Three Graces (31 page)

Until she caught her first glimpse of Carminster cathedral spire. She swallowed, thinking back to their wedding day and, at once, her mind was racing again. What had happened to them? What had become of her dream of living with the man she loved? She couldn’t understand it; it had all gone so horribly wrong.

She drove into town, becoming instantly entangled in the one-way system which was full of workers leaving for the day. The Carminster streets were narrow and interminably slow but Carys finally found herself in the street where Louise lived and found an elusive parking space not too far from her tiny terrace.

It was strange but she actually felt nervous showing up unannounced.
Don’t be silly
, she chided herself.
That’s what friends do
. But she hadn’t spoken to Louise for ages and she did feel awful about that.

Taking a deep breath, she rang the doorbell and was greeted a few seconds later by an out of breath Louise.

‘Carys? What a surprise.’

Carys let herself be hugged whilst musing on her friend’s words.
What a surprise
, she’d said.
Not, What a lovely surprise.
Perhaps she was reading too much into it.

‘How are you?’ Carys asked.

‘I’m fine. Come on in.’

‘Are you okay?’

‘Yes, why?’ Louise asked.

‘You’re rather red.’

‘Am I?’

They walked through to the sitting room and Carys soon saw why her friend’s complexion was bright red for, sitting in a winged armchair as if he owned the place, was Martin Bradbury - Louise’s ex. He nodded to Carys but didn’t actually say anything. They’d never bothered to hide their mutual hate of each other.

Carys’s quick glance noted the stubbled face which he’d obviously been scrapping against Louise’s pretty complexion, turning the delicate skin raw. Honestly. Couldn’t he even bother to shave?

‘I - er - was just passing,’ Carys said, realising now that she couldn’t possibly stay.

‘It’s so good to see you. I was just talking about you, wasn’t I?’ Louise said to Martin but he’d hidden himself behind a copy of
Racing News
. ‘Well, I was. I was just saying, I wonder how Carys is? Can I get you a cup of tea?’

There was a time when Louise would have just got on with making her a cup of tea. Now, the question seemed awkward, anxious.

‘No,’ Carys said. ‘I can’t stop long, I’m afraid. Just wanted to touch base.’

‘Oh,’ Louise said, looking a little crestfallen.

‘But we’ll get together soon, yes?’

‘Of course. Lunch?’

‘Brilliant,’ Carys said, making a hasty retreat for the door. She didn’t bother saying bye to Martin but she hugged Louise and promised she’d call.

As she got back into her car, she couldn’t help feeling let down. Louise had always been there for her but she couldn’t expect her to put her own life on hold on the off-chance of her needing to pop round and vent steam. The world didn’t stand still for you and you alone.

So where was she to go now? She couldn’t bother dear Aunt Vi, could she? The poor old lady wouldn’t want worrying. And then Carys realised something: there was another person she knew who’d understand how she was feeling.

She turned the car around and headed back to Amberley.

It seemed strange to enter the estate via the west gate but it was no less beautiful a view. The driveway was narrower and lined with young trees. Beyond, were golden stretches of grass where the deer grazed. It was peaceful here - far away from the visitors, the estate workers and the delivery vans.

And there it was: Cuthland House. For a moment, Carys could perfectly understand its attraction. It was beautiful and not exactly your average retirement home. It was a home fitting for the widow of a duke - the woman who had lived in a family home that would never belong to her and had born an heir who would move her out as soon as his time came. It was the home for the dowager duchess of Cuthland. Her mother-in-law. Francesca.

‘Francesca,’ Carys said. It was a beautiful name but it struck terror in the very heart of her. They’d never shared more than a few words, never discussed anything of importance and didn’t know anything about each other apart from what she’d learnt through reading her diary.

‘The diary,’ Carys said. She still hadn’t talked to Francesca about the diary. Why had she given it to her? Did she expect Carys would want to talk to her?

Parking her car, Carys got out and opened the garden gate, walking up to the front door. The lights were on and she could hear the faint sound of a television. Taking a deep breath, she knocked on the door.

She didn’t have to wait long for Francesca to open the door.

‘Hello,’ Carys said, not quite knowing what else to say.

Francesca regarded her in silence, her beautiful dark eyes giving nothing away, and then she did something most unexpected - she smiled.

