The Amber Keeper (3 page)

THREE

I
t was the following morning, the breakfast dishes not yet cleared, when her father asked Abbie how long she was planning to stay. Aware of her daughter seated beside her with all the alert curiosity of her six years, instead of answering him Abbie turned to Aimée with a smile. ‘Why don’t you go and explore the garden, sweetie? You’ll find a swing in the orchard, if it’s still there. You’ll enjoy that, but stay close to the house. No going near the lake.’

‘Ooh, yes, Mummy, can I?

‘Why don’t you go too?’ Robert said, addressing his son.

Brother and sister exchanged a quick glance, as if both remembering a time when they too had happily played together. Could they ever achieve such a relaxed state again? Abbie wondered.

It took mere seconds for the sound of scampering feet to disappear, followed by the slam of the front door, leaving eighteen-month-old Carrie screaming her frustration that she couldn’t go with them. Fay lifted the baby out of the high chair. ‘I’ll take her for a walk in her pushchair, while you talk.’

Robert nodded, and as Mrs Brixton appeared at the dining room door to clear away breakfast, it was agreed to adjourn to the library. Saying nothing, Abbie quietly followed them, watching with a flicker of curiosity as her father went straight to his desk, quickly gathered up some documents and tucked them away in a drawer. When he finally turned his enquiring gaze upon her, she asked the one question that had been turning over in her head ever since she arrived.

‘So what’s going to happen to the business? I’ve no wish to upset you, Dad, but I was wondering who was going to run it now that Mum is no longer . . .’

He glared at her sternly from behind his spectacles, as if the very mention of his late wife’s death was anathema to him. But then he seemed to push back his shoulders and steady himself. ‘I’m afraid we have some difficult decisions to make.’

‘Didn’t Mother leave a will?’ Robert enquired, a question that provoked yet a further glower of disapproval from his father, as if this too was out of bounds.

‘Indeed she did, and left everything to me, naturally.’

‘Of course, only she did once promise there would be a small legacy for me, even if Abbie was still out of favour.’

‘I think you must have misunderstood her,’ their father snapped, making it very clear this was not a subject he wished to discuss.

‘But she was very specific about that, saying she’d never neglect me. I can’t believe Mother hasn’t kept her word.’

Abbie gave a snort at her brother’s arrogance. ‘That’s all you care about ‒ money! Ever your obsession.’

‘Not at all, but I do have a family to keep.’

‘So do I, in case you haven’t noticed.’

Tom Myers silenced his children’s squabbling by raising one hand, palm outwards. ‘I assure you there were no legacies of any kind, so let that be an end of the matter. The problem is that this place costs a small fortune in upkeep, and investments and savings are not what they were.’

‘What are you saying Dad ‒ that we’re land rich but cash poor? We surely can’t be too hard up with a house and estate of this size, plus the business, of course. Didn’t Ma leave you any money?’

Her father’s face turned crimson with anger. ‘Have I not made myself abundantly clear? I have no wish to discuss your
mother’s will.’

‘The subject is normally considered relevant, following a funeral,’ Robert persisted. ‘Can we see it please?’

‘No, you damn well can’t!’

Their father’s reaction to this perfectly reasonable request was so strong that Abbie frowned, examining his flushed face with some concern. ‘Is there something you’re not telling us, Dad?’

‘Why would there be?’ he blustered, which left her even more troubled. ‘The only thing you need to know is that the business has not been doing too well of late.’

Abbie’s eyes widened in surprise. ‘Really? I thought custom-made jewellery was increasingly popular. Precious Dreams has been doing well ever since Gran started the business almost forty years ago. So what’s gone wrong?’

‘I’m afraid your mother rather lost interest in recent years, worn down by . . . events. She quite lost heart, not having been herself for some time, as you are only too aware.’

There it was again, the insinuation that Abbie was to blame for her mother’s depressed state of mind. ‘I wasn’t aware of that, actually, Dad,’ she gently reminded him. ‘How would I be if nobody wrote and told me?’

‘Or if you never asked.’

As an awkward silence began to develop, Robert intervened. ‘We should sell the shop to help pay for the upkeep of Carreck Place.’

‘I think that’s the answer, yes.’

‘Very sensible.’

‘
No
!’ Abbie cried, jumping to her feet. ‘Please don’t do that.’

They both looked at her in surprise. ‘Why ever not?’ her father said. ‘It’s the obvious solution.’

Abbie took a breath to steady herself as she sank back into the chair. ‘Look, the truth is that Eduard and I, we . . . well, we’ve split up, so there’s no reason for me to return to Paris. You know I’ve always been fascinated by the business, the workshop side of it more than the retail. Jewellery is an art form, just as much as painting a landscape is, and I’d love to be more involved. If Mum hadn’t been so set against the idea I would have taken a course or something when I left school.’

Robert’s laugh was sardonic. ‘So leaving home had nothing to do with your lusting after a Frenchman, or becoming pregnant? Stop making excuses, or trying to make out it was Ma’s fault, when we all know that was not the case.’

Abbie could feel her cheeks growing warm, although whether with anger or embarrassment was hard to judge. ‘I’m not claiming to be entirely innocent. I freely admit I behaved somewhat rashly, but I was in love. Surely it’s time to forgive me for that youthful indiscretion?’

