The Woman From Paris (41 page)

“There’s an awful lot to throw away. Though I hate to destroy anything that might be of sentimental value.”

“It’s only for you, ma’am,” Harris said gently. “Lord Frampton doesn’t need any of it now.”

“You’re right. Let’s just do it, Harris.” She took a shortbread biscuit and bit off the end. Rosamunde was right: they were extremely good biscuits.

That evening David and Margaret came for dinner. They ate one of Mrs. Gunice’s lasagnas in the kitchen. “I’ve been going through George’s room, Margaret,” Antoinette said once they’d helped themselves. “If there’s anything you’d like to keep, you must say. I’m being rather ruthless.”

Margaret thought about it a moment. “I don’t really need anything. I have photographs and a very good memory.”

“And you, David? I don’t want to throw things away that you might like to have to remember him. Obviously, I’m putting aside his cuff links for Tom and nice clothes and things, just in case. But there are so many medals and trophies and boxes of knickknacks. I don’t know what to do with them.”

“I’d put his medals and trophies in boxes, Mum, and we can store them in the attic.”

“Joshua and Tom are more his size, so they can choose which of his suits and jackets they’d like to have. I must say, it’s not an enviable task.” She sighed beneath the weight of it. “Margaret, what did you do when Arthur died?”

Margaret looked solemn for a moment, then she lifted her chin. “I gave most of it to charity.”

“Even the really good things?”

“I gave George his precious things; but the sentimental things . . . I’m afraid I did away with them. I’m not a sentimental woman.” Then her expression softened, and she added, almost wistfully: “I rather wish I hadn’t, now. Don’t be rash in your sorting, Antoinette. Better to have things in boxes upstairs than in the bin where you can’t ever get them back.”

“I’ll get Phaedra to help me when she comes down this weekend. You
have
asked her, haven’t you, David?”

David’s face suddenly opened into a smile. “I haven’t, Mum, but I will.”

Margaret also smiled. “What an uplifting girl she is. I must say, she’s like a window, letting in the sunshine. She certainly pepped me up this weekend. She’s tremendously good company.”

“I don’t think we’ve ever had such an enjoyable weekend all together, do you?” said Antoinette. “I think Phaedra’s infected us all.”

“We must thank George, wherever he is, for bringing her into our lives,” Margaret suggested, raising her glass. Antoinette and David raised their glasses, too, but David raised his higher than anyone.

26

A
fter dinner David returned home and called Phaedra. He had tried to call her during the day, but she hadn’t answered. He hoped she wasn’t still worrying about Roberta.

Now it was dark and the park was silent but for the hooting of the owls in the wood and Boris screeching to his young in the tree outside David’s window. He gave Rufus a biscuit and watched him settle on his beanbag, then he lay on the bed and called Phaedra. It was half-past eleven, but she answered.

“Did I wake you?” he asked.

“No, I can’t sleep anyway.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m fighting a terrible battle between my heart and my head.” David’s own heart lurched. Was she about to articulate what had been simmering beneath the surface since they had first met? She hesitated.

“Go on.”

“I want to be a part of your family, David. I love your mother and Margaret, Tom’s adorable, and you and I are very close.”

“I sense there’s a but,” he said uneasily, barely daring to breathe.

“Roberta’s right. I’m not trying to inveigle my way into your family in order to steal the money, but I shouldn’t be there at all.”

“Roberta’s wrong.”

“She’s trying to scare me off, I know that.”

“Phaedra, she’s way out of line. You have to ignore her.”

“I just don’t think I should come down to Fairfield for a while.” David’s spirits sank. “It’s been very intense over the last few weeks.
I feel uncomfortable about the money your father left me and the Frampton Sapphires. It’s all wrong. I’m sorry.”

“I won’t accept that,” he replied firmly. “You’re a Frampton whether you like it or not.”

“Oh, David, I lied . . .” The rest of the sentence got stuck in her throat.

“Listen,” he interrupted. “I don’t care that you lied. I know you did it to protect Mum, and that’s admirable.”

“I really did lie to protect her. I didn’t know what else to do. I was put in such an awkward position. It wasn’t my fault.”