‘Come in,’ she said. ‘I’ve been expecting you.’

Carys sat in the pretty living room for a full five minutes whilst Francesca clattered around in the kitchen with tea things. It gave Carys a chance to look around. The living room was not over-large like the ones at Amberley but had the feeling of cosiness one associates with a cottage. It overlooked the garden and the window was still open a little, the cool evening air lifting the bright white curtains.

The furniture was small, neat and very feminine: pretty side tables with cabriole legs, chintzy armchairs and an arts and crafts fireplace. It was a comfortable room and it was stuffed with photographs. Carys got up and looked at them, smiling at the ancient pictures of Henry and Francesca. They’d been such a handsome couple: he so darkly handsome - much as Richard was now - and she so beautiful with her raven hair, dark eyes and snowy complexion. There were photos of them on their wedding day, on their honeymoon at the estate in Scotland, with friends, at society dos with Francesca wearing the most beautiful ball gowns and looking like Elizabeth Taylor, and then there were the photographs of the young family: Richard climbing one of Amberley’s oldest trees, Phoebe on her beloved pony, Jamie hugging a hairy terrier, and Serena looking uncommonly feminine at a wedding.

Along the mantelpiece were the more recent photographs of Cecily and Evie - the obligatory school photographs with gappy-toothed smiles, and triumphant pony club pics with the girls sporting their rosettes. There was also a wedding photograph of Carys and Richard. For a moment, Carys was a little taken aback. It seemed strange that she should have a place in such a collection and it surprised her to realise that she was as much a part of this family now as any of them.

‘It’s a lovely photograph,’ Francesca said, coming into the room and placing the tea tray on a low-lying table. ‘You remind me so much of myself at your age.’

Carys’s eyes widened.

‘You have that same expression - the one that suggests both excitement and pure terror,’ Francesca said.

‘I do?’ Carys said, looking at the photograph again.

‘All day. I was watching you.’

Carys swallowed. It was a strange notion - to be watched. ‘It was,’ she began, ‘the strangest day.’

Francesca sat down in an armchair by the fireplace. ‘I know,’ she said.

Carys sat in a matching chair opposite and took a sip from a blue and white china cup which Francesca motioned towards. It was funny but she’d been so worked up about talking to Francesca for such a long time but, now that she was actually here, she felt strangely calm.

There was a few moments of silence before Francesca spoke. ‘You read it, then?’

‘Yes,’ Carys said, knowing, immediately, that Francesca was referring to her diary. ‘Why did you want me to have it?’

Francesca looked pensive for a moment, as if rehearsing her answer in her mind first. ‘Because it was just the sort of thing I could have done with when I married Richard’s father.’ She looked across at Carys and a tiny smile lighted her face. ‘How are you coping?’

Carys hadn’t expected the smile nor had she been expecting that question and she immediately felt tears springing. Oh, no, she thought. Please don’t go and cry. Not in front of a dowager duchess - mother-in-law or not, it would just be too embarrassing. So she quickly blinked away her tears and nodded.

‘I don’t believe you, Carys,’ Francesca said quietly.

Carys’s mouth dropped open but she found that words eluded her.

‘It’s all right,’ Francesca said. ‘You can talk to me. It won’t go any further - unless you want it to.’

Carys stared at her.

‘Well, I-’ she began nervously. ‘I don’t think I’m coping very well. It just seems to be one thing after another. Have you seen the papers?’

Francesca nodded. ‘Pay them no attention. They’ll always be interested in you. You’re young and attractive. They’re going to bother you. It’s human nature.’

‘But Richard’s been so angry about it all.’

‘But it wasn’t your fault.’

‘I know!’ Carys all but screamed. Finally, someone could see things from her point of view.

‘Did you tell him that?’

‘
Yes!
’

Francesca sighed and shook her head. ‘Bloody Bretton men,’ she said slowly, and Carys couldn’t help but laugh. She couldn’t have put it better herself. ‘They think the whole world revolves around them and their house.’

‘But it does,’ Carys said in frustration.

‘So what’s the answer?’

‘I was hoping you’d be able to tell me,’ Carys said.

