The Midnight Rose (27 page)

•  •  •

The cast and crew left the house at teatime the following afternoon, and Rebecca took the opportunity to have a leisurely soak in the bath.
She decided that tomorrow she’d ask Graham to drive her into the nearest town so that she could purchase a few more clothes and some stronger allergy drugs for her hay fever.

Climbing out of the bath, she walked back along the corridor to find Mrs. Trevathan waiting for her outside her bedroom.

“I brought you some of my homemade chamomile tea, my love.”

“Thank you,” said Rebecca.

“Well, it will help relax you after your long week. His lordship has also invited you for a drink with him on the terrace tonight. He said you discussed it earlier in the week.”

“Yes, we did. What time would suit him?”

“Seven thirty? And he said you’re welcome to join him afterward for dinner too, if you’d like.”

“Not tonight, thank you. My hay fever is very bad right now.”

“You poor thing. Well, nothing a good night’s rest can’t cure, I’m sure. I’ll tell his lordship you’ll be down at seven thirty, dear.”

Making quick work of the delicious chamomile tea, Rebecca spent an hour immersed in the scenes she would be playing the following week. She then got dressed, grabbed a cardigan and made her way downstairs and outside to the flagstone terrace that stretched almost the entire length of the main block of the house.

Anthony was sitting at a wrought-iron table off to one side that offered a splendid view of the flower gardens and the sweep of green lawn and parkland beyond. “Good evening,” he said, and smiled as he stood up and pulled out a chair for her.

“Thank you,” said Rebecca, sitting down. “What a gorgeous sunset. Nature’s really putting on a show for us. You know, I’d never really appreciated all the different kinds of sunsets there are until I came here to Astbury.”

“Well, perhaps one doesn’t in a city,” said Anthony, holding a jug aloft and pouring an amber-colored liquid filled with fruit and ice into her glass.

“What are we drinking?”

“Pimm’s—it’s what we British drink on rare summer evenings like this one. I promise there’s plenty of lemonade in it, so it won’t get you tipsy.”

Rebecca put the glass tentatively to her lips and took a sip. “It’s very good, thank you,” she said.

“I’m glad you like it. Anything interesting to report since yesterday?” Anthony asked her.

“Well, last night, I read the first pages of the story that Mr. Malik left with me, the ones written by his relative who used to work here. No skeletons so far.” Rebecca smiled. “But Donald, who I think you said was your grandfather, does make a memorable appearance.”

“Does he, indeed?” Anthony sipped his Pimm’s thoughtfully. “I did check the staff ledgers in the library and I can’t find any trace of someone named Anahita Chavan during the time frame you suggested.”

“Well, according to her story, she most definitely worked here, if only briefly,” elaborated Rebecca. “She was nursemaid to Eleanor, the daughter of your grandfather’s sister.”

“Selina Fontaine. From what I was told by my mother, she was the black sheep of the family. She married some French count and moved to France. After that, she never spent much time here again.”

“I’m surprised, she sounded like a nice person in the story. Excuse me for saying so, Anthony, but I’m amazed you don’t want to find out more about your family’s past. I’d love it if I could discover even a little bit more of my own.”

“Forgive me if I don’t agree,” he answered, seeming agitated. “In the case of my family history, as Mrs. Trevathan is always telling me, it’s better to let sleeping dogs lie.”

“That might be true, but what I’ve read happened almost a hundred years ago. Surely,” Rebecca persisted, “it can’t do any harm to learn more about those who lived here before you?”

Anthony gazed into the distance, then turned toward her. “So you think it would help me if I did, Rebecca?”

“I  . . .” she looked at him, the expression in his eyes reminding her of a child turning to a mother for advice. She shrugged. “Maybe it’s the American way, but I always want to know the facts,” she replied.

“Well, maybe you’re right and I should read this document you seem so enthralled by.”

“My apologies, Anthony, this is none of my business. I really don’t mean to interfere.”

“Did this Mr. Malik seem like a good chap?”

“Well, he didn’t seem to be looking for anything from you other than to have a conversation about his great-grandmother,” Rebecca said.

“I’ll think about it, certainly. Now, what plans do you have for the
weekend?” Anthony said, abruptly changing the subject. “I must admit I’m enjoying this short hiatus of having my home back to myself.”

