Three Graces (24 page)

‘Absolutely. I’ve seen it before.’

‘But I looked so horrendous in those photos.’

‘Doesn’t matter. People know you’re not. We all have our cap and welly moments,’ Mrs Travis said with a wink which made Carys smile a little. ‘You’ll be quite the local celebrity now.’

‘Celebrity!’ Carys said. She hated the word. To her, it smacked of naff reality shows and people who were famous for contributing absolutely nothing to the world. She didn’t want to be a celebrity. Unless…

‘You really think it will be good for Amberley?’

Mrs Travis nodded. Just you wait and see.’

She was right too. No sooner had the gates opened than a steady stream of cars could be seen along the driveway. Carys, hiding out in the safety of her office, watched as crowds of people made their way to the entrance. Some of them were even holding newspapers! Carys gawped in amazement. Was this good or really very bad indeed? She couldn’t tell. At least Richard wasn’t anywhere near the house to see.

The telephone rang. Should she pick up? It could be another paper and she was terrified of saying the wrong thing again and Mrs Franklin wasn’t in yet to intercept for her.

‘Hello,’ she began hesitantly and then cleared her throat. ‘Carys Cuthland.’

‘Oh, Carys!’ It was Phoebe. ‘I’ve just seen the papers and it’s just too awful! How are you? Has Richard seen it yet?’

‘I’m afraid he has.’

‘And was he terribly upset?’

‘You could say that.’

‘Oh, dear! And it’s all my fault,’ Phoebe said.

‘It isn’t your fault at all.’

‘At any rate, Natasha Bryant is hereby expelled from the YBGs, that’s for sure. I’ve talked to Serena and she agrees completely. It’s completely unacceptable conduct. I can’t believe she used to be our friend and confidante.’

‘Oh, Phoebe. I don’t want you to lose a friend over this.’

‘A
friend!
A fiend more like! I should have known we couldn’t trust her. I always knew there was something sneaky about her.’

Carys couldn’t help but smile. Phoebe trusted everyone and never had a bad word to say about anyone. She would allow the very devil himself to join the YBGs if he asked, believing him to have been misrepresented and maligned.

‘The question is, what are we going to do about it?’ Phoebe asked.

‘There’s not much we can do, is there? The damage is done now. You can’t unprint a story. Anyway, it seems to be bringing in the tourists. I’ve never seen so many people visiting on a Monday morning.’

‘Really? Well, that can’t be bad news,’ Phoebe laughed. ‘And are you going to mingle?’

‘No!’ Carys yelled.

‘I think you should. They’d love that. Tell all their friends they’d met a duchess.’

‘Phoebe, you are dreadful.’

‘Listen, I’ve got to dash. I’m seeing an estate agent.’

‘Another property on the horizon?’

‘No, just seeing an estate agent - Phillip.’

Carys grinned as Phoebe hung up and, as soon as she placed the receiver down, the phone rang again.

‘I do hope you’re making the most of this wonderful publicity,’ Valerie Buckley-Stewart’s voice ordered down the phone.

‘Valerie! It’s just awful. I was just telling Phoebe that the place is crawling with visitors.’

‘You lucky thing! We’re as quiet as a churchyard. You must have stolen all our tourists.’

Carys smiled. She’d have to tell Richard that one. That might cheer him up a bit if he thought he’d got one over on Barston.

‘But I think it’s awful.’

‘It’s absolutely nothing to worry about, darling. You know you’ve made it when you become public enemy number one in the local rag.’

Carys couldn’t quite see the logic in that comment.

‘Trust me. The public will love you. They won’t blame you at all.’

‘Well, I’m going to be hiding in my office for the rest of the week until it’s all died down.’

‘Oh, my dear! You mustn’t do that. Everyone will want to see you. They’ll expect you to make an appearance. They’ll be very disappointed if you don’t.’

‘That’s just what Phoebe was saying.’

‘And very astute of her. You’ve got to get outside this instant and mingle. Let them know how upset you are over this story. Get them on your side. They’ve love you for it.’

Mingle, mingle, mingle. That’s what Phoebe and Valerie had said but Carys wasn’t at all sure about their advice as she stepped out of the private entrance and walked out towards the main gardens. There was a crowd of people admiring the flowers and, from what Carys could see, most of them were carrying cameras.

‘There she is!’ someone shouted from behind a clump of hollyhocks.

‘It’s really her! It’s the duchess!’

