‘You didn’t look hard enough, Daisy.’ Nancy reached behind her to her Hermès bag, pulling out a plastic wallet of newspaper cuttings and laying the contents on the coffee table in front of us. ‘This is all I really know about Harry Wilding. Madge has always refused to talk about the murders – to protect James, I suppose – but she did tell me, many years ago, a little bit about who my uncle Harry had been.’
‘So, your uncle Harry was a spy? How exciting.’ Mum smiled across at Nancy.
‘It wasn’t a bit exciting or romantic, Kate,’ Nancy snapped. ‘I didn’t know what was going on at the time. I was nine years old, having to live with Aunt Lydia for reasons I didn’t understand, my father had disappeared and then Uncle Harry, who had sometimes collected me from school and let me help in the cottage garden, was gone as well.’
‘Did you never go back to the farm?’ I asked, feeling sorry for the child Nancy.
‘Just the once, to pick up some things. I ran down to the cottage to find Uncle Harry but the place was deserted. My mother would never explain anything, never told me what the hell was going on. After that, we went to live up in the Lake District for a couple of years. Madge was a cook…’
Mum, Daisy and I laughed out loud at that and even Nancy smiled.
‘She got a job as cook and gardener for some old bloke in Ambleside. We lived there for six years – I went to school there – and while his garden was the talk of the town, I think he probably got fed up of Welsh rarebit and Irish stew. Madge never honed her culinary skills.’ Nancy smiled again. ‘When her father died, we came back to Midhope to look after Uncle Isaac. She bought the bungalow, cared for Isaac and gardened all day, her own huge garden as well as other people’s in the area. Yellow roses she was into – always yellow roses. Isaac used to go with her all the time as her labourer, doing a lot of the heavy stuff. I got out as soon as I could and married your father, Kate. Not,’ she sighed, ‘a match made in heaven, but there we go.’
‘But, I don’t get it, ‘I frowned. ‘I don’t see why having some man renting the cottage – OK, he turned out to be a traitor – could stop James and Madge being together. Was James jealous? Did he think Madge had been having some affair with him? What?’
‘No, no, nothing like that.’ Corey shook his head, accepted a top-up from Mum and continued. ‘OK, according to Uncle Jim, before it all happened Madge was frightened. She could see Arthur was in a terrible state at the thought of losing her and Nancy, so she telephoned Fran, Uncle Jim’s cousin, to pass on a message that he mustn’t, under any circumstances, attempt to drive up to get her. Arthur was deranged, she said; she was frightened at what he might do if James appeared. The next thing Uncle Jim knew was when the double murder of two policemen by a burglar at a remote Yorkshire farm hit the headlines the next day. It was on the front page of every newspaper, on the radio and, I believe, even discussed in Parliament.’
‘So, had James told his wife about Madge by then?’
‘Yes, as soon as Madge left London he returned home to Constance and told her everything. He was, he said, going to be with Madge; that to avoid as much scandal as possible he would take Madge and Nancy and go, without any fuss, to Italy. He’d thought it all through.’
‘What did your aunt Constance say? Do?’
‘According to Uncle Jim she sneered, “That little trollop? The milkman’s daughter you brought to Ascot to visit your mother?”’
‘Cheek of the woman.’ Mum was cross. ‘Madge might have been a lowly milkman’s daughter from Midhope, but she was no trollop.’
Corey smiled at that. ‘Well, if you’d ever met my great-aunt Constance, you’d have known what a formidable woman she was. There was no way she was letting her husband go: the utter scandal of it all. To be fair to Aunt Constance, she’d stood by him when he was having some sort of breakdown after his return from Germany minus his leg and very badly burned. Constance, like Uncle Jim, had a long history of family members in Government. Her great-grandfather was a deputy prime minister at one point.’
‘Goodness.’ We all looked at each other at this revelation of James’s wife’s ancestry.
‘Anyway, first of all, she told Uncle Jim she’d been to the doctor that very morning and was pregnant.’
‘And was she?’ Daisy’s eyes were saucers.
