Westenbury and marry Arthur as he’d convinced her she should.
‘I don’t want you to die,’ she suddenly blurted out as they neared the West End and then reddened as she realised how ridiculous she must sound. She felt tears well and brushed them away angrily. For heaven’s sake, what was the matter with her? She never cried normally. Embarrassed at her outburst, Madge stared ahead as she walked, concentrating on putting her blistered left foot down onto the dusty road as lightly as was possible.
James stopped walking and took hold of Madge’s arm and, oblivious to the fact that he was an officer in uniform, turned her to him almost roughly and kissed her with such passion she thought she might actually fall to the floor. ‘I’m not going to die,’ he whispered softly, looking skywards into the unending blue, so that Madge didn’t quite know if he was reassuring her or challenging God. ‘I can’t die now, Madge, now that I’ve found you.’ He pushed her back slightly, gazing into her face before wiping an unshed tear from the corner of her eye with his thumb and smiled.
‘I’m sorry.’ Madge tried to smile back, but her voice wavered.
‘Come home with me?’
‘Home?’ Madge stared at James who was smiling. ‘Home where? To Eaton Square?’
James laughed. ‘Much as I’d love to whisk you off there, most of the place is shut up and, anyway, that’s not home.’ He paused and looked bleak for a moment. ‘To be honest, I’m not sure where home is at the moment. No, come down to Berkshire with me. I want you to meet my mother.’
Madge’s pulse raced. ‘Your mother? Oh, James, I don’t think so. Why would you want me to meet your mother?’
He laughed. ‘I adore my mother. You remind me of her. She’ll love you, I know she will.’ When Madge didn’t say anything because she couldn’t for the life of her imagine swanning down to some earl’s house to stay, James smiled once more and kissed her cheek. ‘It was just a thought, Madge. I’ve no idea when I’m going to have my next leave and I really do need to go back home to see my parents. My mother worries about me.’
‘Well of course she does,’ Madge said almost indignantly. ‘Why wouldn’t she?’
‘So, you’ll come then?’ James kissed her once more and Madge thought she might just melt into him as she stood there, becoming one with him. ‘It’s beautiful in the country this time of year,’ he smiled. ‘Say you’ll come? Say yes?’
‘Well, then, yes, thank you. That would be lovely.’
*
‘And did you?’ Mum, Daisy and I leaned forward eagerly as Madge, obviously tired from so much remembering of the past, trailed off and sat back in her chair.
‘I did.’ Madge smiled, closing her eyes. ‘Oh, girls, I did.’
17
‘I think I’m a bit in love with James myself,’ Daisy said as we walked down the road towards David Henderson’s house. It was still raining and the pair of us were huddled under Vivienne’s umbrella – filched from her room while she was out at some lady’s lunch – the December wetness dripping uncomfortably down my jacket sleeve as I held its handle.
‘I know what you mean,’ I sighed. ‘Sounds so romantic, doesn’t he? You know, like someone from a film.’
‘Bet he never picked his nose or farted in bed…’ Daisy started to laugh.
‘Well, I can’t imagine Madge ever found out. They didn’t have sex before they got married in those days, did they? And, as she married Arthur, I bet she probably never slept with James. What a shame. I wonder what happened to him.’
‘Killed, probably, on one of his bombing raids. And Madge never got over him and probably wished she’d had sex with him after all. End of story. Right, come on, we go down here.’ We turned off the road and down a country lane, and Daisy stopped in front of huge gates. ‘I think this is it. Wow, what a fabulous place.’
‘Hi,’ an attractive chestnut-haired woman holding on to the hand of a little dark-haired tot called out to us from the other side of the gate. ‘I’ll let you through.’
The gates swung slowly back against the blackthorn hedge and Daisy – already intent on inspecting the vast amount of plants and shrubs on display in this fabulous garden – and I crunched onto the gravel and towards steps that led to the huge oak front door.
‘Have you come about the cleaning job?’ the woman smiled. ‘Mrs Henderson was just saying she was interviewing at the moment.’
‘Cheeky mare,’ Daisy muttered. ‘Does she think we look like a couple of scrubbers? You’ve got your best business suit on.’
I started to giggle. ‘Ssh. For heaven’s sake act professional or we’ll be sacked before we get started.’
‘He can’t sack us. He needs us. Remember? Granny Madge’s rules?’
‘Hi,’ I said, ignoring Daisy. ‘I’m Charlotte Maddison, architect.’
‘Yes, and I’m Daisy Maddison, landscape gardener: BSc, RHS Level 3 diploma…’
‘Right.’ The woman laughed and then looked mystified for a moment. ‘Oh, I know, you’re the two that Seb and Libby have to use for the house they’re wanting to do up? All sounds a bit strange. House sellers don’t usually specify who must be used to do the renovations once it’s been sold, do they?’
‘Well, that’s our great-grandmother for you,’ I said shortly. I started up the steps, Daisy following. ‘Is this the best door?’
‘Come on, I’ll take you in. We’re on a flying visit to see Grandpa.’
‘Grandpa?’ Daisy nudged me in the ribs. ‘I thought David Henderson just had the one son?’ she whispered as we followed the woman and her little girl through the door.
