by Unknown
If only she had some precious memories of her own, she thought. Most of hers were so painful, including the one about the emerald dress.
Her father had taken her shopping on the eve of her sixteenth birthday and Celeste had known exactly what she’d wanted: a brand new dress – something beautiful and sophisticated. The emerald green silk had been perfect, floating over her mature curves and making her feel truly beautiful for the first time in her life. But her mother had been appalled.
‘It’s far too stylish for you,’ Penelope had told her. ‘You won’t be able to carry it off.’ And Celeste had watched helplessly as her mother had taken the dress from her.
What she hadn’t bargained for was that Penelope would wear it herself, floating down the stairs as Celeste’s friends arrived for the party. Of course, everyone had thought that Penelope had looked fantastic.
‘You’re so lucky to have a mum like her,’ one of her friends had told her. Celeste had simply smiled, holding her tongue and wishing she’d never bothered with the party at all.
Then there’d been the humiliation over the cake. Celeste had asked for a pink heart-shaped cake but, after tea, her mother had brought in a funny green one in the shape of a frog. As if that wasn’t bad enough, one of its eyes was missing because it had been left out in the kitchen and one of the cats had jumped up onto the table and eaten it.
Celeste cringed as she remembered the inappropriateness of it all. It was so obviously a child’s cake and, at sixteen, Celeste had definitely not been a child. She’d later found out that Penelope had forgotten to order a cake and, when she’d remembered, she’d gone into town and the frog cake had been the only one she’d been able to find.
Then there’d been her shouting to keep the noise down. It wasn’t as if they’d been making a lot of noise either. They’d just been a few excitable girls trying to have a party but it had all been too much for Penelope, who’d soon announced that she had a headache and had made a big scene of swooning onto the sofa in front of everyone, yelling for Celeste to get her some tablets.
Celeste closed her eyes, remembering the scene as if it was happening again right in front of her. Of course, Penelope had managed to make a miraculous recovery in time to take over the dance floor they’d set up in the hallway. It hadn’t been ordinary dancing either. Penelope Hamilton had been doing a strange sort of flirty dance and had zoned in on the one boy Celeste had invited to her party.
She could still see his bright red face now as her mother had taken his hands and made him dance with her, cheek to cheek. And Celeste had stood there in the shadows, wearing her tired old summer dress with the blackberry stain just above the right knee, watching her mother slow dance in the emerald green dress with her first boyfriend at her sixteenth birthday party.
15.
The days of summer slowly slipped by. Celeste was working her way steadily through the paperwork and accounts in the study, doing her best to restore some sort of order to the Hamilton Rose empire. Gertie was busy in the garden, keeping the borders immaculate for visitors and running the sales of container roses, and Evie was juggling Gloria Temple’s wedding preparations alongside orders that were flooding in from hotels, restaurants and romantic members of the public.
The summer sky had remained a perfect eggshell blue for days now, with just hints of wispy white cloud and, although most rosarians adored such weather, Gertie couldn’t help bemoaning the fact that the lawn had turned from green to amber and no amount of watering seemed to help. It was the price one paid for a good summer in the Stour Valley but at least it was better than grey clouds and endless rain which balled up the blooms on the roses so that they refused to open. No, the sunshine was most welcome.
What wasn’t so welcome was the day that Celeste had been dreading, the day when Esther Martin was leaving The Lodge and moving into the manor.
‘This is the last meal we’ll have in private,’ Evie said in the kitchen that morning.
‘Don’t be so melodramatic,’ Celeste told her. ‘We’ll probably not even know she’s there. I bet she gets up at the crack of dawn and will be in and out of the kitchen before we’re even awake. Anyway, if you want to try and save the house, this is one of the ways to do it.’
‘So, who’s moving in to The Lodge?’ Gertie asked.
‘I’ve arranged for somebody to come and give it a bit of a makeover first,’ Celeste said. ‘Just freshen it up a bit. Esther’s been in it such a long time, and the carpets and wallpaper were pretty tatty as far as I could see when I visited.’
