The Angel Tree (25 page)

LJ looked at her with renewed respect. ‘Greta, let us be frank with each other. We all know why you married Owen. Apart from being fond of him,’ she added hastily. ‘And perhaps
you feel some guilt for that.’

‘Yes, I do,’ Greta agreed.

‘Equally, you’re a bright woman, and I’m sure you have realised since that it suited Owen, too. Your marriage gave him a new lease of life and, most importantly for him, an
heir to Marchmont, if Jonny had lived. So you see, you really mustn’t feel guilty any more, or think there is any ill-feeling on my part. You were – to some extent – an innocent
pawn in a game that you knew nothing about.’

‘Really, LJ, you don’t need to say anything else. I’m happy for you to have the estate. I wouldn’t know where to begin when it came to looking after it.’

‘You’re absolutely sure, Greta? You must know that I will leave Marchmont to David in my will? It’s his by rights.’

‘Absolutely.’

‘All right then. But remember: both Marchmont and I will welcome you any time you would like to visit. Owen was obviously anxious that you and Cheska don’t lose touch with
us.’

‘Thank you, LJ. I’ll remember that.’

David called Mr Glenwilliam back into the room. ‘Does everything seem to be in order?’ he asked.

‘Yes. Greta has decided she will not be contesting,’ David replied.

Mr Glenwilliam looked relieved. ‘Now, obviously there are some legal things I have to tie up, and there will be taxes to pay on the amount Owen has bequeathed. Mrs Marchmont, you’ll
need to come back and sign some documents once they’ve been through probate. And I’ll be here to offer any assistance you may need as regards the future handling of the estate. As
you’re aware, I’ve been looking after the business side of things for quite some time.’

‘Thank you. I appreciate all your help, both past and present.’

‘It’s my pleasure,’ nodded Mr Glenwilliam, as the three of them stood up and filed out of his office.

‘Mummy, Mummy! Guess what? Mary took me across to the field and I patted a sheep!’ Cheska was ecstatic as Mary brought her into the drawing room after the others
had returned from Monmouth.

‘How lovely.’

‘And the farmer says I can help him milk the cows tomorrow morning. But I shall have to be up at five o’clock.’

‘But, darling, we’re going back to London this afternoon.’

‘Oh.’ Cheska’s face fell in disappointment.

‘I thought you wanted to go home?’

‘I do—’ Cheska bit her lip. ‘But couldn’t we stay just one more day?’

‘We really should be getting back, Cheska. We have that photo shoot on Monday and we can’t have you looking tired.’

‘Just one more day.
Please
, Mummy.’

‘Why not stay on for a while, dear girl? I think it would do both of you the world of good. Look at the colour in Cheska’s cheeks. And David and I would appreciate it,’ LJ
coaxed.

Greta was startled by the abrupt change in her daughter’s mood. ‘As long as there are no silly antics about going to bed tonight, young lady.’

‘I promise, Mummy. Thank you!’ Cheska ran to her mother, threw her arms around her and kissed her on the cheek.

‘Right, that’s settled then,’ said LJ. ‘Now, I must go and find Mary and break the good news to her about River Cottage and her legacy. I’m sure it will make her
and her fiancé very happy. He’s hung on for years waiting for her. I hope she’ll finally make an honest man of him. David, sort out some drinks will you, dear boy. I’m
parched!’

That night, Greta climbed into bed, having checked Cheska was fast asleep in the bedroom next to her own. She’d decided it was unwise to put her back in the nursery after
the previous disturbance.

Then she opened the letter from Owen.

Greta folded the letter back into its envelope and placed it in her handbag. She felt a wave of emotion building, but she pushed it firmly away. Max, Owen, James . . . they
were all part of her past. She couldn’t allow them to touch her now.

Cheska lay on her back and stared up at the big branches of the oak tree hanging above her, outlined by a perfect, cornflower-blue sky. She sighed contentedly. The film studios
seemed far away, there was no one here to recognise her and, for what seemed like the first time in her short life, she was able to be completely alone and free. She felt safe here. The dream
hadn’t returned since she had left the nursery after the first night.

She sat up and looked into the distance. On the terrace, she could see Mummy and Uncle David having lunch. They’d been at Marchmont for a week now, the result of her begging and begging
Mummy for them to stay longer. She lay back down again and thought how wonderful it would be if Mummy and Uncle David were to fall in love, get married and live here for ever and ever. Then she
could help milk the cows every morning, have breakfast in the kitchen with Mary and go to the local school with other boys and girls.

But it was a dream. Cheska knew that tomorrow she and Mummy would have to go back to London.

She stood up, checked once more that Mummy wasn’t looking for her and wandered off towards the woods, stuffing her hands into the pockets of her new dungarees. She listened to the birds
singing and wondered why their song sounded so much sweeter than the birds in London.

Walking through the tall trees reminded Cheska of the set for
Hansel and Gretel
, a film she had made last year which Mummy had said had been a big Christmas hit. As she walked deeper
into the woods, she wondered if there was a wicked witch in a house of sugar-icing waiting to eat her, but as a leafy glade appeared, all she saw was a dear little fir tree, with a piece of stone
underneath it.

Moving towards it, Cheska realised it was a gravestone and shuddered at the thought of the person lying under the earth. She knelt down in front of it. The inscription was embossed in gold and
very clear.

JONATHAN (JONNY) MARCHMONT

BORN 2ND JUNE 1946

DIED 6TH JUNE 1949

May God guide his little angel up to Heaven

Cheska gasped.

Jonny . . .

Fleeting memories she could not quite hold on to came into her head.

Jonny . . . Jonny . . .

Then she heard someone whispering.

