The History Room (27 page)

I’d only seen Sofia that once before when she’d been wearing jeans and a sweatshirt to carry out her housekeeping duties, her hair scraped up into a ponytail. This evening she was
wearing a smart suit under her overcoat, with discreet make-up and heels. She looked glamorous and confident as she entered the room with Dad, every bit the Letchford type. I blinked. She held out
a hand to me. ‘We meet again, Mrs Cordingley.’

I blushed in front of her stare. ‘Yes.’ I took her hand and shook it, realizing that this woman and I were relations of some kind by virtue of our relationship to Olivia.

Dad motioned to her to sit down. She took the small sofa at ninety degrees to his desk. I hoped he wasn’t going to sit behind it in his headmaster’s stance. He took the chair and
moved it round so that he was sitting opposite her. Sofia sat with her smartly stockinged legs slanted, ankles crossed. She might have been a model. I perched on the edge of the desk feeling
ungainly. ‘This has taken us by surprise,’ Dad said, his voice very gentle. ‘I didn’t know that I’d left Hana, your mother, expecting my son.’

‘My brother, Jan.’ A softness filled her face at the mention of his name.

‘If I’d had any idea . . .’ He shook his head. ‘Were things hard for you and Jan as you grew up?’

‘Jan was already nearly twelve when I am born. So we didn’t play with one another. He liked my father. I remember the two of them playing football together when my father came home
from work.’

‘Was it a happy childhood?’ I asked. Her earliest years would have been spent in the old Communist regime. I couldn’t imagine what that would have been like but it must surely
have been in every way different from the childhood I’d had here.

‘I remember it as happy.’

‘Was
she
happy?’ Dad’s voice held a slight quaver.

‘It was hard for Mama’ – she gave him an awkward glance – ‘being so young, by herself, with a baby. Back then you were expected to marry before you had children.
And nobody else was interested in a woman with a son. It is still a bit like that at home. So she worked and her older cousin, Maria, the one you met in Prague, looked after Jan.’

‘Then Hana met your father?’

‘He loved her and Jan. But he was a male, a Czech male. He expected my mother to do everything in the house after a day’s work. There were arguments.’ She shrugged, suggesting
that this wasn’t surprising.

I wanted to ask Sofia how it was that she’d found her way to England in such a menial capacity. She was obviously intelligent. ‘I studied pharmacology,’ she told me, as though
she knew what was on my mind. ‘But there weren’t many jobs at home. A friend told me I would make money working in England as an au pair and I could send it home to Maria, my cousin.
And then there was . . .’ She stopped and seemed to recollect herself.

‘Tell us about Irena,’ Dad asked. ‘Olivia, I mean.’

She moved her gaze away from his while she considered her answer. ‘She has nobody apart from me and Maria, our cousin. But I got married here in England and Olivia went to the village
school where we were in Kent. But my husband died and I had to find another job.’

She stopped, biting her tongue. Something about the story didn’t seem to add up but I couldn’t figure out which bit it was. I wondered when she’d found out about Letchford
School and the family connection. And how? Hana was long dead and Sofia wouldn’t necessarily have linked Karel Stastny with Charles Statton.

‘When did you find out that I was Olivia’s grandfather?’ Dad asked.

She blinked at the words, as though the reality of who the girl was had suddenly hit her. ‘About a year ago. I knew that Mama’s old boyfriend, Karel Stastny, had come to England as a
young man in 1968 or ’69. But it was only last year I found out that you were now Mr Charles Statton, the headmaster.’

She took a breath. ‘A friend told me that bit. The children who went to this school had the world at their feet, she said. I thought then that Olivia belonged at this school where Mr
Statton is head.’ Her eyes narrowed and took on an intensity of expression.

I wondered why she hadn’t introduced herself and Olivia at that stage. I was about to ask her when she sat up, eyes fixed on something. ‘Are you all right?’ I asked.

‘Fine.’ But her eyes were still narrowed. I looked at what she was focused on and saw the box in which the reborn doll was lying. She saw me looking in the same direction and turned
away, but not before I’d caught a glimpse of dismay in her expression. But this was not the time to question her about the doll.

‘Was Olivia happy to come here?’ Dad asked. He’d be desperate to know that this choice had not been forced on the girl. He prided himself on the idea that only children who
were excited about coming to Letchford should be admitted. ‘Do you remember who interviewed her?’