‘Ah,’ Francesca said, taking a sip of tea before continuing. ‘Let me see. I was married to Henry for thirty-six years - all of those spent living at Amberley Court. And, do you know what? I don’t have a single piece of advice to give to you. I really don’t.’

Carys frowned.

‘All I can say is, if you’re really unhappy, you must leave; if you think you can cope then stay.’

Carys looked at Francesca. Was she joking? She didn’t appear to be. ‘That’s it?’

‘That’s it. We’re all different, you see. I stayed and learnt to cope as so many other wives before me. Amanda couldn’t cope and so left. There’s no middle ground and you can only decide for yourself.’

Carys swallowed hard. It was as simple as that. The answer was there and it didn’t involve waving a magic wand or wishing for things to be different. She just had to make up her mind.

Francesca put her cup down and leant forward slightly. ‘What would you like - in a perfect world?’

Carys sighed. ‘I’d like Richard to notice me.’

Francesca nodded. ‘Then there’s only one way to achieve that.’

‘What’s that?’

‘For him to notice you, he’ll have to notice your absence first. So I suggest you take a little holiday.’

‘But I’ve got nowhere to go,’ Carys said, thinking of her failed visit to Louise’s.

‘You don’t need to go anywhere. You can stay here.’

‘Here?’

‘With me. We needn’t tell a soul. You’ll have a good break from life at Amberley and we’ll make Richard sweat a little - come to his senses - that sort of thing. What do you think?’

Carys began to smile. ‘Are you sure this isn’t all rather underhand?’

‘I’m not sure at all,’ Francesca said. ‘But I think it could be a lot of fun. The Bretton women will be taking charge of things. At long last.’

It felt funny waking up in the guest bedroom at Cuthland House; funny to wake up without Richard. Not that Richard was ever actually around when she awoke. He was up at the crack of dawn, occasionally joining her and the girls for breakfast after he’d already put in an hour at the office.

Carys swung herself out of bed and, finding a set of towels which had been left out for her, took a shower in the guest bathroom before dressing and heading downstairs.

Francesca, like her son it seemed, had been up for hours.

‘Did you sleep all right?’ she asked as she put away a few cups.

‘Yes, thank you, I did.’

‘It’s one of the blessings of this house,’ she said. ‘I’ve slept really well since moving here.’

‘You mean you didn’t up at Amberley?’ Carys asked.

‘Not really. Not
completely
. I usually woke during the night. That old house makes some strange sounds, doesn’t it? Have you heard any strange noises?’

Carys bit her lip. Now was the time to confess, to share. ‘Oh, you know,’ she said, wondering if her mother-in-law would take the lead in this particular conversation and maybe confess to a ghostly sighting or two.

‘Yes,’ Francesca said slowly. ‘That old house certainly has a lot to say. All those squeaks and groans. Used to drive me mad. I’d pace up and down for hours. I never got used to it.’

Carys nodded. So she hadn’t heard any
supernatural
sounds, then?

‘Help yourself to breakfast,’ Francesca said motioning to the table where there was toast and marmalade, fresh croissants, a pot of tea and one of hot chocolate. Carys didn’t feel that she deserved such a wonderful spread. After all, she had walked out on this woman’s son.

Then something dawned on her. Richard hadn’t called. He hadn’t even noticed she’d gone. Carys frowned at the thought.

‘What’s wrong?’ Francesca asked.

‘He hasn’t realised I’ve gone, has he?’

‘I wouldn’t take it personally,’ Francesca said. ‘That’s the thing with a house like Amberley. You can lead a completely separate life from your partner. Sometimes, I’d go for days on end without seeing Henry. The only proof I had that our paths had really crossed was his crumpled pillow in the mornings.’

Somehow, that didn’t make Carys feel any better.

‘He’ll call,’ Francesca said.

‘But what will you say?’

‘Nothing.’

‘But he’ll find out I’m here, won’t he? My car-’

‘He never comes out this way. Believe me, this part of the estate is almost completely forgotten.’

‘But the staff - somebody will tell him, surely.’

‘I don’t think so,’ Francesca said. ‘You can relax here for a while. Just you, me and the baby.’

Carys’s mouth fell open and Francesca smiled.

‘Don’t look so surprised,’ she said. ‘I could tell the minute I saw you.’

‘But I’m not-’

Francesca’s eyes widened. ‘Are you sure?’