Chapter 10
CHAPTER 10
V iola smoothed down her knee-length, floral summer dress and unbuttoned the top two buttons of her cardigan as she waited at Gillian’s door. Realising her actions weren’t something she’d have done when she thought Gillian was straight, a flicker of disappointment settled over her.
She told herself that Gillian having been in a relationship with a woman an eternity ago didn’t mean anything. She’d recently lost her husband, and although she didn’t appear to be grieving him, it didn’t mean she would be ready to seek out anything new.
She was about to fasten the buttons when Gillian opened the door, looking resplendent in a long, V-neck, navy dress with a large, brown leather belt tied at the waist and matching sandals. She took Viola’s breath away, leaving her head feeling fuzzy.
“Ah, it’s you,” Gillian said, her voice sharp with surprise. She pulled the door closer to her side, narrowing the opening as though guarding a secret within. “You’re early.”
“Nope. Bang on time, in fact,” Viola replied, quickly recovering herself.
She could make out the faint sound of music coming from another room as Gillian looked at her watch. She recognised the song instantly.
“I thought you’d toot or something,” Gillian replied, her eye unmistakably giving Viola a good look-over.
“I find it best not to toot; it rather draws unwanted attention,” Viola replied, trying not to be snarky.
“Oh, yes, of course. I guess that explains your comically sized hat and sunglasses.”
“I don’t go anywhere without them. Am I coming in, or should I wait in the car?” Viola asked, sensing Gillian was uncomfortable with her seeing inside the lodge.
“Erm, yes, I’ll be out in two minutes,” Gillian said, closing the door.
“Okayyyy,” Viola said to herself as she retraced her steps to the car.
Gillian appeared five minutes later and slipped into the passenger seat. Viola wasn’t about to tease her about her poor timekeeping; instead, she decided to be bold and say what she was feeling. After their conversations the previous week, she felt brave enough to tackle Gillian head-on.
“Are you embarrassed about your home?” Viola asked as she drove through the iron-gated, pillared entrance.
Gillian’s head whipped around so fast Viola was sure it would have given her whiplash.
“What do you mean?”
Viola wasn’t sure she could make herself any clearer. Deciding it would be best to ignore the question and try a different approach, she said, “I live in your old house, remember? I know where you come from. Having a small house isn’t anything to be embarrassed about. I wasn’t exactly born with a silver spoon in my mouth either.”
“You weren’t?” Gillian questioned, sounding a little more relaxed.
Viola shook her head as they drove past the village green and the new cricket pavilion. A large sign was being erected on the back of it. It read The Berkley Pavilion . Viola shrank into her seat, hoping it would escape Gillian’s notice. The laughter that filled the car seconds later said it hadn’t.
Viola groaned. “I asked for my donation to be anonymous.”
“This is a small village. Nothing is anonymous,” Gillian replied, still unable to contain her laughter. “They couldn’t have made that sign any bigger if they tried.”
Gillian’s amusement faded as they left the village, but unable to resist a playful jab back as she stopped the car at a crossroads, Viola turned to her passenger with a mischievous glint in her eye and asked, “Were you enjoying my voice?”
“Sorry?” Gillian’s expression turned puzzled.
“I thought I heard my cover of ‘Bring Me to Life’ playing when I walked in.”
“Oh… erm…” Gillian’s cheeks tinged with pink. “Bridget brought it around last week and left it.”
“Left it playing?” Viola teased lightly as she drove off. She enjoyed poking fun at her new friend — if she could call Gillian that. This time, however, she could see her comment had made Gillian somewhat flustered as she fanned herself and then lowered the window. Hoping to put her at ease, she added, “You don’t have to answer that. Something I do want to know is if the classic car show went well?”
Gillian let out a dry laugh. “Let’s see, everyone was disappointed to find me — yet again — opening it instead of the A-list celebrity they’d been promised.”
Viola grimaced.