“Don’t get upset, Phaedra. I’m right here beside you.”

There was a long pause. For a moment he thought she might have cut off. Then she replied in a quiet voice. “I wish you were.”

David’s heart began to race. She sounded so near, she could almost have been lying beside him. “Why don’t you come down?” he suggested. “Don’t tell me you’ve got too much work to do. Come to Fairfield and open your farm shop. Forget Roberta and her hollow accusations. She’s irrelevant. No one believes her, and her opinions don’t count anyway.”

She laughed regretfully. “I’d love to do that more than anything in the world. Could we have pigs? I’ve always loved pigs, and piglets are so adorable.”

“You can have as many pigs as you like.”

“And a few chickens?”

“I can cope with chickens.”

“I love the blue ones.”

“There are blue chickens?”

“Yes, they’re called Cochin chickens.”

“All right. We’ll have some Cochin chickens, too.” The indulgent way he laughed made her smile.

“You’re a good man, David.”

“What sort of farmer would I be if I said no to a few pigs and chickens?”

“There’s enough space in Antoinette’s vegetable garden to feed an entire town.”

“Do you want to tell her our plans, or shall I?”

“Won’t she think it terribly presumptuous?”

“I bet she’ll think it’s a brilliant idea, and she’d love to go into business with you. Of that I’m certain.”

“It’s a lovely dream.”

“That you have the power to turn into reality. You only have to get into your car and drive down the motorway. You can come and live here at Fairfield with me.”

At that suggestion she chuckled. “Oh, David . . . you know that’s impossible.”

“Nothing’s impossible. I’m sure we can find you a cottage on the estate.”

“And kick some poor tenant out?”

“I’m the landlord.”

“But you’re a kind landlord. You’ve cheered me up, anyhow.”

“You’ll come this weekend, then?”

“Maybe.”

Phaedra felt a warm glimmer of hope in her heart as she turned off the light and lay her head on the pillow. Perhaps she didn’t have to give it all up. There might be a future in England after all. She pushed Roberta and Julius out of her mind and let it wander freely through fields of dreams.

She closed her eyes and imagined her farm shop. She saw herself in a white apron chatting to customers from behind the counter of pâtés, cold meats, and pies. There would be fresh eggs from their hens and fruits and vegetables from their garden. All the produce would be seasonal and delicious, and people would come from far and wide to buy from the shop and walk around the glorious park. The magic of Fairfield would infect all who saw it. She, David, and Antoinette would work happily together. Perhaps Tom would get involved, too, and Rosamunde; maybe even Margaret would approve. It would be a
family
business. George would be so proud—and
she
would have made good. With those light, whimsical thoughts, she drifted off to sleep.

*   *   *

Antoinette couldn’t sleep. She listened to the wind rustling through the trees and the creaking of the house, which sounded like the creaking of old bones, and was too frightened to sleep. So she got up and turned on the lights. She threw on her dressing gown and stepped into her slippers. Then she walked downstairs to the drawing room. It was cold in that big room, but she didn’t mind. She went straight to the piano and opened the lid. She knew “Sunset” by heart now, but she placed the music on the stand just in case. Then she sat down and rested her fingers on the keys. They felt at home there, hovering above the ivories. Slowly, she began to play. She smiled as the music filled the room and silenced the creaking, as if the old bones of the house were soothed into slumber.

It felt good to release her fears that way. Now her fingers knew the keys as feet know a well-trodden path. They danced as if they had a mind of their own, and she was able to sit back and listen to the sad rise and fall of the melody. She thought of George, but soon it was Dr. Heyworth’s kind face leaning over the piano and applauding her efforts. She wanted to show him what she had learned and how well she now played. George had never cared much for music, but Dr. Heyworth was very accomplished. It was
his
approval she wanted.

She stopped playing and pulled her hands off the keys. She rubbed her fingers. That was all she wanted from Dr. Heyworth, she thought anxiously, his approval and his admiration as a pianist. There was nothing unseemly about that. She missed George, she missed him terribly—and with that thought she began to play again, but somehow now the magic was gone.