Carys gulped as a stampede of tourists charged towards her. She was too stunned to do anything but stand absolutely still.

‘Can I have my picture taken with you?’ a lady asked, thrusting her camera into her husband’s hand and linking her arm round Carys before she could protest. ‘You’re much prettier than your photo in the paper,’ the lady told her.

‘Will you sign my guidebook?’ another asked. ‘To Melanie.’

Carys took the pen that was handed her. Valerie Buckley-Stewart had been absolutely right - she was a celebrity. She tried to smile but didn’t dare trust herself to say anything.

‘You mustn’t take any notice of the papers,’ an elderly gentleman said. ‘Fish wrap, that’s all. Don’t you go worrying your head.’

‘Thank you-’

‘I’m going to write in and give them what for - sticking their nose in where it isn’t wanted. It’s disgusting.’

‘What’s the world coming to?’

‘It’s a disgrace.’

‘
Disgrace!
’ Somebody laughed. ‘Get it? Dis-
grace
?’

Nobody seemed to get it but Carys smiled politely.

‘I hope that husband of yours has learnt from it,’ another lady said.

‘Enid!’ her husband chided. ‘That’s enough.’

‘I’m only speaking my mind. If the story is true, then he needs a good talking to - leaving his young bride to cope on her own all day.’

‘It really isn’t as bad as-’

‘You men have no idea what us women have to adapt to when we take you on.’

Her husband rolled his eyes. He’d heard it all before.

‘All I’m saying is, it can’t be easy moving into a monstrous house like this. No disrespect intended.’

And on it went. Carys nodded and smiled and signed guidebooks and did very little really until everybody had calmed down and decided to move on. A duchess was only a human after all.

She was just retracing her steps back to the safety of the house when another group of tourists appeared out of nowhere.

‘
There she is!
’ someone cried and a dozen pairs of feet hurtled across the gravel driveway in pursuit of their prey.

Carys picked up speed and only just made it to the door in time, her heart hammering inside her chest. This was terrible! She had to get away.

And she knew just the place too.

Without further delay, Fabio kissed Rosa fully on the mouth and she responded with a low moan. He made her feel beautiful and she hadn’t felt beautiful in such a long time.

Carys closed Places of Passion at the end of chapter sixteen and smiled across the room at Great Aunt Violet. Less than ninety minutes ago, she’d sneaked out of Amberley wearing a pair of dark sunglasses and a woolly hat despite the summer sun. She thought she’d be too recognisable in Ash’s old tweed cap as that’s what she was wearing in the photographs gracing
The Cuthland News
. She had felt silly, though - as if she were pretending to be a famous actress escaping a mob - but it had worked and here she was in the safety of Aunt Violet’s town house. It was a wonderful haven away from Amberley. She knew that she was a coward to run away but she really felt that it had been the only option. There was no hiding even in her office as the phone had been ringing constantly and Mrs Travis always seemed to know which part of the house she was in if she tried to disappear to an obscure drawing room.

‘I’m not at all sure about this Fabio character,’ Aunt Violet said after a pause, bringing Carys back to the present. ‘I think he’s hiding something.’

‘But Johnny isn’t right for Rosa either. He proved that when she found out about his ex-wife and the way he treated her.’

‘Sure she was telling the truth?’

Carys frowned. She hadn’t thought of that.

‘And what about Danny? The psychologist.’

‘Too dependable,’ Aunt Violet said. ‘Not exciting enough for our Rosa.’

Our Rosa
. It had become a familiar phrase throughout Carys’s readings at Aunt Violet’s. It was as if the writer had created the character purely for their entertainment and that she belonged to them and them alone.

‘Oh, my goodness!’ Carys suddenly exclaimed. ‘I’ve just remembered. I saw a poster in
Bellwood’s Books
as I drove by - Marissa Dahling is coming to Carminster to promote her latest novel,
Escape From Paradise
. It’s the next Rosa Cavallini novel in the series.’

‘Another book after this one?’

‘Yes. She’s writing a series of five, I believe.’

‘That’s the best news I’ve had in a long time. We won’t want for anything to read for the foreseeable future.’ Aunt Violet’s pretty face creased into happy wrinkles.

‘And she’ll be at Bellwood’s tomorrow night. She’ll be doing a reading and a signing and I thought we could go along.’

For a moment, Aunt Violet looked dumbstruck. ‘But I haven’t left the house for four years,’ she said in a small, matter-of-fact voice.