“And then there was the speech the major asked me to read.” Gillian rolled her eyes. “I drew the line at thanking Viola Berkley and the Kingsford Estate for the use of the land. I couldn’t quite stomach that. So, no, I wouldn’t say it went well, at least for me.”
“Oh… sorry.”
“It’s not your fault,” Gillian replied with a resigned sigh. “It’s the major’s, for overpromising and delivering a spectacular anticlimax.”
“I wouldn’t call you an anticlimax,” Viola said, looking over at Gillian with a smile. The subtle shift in Gillian’s posture made Viola press on. “Why do you give so much to the village?”
The reply came quickly. “Duty.”
“You’re not the queen, Gillian.”
Gillian turned to Viola as if she was about to dispute that fact, then answered, “No, thankfully. I am very much alive.”
“You know what I mean.”
“I do, and you’ve given a lot too. The Berkley Pavilion didn’t come cheap,” Gillian said, biting her smirking bottom lip.
Viola snorted. “Thank you for the reminder.”
“Of the name or the price?”
“Both!” She grinned. “I wanted to make a good first impression, that was all. It got them off my back… at great expense.”
“I know. They have been pestering me for a new one for years. My policy is always to make do and mend.” A grin formed on Gillian’s lips. “You know the old one was perfectly serviceable.”
A realisation dawned on Viola. “Oh! Have I been had?”
“Let’s say they saw an opportunity and took it.” Gillian laughed and then covered her mouth. “It will only add to the appeal of the village… as long as no one looks at the back of it.”
Viola glared over her sunglasses at Gillian’s smirking lips. “If you find it distracting, how about you focus on navigation instead? Where am I going?”
Taking direction from Gillian, Viola turned down the high street of a gorgeous historic market town ten minutes later. It was typically laid out with a moot hall at one end and car parking down the middle of the road. Both sides of the street housed rows of shops in quaint Georgian buildings.
“Market day is on a Wednesday, so we shouldn’t have difficulty parking.” Gillian pointed to a shop further down on the left, aptly named ‘Country Attire’. “Park as close as you can to that.”
Viola drove the Porsche into a space outside a row of shops, squeezing them between a yellow car and an old blue camper van.
“It’s nice being out, doing something normal,” Viola said as she exited the car. “It’s something I don’t get much chance to do. The hat and sunglasses are great, but you draw more attention wearing them in the winter.”
A woman with long, brown hair appeared from the dry cleaner, arms laden with more clothes bags than any human could be expected to carry.
“Here, let me help you,” Viola said, racing forward to help her as a bag slipped off the top of the pile.
“Thanks. My wife has a lot of dry cleaning.”
“Then you should tell your wife to come and help you.” Viola laughed.
“Oh, I would if she wasn’t working away,” the woman said with an affectionate smile. “Would you mind opening the passenger door for me, please?”
The woman nodded at the light blue camper and handed her a key.
“Of course,” Viola replied, retracing her steps between the vehicles. “You have a sweet camper,” she added, opening the door and taking a quick nose inside at the cute interior and what could only be Laura Ashley curtains.
“Thanks,” the woman said as she laid the bags over the front bench seat. She took the key from Viola and jumped in herself, manoeuvring over the dry cleaning to the driver’s seat. “Thanks for your help.”
“Anytime,” Viola said, closing the passenger door and joining Gillian, who was watching them from the pavement. “Do you know who that was?”
Gillian shook her head.
“Sydney Mackenzie. Beatrice Russell’s wife.”
“Who?”
Viola gawped at that. “You haven’t heard of Beatrice Russell? World-famous actress, stunningly beautiful?”
“Should I have?” Gillian replied with disinterest.
Viola laughed. “Had you heard of me? You know, before I came here and stole your house from you.”
The twitch at the corner of Gillian’s mouth told her she took the remark as it was intended — playful.
“I listen to Classic FM and Radio Four. What do you think?”
“Hard yes. Sydney helped write Beatrice’s autobiography, back when she was her PA.”
“She married her PA! That’s a bit inappropriate, isn’t it?”
