The Woman From Paris (15 page)

“I was wondering when you’d appear,” said Antoinette.

“Did you sleep well over there?” Rosamunde asked.

“Very well, thank you. The country sounds sent me right off,” Phaedra replied.

“She made me pancakes for breakfast,” said David, noticing the pink in Joshua’s cheeks turn a little green.

“Lucky you,” Rosamunde gushed. “I
love
pancakes!”

“Much easier to buy the ready-made sort,” said Roberta with a sniff.

“Easier, yes, but not nearly as tasty,” Phaedra replied.

“I can attest to that,” David agreed.

“I thought we could go into Fairfield,” Antoinette suggested. “There are some lovely little boutiques Phaedra might enjoy.”

“I’d like to see where George is buried, if that’s all right with you,” Phaedra replied.

“Of course it is. We can take some daffodils from the garden, if you like.”

Phaedra smiled. “That would be lovely.”

David was distracted by his mobile telephone. He walked over to the window to answer it.

“Josh, would you like to come?” Antoinette asked.

Joshua glanced at his wife. “We’re going to take Amber for a walk,” he replied, trying to look enthusiastic.

“I’ll go with you,” said Rosamunde. “That way Antoinette can get to know her stepdaughter.”

Antoinette turned to Phaedra and smiled. “It’s just us and David, then. Tom is still in bed. That’s what he does, stays up all week then flops the minute he gets home.”

“Does he bring his washing with him as well?” Phaedra asked with a grin.

“How did you know?” Antoinette laughed.

“David confessed that he’d done that in the past.”

“Well, you’re right. If Tom didn’t bring it home, it simply wouldn’t get done.”

“You’re a good mother,” said Phaedra. She could feel Roberta’s disdainful stare burning through her skin. “Where’s Amber? I’d love to meet her,” she added, making an effort to include Roberta.

“She’s asleep upstairs,” Roberta replied frostily.

“Well, I look forward to seeing her when she wakes up. I love children.”

“She’s adorable,” said Joshua. “Very pretty, like her mother.”

Roberta rolled her eyes. “He has to say that,” she retorted.

“I’d say she’s very lucky if she looks like you, Roberta. You have the most wonderful bone structure. I’d give my right arm for cheekbones like yours.”

Roberta was much too shrewd to fall for flattery. “Thank you,” she replied with cool politeness.

Joshua grinned at his wife. “Yes, Amber will be very lucky to look like Roberta.”

“I’m afraid I have to go up to the farm,” David sighed. “Broken drill.”

“Oh dear!” Phaedra looked alarmed.

“I’ll come and join you later,” he reassured her.

“Oh, do. We’re going to the church, then down the high street, right, Antoinette?”

“If you like.”

“So come and find us. You will, won’t you?”

David was flattered. “As soon as I manage to extricate myself.”

“Do you think it’ll take you long?”

“I’ll make sure it doesn’t,” he said. “But Mother will look after you. I’m not good in shops. I lose my patience and become rude.”

Antoinette shook her head. “We’ll buy him an ice cream, and he can sit on the pavement while we visit the boutiques!”

*   *   *

Antoinette and Phaedra disappeared down the drive in Antoinette’s car while David walked back across the field towards the farm, situated up the back drive a quarter of a mile from the house. Rosamunde remained in the drawing room with Roberta and Joshua. “She’s a very nice girl,” said Rosamunde firmly. “Very like George, don’t you think?”

“In what way?” Roberta asked. She saw no similarity whatsoever.

“The charisma. They both have that unique quality that draws one’s attention. I call people like that ‘halo people,’ because they’re surrounded by a brilliant light that makes you want to go on looking at them.”

“Well, I’m afraid I don’t see her halo.”

“I agree, Rosamunde, she’s very compelling,” Joshua said. “She likes
you
, Roberta.”

“No, she doesn’t,” Roberta retorted, appalled at the thought. “She’s just trying to win me over. She knows I smell a rat.”

“You’re being unkind, Roberta,” said Rosamunde stridently. “You’ve been nothing but unfriendly since she arrived.”

Roberta gave a little sniff. “I’m not a gusher,” she explained. “I can’t pretend if I don’t feel it.”

“Do you still think she’s a usurper who’s penetrated the family to steal all our money?” said Joshua.

“I’m not sure. I don’t believe her story. Something doesn’t add up, but I can’t work out what it is. Call it intuition, but I’ve got a strong feeling that she’s not telling us the truth.”