A very attractive man in his fifties came out of the room to the left of a long passageway, his hand held out to us. ‘Come in, come in,’ he said cheerfully, his face one big smile. ‘You must be the Maddison sisters? I see you’ve met Grace?’ I knew instantly where Seb Henderson got his good looks. This man was so attractive that, if I’d had a thing about older men I’d certainly be on my way to having a thing about this one. ‘David Henderson,’ he said unnecessarily, shaking both our hands. ‘Seb and Libby are on their way. I believe your mother’s met Mandy, my wife?’
‘Yes, Mum’s working on a commission for her for your new grandson.’ I glanced at the little girl who David was now throwing up in the air, her face contorted with giggles and cries of ‘More Gwanpop, more,’ the second he tried to stop, and I noticed, for the first time, she had Down’s syndrome.
‘Long story re my grandchildren,’ David s
miled, reading my mind. ‘Seb and Grace here have Jonty, my eldest grandchild, between them, and then Grace and her husband adopted Pietronella and, with her now being Jonty’s sister, we’ve adopted her as our granddaughter, too. And of course, now we have Lysander as well. And, that’s why we’re here, of course, so that the three of them can have your granny’s wonderful farm to live in.’
The three of them? Was this to be a ménage à trois – Seb, Libby and Grace? Grace must be late thirties or older, I reckoned. Daisy shot me a look and raised her eyebrows.
‘So, Seb, Liberty and Lysander want to be in the farm as soon as they can. You know what you young kids are like: wanting to move in before the paint’s even dry. Ah, here they are now.’
‘Darlings, you’re here.’ A flash of black trousers and scarlet sweater that I assumed to be David Henderson’s wife shot past the open door of the sitting room and towards the main door we’d just entered, and within seconds had reappeared holding a yellow bundle aloft like a prized melon. ‘Oh, but he’s grown in just two days, the little man,’ she purred and cooed as Seb and Libby followed her into the room where we were all standing. ‘He looks just like Seb did at this age and, incredibly, like Jonty too.’
I noticed Libby and Grace exchange looks as Libby pulled off her wet coat. Was there some rivalry here, I wondered. I mean, for Grace to lose Seb to a much younger model can’t have been easy. So I was surprised when Libby moved over to give Grace an affectionate hug and Grace responded with, ‘How’s it going, sweetheart?’
Sweetheart? Daisy and I exchanged looks once again.
‘Oh, Auntie Grace, I was up four times last night with the little monster.’
Auntie Grace? Daisy’s eyes, out on stalks at this new revelation, stayed exactly where they were when Seb walked in, pulling a hand through his thick black hair, and proceeded to kiss Grace just as affectionately as Libby before him.
Grace, glancing over at Daisy and I as we stood obviously gawping and trying to take it all in, started laughing. ‘Mandy, Harriet – Libby’s mum – and I were all at school together,’ she smiled. I’m Libby’s godmother, but I just happen to have got in there first with Seb –’ I saw David Henderson wince – ‘and Jonty, my four-year-old, is the result.’
If this property developing lark failed, I reckoned I could always write gritty northern dramas à la Kay Mellor based on what I’d just witnessed in this room in the last five minutes.
‘Blimey,’ Daisy said at last, grinning and turning to me. ‘I bet you thought nothing like this ever happened in a backwater like Westenbury, Charlie.’
When everyone, even little Pietronella, turned to stare at Daisy, she blushed. ‘Charlie’s convinced there’s never anything exciting going on up here,’ she said, flustered. ‘Thinks it all happens down in London. I mean, she had to come back north because her live-in-lover boss was actually married – with three kids.’
Every face swung back to me with interest as I went scarlet myself and glared at Daisy.
‘Right, well, yes, shall we get on?’ David asked, slightly irritable, reining us all in. ‘There’s a lot to discuss and I have a governors’ meeting at the local school to go to later on this afternoon.’ We obediently trooped after him as Grace made to leave to pick up her little boy from nursery, and Mandy took off somewhere with Lysander, showering little kisses on his head as she went.
‘I don’t see any reason why we shouldn’t be able to start work on the house soon after Christmas,’ Seb said as we sat down round a huge light-oak dining table, which must easily have been able to seat twenty. He moved the centre display of autumnal red, yellow and russet dried flowers towards one end of the table before placing a file of paper in front of us. ‘Dad’s been brilliant at working with the various solicitors this past month,’ he added, turning to Daisy and me. ‘He’s a bit like a dog with a bone once he gets going.’
‘Well, no point hanging around once you’ve set your heart on it,’ David smiled.
‘You’re about to exchange contracts next week, aren’t you? I know Madge has an appointment with her solicitor. I said I’d drive her down there to sign all the papers.’
David, Seb and Libby all nodded in agreement. ‘I know,’ Libby grinned. ‘I can’t believe it’s all happening. And so quickly as well.’ Her eyes were bright with anticipation and she took Seb’s hand in her excitement and squeezed it tightly. ‘You know,’ she said, turning to Daisy and me, ‘I really didn’t want to have to leave Oxford. I loved it down there, but when I knew I was having Lysander, it was really the only option. I’m off to Leeds in September to carry on with my degree and it will be so wonderful if we’re going to be living at Holly Close Farm by then. It’s so much nearer to the motorway.’