‘But you’re putting it on the rental market through that agent?’ Gertie asked.
Celeste nodded. ‘They know all about contracts and checking up on people. I thought it would be safer.’
‘I hope you’re allowing pets,’ Evie said. ‘I can’t imagine trying to find somewhere to rent which didn’t allow animals. It would be horrible.’
‘Pets are allowed,’ Celeste said, bending to tickle Frinton behind his left ear. She smiled as he pushed his head towards her, as if to get as close as possible to the tickle.
‘That’s something at least,’ Evie said.
‘What do you mean by that?’ Celeste asked.
Evie sighed. ‘I just don’t see the point of moving Esther into the manor if you’re seriously thinking of selling it at some point. What would happen to Esther then?’
‘I haven’t thought that far ahead if you want the truth,’ Celeste said, ‘but renting out The Lodge is a good short-term answer to making some money to pay off some of the outstanding bills.’
‘Well, I don’t envy you the job of settling Esther in,’ Evie said.
‘Ah,’ Celeste said in the kind of tone that instantly made Evie feel anxious. ‘I meant to ask you earlier. Can you please take care of things?’
Evie’s mouth fell open. ‘You’re kidding, right?’
Celeste shook her head. ‘Esther Martin absolutely loathes me.’
‘Well, she doesn’t exactly adore me!’ Evie pointed out.
‘But you’re going to have to do it. I’ve got some calls to make.’
‘Celly! Don’t be so mean!’
‘I’m not being mean – I’m being practical.’
Evie huffed and pouted. ‘This is so unfair. Why do I always get the really horrid jobs?’
‘You don’t,’ Celeste told her. ‘When was the last time you had to sort out an overdraft or ring a supplier who hasn’t been paid for eight months and explain how sorry you are? And when did you last have a look in the septic tank and get that sorted? Or went up into the attics to make sure that the deathwatch beetles weren’t back?’
‘Yeah? And when was the last time you held a bowl all night whilst Mum was sick into it? Or had to carry her upstairs because she was too frail to walk?’ Evie cried.
A dreadful silence fell between them.
‘Evie –’
‘I’m going,’ Evie said. ‘Don’t worry. I’ll do your dirty work for you. I’m used to it.’
The small removal lorry pulled up outside the hall at eleven o’clock that morning and Esther’s bits of furniture and boxes were unloaded and carried through to the room that she’d been allocated on the ground floor. It seemed a small collection for a lifetime but, then again, The Lodge was a small home and the room she was moving into was even smaller. But even though it was larger than many of the rooms in the manor and had its own en suite, there wouldn’t be much room left over by the time everything had been put in place.
‘Mrs Martin?’ Evie said, holding her hand out to greet her as she walked across the driveway with a small handbag over her shoulder and a walking stick in her hand. Mrs Martin didn’t smile. She didn’t even raise her eyes to acknowledge Evie’s presence.
‘Follow me,’ Evie said. ‘It’s not too far to walk.’
‘I can walk for miles if I so choose,’ Esther barked.
‘Right,’ Evie said, not for one moment believing her. She’d never once seen Esther Martin walking the footpaths s
urrounding the manor. She seemed to live permanently behind closed doors and it was hard to imagine her hopping over a stile with that walking stick.
They reached the room where the removal men had placed the furniture. Evie had to admit that it looked very homey with the pretty iron bed in the corner and the yellow sofa and winged chairs placed so that the occupant could enjoy an unrivalled view of the garden beyond.
‘It’s one of my favourite views from the manor,’ Evie said, looking out across the moat towards the rose walk with its arches covered in pink and white climbers and ramblers. ‘I think you’ll be very comfortable here, don’t you?’
Esther didn’t reply. Instead, she sat down heavily in one of the winged chairs and let out a sigh as if all the air in her body was leaving her.
‘Would you like me to help with anything?’ Evie asked, looking around at the boxes on the floor.