‘Mr Simon Radcliffe. Olivia seemed happy enough. She thought she would miss me, though.’

Until only a few years ago Dad had interviewed every pupil himself. Now he simply saw those applying for scholarships. Even if he had met Olivia alone it was doubtful he’d have worked out
who she was.

‘And she had no idea that she was related to me?’ Dad asked.

‘She would never have thought it, no.’

‘But why? Why this school?’ I asked. ‘Why send her here if she wasn’t even going to know what the connection was? You could have sent her to a day school in or around
Wokingham. It would have been . . .’ Cheaper, I was going to say. Then I thought of her job. Perhaps her employer didn’t like having a child around.

‘I knew it would be better for her to live at school during the term. My job is . . . Sometimes I have to work at nights.’ She sounded bitter. She had to serve food at Mrs
Smirnova’s dinner parties, I thought. Beneath her eyes, carefully made-up, there were shadows. Sofia worked hard. She’d have to, to pay the fees.

Her eyes moved back to the cardboard box. She raised a hand to her mouth and seemed about to chew her manicured fingernails before she realized what she was doing and removed the fingers from
her mouth. She still hadn’t really told us why Letchford had been her choice for Olivia.

‘I have to say’ – my father spoke with real warmth – ‘that the sacrifices you have made for Olivia fill me with deep admiration.’

She gave a little nod and blinked hard.

‘Perhaps we should discuss how we explain all this to her,’ Dad went on. ‘Obviously she needs to know that she’s been living among family. But do we encourage her to keep
a little quiet about it with her classmates? Or would that make her life even more complicated?’

‘Even more?’ Sofia looked puzzled. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Olivia doesn’t always find school life easy.’ I tried to make the words gentle. ‘She has struggled a little to make friends. The play has helped, though.’

‘Play?’

‘She’s got a part in
The Crucible
.’ She still seemed unclear. ‘A play by Arthur Miller. It’s a small part but she’s very good.’

Sofia looked pleased. ‘I want her to be happy. That’s what she told me, Olivia would be happy here.’

‘She?’

‘The friend who told me about Letchford. She said it wasn’t like other schools.’

I wondered whether the friend had been a past pupil.

‘How do you think she’ll respond, Sofia?’ Dad asked.

‘She shouldn’t know.’ Sofia folded her arms. ‘It’s best she knows nothing.’ She looked distressed now.

But my heart told me Olivia needed to know she belonged in a deeper way than the other pupils. She belonged to the gardens outside, now slipping quietly into their sombre white-and-grey winter
colour, to the house itself with its old stone walls, to her grandmother’s image under the mural. This house had proved itself my solace when I’d limped back here last summer. So it
would be for my niece.

‘Or else we perhaps take her away,’ Sofia continued.

‘No.’ The objection launched itself so vehemently that they both turned to look at me. ‘Sorry. I just feel she’s settling here at last. She should stay.’

‘So we not tell her then, not immediately?’ Sofia’s English had slipped. I saw that she was clutching her hands together in her lap.

‘Will you at least think about it?’ Dad sounded desperate.

The note of sadness in his voice seemed to shake her out of her trance. ‘Perhaps after the play, perhaps at Christmastime.’ She spoke more softly now. ‘I need to speak to Maria
first.’

‘Seems like a good plan,’ I agreed.

Dad nodded, looking disappointed.

She looked him directly in the eye and her expression was more open. ‘I was so sorry to hear about Mrs Statton.’

‘Thank you. I miss her terribly.’ Unlike Dad to admit to a near-stranger that he felt in any way vulnerable. But then Sofia was almost a member of the extended family. The telephone
rang. ‘That will probably be Clara.’ He looked guilty. I was amazed that my big sister hadn’t steamed down the M4 to be present at this meeting.

‘My elder sister,’ I explained.

‘I must get back.’ Sofia rose.

‘I can call her back.’ Dad was peering at the caller identification on the receiver.

‘No, you take the call.’

‘I’ll show you out,’ I said. She nodded a goodbye at Dad and indicated that he should pick up the ringing phone.

As we walked across the hall the door below opened and Emily came inside with a handful of files. No reason why she shouldn’t: a teacher had probably asked her to bring over something to
the office, but her presence made me feel like Samson when he spotted a cat.

Sofia, too, hung back for a second. Emily had looked up at the sound of the door to Dad’s apartment opening. Her face when she saw Sofia was stony. She put down the files on the console
table beside the front door and left.