Suddenly, Margaret’s formidable presence filled the doorway. Basil came scurrying across the floor in search of Bertie and Wooster, then shot out again when he didn’t find them. “So where is our guest?” she demanded, scanning the room with her incisive gaze.

Rosamunde caught Joshua’s eye. “David’s taken her back to his house,” she lied.

Margaret inhaled through dilated nostrils. “For goodness’ sake, why didn’t somebody tell me? I’ve walked all the way across the fields.” She strode in and sat down in the armchair.

Harris brought in a cup of coffee on a tray. Margaret lifted it down and took a little sip. “Goodness me, that’s very strong, Harris. I’m going to be buzzing for the rest of the day.”

“Mrs. Gunice made it, ma’am.”

“I suggest
you
make it next time, Harris. You know how I like it.”

“Yes, I do, ma’am.”

“Good, that’s settled, then. Will you make sure Basil gets some water? He’s run miles; he must be dreadfully thirsty.”

She turned back to the room. “So Roberta, what’s she like?”

“She’s very nice,” Roberta replied tightly.

“You know, at school we were told never to describe anything as ‘nice.’ You can do better than that.”

“All right, she’s sugary sweet and charming.”

“Is she, indeed?”

“Well, she’s won everyone over.”

“Except you.” Margaret narrowed her eyes and scrutinized her granddaughter-in-law.

“She’s doing her best,” Roberta added, a small smile momentarily brushing her face.

“Is she anything like George?”

“I think she’s her mother’s daughter,” said Roberta.

“You mean, she’s nothing like him at all?”

Rosamunde took it upon herself to rectify the situation. “She’s got George’s charisma.”

“Oh yes, he did have the most dazzling charisma.
That
he inherited from me.”

“She’s undoubtedly clever like you, too,” Rosamunde added, knowing how easily Margaret was taken in by flattery.

“Is she? How interesting.”

“And she’s very beautiful,” Joshua put in.

“In a chocolate-boxy way,” interjected Roberta meanly. “And she has an extraordinary sense of fashion—or should I say, she has no fashion sense at all!”

“I disagree,” said Rosamunde. “I love her quirky dressing, and she’s got the most unusual eyes. There’s nothing chocolate-boxy about her eyes at all. What I think you mean, Roberta, is that she’s blond and a little unconventional.”

“Like Tom,” said Margaret with a smile. “Beautiful, clever, and blond. That sounds like a Frampton to me. George had white-blond hair when he was a little boy. When are they coming back?”

“Not for a while,” Joshua replied hastily.

“Then you must drive me to David’s.”

“Now?”

“Of course now. You don’t expect me to walk all the way over there, do you?”

“Don’t worry, darling,” said Roberta. “I’ll take Amber out with Rosamunde.”

“You see,” said Margaret, getting up. “You’ve been let off the hook. Come on. Let’s go and find them.”

*   *   *

Antoinette and Phaedra walked slowly towards George’s grave. The churchyard was quiet but for a pair of blackbirds playing noisily on the grass. The sun shone merrily but seemed unable to penetrate the shadow of sadness that hung over the place. Antoinette and Phaedra stood in silence, staring at the rectangle of fresh earth that covered his coffin, buried deep down beneath. Barry’s wooden headstone was simple and understated, and the sight of it unleashed Phaedra’s sorrow so that tears spilled over her cheeks, dropping off her chin onto her shirt. “I can’t believe his life has been reduced to those few words and that sad group of numbers,” she said softly. Antoinette
instinctively took the girl’s hand. “It’s the last four numbers that look so menacing. Don’t you think? It’s like a nightmare to see them there: 2012. It shouldn’t be. I expect to open my eyes and wake up to find it’s all a bad dream.”

Phaedra’s words struck a chord in Antoinette’s heart because she expected to wake up, too, but the wakening never came. “Every day is the same, Phaedra. I feel I’m masquerading because I can’t go on boring my family with my pain. I laugh and pretend I’m okay then cry when I’m alone in bed and no one can hear me.”

“Oh, Antoinette, that’s awful. You should be allowed to grieve.”

“I know, and I do, but I don’t want them to worry about me. It’s bad enough that they’ve lost their father.”

“They’ll heal and move on with their lives. Joshua with Roberta and Amber, Tom with his club and the possibility of a wife and family one day, David with the farm and the soul mate he hopes to meet. Their lives are opening like flowers, filled with all sorts of possibilities. But George
was
your life, and the flower of endless possibilities seems forever closed. I understand that, Antoinette. You see no future without George.”

