Victoria Connelly - The Rose Girl

by Unknown

  Samantha watched as Gertie looked around the room, noticing the enormous poster-sized photograph of Samantha on horseback racing across a beach, the horse’s legs splashing in the surf.

  ‘That’s the brute who threw me,’ she said matter-of-factly.

  ‘Oh,’ Gertie said. ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘So am I,’ she said with a sigh. ‘You live and learn, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes,’ Gertie said.

  ‘You ever ridden?’ Samantha asked.

  ‘No. Never.’

  ‘Good,’ she said. ‘James never took to it either.’ She laughed. ‘I did try with him but he wasn’t at home on a horse.’ There was a tender look in her eyes as she spoke about James and Gertie swallowed hard. ‘Now, do I make this cheque out to Hamilton Roses?’

  Gertie nodded, glad that they were getting back to business. ‘Thank you.’

  As Samantha wrote the cheque, Gertie glanced around the open-plan room again, taking in its enormous sofas and rugs in neutral colours. It was as bright and modern as Little Eleigh Manor was dark and old-fashioned. Gertie didn’t like it. It wasn’t a room she could ever feel comfortable in, she thought.

  Her eyes then settled on a side table made of glass on which sat about a dozen photo frames. From where she was standing, she could see a photo of James and Samantha, their arms around each other, somewhere warm and sunny where Gertie could only dream of visiting. Another photograph showed them together on a boat in the middle of a turquoise ocean. It made Gertie think how little she had seen of the world. She’d barely been out of East Anglia, but how could she have gone off travelling when her mother had needed her help with everything?

  ‘You won’t leave me, will you, Gertie?’ Penelope had pleaded so many times that Gertie had lost count. ‘I need you here.’

  ‘Of course I won’t leave you,’ Gertie had vowed, feeling the full weight of her guilt for ever having contemplated her own needs. But she wasn’t going to stay in Little Eleigh forever because she and James were going to France or Italy or somewhere spectacularly beautiful, weren’t they?

  Gertie had the good grace to blush at having such thoughts about another woman’s husband whilst in her very home. She looked at Samantha again and wondered what it must be like to be trapped in a wheelchair.

  Suddenly, Samantha winced.

  ‘Are you okay?’ Gertie was beside her in an instant.

  ‘Get me those pills, will you?’ She nodded to a coffee table and Gertie retrieved a little bottle and handed it to her.

  ‘Can I get you some water?’

  Samantha nodded. ‘Please.’ She waved a hand in the direction of the kitchen and Gertie left the room. Like the rest of the house she had seen, the kitchen was bright and modern and filled with the very best that money could buy. Gertie found a glass and filled it with water before returning to Samantha, watching as she took two of the enormous tablets.

  ‘I forgot to take them this morning,’ she said. ‘Well, that’s not entirely true. I’ve been trying to give them up. I hate putting these things into my body but it’s absolute agony if I don’t.’

  ‘Are you in constant pain?’

  She nodded. ‘Pretty much,’ she said. ‘Some days are worse than others. They’re the days poor James gets it in the ear from me.’ She briefly closed her eyes and sighed.

  ‘Can I get you anything else?’

  ‘No, thank you,’ she said, her beautiful green eyes opening again. ‘You’re the middle sister, aren’t you?’

  ‘That’s right,’ Gertie said.

  ‘I think it was you James mentioned the other day. Said he’d seen you about the village when he was walking Clyde. He certainly seems to know you.’

  Gertie realised that the dog had sat himself down next to her feet and she smiled awkwardly.

  They held each other’s gaze for a moment and Gertie couldn’t help wondering what was going through Samantha’s mind. She certainly felt naked and vulnerable under that green stare. It was as if Samantha could see into her very soul and unearth all her secrets and all the plans that she was making to be with James.

  ‘Right – here you go,’ Samantha said at last, tearing the cheque from the book and handing it to Gertie. Gertie saw the slim gold wedding ring and the diamond solitaire, which seemed to taunt her with its smug beauty as if telling her that James would never give her such a gift.

  ‘I hope you’re happy with the roses,’ Gertie said.