Carys wasn’t deterred. ‘Then it’s about time that you did.’

When Carys returned to Amberley, it was mid-afternoon. There were still great hoards of tourists milling about the place but she managed to sneak in the private entrance just as somebody shouted, ‘Over there! It’s her!’

There was a big pile of messages waiting for her on her desk which showed that Mrs Franklin had turned up some time after she’d left.

“
Vivo
rang. Want exclusive interview.”

“
Cuthland Life
would be interested in a four-page article with photographs.”

“
The Mirror
called. Wants quote for feature:
Aristocrats or Aristocrap?
”

“Reddings Coaches wants to book two parties a week after a surge of interest!”

“A Mr Forsyth from Pennington Bridge called. Said you mustn’t let the press get you down and that you’re doing a marvellous job.”

Carys smiled. At least there were some sweet people left in the world.

She fended for herself for the rest of the day, answering the phone and being as polite as was possible with journalists who tried to snare interesting quotations from her.

By the time evening came round, she was exhausted and felt that she’d achieved very little. The Montella exhibition was moving along well and her guidebook for the ghost tour was in production but the day had bled away, leaving very little time to gather her thoughts.

‘I must say,’ a disembodied voice said from the armchair by the fireplace, ‘it has been quite an exceptional day.’

Carys couldn’t help laughing as Georgiana settled slowly into partial solidification. ‘You can say that again.’

‘Those photographs of you really weren’t all that bad, you know.’

‘You’ve seen them?’

‘Of course I have. It is my job to keep up-to-date with everything.’

Carys frowned in puzzlement. ‘I looked like a fishwife.’

‘You did not! You look-’Georgiana paused, her nearly translucent face tipped gently sideways in contemplation, ‘you looked like a true lady of the country.’

‘That’s what I was afraid of.’

‘I do not think any woman is ever truly satisfied with her image. There is always a little something which could be improved upon. A line, a little blemish, the curve of the lips.’

‘I guess you’re right.’ Carys nodded slowly. ‘Although your portrait in the Montella Room is perfect, don’t you think?’

Georgiana sighed. ‘As near to perfection as I will ever get.’ And then she gave a smile, a beautiful enigmatic smile.

‘What is it?’ Carys asked.

‘Nothing,’ Georgiana said but the smile, if anything, had grown.

‘What are you hiding?’

‘I assure you, I am hiding nothing. Why do you ask?’

‘Because you’ve got a strange look in your eyes and I want to know what it is,’ Carys said. And then something occurred to her. ‘You’ve got something to tell me, haven’t you?’ She peered closer at Georgiana. ‘And it’s something to do with your portrait, isn’t it?’

Georgiana’s pretty mouth gaped open and her eyes sparkled merrily with mischief. ‘Whatever gives you that impression?’ she said quite innocently.

‘Is that what you’ve come back to tell me?’

‘What are you talking about?’

‘Lara Claridge said you’d probably have something to tell me.’

‘Are you still harping on about what that woman said?’

‘But you do have something to tell me, don’t you?’

Georgiana’s face softened again. ‘I may have.’ And then she vanished in a blue mist leaving nothing behind but a faint echo of laughter. How wonderful to be able to do that whenever the fancy took her. Carys wished she could vanish into thin air when the going got tough. How easy that would make life.

She tried to think back to what Mr Morris had said about the portrait the day when he’d paid a visit to Amberley to make arrangements for the exhibition at The Bretton Gallery in Carminster. It had been built in 1850 by the sixth Duke of Cuthland who had taken the Grand Tour a little too far and found himself in possession of far more paintings and sculptures than could be reasonably displayed at Amberley. He had bequeathed them to the county, leaving a sum of money to erect a museum in his family’s honour. It was a beautiful place with marble floors and sweeping staircases, richly painted walls and enormous windows looking out on the gardens. From time to time, the museum would show the Montella paintings as a nod to its connection to the Bretton family.

Carys had accompanied Mr Morris around Amberley as they had chosen half a dozen paintings which would form the backbone of the exhibition. There was Leo Montella’s famous
Family Triptych
showing three generations of Bretton men. There was the sweet portrait of Catherine: Georgiana’s second daughter, holding a posy of wild flowers. There was the handsome portrait of James, Georgiana’s husband whom, she’d assured Carys, wasn’t half as handsome as the artist had portrayed. ‘He had the meanest of eyes and a nose the size of a marrow.’ And then there were three paintings of Georgiana.