“Let me not to the marriage of true minds admit impediments. Love is not love—”
“—which alters when it alteration finds or bends with the remover to remove,” Gillian finished.
“You know Shakespeare?”
Gillian shot a look of incredulous disbelief over the top of her sunglasses.
“Of course you do,” Viola answered herself.
“Sonnet one hundred and sixteen,” Gillian called back as she marched ahead.
“Yes, anyway,” Viola said, jogging a little to catch up to Gillian, “Beatrice’s autobiography was a bit last minute and completely took the shine off mine. Not that I minded. Sydney’s book was great; she writes fiction now.”
Gillian stopped outside the door to Country Attire. “You have an autobiography?”
“Yes. I’m surprised you haven’t read it since you are such a fan of my music,” Viola said with a twitch of an eyebrow.
That earned her another icy stare from Gillian as she lifted her sunglasses onto the top of her head. Though she had expected it to leave her a little cold, Viola found herself oddly aroused by its intensity.
“You seem a bit young to have an autobiography.”
“I’m forty-four.”
“Exactly,” Gillian deadpanned.
“I only did it to get the truth out. There are so many lies published by the media, and being a private person only seems to make them thirstier for blood.”
“Perhaps I’ll pick up a copy.”
“I could give you some spoilers… over lunch? Not that there is much left to tell.” Viola suggested, holding the door open for Gillian. She held her breath as she waited for an answer, realising it might be a step beyond where their relationship was at this moment.
“That would be agreeable,” Gillian answered.
Viola noticed Gillian was trying hard to hold in a smile as she brushed past her and into the shop, her dress accentuating every curve of her body. It left Viola with a sense of something pleasant sweeping through her stomach.
“Are you coming?” a voice demanded.
Viola couldn’t ignore the subtle edge of authority in Gillian’s tone or how it made her pulse quicken. There was a confidence about her that both challenged and intrigued Viola, drawing her to the woman. “Yes,” she replied, rolling her eyes with a smile as she followed behind.
It was like stepping back in time to an old haberdashery shop; the air even held that scent of the past you get when you sniff an old postcard or photograph. Large wooden display cabinets covered the walls, each one brimming with ties, cufflinks, caps, and scarves. Alongside them stood rails of tweed jackets and check shirts, exuding a timeless elegance.
Gillian appeared to know the staff quite well and rattled off some instructions, which sounded more like orders, to meet her requirements. Viola was surprised when she requested everything in her exact size — a lucky guess, she assumed.
She was ushered into a changing room, where Gillian’s arm appeared at random intervals through the curtain with another piece of clothing for her to try. She matched the garments as best as she could and presented herself to Gillian, who then instructed her on which shirt to match with which pair of trousers or jacket.
The result was a stunning ensemble: a dark-green herringbone tweed jacket and trousers paired with a matching waistcoat and crisp, white shirt. The earthy tones complemented her auburn hair, creating a look that exuded class and sophistication. She noticed Gillian’s gaze was fixed on her, perusing what felt like every inch of her body and causing Viola to inhale a deep breath.
Gillian suddenly looked away, reaching out to the shop dummy beside her, where her fingers fumbled to take a tweed cap from its head. “Here, try this.”
Viola took it and placed it on her head, grateful that it contained her hair.
“Perfection,” Gillian whispered so softly Viola wasn’t sure if she was meant to hear.
She flashed a smile anyway, which only seemed to make Gillian stumble and reach for a rail of jackets to steady herself. She must have needed lunch.
“I have a confession to make,” Gillian said, taking a sip of Sauvignon Blanc, as they ate lunch in a sunny, quiet spot in a pub garden. “I was listening to your music this morning. It seems I lost track of time when you arrived.”
“Oh, you are a fan then?” Viola’s tone was teasing again.
Gillian wasn’t going to rise to it; she wanted to answer honestly. She needed Viola to know how she felt about her music. How it made the hairs all over her body stand on end, sent shivers through every part of her, and lit something in her core that burned. She deserved to hear it; she was extremely talented.