  ‘I’m sure they will do the job perfectly,’ Samantha said. ‘Thank you for coming so quickly.’

  Gertie nodded and Samantha gave her a smile that was warm and genuine and made her wonder if she was really such a difficult person to live with as James had made out.

  She was just about to leave when her eyes focused on Samantha’s neck.

  ‘Are you all right?’ Samantha asked. ‘You’ve gone quite pale.’

  ‘I’m f-fine,’ Gertie said, her right hand flying to her neck to adjust her chiffon scarf. ‘I’d better be going. I’ll see myself out.’

  ‘Goodbye,’ Samantha said.

  Gertie was shaking as she drove the short distance back to the manor, her fingers on the silver locket that James had bought her.

  It was the exact same locket Samantha Stanton had been wearing.

  ‘It’s all rotten, see?’ Mr Ludkin said as he pointed to the timbers he’d unearthed in one of the rooms in the north wing. There were heaps of plaster on the floor and the air was full of dust.

  ‘Yes, I see,’ Celeste said, looking at the ancient wood before her.

  ‘Good job we caught it now, otherwise this whole wall might have collapsed and the roof above, too.

  ‘I thought the roof had already collapsed,’ Celeste said.

  ‘No, no. Just the ceiling,’ he said. ‘You’re lucky, mind.’

  ‘Lucky, right.’

  ‘Although this is going to add time onto the job. Going to have to get a specialist in.’

  ‘Right,’ Celeste said, visualising the money from the Fantin-Latour painting flowing away before it had even made it into her bank account. ‘But you can rescue it?’

  ‘Anything can be rescued if you’ve got the money to throw at it,’ Mr Ludkin said.

  Celeste took a deep breath. ‘I was afraid you were going to say that,’ she said.

  26.

  Gertie was furious. Furious and confused. Since leaving Samantha, she’d rung James several times and texted him at least a dozen before he finally got in touch with her and they agreed to meet at the chapel that evening.

  As she crossed the fields with Frinton, under the perfectly good pretence of giving him a walk, Gertie couldn’t help wondering if James would be there at all, after he’d let her down the last time. Was he trying to blow her off, she wondered? And what would he have to say about the necklace?

  But, as soon as she saw him slouching against the ruined flint wall of the chapel in the last rays of the sun, her heart melted. It was impossible, absolutely impossible, to stay mad at a man as handsome as he was, and she cursed him for it.

  ‘Darling!’ he said, taking her face in his hands and kissing her fully on the mouth.

  ‘I need to talk to you,’ she said a minute later, determined to keep her head and have things out with him.

  ‘I love nothing more than to talk to you,’ he said. ‘Well, there is one thing I like more.’ He gave her bottom a little squeeze but she pushed him away from her.

  ‘James!’ she cried.

  ‘What?’ he cried back. ‘What have I done?’ He looked wounded and she instantly felt bad, but then she remembered how bad he’d made her feel – over and over again.

  ‘I visited Samantha today,’ she said.

  ‘What?’ he said, aghast.

  ‘She ordered some roses,’ she said, putting him out of his misery. ‘What – did you think I’d gone and revealed myself as your mistress or something?’

  James ran a hand through his fair hair. ‘Well, I –’

  ‘I wouldn’t do that
, James – you know I wouldn’t.’

  He breathed a sigh of relief. ‘I know,’ he said.

  ‘But I should – I really should.’

  He took a step towards her and caressed her cheek. ‘I’m going to tell her myself. As soon as the time is right.’

  ‘How long have I been hearing that?’ Gertie cried. ‘The time is never right, is it? Well, what about my time? My time is right! I don’t have to stay here at the manor now that Mum’s gone. I can leave whenever I want to! And I want to, James. I really want to!’

  He tried to silence her with a kiss but she pushed him away.

  ‘Gertie!’

  ‘Listen to me,’ she said.

  ‘I’m listening.’

  ‘I saw it. I saw what you’d done,’ she told him.

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘The necklace,’ she said. ‘The silver locket.’

  He looked confused but Gertie’s fingers pulled her own locket out from behind her scarf. ‘I can’t believe you bought me the same necklace as your wife!’