‘Things never go quite as quickly as you think they’re going to,’ I warned her. ‘I can’t promise you’ll be living there by the autumn.’
Libby’s face fell and then she tried to smile. ‘I suppose I am acting like a big kid with a new toy, aren’t I?’
Daisy smiled sympathetically at her across the table and I could see these two were going to be great allies. ‘You know, there’s no reason why I can’t start on the grounds straight away,’ she said enthusiastically. ‘I realise we’ll be well into the new year before anything can start moving with the actual building, but I can get stuck in with clearing the area.’
‘Just hang on a bit,’ I frowned, trying to rein the pair of them in. ‘What’s the point of you planting new stuff, Daisy, when it’ll probably just get covered with the building site that it will become once we start on the renovation?’
‘Charlie has a point,’ David said, his smile placating. ‘Surely the gardens should come after the building work?’
Daisy tutted. ‘I wasn’t planning on planting a whole load of dahlias or rose bushes where the builders are going to be working,’ she said scornfully. ‘I’m talking about clearing the land, rebuilding dry stone walls, putting up new walls.’
‘Goodness, you know how to build dry-stone walls?’ David, Seb and Libby all swivelled towards Daisy.
‘Yes, of course,’ she said proudly.
David turned to Libby and Seb and frowned once more. ‘Look, you two, I need to know this is what you both really want. It’s a massive undertaking and commitment.’ He hesitated a little and then went on, ‘Mandy and I are a little concerned that you might get a bit lonely down there by yourself with just Lysander for company. It’s very secluded, you know, Libby.’
‘I know, I know. Perfect for studying. And we can get a dog.’
‘Not with both of you out of the house all day you can’t, Libby. And if Seb’s away, you’ll be down there by yourself.’
‘I’ll have you two for neighbours,’ Libby beamed, turning back to Daisy and me. ‘We wondered what we’d have to do with the cottage. It’s great now that Mrs Booth is insisting that the cottage isn’t part of the sale and that you two are going to end up down there as well.’
‘Well, I’m not promising that we’re actually going to end up living there,’ I said, feeling slightly claustrophobic that my life seemed to be panning out in a direction that I’d not entirely agreed to yet.
‘Well, I’ll be your new neighbour,’ Daisy smiled at Libby, ‘even if Charlie hotfoots it back to London. And if she does, well, she can sell her part of the cottage to someone who really does want to live there, so you’ll have neighbours.’ Libby and Daisy grinned at each other conspiratorially and I felt a bit left out. ‘Hang on, I haven’t said I’m not going to live in my share of the cottage.’
‘There you go, then,’ Daisy said. ‘Ready-made neighbours.’
David Henderson didn’t appear to want to let it go. ‘It’s just after what happened there.’
‘Something’s happened there? What recently?’ I frowned. ‘Has someone been down there pinching the stone roof tiles or something?’
David frowned in turn. ‘I think you’ll find they were all taken years ago.’ He hesitated and caught Seb’s eye before con
tinuing. ‘No, I’m talking about, you know, what happened years back. Presumably why Mrs Booth moved out and hasn’t wanted anyone there since.’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about, Mr Henderson.’ I looked directly at him and he hesitated before glancing at his son once more. Oh God, what was it?
‘I’m not sure that it’s my place to tell you,’ David said, obviously slightly embarrassed. ‘Maybe you should ask Mrs Booth?’
‘Look, if you know something about Holly Close Farm, Daisy and I would really like to know.’ I glanced at Daisy, who’d gone slightly pale. She nodded.
‘Arthur Booth, your great-grandfather, was hanged for murder.’
‘Oh my God,’ Daisy yelped, a hand over her mouth. ‘He murdered James, didn’t he?’
‘James?’ David shook his head. ‘I don’t know. Was one of them called James?’
‘One of them? What, Arthur murdered more than one person?’
‘Arthur Booth, Madge’s husband, was tried for the murder of two policemen in the grounds of Holly Close Farm,’ David said, reaching for some newspaper cuttings beneath his pile of papers. ‘He was hanged in 1953, one of the last men to be hanged in this country.’
18
‘We need to sort this out,’ Mum said grimly when Daisy and I rushed back home after David Henderson’s bombshell, immediately googling for ourselves Arthur’s fate over sixty years before. Dad was away on a pre-Christmas golfing trip to Florida, much to Vivienne’s chagrin: he wasn’t, she’d allegedly told him archly, anywhere near ready for the first night opening of The Importance of Being Earnest in just a few weeks’ time, and suggested he consider his priorities, as well as his loyalty to dear Oscar. His priority, Dad had apparently countered cheerfully, was five days on the razz with his golfing mates in the sunshine, and he was sure dear Oscar – particularly as one of the party was as bent as a ten-bob note – would, had he been still with us, be packing his budgie-smugglers and be heading to Manchester Airport with them.
Coming Home To Holly Close Farm Page 16