I wondered about asking Sofia if she knew Emily. But then it all fell into place. Of course she did. I’d seen the two of them together in this red Vauxhall that early morning before
half-term. It would be interesting to hear Sofia explain the relationship.

‘I’ve got to go now.’ She pre-empted further discussion. ‘Mrs Smirnova expects me back to prepare supper.’ She pulled an ancient-looking car key out of her bag. I
wanted to ask her about Emily but the look in her eyes told me the subject was closed.

‘You work very hard, Sofia.’ I wondered whether she ever had a day or an evening off. And all the money she earned, or most of it, was coming here in the form of Olivia’s fees.
I glanced guiltily round the polished entrance hall.

She narrowed her eyes at me. ‘So?’

‘I didn’t mean any offence.’ I felt my cheeks burn. ‘Please don’t think that.’

‘Perhaps you think it is a menial job, no?’

I couldn’t meet her eyes.

‘You’re right,’ she said quietly. ‘It is not what I was educated to do. Naturally I’d prefer to work in a lab or a hospital instead of worrying that there are
stains on the steel range or that the champagne isn’t chilled for the party.’ She shook her head. ‘You think I don’t hate smiling at people I despise and pretending I find
them fascinating?’

I must have looked puzzled at the last remark.

She let out a breath. ‘I’m sorry, excuse me, I know you weren’t saying anything bad about me. It’s just so . . . hard.’

I noticed the dark shadows under the foundation now.

‘Is there more we can do to help?’ I asked. ‘A bursary . . . ? You could still apply. This revelation doesn’t affect that.’

‘I think it does.’ She sounded flat. ‘It would look like special treatment.’

‘What will happen to Olivia at Christmas?’ I asked. ‘Perhaps that would be a good time to tell her who we are.’

‘Perhaps. She may be in Prague with Maria for Christmas.’ She smiled briefly before the sadness returned to her eyes. ‘They’ll be so happy.’

‘Christmas in Prague must be magical.’ I pictured markets and candles, snow glistening on baroque buildings. ‘Can you go back yourself then?’

‘Mrs Smirnova wants a big Christmas Eve dinner party.’

I touched her arm. ‘You’re entitled to time off, Sofia. Don’t let her treat you badly.’ I thought of Olivia, of her cut arms. Should I talk to Sofia about this? Dad might
well have mentioned it to her privately, when he’d phoned to ask her to come over. Or Cathy might have been in touch at the time of Olivia’s fall. I was treading on dangerous ground.
‘You need time with Olivia,’ I said in the end.

‘She needed me and I failed her.’ She swallowed. ‘Her arms . . . When I saw them . . .’ She looked away.

‘The cutting seems to have stopped now.’

‘She promises she won’t do it again. She wears the band.’ She made a pinging action against her left wrist.

‘I’m keeping an eye on her,’ I said. ‘So is my father. And her housemistress. And the school nurse. Don’t worry.’ I felt surer of myself and touched her arm
again.

Her eyes welled. ‘You’re a kind lady, Mrs Cordingley.’

‘Meredith.’

‘Meredith.’ She spoke it slowly. ‘I wish I hadn’t . . .’

I waited for her to finish, but she shook her head. ‘I must go now. Tell Olivia I ring her on her mobile. Send her my love, please. And I will ring you and your father at end of term. To
discuss how we tell her.’

‘So we can’t tell Olivia who she is and things stay in limbo?’ Clara summed it up. She’d rung my mobile almost as soon as she’d finished talking
to Dad.

‘We have to do what Sofia says. She is Olivia’s legal guardian.’

‘Suppose so.’ I could hear her doubt crackling across the miles between us. ‘Something doesn’t add up, Merry.’

‘I know.’ I hadn’t been able to admit it to myself before but I knew Clara was right. She usually was. I wondered whether I should tell her about having seen Sofia with Emily
earlier in the term. But could I be absolutely sure? The woman sitting with Emily had had her back to me.

‘There’s no doubt that Olivia is who they say she is?’

‘We saw the photographs.’

‘Photos mean nothing. You need a birth certificate to be sure.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Think about it, Merry. Eventually Dad is going to leave us a fairly substantial inheritance. Even if the school belongs to the trust. They’d have to pay something for the land and
house to stay at Letchford. Dad’s heirs are going to benefit quite nicely. Until a few weeks ago we assumed that would be me and my family and you and . . . well, just you.’