She closed the piano and stood up. Perhaps she’d sleep now. She looked at her watch; it was one in the morning. Soon the birds would begin to twitter and the sun would inch its way up from Australia and flood the fields with that clean dawn light.

The night was nearly over. She felt heartened to think of the approaching day. She hurried upstairs and climbed into bed. The house was now still, the owls had gone quiet, the wind had dropped. She closed her eyes and allowed herself to sink slowly into sleep at last.

The following morning a package arrived in the post from Julius
Beecher. It was a DVD. The letter stated that he had meant to give it to her before but hadn’t wanted to distress her. It was footage of George skiing in Murenburg a week before he died.
Watch it when you’re ready, Lady Frampton. I wanted you to have it so that you are reassured that he was killed doing what he loved. My warmest regards to you and your family, Julius Beecher.

Antoinette stared at the silver disc and felt a chill ripple across her skin. This was footage she had never seen of George, only days before he was gone forever. It was upsetting just to think of it—like watching him speaking from the grave. She was curious, of course, but frightened to see it alone. So she took it into her study and placed it in the top right-hand drawer of her desk, where she kept important things like her passport and keys. She’d wait until she was surrounded by her family, and they could watch it all together. Perhaps Rosamunde could be persuaded to come back for the weekend.
She
could watch it, too—and Phaedra. Yes, that’s what she’d do. They’d watch it all together as a
family
, and their unity would give her strength.

*   *   *

David couldn’t wait for the weekend. Phaedra had agreed to come and stay with him in his farmhouse. He drove his tractor up and down the fields, spraying fertilizer over the crops, imagining what life would be like married to her, avoiding the painful fact that marriage was impossible. The DNA test rose between them like an immovable mountain, but David kept his eyes firmly on his feet or the sky and pretended not to see it.

Phaedra tried to concentrate on her work. She managed to write a few pages, then flicked through the pictures from the weekend on her laptop. She sat for hours mooning over photographs of David, trying to a figure a way out of the mess George had got her into. She knew it was risky staying alone with David in his house, considering how they had so nearly kissed in the drinks room at Margaret’s, but she couldn’t bear to be near Roberta. Although her head begged her to return to Paris, her heart was drawn to David like a mouse to cheese in a trap.

She was aware that Julius Beecher hadn’t called to apologize. It
was strange not to hear from him—he had been so dogged in his pursuit of her. She hoped he had let her go and moved on to someone else. She didn’t believe she’d broken his heart: a man had to have a heart in the first place for it to break.

Julius was cold and calculating, a man who wanted her only for the bounty she brought with her. He must have tasted the high life with George and desired it for himself. She knew him to be devious. She wondered whether he had ever stolen from his boss. It was perfectly feasible. George had given him access to all his affairs and trusted him with his businesses. Julius had been more than a lawyer; he’d been his right hand. Thanks to Julius, George had been able to take off whenever he wanted. He’d been free, but at what cost? Phaedra wondered whether he was still stealing from George; after all, he continued to be in control of most of George’s assets, while Joshua tried to navigate his way through his father’s affairs.

*   *   *

Antoinette was delighted when Dr. Heyworth telephoned to suggest they paint the second coat while the weather was good. She was flattered that he should offer to help. It was a hard task, for the room was large, but he insisted it was nothing but a pleasure for him. He didn’t want to think of her tackling it on her own. Antoinette was relieved not only to have his company but to have something to occupy her. The thought of spending another day going through George’s room filled her with dread. Harris had been very helpful, but she’d rather have Phaedra’s moral support, or her children’s, for Harris couldn’t advise her about what to keep and what to throw away, in spite of his efforts.

Dr. Heyworth arrived on Tuesday morning, and they set off up the hill together in David’s Land Rover. David was busy on his tractor and had no need for it. The dogs lay outside in the shade of a gnarled oak tree while Dr. Heyworth and Antoinette labored inside. They chatted merrily and laughed at each other’s jokes and witty asides. Dr. Heyworth’s sense of humor suited Antoinette’s perfectly, and they both found the same things amusing. When they looked
at their watches and realized it was already half-past one, they were both equally surprised, for the morning had slipped away unnoticed as time tends to do when one is enjoying oneself.