Corey smiled. ‘No, although with what happened then, she’d had no need of that little fabrication. The very next day came the news, splashed all over the front pages, of the Holly Close Farm murders. Even at that stage Uncle Jim said he would have gone to Madge and Nancy once the trial was over.’ Corey took a deep breath. ‘But, with the revelation that a British spy had also been living at the farm, he knew the nail was in the coffin. Aunt Constance was able to bang shut the lid and nail down the whole affair for ever.’
‘I don’t get that,’ Daisy frowned. ‘You know, yesterday’s news is today’s fish-and-chip paper. And I believe they ate a lot of fish and chips in the fifties? You know, before Kormas took their place?’
‘Kormas?’ Mum looked over her specs at Daisy. ‘What’ve Kormas got to do with all this?’
‘I was just saying…’
Corey came to Daisy’s rescue. ‘I know what you’re saying, Daisy, but you only have to see what happened ten years later with the Profumo affair to realise that Constance was absolutely safe. She knew that a scandal like this could have brought down the government.’
‘Oh, I know this one,’ Vivienne interrupted. ‘Profumo was more my era. I once went to a party at Cliveden, where all the scandal happened. Did I ever tell you? Now,’ she cocked her head to one side, ‘was it Frank Ifield or Acker Bilk I met there?’
‘Profumo affair?’ Daisy and I shrugged, not having a clue what Corey or Vivienne were talking about.
‘John Profumo was Minister for War in the early sixties,’ Dad explained. ‘He was a married man, sleeping with a call girl who also happened to be sleeping with a Soviet naval attaché. The repercussions of the affair apparently severely damaged Harold Macmillan’s self-confidence, and he resigned as Prime Minister on health grounds in, er, 1963, I think it was. The Conservative Party was marked by the scandal, which probably contributed to its defeat by the Labour Party in the 1964 general election.’
‘Golly, you know some stuff, Graham.’ Mum looked across at Dad proudly.
‘Aunt Constance held his love for Madge over Uncle Jim’s head to her dying day. Any attempt, even in the years that followed, by Jim to leave to be with Madge, and Constance would have, she told him, spilled the beans. Gone to the Sunday papers. A revelation like this: a married government minister with a love child to the wife of a double police murderer who had rented out her cottage to Harry Wilding, a spy…? The government would have come crashing down. Constance knew this, Uncle Jim knew this and Madge certainly knew it.’
‘So, Madge gave him up?’ Mum looked tearful. ‘How tragic, how very tragic.’
‘You have to remember that my mother was a key witness to the shootings,’ Nancy put in. ‘She wouldn’t have been allowed to leave the area and flee to London and James while the trial was being prepared. The police and defence constantly questioned her about what she knew, about what Arthur had been up to and whether she was involved.’
‘And in the years that followed,’ Corey explained, ‘with Louise, my mother, being adopted by Uncle Jim, that was another reason for him to stay with Aunt Constance. He wouldn’t have taken her on after the death of her parents only to up sticks and leave her. He said he couldn’t disrupt the poor child any more by whisking her off to live with another woman and her daughter abroad.’
‘I just can’t believe that Madge has never talked about this,’ I said.
‘It’s sixty years ago, Charlie – a lifetime ago.’ Nancy shook her head. ‘And if these Henderson people hadn’t approached Madge about Holly Close Farm, she’d never have sold it, never have revealed its secret, and died with it. She was trying to protect me, I think. She didn’t want the past blowing up in my face again.’
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‘But why didn’t she ever tell you who was your real father?’
Nancy looked slightly shamefaced. ‘My mother knows me very well. I suppose she knew I’d be off like a shot down to London.’
‘To claim your inheritance and any title?’ Vivienne interrupted, giving Nancy a sly dig in the ribs.
‘Do you mind, Vivienne?’ Nancy glared, moving herself away slightly. ‘To find my father and my real family. My blood relatives. I most certainly wouldn’t have been after anything else.’
Daisy and I exchanged knowing looks.
‘Madge couldn’t have risked you doing that while Constance was still alive, I suppose,’ I surmised. ‘It would still have made a jolly juicy story for the tabloids.’
‘But, Mum, why have you never said anything about Holly Close Farm?’ Mum glared at Nancy with some indignation. ‘You could have told me all about it. Graham and I would love to have renovated the place and lived there when the girls were little. That really was my inheritance, you know.’