  James seemed to pale a little. ‘I can explain,’ he said, like all men backed into a corner.

  ‘Can you?’ Gertie didn’t look convinced.

  James took a deep breath. ‘Listen – I bought the locket for you but I left it in my jacket pocket and Samantha was trying to find the prescription I’d got for her and she opened the box and saw the necklace. I had to say it was for her, didn’t I? But I didn’t want to spoil the surprise for you. I know how much you wanted a locket and I wasn’t going to let Samantha wreck that so I went back and bought another.’

  Gertie frowned. Was he telling the truth? It was hard to tell when he smiled like that at her, and she so wanted to believe him.

  ‘You do believe me, don’t you?’ he asked, moving closer to her, his long fingers scooping up the locket and gently brushing her neck.

  Gertie stared at him, her brown eyes large and full of hurt, wondering if she should mention the night she saw him and Samantha together and if he’d have an explanation for that too. There probably would be one, she decided. She would simply have misunderstood the moment, he’d tell her. That would be it. So she didn’t mention it now. ‘You make me so mad sometimes,’ she said instead.

  ‘I don’t mean to,’ he said. ‘I want to make you happy.’

  ‘And I want you to make me happy too,’ she said. ‘I want us to be together.’

  He nodded and leaned forward to kiss her forehead. ‘You’re so warm,’ he told her in a whisper she felt dance over her skin. She was so lost in the moment that she didn’t question that he was trying to change the subject or avoid it altogether. Instead, she let herself be kissed and, when his phone beeped a moment later and he told her he had to get back home, she let him go without another word.

  Celeste spent a good ten minutes pacing in the study before she rang Julian.

  ‘Where are we with the auction?’ she asked without preamble.

  ‘Hello, Celeste! Are you okay?’ he asked.

  ‘I’m fine,’ she said, ‘but I need to know what’s happening with the rest of the paintings.’

  ‘Well, the catalogues are back from the printers now and are going to be posted out today, and I have to say that the paintings look great. The images are fantastic – they really do the paintings justice. I’ll pop one round to you when I’m up this weekend, okay?’

  ‘So the auction’s in a fortnight?’ Celeste asked.

  ‘That’s right,’ he said. ‘Will you be coming to London for it?’

  Celeste twisted a lock of her dark hair. ‘I’m not sure yet,’ she said.

  ‘I know you don’t like London,’ he said, ‘but it can be fun. I could take you out to dinner afterwards to celebrate.’

  ‘If we sell the paintings,’ she said pragmatically.

  ‘The paintings will sell,’ Julian said. ‘You don’t need to worry on that score.’

  But as Celeste hung up, she couldn’t help admitting to being worried – not just about the paintings, but about everything else too.

  It was the middle of the night when Celeste woke up. She wasn’t sure what had disturbed her this time but it was happening a lot lately and she’d learned to just give in to it.

  She switched on her bedside lamp, stirring Frinton at the end of the bed. Looking across the room, she caught sight of her old copy of Dodie Smith’s I Capture the Castle and gave a wry laugh. Cassandra Mortmain was one of her favourite heroines and had certainly known that living in an ancient building in the middle of Suffolk was far from romantic. When she’d first read the book, she’d felt an immediate connection with the resilient heroine, although she had frowned on her ability to fall in love so quickly and had shuddered at the thought of swimming in a moat. She and her sisters had never done anything quite so foolhardy.

  ‘Only you have, haven’t you?’ she said to Frinton. One of his ears pricked up at the sound of her voice, but he gave a sigh and went back to sleep.

  She got out of bed, stuffing her feet into her slippers and grabbing a cotton jumper. She didn’t feel like reading tonight, no matter how comforting it might be to swap her own worries for those of Cassandra Mortmain. Instead, she headed downstairs, accompanied by Frinton, who thought that exchanging sleep for the possibility of a treat was a fair deal.

  Leaving the sanctuary of her bedroom, she ventured down the corridor that linked all the bedrooms. A small lamp was always left on to light the dark passageway in case of night-time wanderings, but the wooden panelling meant that it was still spookily dark.