‘
Cheska, Cheska
. . .’

It was the voice of the boy in her dream. The dead boy, lying in the coffin. The one who had come to her in the nursery that night.

‘
Cheska, Cheska
. . .
come and play with me.
’

‘
No!
’

Cheska stood up and covered her ears with her hands, then ran from the woods as fast as her legs would carry her.

‘Greta, as it’s your last night tonight, I thought I might take you out to dinner in Monmouth,’ David suggested as they sat on the terrace drinking
coffee.

‘I . . . Goodness me, Cheska looks as though she’s being chased by a hungry lion!’ Greta’s attention was diverted as she watched her daughter racing towards them. She
arrived, panting hard, and threw herself into Greta’s arms.

‘What is it, darling?’

Cheska looked up at Greta. Then she shook her head firmly. ‘Nothing. I’m fine. Sorry, Mummy. Can I go and see Mary in the kitchen? She said I could help her make a cake to take home
to London with us.’

‘Yes, of course you can. Cheska?’

‘Yes, Mummy?’

‘Are you sure you’re all right?’

‘Yes, Mummy.’ She nodded and disappeared into the house.

The interior of the Griffin Arms was bathed in soft candlelight as David and Greta entered the restaurant. They were shown to an intimate corner table beneath the ancient
rafters, set with gleaming silver cutlery and delicate crystal wine glasses.

‘Sir, madam, may I get you something to drink?’ asked the head waiter.

‘Yes, a bottle of your best champagne, please,’ said David.

‘Very good, sir,’ he said, handing them both menus. ‘I would recommend the prawns, which were freshly caught today, and also the Welsh lamb. And may I also say, sir, how much I
enjoyed your last film.’

‘Thank you. You’re most kind,’ said David, embarrassed, as always, to be recognised.

After ordering what the head waiter had recommended, they sat drinking champagne and chatting about LJ and Marchmont.

‘It’s such a shame that Cheska has to go back to London tomorrow. She seems to have blossomed in the past few days,’ David commented.

‘Yes, I’m sure it’s done her good, but we can’t have her public disappointed, can we?’

‘I suppose not,’ murmured David, hoping Greta was being ironic but realising she probably wasn’t. ‘Oh, by the way, I read in the
Telegraph
this morning that
Marilyn Monroe and Arthur Miller have married. They’re flying over to London, as she’s making a film with Larry Olivier.’

‘Really? They seem an unlikely couple,’ said Greta, as the waiter arrived with their prawns. ‘It seems everyone’s getting married at the moment. Did you watch Grace Kelly
marry Prince Rainier on the television earlier this year? Cheska was transfixed.’

During dinner David was so nervous that his normally healthy appetite deserted him and he hardly touched his food, even refusing dessert. Greta ate fresh strawberries as David sipped the remains
of the champagne. Ordering coffee and two brandies, he realised that time was running out. It was now or never.

‘Greta, I . . . well, I want to ask you something.’

‘All right. What is it?’ She smiled at him quizzically.

‘The thing is . . .’ Time and again David had rehearsed the next few sentences in his mind, but now he actually needed to say them out loud, he couldn’t remember a single
word.

‘Well, the . . . er . . . thing is, that I . . . I love you, Greta. I always have and I always will. There’ll never be anyone else for me. Would you . . . I mean, might you . . .
consider marrying me?’

A stunned Greta stared at David, taking in his earnest expression and flushed cheeks. She saw his kind eyes were filled with hope. She swallowed hard and reached for a cigarette. David was her
best friend. Yes, she loved him dearly, but not in the way he wanted her to. She’d sworn to herself that she’d never love like that again.

‘The point is, Greta,’ he fumbled on, ‘I think you need someone to take care of you. And Cheska needs a father. Your rightful home is Marchmont and don’t you see that if
we married, Marchmont would be ours one day, which would sort of put things right? Of course, we wouldn’t have to live there now. You could move into my house in Hampstead, and . .
.’

He paused mid-flow as Greta raised her palm towards him.

‘Stop, David, please stop. Oh, I can hardly bear this!’ She put her head in her hands and began to weep.

‘Greta, please don’t cry. The last thing I want to do is upset you.’

‘David, darling David.’ Greta eventually looked up at him, then used his proffered hanky to dry her eyes. She knew that whatever she said next would hurt him terribly. ‘Let me
try and explain. When I met Max all those years ago and he left me pregnant, I was young enough to pick up the pieces – with your help – and start again. Then I came to Marchmont and
married Owen, simply because I was alone, frightened and about to become a mother. I needed security and, for a while, Owen gave me that. But it was short-lived and relying on Owen nearly destroyed
both Cheska and me. Then we left and returned to London and I fell in love with my employer, who was a married man. Maybe it was the years with Owen that had made me crave a little romance, a
little physical satisfaction.’ Greta blushed at her own words. ‘Owen and I never consummated our marriage, you know. Besides, James – that was his name – was talking of
leaving his wife for me and, stupidly, I began to believe him. Then his wife found out about the affair and I discovered that he was a weak, selfish man who had never been worth my love in the
first place. I lost my job into the bargain. In fact, it was on the very day I met you outside the Windmill again.’

‘I see,’ he said, struggling to digest all that Greta had just imparted.

‘Anyway’ – Greta paused, her brow furrowed in concentration – ‘it was after that awful James business that I made a vow to myself: that I would never allow myself
to become close to a man, in the romantic sense at least, again. All they’ve ever done is bring me pain and heartache. I relied on them to give me what I thought I needed. And in the past six
years I’ve been happier in some ways than I’ve ever been. My life is Cheska, and there’s no room in my heart for a husband.’