‘Yes, and Charlie and Daisy have now inherited the cottage.’ Nancy arched an eyebrow at the pair of us. ‘And why would I have told you about the murders? I suffered as a child at all the schools I ended up going to whenever the other kids found out who I was. I don’t think any of you quite realise how devastating it was to have a father who was a burglar, a murderer of policeman, but who’d also been hanged, for heaven’s sake. At the first school I went to, the kids used to take their skipping ropes and pretend to hang each other when they saw me. Eventually my mother took me to another school and we used different names. I was Nancy Gregory for all my teenaged years. Until I married your father, Kate, and I didn’t tell him the truth until after we were married. He might not have married me if he’d known the truth – his parents wouldn’t have wanted him marrying a murderer’s daughter.’
Vivienne was nodding in agreement. ‘You most certainly don’t want your son to marry anyone like that.’
‘Well, you’re only one generation out, Viv,’ Mum exclaimed. ‘Your son married the granddaughter of a police murderer.’
Vivienne’s hand flew to her mouth and she gave a theatrical little ‘Oh’ of distress.
‘Can I just remind you all that Arthur Booth was not my father!’ Nancy’s eyes glittered with anger. ‘No one here is related to any murderers, let alone me.’
Corey put up his hands to come between Mum, Vivienne and Nancy. ‘You know, Uncle Jim has actually written all this in his personal diaries. When Aunt Constance died, he allowed me to read them. He’s asked me to edit them and, once he’s dead, he’s given permission for them to be published.’
‘I don’t think so,’ Nancy snorted. ‘I don’t want my name being dragged through the papers.’
‘Of course, Uncle Jim wouldn’t dream of publishing them without your say so.’ Corey said hastily. ‘I think the first thing is for you to meet your father after all these years, don’t you?’ He glanced at his watch. ‘It’s getting late. I should be going. I’ve an early start tomorrow in Manchester.’
‘Oh, don’t go,’ Mum pleaded. ‘We’re just getting to know you. And we are related. Even if I can’t quite work out how…’
‘We have the same great-grandfather, Kate,’ Corey smiled. ‘Lord George Montgomery-West, the Earl of Beaconscliffe.’
‘Fancy,’ Mum said. ‘I always wanted a family of my own, never really having had one when I was little.’
Nancy arched an eyebrow.
‘Oh, come on, Mother,’ Mum placated. ‘I’ve no siblings, you’ve no siblings, and I never really knew my own father until I was older. I think that’s why I became so attached to his ashes in the utility,’ she went on, tears filling her eyes. She’d got to the stage of drinking where she’d started to be maudlin. ‘But now, now I’ve another real family out there, and I’d like to meet them.’
‘Absolutely, Kate.’ Corey smiled, drained his glass and stood, reaching for his jacket. ‘I need a taxi,’ he went on. ‘Could you give me a number, Charlie?’
Corey said his goodbyes and followed me into the kitchen where I’d left my phone. As I reached into my bag, Corey took hold of my hand instead, pulling me gently towards his chest. He smiled and bent his head to kiss my cheek and then, oh so slowly, kissed my mouth. ‘You can’t imagine how much I’ve been wanting to do that all night,’ he smiled. ‘OK. Taxi?’
33
The next two weeks were manic as, blessed with unusually mild weather for January, Josh and his team were able to crack on with the building work. Because Seb and Libby were desperate to be in the farm as soon as possible, David Henderson suggested more workmen be brought in and, almost overnight, every possible relative of Matis and Gatis Miniauskiene appeared to be working on site, as well as a couple of extra local jobbing electricians and joiners, moving efficiently and effortlessly round each other, colonising the area like a bevy of intense worker ants.
‘All brilliants builders,’ Matis assured Josh, David and me proudly, bringing each one forward in turn and ordering them produce their credentials and building certificates for our perusal. ‘Bests from Lithuania. Nons to beat thems. All excellent Bobs.’
‘Bobs?’
‘The Builder. You knows.’ Matis tutted and shook his dark head at my lack of understanding. ‘You not knows the little mans?’