“Your voice is… beautiful,” was all that came out when she opened her mouth, and she cursed herself for it.
Viola’s eyes twinkled as she sipped her orange juice. Her smile was stretched so wide Gillian was sure she wouldn’t be able to drink, but somehow, she managed. It left her wondering how much bigger her smile would have become had she found more words than beautiful .
“Thank you for saying that. Am I right in thinking giving compliments isn’t something that comes naturally to you?”
Gillian groaned internally, placing her knife and fork on an almost empty plate. The woman had a knack for pinpointing people’s vulnerabilities and exposing them, much as Gillian herself tended to do. She didn’t appreciate it when the tables turned on her, though.
“As much as I wasn’t encouraged to show emotion, I wasn’t taught to compliment either.”
“And yet sometimes you can’t help yourself, like just now,” Viola teased, stealing a chip from Gillian’s plate.
“Apparently,” Gillian replied dryly, realising it was something about Viola that made her say these things.
She watched her companion with a smile as she reached for another chip. Her carefree nature and disregard for etiquette were refreshing in a way. She recalled Viola referring to her as refreshing the previous week. Perhaps the two of them were a breath of fresh air for each other.
After they agreed it was time to head back, they made their way into the pub, where they argued over who would pay the bill. Viola won by being quicker to pass her card to the barman, insisting she owed Gillian for accompanying her and pointing out it was she who had invited her to lunch.
“You never gave me a proper answer as to why you do so much for the village,” Viola said as they reached the car two minutes later.
There she was again, looking for honest answers, pushing for truths.
“I believe I answered: It’s my duty.” Feeling Viola’s eyes on her across the roof of the car and sensing she wouldn’t accept that, Gillian countered with, “Why do you sing?”
“It’s who I am,” Viola replied as they entered the car.
“Kingsford is who I am. Well, it was.”
Viola nudged an elbow at Gillian. “Hey, I told you not to let it define you.”
“Some things are easier said than done.”
“You once said you lost everything. Do you really think that’s true?”
“Yes,” Gillian replied softly as she clicked on her seat belt.
“You have a house; you’re respected in the community.”
Gillian laughed. “You have to be respectable to be respected.”
Viola’s eyebrows shot up. “What on earth does that mean? You are respectable.”
“If people really knew me, they wouldn’t see me the same way.” Gillian sighed and looked out the window.
“I see you, and I think you are respectable.”
“You’re different. You’re like me.”
After a pause, Viola replied, “You mean because you like women? It kind of sounds like internalised homophobia to me. That can be a very lonely place.”
That assertion knocked Gillian back on her heels. Was she ashamed? She didn’t know who she was. She’d spent most of her life hiding, pushing herself into a box to quash parts she didn’t like, putting on a performance to display what was left so it was palatable to other people. She had grown up in a different era; it was what you did to get by.
“I’ve been lonely my whole life… except for a brief time, with Hen.”
“Maybe that’s why you do so much for the village, to feel less lonely. Surely Bridget is good company.”
“Bridget is my rock, yet we are worlds apart in some respects. Sometimes it can feel more isolating when you are surrounded by people who don’t understand you… if you know what I mean.”
Viola nodded. “I do. I’ve never felt more alone than I have singing onstage in front of hundreds of thousands of people. It’s quite a transition to go back to the dressing room. To begin with, there was only me. Then Mum.”
Gillian watched a smile tug at Viola’s lips as she started the car’s engine and began reversing onto the high street.
“She was there when I sang with Elton, for the queen and the pope. She even came to the front lines with me to sing for the troops in Afghanistan.”
“I’m sure she was very proud.”
Viola’s smile fizzled away, replaced with a touch of melancholy which matched her tone. “I’ll have to get used to it being me again.”
“Have you not performed since she died?”
“No. I cancelled a few performances. I can’t put off returning to work for too long, though; people might forget who I am.”
“I doubt that,” Gillian replied.
Viola’s face pinked as a small smile returned, only to disappear again. “Before I go back, I need to rediscover my creativity.”