“I’m sure you are. I promise I’ll be out of your hair as well tomorrow,” she said hastily. “I’m going to ask Graham, my driver, to take me to the nearest town. I need to buy some more things to wear. I brought so few clothes over with me and it’s warmer here than I expected. And then I thought that maybe I’d do a little local sightseeing. Any place in particular that you think I should visit?”

“Of course, but when I said I wanted the house back to myself, please don’t feel I was including you. In fact, I’d be happy to show you around myself. It’s doubtful that anyone knows this part of the world better than I.”

“Really, Anthony, that won’t be necessary. I’m sure the last thing you want to do this weekend is play tour guide.”

“No, I insist. Seriously. I don’t find your presence here obtrusive at all and it would be my pleasure. Mrs. Trevathan says you’re too weary to join me for dinner tonight, so shall we reconvene here on the terrace tomorrow morning at, say, ten o’clock?”

“If you’re sure,” said Rebecca, “but I really don’t want to put you to any trouble.”

“It won’t be any trouble at all. So, tell me how the film is going.”

Rebecca chatted to him about the film, glad to see the earlier tension leave Anthony’s face as he listened.

“Of course the real star of the show is Astbury Hall itself. Everyone feels privileged to be here and it’s going to look just wonderful on the big screen.”

“At least it’s earning its keep for a change,” said Anthony with a sigh. “Rather ironic that the fact that there’ve been no funds to modernize it has made it so appealing as a backdrop for your film.”

“I love it here, Anthony, no matter how old-fashioned the bathroom facilities are,” she added with a smile.

“Do you? Do you really? That pleases me.”

When Mrs. Trevathan appeared on the terrace to announce that Anthony’s supper was ready, Rebecca felt guilty at how grateful she was that she could slip away upstairs for a light meal quietly by herself.

•  •  •

Rebecca woke the following morning feeling groggy and with the kind of headache that made her question whether she had drunk too much
alcohol the night before. She wondered just how strong the Pimm’s drink Anthony had given her had been. Mrs. Trevathan arrived in her bedroom promptly at nine and placed a tray laden with tea, toast and a boiled egg on her lap. Rebecca sat up in bed feeling queasy and trying but failing to eat much of the breakfast. She swallowed down some ibuprofen for her head, pulled on a T-shirt and jeans and went downstairs.

“Good morning.” Anthony was already on the terrace waiting for her. “Shall we?”

The two of them walked around to the front drive, where an ancient Range Rover was parked. “Climb aboard. I’m sorry it’s hardly what you’re used to.”

Rebecca sat inside as Anthony started the engine, wondering at her host’s never-changing uniform of checked shirt and ancient tweed jacket. Perhaps they were the only clothes he owned. She hoped Mrs. Trevathan washed them occasionally.

“I thought I’d take you into Ashburton. There’re a couple of boutiques, although I’ve no idea whether what they sell will be to your taste,” commented Anthony as they drove off. “Then we’ll drive to Widecombe-in-the-Moor and have lunch at the pub there. After that, maybe you’d like to see Dartmoor? The most pleasant way is on horseback, but perhaps you don’t ride.”

“I love riding, actually,” said Rebecca, brightening at the thought. “I had to learn for a part I played in a film a few years ago. It was set in Montana and I was taught by a couple of real-life cowboys. So I’m sure my riding style isn’t as polished as you’re used to.”

“Well, well, there we are,” said Anthony, obviously surprised. “Sadly, our stables aren’t quite what they were in the old days. I rent them out to the girl who runs the local riding school, in return for her keeping a couple of my horses there. Never was much of a rider when I was younger, and my back plays up these days, so they don’t get much exercise. So, please, feel free to take one out as often as you wish while you’re here. It really would be a help if you did.”

“You know what? I just might,” Rebecca said.

“By the way, I thought about what you said last night. I contacted Mr. Malik this morning and asked him to come to the hall for lunch tomorrow. On one condition,” Anthony added.

“What’s that?”

“You join us. After all, it’s you who’s persuaded me I should meet him.”

“Of course, I’d be glad to. And, Anthony, if Mr. Malik is coming for lunch tomorrow, I do think you should perhaps read the start of his great-grandmother’s story before he arrives. It really is fascinating.”

Anthony glanced at her. “Can you promise there really are no skeletons in the family wardrobe that might shock me?”