Even Gatis’ wife, Deimante, a beautiful tiny ball of energy, who worked as lollipop lady and dinner lady at Little Acorns, the village school in Westenbury, was involved, driving down the lane at the end of the school day, bringing a basket of delicious home-made goodies to encourage the men to go that extra mile. As soon as she appeared, we’d all, Daisy and I included, gather round to feast our eyes on grybukai – a sort of mushroom-shaped cookie – paska and lietiniai and then, after a ten-minute break, we’d be back at it for another couple of hours. Matis was a hard taskmaster and he’d have Deimante helping me to move the great arc lamps around so that the men could continue with the inside renovation of the cottage once the early winter evening set in.
At the end of most working days, we’d head for the Jolly Sailor to slake our thirsts and relax. I was beginning to feel real affection for these people, particularly Deimante, who constantly made me laugh and who was determined to improve her English so that she could train to be a teacher. Matis and Daisy were fast becoming an item and I really missed her company when she didn’t return home with me to Madge’s bungalow after the pub, but instead would leave with Matis to go to his rather swish house at the other side of the village, where he’d woo her – Daisy’s words – with his cooking as well as – again in Daisy’s words – with his bloody good kissing.
There appeared some improvement in Madge’s situation. In the days after Christmas she was asleep more often than not when we visited. She would occasionally open her eyes, trying to work out where she was and who it was that was sitting at her bedside and then, as we moved into the third week of January, she was able to sit up and even begin to feed herself.
‘Bit of a miracle this,’ Tara, the nurse, said with a smile. ‘The physio is going to do some work with her on her leg and on the side affected by the stroke. If she carries on improving, there’s every chance she can go back to the nursing home in a few weeks.’
Mum, Nancy, Daisy and I took it in turns to sit and talk to her. We talked for hours about when she was a little girl, her time in the WAAF, and, of course, James, and we brought in photographs I found in the spare room in the bungalow.
With the restoration of her own place completed, Vivienne had little excuse to carry on staying with Mum and Dad and, with a huge sigh of relief on Mum’s part, she finally moved back to her little town house near the centre of Midhope. Unfortunately, just as Mum was congratulating herself on getting her spare room back, Nancy felt she ought to be spending more time at Madge’s bedside and had taken up residence in the vacated room.
Josh, who wouldn’t let the builders leave the site until everything was neat and tidy and totally secure, tried wi
th almost monotonous regularity to lure me back to his place ‘just for a quick drink’, ‘a spag bol, Charlie, without the mushrooms,’ or ‘an update on the plans’.
‘You’ve missed “a look at your etchings”, Josh.’ I tutted one Friday evening. I was tired and a bit grumpy and not particularly looking forward to my own company, but even less wanting an evening of sexual gymnastics with Josh Lee.
After the evening at Mum and Dad’s when Corey had finally been able to fit the missing pieces of the secrets of Holly Close Farm, he’d returned to London to his home and work. We didn’t see him for a couple of weeks – although he’d texted several times to enquire after Madge’s progress – until he suddenly appeared on site just as we were packing up for the weekend with the intention of heading for the pub.
‘Oh, I’m glad I’ve caught you,’ he smiled, almost shyly. ‘I didn’t know the way to Madge’s bungalow. Are you free?’
‘Oh, gosh, no,’ I gushed, delight at his sudden appearance making me come out with banalities. ‘I cost a fortune.’ The grumpiness I’d been feeling suddenly lifted and I realised I really, really liked this man. When Corey frowned, I tried to put my sensible head back on. ‘What did you have in mind?’
‘A drink? Food?’ I’ve driven up from London, called in at the office in Leeds, booked into the Jolly Sailor and then tomorrow I’m driving over to Manchester to take Milo out for the day.’
I beamed. He did want to see me. ‘I’m afraid there’s no way we’ll get a table at Clementine’s this evening, the Jolly Sailor is probably the last place you’ll fancy eating in, and my cooking, I have to warn you, is as bad as that of the rest of the females in my family.’
Before he could reply Josh appeared out of the dark, some heavy-duty piping slung over one shoulder. He gave Corey the once-over, sizing him up as he spoke. ‘Are you coming, Charlie? To the pub? It is Friday evening.’
‘Sorry, Josh, Corey’s just arrived and we’re going over to Leeds for the evening.’ I turned to Corey for approval and he nodded in agreement. It had suddenly occurred to me I was in need of a really good night out in a city: I seemed to have been holed up in the countryside for ever.
Coming Home To Holly Close Farm Page 30