‘What?’ Esther said abruptly.
‘Would you like me to help you unpack?’ Evie tried again.
‘No,’ she barked. ‘I don’t want a Hamilton poking their nose through my things.’
Evie sighed. She was finding this all very trying. ‘Okay,’ she said, doing her best to remain calm. ‘Would you like me to make you a cup of tea, then?’
‘I can make one myself,’ she said. ‘I’m not a complete invalid.’
‘I didn’t say you were. I merely asked –’
‘I said no!’
‘Okay!’ Evie barked back and then bit her lip. She’d promised that she wasn’t going to lose her cool but had failed miserable. She took a deep breath. ‘I hope you like the way we’ve arranged your pieces of furniture. We can always move things if you don’t.’
‘Then move them back to The Lodge,’ she said.
‘I’m afraid we can’t do that.’
‘That’s my home. Your grandfather promised me that house as long as I live.’
‘I know,’ Evie said, ‘and I’m really sorry, but things are rather desperate here and we need the money.’
‘That’s a poor excuse for breaking a promise.’
It’s the only one we’ve got,’ Evie said.
‘Why can’t you sell something?’
‘We’re doing that as well. We’re having to part with some of our paintings.’
Esther looked appalled, her bright eyes seeming to spear Evie with their intensity. ‘Not the rose paintings?’
Evie nodded. ‘I’m afraid so.’
‘But your grandfather adored those paintings.’
‘I know,’ Evie said. ‘It’s not been easy parting with them. I really wish we didn’t have to but there’s so much that needs doing to keep this place going.’
Esther still didn’t look convinced. ‘There’s always something you can do.’
‘I’ll show you the north wing sometime,’ Evie said. ‘See if you can come up with any miracle solutions.’
It was then that an opened box caught Evie’s eye. It was large and looked heavy, and Evie saw that it contained books. A lot of books. Instinctively, her hand moved forward and she cocked her head to one side, reading the titles as she lifted them up. There was Nancy Mitford’s The Pursuit of Love, there was Stella Gibbons’s Cold Comfort Farm and a couple of novels by Barbara Pym. Evie frowned. She didn’t know as much about literature as Gertie but she recognised that all these books were comedies. She smiled. She hadn’t had Esther Martin down as a devourer of comedies.
‘Put those down!’ Esther suddenly barked from out of the depths of the winged chair. Evie sighed and returned the books to their box.
‘I can help you unpack these if you like. Gertie always says that books furnish a room.’
‘They furnished The Lodge up until yesterday,’ Esther said.
Evie chose not to rise to this. ‘Maybe I could borrow them sometime. I don’t often get time to read but I should like to give them a go.’
Esther turned around and glared at her. ‘If this is your crass way of trying to make amends for the indignation of moving me out of my home then it’s not working. Now, leave me alone.’
Evie blanched at the rudeness of the woman and left the room, closing the door firmly behind her and resisting the urge to slam it. Esther Martin might be rude but Evie certainly wasn’t.
She came back a few minutes later with a cup of tea on a tray alongside a pretty pink china jug of milk and a matching sugar bowl with silver spoon.
‘I said I didn’t want a cup of tea,’ Esther said as soon as she saw it.
‘No, you didn’t,’ Evie said. ‘You said you didn’t want me to make you one but I decided to ignore you and make you one anyway.’ She placed the tray on a footstool in front on her. ‘I’ll let you add your own milk and sugar, okay?’
Esther gave a sort of disgruntled harrumph and Evie smiled. ‘Gertie’s going to include you for dinner tonight.’
‘No, thank you.’
‘Well, you’ll have to speak to Gertie if you don’t want any and she’ll probably make you some all the same, so I wouldn’t waste your breath.’
‘Why can’t you Hamilton girls just leave me alone?’
‘Because that wouldn’t be right,’ Evie said matter-of-factly, ‘and I have a suspicion that you don’t want to be left alone. Not really.’