“None at all, from what I’ve read so far, anyway. Most of it is about Anahita’s childhood in India. I truly felt I was entering a different world and it’s made me want to go visit. She lived in an amazing palace as companion to a princess, before they both came over to England to boarding school.”

“Presumably, that’s the family connection,” mused Anthony as he drove. “I know my great-grandfather was resident out in Behar State before he died.”

“Yes. And I get the feeling that he loved it, but your great-grandmother Maud didn’t feel the same way.”

“I’m sure. Sadly, there wasn’t much she approved of. Certainly not us men,” he added with feeling.

“Well, I guess you’ll just have to read it for yourself.”

“Then I will. And I’ll let Mrs. Trevathan know about lunch tomorrow. Right,” Anthony said as he parked the car in a space along a pretty, bustling high street, “let’s go shopping.”

The morning turned out to be far more pleasant than Rebecca had expected it to be. Walking along in the sunshine flanked by her male protector, with her newly dyed hair, Rebecca enjoyed the freedom of being in public without being recognized. After she had nipped into a few shops and picked out a couple of new shirts, and grabbed more antihistamines from the pharmacy, they drove on to Widecombe-in-the-Moor.

They sat outside in the sun at the Rugglestone Inn, enjoying a fresh crab salad.

“It’s like a picture postcard of how I imagined England to be,” said Rebecca, taking in the quaintness of the chocolate-box cottages that dotted the narrow street. “In fact, speaking of postcards, I might send some.”

“It’s certainly a beautiful part of the world. And it’s good for me to see it through fresh eyes. I’ve never traveled much, and I suppose one becomes a little jaded with the familiar.”

“Were you sent off to boarding school when you were small, like your grandfather Donald?” Rebecca inquired.

“No. I was home-educated. My mother didn’t approve of boarding school.”

“Really? I’m surprised. From the film script and my research on the era, I thought it was a rite of passage for all boys from British families like yours.”

“Mother would have missed me too much. You can imagine how lonely she’d have been rattling around the hall by herself.”

“Yes.” She’d noticed there was a whisper of girlishness about him every time he spoke of his mother. Rebecca wondered suddenly if the reason Anthony had never married was because he was gay. “From what I hear about boarding school, you had a lucky escape. I can’t understand why anyone would have a child and want to send them away.”

“Mother always thought it rather a joke that we young Brits were sent away to school to fit us out to run the empire. By the end of the 1950s, when I was a boy, there was no empire left to run.” He sighed. “Still, everybody tells me boarding school is far kinder now. Apparently they even provide hot water these days.”

“I’d never even consider it for one of my kids.” Rebecca shuddered.

“As you rightly said, it’s tradition, my dear. Well now, perhaps you’d like to take a ride on Dartmoor this afternoon?”

Having eaten lunch, Rebecca was now feeling queasy and could feel her headache returning. “Maybe tomorrow. I’m still feeling a little tired today.”

“Then how about we head home and I’ll show you the family chapel? It was designed by Vanbrugh, a very famous English architect. It’s tucked away inside the house off the long gallery.”

“Yes, if that’s okay with you, Anthony.”

Twenty minutes later, back at the hall, Rebecca followed Anthony through the elegant long gallery. He stood in front of an oak door and used an oversized key to unlock it.

Rebecca stepped inside and looked up with wonder at a soaring forest of gilded columns ascending toward a small dome, whose sides were adorned with clouds and cherubs.

“It’s so beautiful,” she breathed, turning to Anthony.

“Yes, but sadly wasted these days. I rarely come in here. Please,” he said, sitting in a pew, “feel free to wander around.”

Rebecca did so, enjoying the calm atmosphere and feeling the
weight of history the chapel contained. She looked down at the well-worn marble floor, tangible evidence of the many souls who had come here over the years to find solace.

She turned and looked back at her companion. Anthony was staring straight ahead, obviously deep in thought. Seeing him sitting there alone, she felt his vulnerability. She sat down next to him in the pew. “Do you believe in God, Anthony?”

“My great-grandmother Maud was very religious. She brought my mother up as a strict Roman Catholic. Since Maud was still alive when I was born, I was as well. Personally, I don’t believe in any of it. Never did, to be honest, although I paid lip service in front of her. Do you believe?”