  They were just passing Penelope’s room when Celeste noticed that the door had been left ajar. Being a terrier, Frinton noticed it too.

  ‘No!’ Celeste cried as the little dog charged into the darkness. She groaned. She hadn’t ventured into the room since the night she’d found Evie in there, and she certainly didn’t fancy going in there again. ‘Frinton!’ she called softly. ‘Come out of there.’ But the little dog didn’t respond, just as she knew he wouldn’t. Shaking her head and silently cursing the day that the soft bundle of naughtiness had entered her life, she turned the main light on and walked into the room. Frinton was by the bed, eating what looked very much like a Jammie Dodger that he’d probably brought upstairs himself at some point.

  Swallowing hard, she took a moment to look around the room. The mahogany king-size sleigh bed was still made up with its pink and white toile de jouy bedding, and there on the bedside table was the large silver-framed photograph she’d spotted when she’d been in the room with Evie. The photograph of Penelope. The room was filled with photographs of her, and her beautiful face stared out from each one of the frames now. Celeste felt tears brimming in her eyes.

  Nobody would ever understand that such a beautiful woman could be so cruel, but those large brown eyes and the sensual lips hid so much meanness, and the looks she’d been capable of giving and the things that she’d been able to say still made Celeste shake with fear today and chased her from the room now.

  ‘Frinton!’ she called, her voice icy. ‘Come on.’ The little dog looked up from the carpet, licked up the remaining crumbs of the Jammie Dodger and followed her out of the room, knowing it was better not to push his luck when his mistress called his name like that.

  Going downstairs, she heard the voices as soon as she entered the corridor to the kitchen.

  ‘What are you both doing up?’ she asked as she walked into the kitchen and saw Gertie and Evie there.

  ‘Same as you, I imagine – couldn’t sleep,’ Evie said from the bench that ran the length of the old table. Gertie was stirring something lemony in a huge silver pan. ‘She’s making a cake and I get to lick all spoons and bowls, don’t I? So don’t even think of intercepting me because I was here first.’

  Celeste took a seat opposite Evie.

  ‘You look dreadful, Celly,’ Gertie said as she turned around from the Aga.

  ‘Thanks a lot!’ Celeste said. ‘It’s the middle of the night. I don’t suppose
I’m meant to look like a supermodel.’

  Gertie shook her head. ‘It’s more than that. Is something wrong?’

  She sighed. ‘Did you take a look at the north wing today?’

  ‘I’m trying to avoid going in there,’ Gertie said. ‘Why? Is it bad?’

  ‘You could say that.’

  ‘But we knew that, right?’ Gertie said, as she tipped the gloopy cake mixture from the pan into a loaf tin. ‘We’ve known for years that it was pretty bad in there.’

  ‘I know, but seeing it all so raw and exposed gave me a bit of a shock and I’m really worried what else is going to be unearthed around the house – and if we’ve got the budget for it.’

  ‘We’ll just have to do what we can,’ Gertie said. ‘Nobody expects you to do everything at once. You just have to tackle one bit of it at a time.’

  Celeste rested her head in her hands and closed her eyes, listening to the movements of Gertie as she clattered cooking equipment around.

  ‘Where’ve you put the missing painting, Celly?’ Evie asked after a moment.

  Celeste opened her eyes again and looked at her sister across the table. ‘It’s in the study for the time being.’

  ‘You’re not going to sell it, are you?’ Evie’s eyes were narrowed and accusatory.

  ‘I’m not sure what to do,’ Celeste said. ‘I don’t think we should do anything with it until things have quietened down.’

  ‘What things? Dad or Simone haven’t called, have they?’

  ‘No,’ Celeste said.

  ‘Well, then. I think we should hang it up in the living room. Put it in that gap left by the Fantin-Latour. I hate that gap. It makes me feel all empty inside.’

  Celeste knew exactly what Evie meant. Every time she walked into the room, the gap on the wall seemed to be staring her down and she wondered if she’d made the right decision in letting the painting go.

  But you didn’t let it go, a little voice inside her said. You’re going to make nearly half a million pounds for it.