‘Oh, you think you know me, do you? What are you? Seventeen? Think you know your way around a person’s psyche? Bah!’
‘I’m twenty-one, actually, and I think I’m a pretty good judge of character, thank you very much.’
‘Is that right?’
‘It is!’ Evie said.
They locked eyes and seemed to be weighing each other up. Esther was the first to crack, lowering her gaze and rubbing the top of her walking stick, which was leaning up against her chair.
‘Well,’ Evie said at last. ‘I’ve leave you to settle in.’
Esther gave a grunt and, shaking her head in despair, Evie left the room, determining to find a big patch of nettles in the garden and work out her anger with a fork.
Celeste had just got off the phone, doing her best to apologise to the company who supplied the plastic pots for their roses. She had found their unpaid invoice under a heap of papers on her mother’s desk and had made the call with her heart in her mouth, uttering apology after apology at what she called ‘a horrible oversight’ but which was really just another example of the hopeless administration of Hamilton Roses under her two sisters.
It had never happened when she’d been working in the office but, then again, she hadn’t had to cope with running the house and business whilst coping with their mother whilst she was sick.
For a moment, she thought of the confrontation she’d had with Evie and how upset her little sister had been. Celeste felt so guilty about not being there for her more over the last few years, especially during the last weeks of their mother’s life when Evie had needed her most. But how could Celeste ever explain how her mother had made her feel? Evie would never truly understand that.
Sitting on her side of the desk, Celeste gazed at the empty chair opposite her that had once been occupied by her mother. She could almost hear her mother’s voice.
‘You handle things all wrong,’ Penelope Hamilton had once told her, and she could imagine her saying exactly the same thing to her now. ‘You never really knew how to handle your sisters, did you? You never were confident like them or me. You were always the weak one, Celeste.’
Celeste shook her head. Always and never. They were the two words most frequently thrown at Celeste from her mother and they were always meant to wound.
‘You’ve never dedicated yourself to this business,’ she would say. ‘You’ve always been self-centred,’ had been another favourite. ‘You’ve never been one to compliment me,’ was another, for her mother had been the sort who needed constant praise. Everything had to be complimented and, if it wasn’t, life could become hell.
‘You’re dead!’ Celeste cried into the empty study now. ‘You’re dead! So leave me alone!’
She blinked the image and the voice away, her heart racing wildly. She had been right. Her mother still haunted this room, and no amount of ignoring the fact would change it. She leaned forward, pressing her head into her hands. This would never feel like home, would it? Even though it was the only home she had ever had. As long as she remembered the past, it would be all-encompassing, all-invasive.
She shook her head. She didn’t have time to think about this now, and she was just about to make the next apologetic phone call when she heard a car pulling up in the drive outside. It was probably a delivery for Gertie or Evie and had nothing to with her but she couldn’t resist looking out of the window. To her surprise, she saw Julian Faraday’s green MG coming to a neat, sliding halt outside the front door. That was all she needed, she thought, making her way from the study to the hallway with Frinton barking loudly in front of her.
‘Celeste!’ Julian said with a big smile when she opened the door. ‘How are you?’
‘Surprised,’ she said. ‘Were we expecting you?’
‘Well, I was passing by and thought you’d like an update on the progress with the paintings.’
‘Oh, okay,’ Celeste said.
‘May I come in?’
She opened the door wide enough for him to enter and Frinton jumped up at his navy corduroy trousers.
‘Hello, boy!’ Julian said, ruffling Frinton’s head and receiving a good licking in return.
Celeste led him through to the living room and they sat down on the two sofas which faced each other across a threadbare rug.
‘This really is a charming room,’ he said. ‘I do love that little table and that clock.’ He nodded towards the little French clock above the mantelpiece. ‘And that’s a very fine punch bowl,’ he said, nodding towards a blue and white piece which sat on a table next to the fire.
‘You said you had some news about the paintings,’ Celeste prompted him, reluctant to be sat there all day talking about punch bowls.