Antoinette stared at Phaedra and through her tears she saw the compassion in her face. “For such a young woman you understand a great deal.”

Phaedra squeezed her hand. “It sounds silly, but George was my future, too.” She wiped her cheek on her sleeve. “Before him I belonged nowhere, and I had no one. I was drifting, trying to make sense of my life, trying to find a Phaedra-shaped place that I could slot into. George gave me that shape, and it fitted perfectly. He gave me a sense of belonging and a sense of purpose. Now he’s gone I feel I’m nothing.”

“You’re not nothing, Phaedra. I’m your stepmother, and you belong at Fairfield with us.”

Phaedra smiled. “You’re so generous, but I couldn’t possibly—”

“No, you don’t understand.” Antoinette felt a rush of adrenaline. “
I
need
you
.”

“You do?”

“Yes, you’re a part of George. A part of the man I loved.”

Phaedra dropped her gaze to the earth at her feet. “You know he’s not in there, don’t you?”

“Sorry?”

“Oh, his body’s in there, of course. Like the shell of a tortoise or the skin of a snake. But George, his essence, his soul, the person who looked out at us through his eyes, he’s somewhere else.” She looked about her. “He could be here, right now.”

Antoinette let her eyes wander, hoping for a flicker of light, a shimmer of shadow, a vague outline . . . anything. “Do you think he’s here?” she asked.

“I
know
he is.” Phaedra’s voice was now a whisper. “He lives on, Antoinette. Don’t think he doesn’t. You have to believe he’s with you.”

“I want to. I so desperately want to.”

“Then close your eyes and feel him.”

Antoinette closed her eyes and felt the breeze brush her cheek and the sunlight warm her skin. Perhaps George was in the wind and in the sunshine. She felt the tears squeeze between her lashes and slide down her face. As much as she tried, she felt nothing extraordinary at all. She opened her eyes. Phaedra was still standing with hers closed, a beatific smile giving her beauty an unearthly sheen. Antoinette felt the stirring of something deep inside her, something that had died when, as a teenager, she had discovered that all things come to an end eventually: moments, friendships, life. Nothing was forever. Father Christmas was just her father, and the Easter Bunny her uncle Douglas with a basket of chocolate eggs. God was not a friendly bearded man in the clouds but a primitive invention, like totem poles and ceramic idols. But now, the little nugget of faith buried in the dark recesses of her soul began to glow with life and fill her chest with something warm and sweet. What if Phaedra was right and George lived on? She closed her eyes again and smiled at the wonderful possibility.

*   *   *

“Well, she’s not here!” Margaret announced, stalking back to the car. “I’ve knocked several times, and no one answers. The door is locked. No one’s home. Where do you think they went?”

“Maybe they’ve gone for a walk?” Joshua suggested.

“Well, where’s Antoinette?”

“Gone to the garden center,” he lied.

“Are they all coming back for lunch, or am I going to have to race about the countryside in search of them?”

“They’ll be back for lunch.”

Margaret sniffed, dissatisfied. “Let’s go and have a look in town. Antoinette has taken to disappearing lately; perhaps they’re at George’s graveside. Come on, Basil, back in the car.”

Joshua motored down the narrow lane into Fairfield. Margaret sat with her jaw set in a grimace, unmoved by the wondrous display of nature bursting into spring. She didn’t see the blue tits darting in and out of the hedgerows, or the lime-green color of the fields and emerging buds. She ignored the primroses and pansies planted in people’s gardens as they drove down the street towards the center of town, and she was impervious to the charm of the multicolored Georgian houses, having lived among them for so much of her life. In fact, she noticed nothing at all except the incessant whirring of her brain as she focused on trying to track down George’s elusive daughter.

At last they reached the church. Margaret smiled triumphantly at the sight of Antoinette’s car parked on the verge. “Ah, you see, I was right. They must be here. Now we’ll find them.”

Joshua drew up beside it. “They’ve probably gone shopping,” he suggested lamely.

“No, they haven’t. They’ll be here in the churchyard. Mark my words.” She waited for her grandson to open her door and help her out.

“Good God!” Antoinette exclaimed, spotting Joshua and his grandmother down by the church gate. “That woman is a curse. Come on, Phaedra. We have to get out of here.”