She turned to her father, blinking back a blur of tears. ‘The point is I have a child to raise, alone, so I need to earn a living. I’m prepared to work hard, and would absolutely love the opportunity to turn the business around and make it successful once more. Please allow me that chance, Pops,’ she said, risking using her pet name for him once more in the hope that her father might still nurture some love for her in his heart, if not the much-longed-for forgiveness. Perhaps he did, for she saw how his gaze softened and warmed towards her.

Robert, however, was typically scathing. ‘What absolute rubbish! You’re hopeless, an untidy, irresponsible, disorganised mess.’

Abbie stiffened, feeling again that familiar burning resentment against the way her brother always put her down, which had forever marred their relationship. Robert never believed anyone else’s opinion mattered half so much as his own, that no one could be as clever as him, or even worth listening to.

‘Thank you for the accolade. However, it may have escaped your notice that I am no longer a foolish teenager. I’ve learned a few lessons about life, and business, these last seven years. As a matter of fact, I worked in a small, rather classy boutique in Paris, which is the fashion capital of the world, in case you didn’t know, so I’m not entirely ignorant.’

Ignoring her completely, Robert addressed his father, a curl of derision to his upper lip. ‘Don’t listen to her, Dad. Sell it. Property is fetching a high price right now, and we could use the money to maintain Carreck Place, which is far more important.’

‘Because you’ll inherit it one day? That couldn’t possibly have any bearing on your opinion, by any chance?’ Abbie challenged him. ‘You want a legacy
plus
the house. Nice!’

‘I’ve already made it clear I have absolutely no wish to discuss these matters right now,’ their father calmly informed them, raising both hands this time in a gesture of despair. ‘The shop is a separate issue and I suggest you leave me to consider Abigail’s proposal in private. I will let you know my decision when I’m good and ready.’

‘Thank you,’ Abbie said with a smile of appreciation, feeling again that small kernel of the connection they’d once enjoyed. ‘I agree, this isn’t the moment for dividing the spoils since Mum is hardly cold in her grave,’ she added, giving her brother a fierce glare.

Even Robert didn’t dare argue further, knowing how grief was taking its toll upon their father. But as he quietly closed the library door behind them both, he couldn’t resist one last dig. ‘Who the hell do you think you are, the prodigal daughter? You stay away for years, then imagine you can just walk back and claim a wad of cash. Even if Dad is soft enough to let you have a go at running the business for a while, it doesn’t alter the fact that
you
are the reason Mum took her own life. The blame for her death lies entirely on
your
conscience.’

So saying, he strode away in a cold fury.

Feeling sick to her stomach, Abbie went in search of her daughter, finding some relief from her distress in seeing how pretty and happy Aimée looked pushing Jonathon on the swing, gently bossing him and showing off her extra year.

‘Why don’t we pack a picnic and go for a ramble over the
Langdales
?’ Abbie suggested. ‘Or we could walk around Rydal Water and visit the cave. I’m sure Grandpa would lend us the old Ford. Which would you prefer?’

‘The cave, the cave,’ yelled Jonathon.

Fay appeared with a wriggling Carrie desperate to escape the confines of her pushchair. ‘Can we come too?’ her sister-in-law asked, her tone revealing her own eagerness to escape for a while.

‘Maybe a walk around Rydal is too long for the little ones. It would take at least a couple of hours. I know ‒ how about a sail in a steam yacht on Coniston Water, just like in the story of
Swallows and Amazons
?’

‘Yes, yes!’ the children all yelled, even little Carrie who hadn’t the first idea what she was shouting about. And so it was decided.

The two women enjoyed the relaxing drive over Little Langdale and Tarn Hows with its spectacular views of Wetherlam and Coniston Old Man, glad of a welcome break from the gloom of the tragedy and funeral. The weather, too, was kind, a sparkling spring day with the smell of fresh new grass and sunshine in the air, perfect for a sail.

It proved to be a delightful adventure which the children loved, Jonathon and Aimée pretending to be Captain John and First Mate Susan, as they were allowed to have a go at steering by the friendly boatman. And they loved seeing Peel Island, named Wildcat Island in the book where the five Walker children set up their camp.

‘Apparently the author, Arthur Ransome, also spent time in
Russia
, just like Gran,’ Abbie commented, as she and Fay sat together in the cabin of the small boat, enjoying a sail on the
tranquil
lake. ‘He worked as a foreign correspondent during the revolution, so must have been there at the same time as the young Millie, and became something of a spy. Although he was rather on the side of the Bolsheviks, I believe, which Gran was not. At least, I don’t think so.’

Fay said, ‘Goodness, I never knew that about your grandmother. What on earth was she doing in Russia?’

‘I’m not entirely certain, as she rarely speaks of it.’ Privately, Abbie was hoping to persuade her otherwise. There surely came a moment when it was time to pass information on to your family. There were things she wanted to ask about her mother too, and about the will which had clearly upset her father for some reason.

Could matters be quite that bad? The upkeep of Carreck Place was no doubt quite expensive, although the house no
longer
employed the number of staff it once had in its heyday. And it wasn’t as if there was a mortgage to pay on the property. Nor, so far as she was aware, did her father have any debts. He’d always been a most prudent man. Her mother, too, could not have been classed as a spendthrift, her wardrobe being that of a countrywoman who preferred tweeds and pearls, and spent her free time outdoors in the garden or walking over the fells when she wasn’t working. She’d never been one for rich furs, or even jewels, despite her selling many gems of great value in her shop.

But laying the blame for her mother’s death on her own youthful rebellion was deeply hurtful and entirely unfair. Abbie hoped her father would soon come round to that point of view, too, even if her brother persisted with the accusation.