“‘We are all born artists; the problem is staying one.’”
“Picasso?”
“Indeed,” Gillian confirmed, impressed Viola knew. “Self-doubt and fear crush creativity.”
“Mmm,” Viola mumbled. “I haven’t even written anything since Mum died.”
“Give it time. I’m sure you will get there.”
“I came here to hide from the world. I’m not sure I’m ready to return to it yet.”
“Why are you hiding?” Gillian murmured.
“Oh, grief, exhaustion, stress, anxiety…” Viola sighed. “How long have you got?”
“All day,” Gillian replied, looking across at her.
Viola responded with a soft smile. “I’m supposed to be here to rest. To find some peace in the countryside.”
A thought struck Gillian suddenly, one which made her slightly queasy. “And I came at you with all your faults and failings.”
“You sure did,” Viola answered with a resigned tone. “It’s fine. I happily admit I’m out of my depth. I had no idea what I was taking on with the estate, and you weren’t the only one pointing things out. Honestly everyone has been very kind — if a little pushy. I only wanted a quiet spot in the countryside.”
Gillian let out a light laugh. “I’m not sure there is such a place.”
“I can quite believe that now. How was I to know that the village would have such demanding residents? Mum was the type of woman to embrace it, encourage it even. She would have found great company here, lots to keep her busy. She was full of excitement to be moving to Kingsford; she’d never lived in a place as grand.”
“You suggested earlier that you weren’t well off,” Gillian said, hoping to find out exactly what that meant. One man’s poverty was often another man’s wealth.
Viola nodded. “We lived in a small house when I was growing up. A two-up two-down, you might say. We lived hand to mouth as my dad was drunk most of the time, and he couldn’t hold down a job. I came from nothing with only my voice. I managed to secure a place at the Royal Academy of Music; it was upwards from there. I learned to only rely on myself to succeed.”
Viola had worked hard to get where she was; she deserved the manor. All Gillian had done was pretend to be someone else and in love. Did she deserve any of it? Was that why she spent her life doing countless things for others? Because she believed she needed to pay for her life in some way?
“And succeed you did,” Gillian assured her. “Despite your upbringing.”
“I often wonder what it would have been like to have a ‘normal’ upbringing. A happy family. Then I wonder if I would be where I am now.”
“You mean was it your adversities that got you this far?” Gillian clarified.
Viola nodded.
“I often wonder the same. Where would I be now if Hen hadn’t fallen that day? What life would I have lived, and who would I be? Her death changed me; it was a catalyst that propelled me into Jonathon’s path. I lost so much only to gain Kingsford; losing it has been like losing Hen all over again.” She took a breath as she remembered why she never talked about these things. It was bloody difficult. “The feeling of loss never truly fades, does it? It lies dormant, waiting to resurface. At least this time it feels more like an old friend paying a visit rather than a fire consuming me from within.”
“Our lives have multiple paths, all with multiple destinations. We can’t walk back along them, only accept the path we have walked. As hard as that feels sometimes.”
Gillian swallowed hard. “Some days impossible.”
“Sometimes a new path can lead us to good. I know Mum was very happy with Stephen, her new husband. I wish she’d left my dad sooner, but then she might not have known Stephen. Or she might have met someone else who wasn’t good for her. They made the best of their time together, and then fate brought Mum back to me when I needed her and she needed me. I believe everything happens for a reason. We may not even choose the path we walk; we find ourselves on it one day and hope it’s the right one. If it’s not, it may be there to steer us to the right path in the future. A path can even be a test.”
“Hmm, maybe,” Gillian mused as she stared out the side window at the hedgerows flying past.
“I will always be grateful that my mum and I reconnected,” Viola continued. “Unlike my dad, she never wanted any money from me. She never asked for a penny, not once. Kingsford was my gift to her. I wanted her to rest, enjoy some time in one location for a change, tend the garden, and pot some plants. My life is hectic; she couldn’t keep touring with me, especially overseas, and I knew I needed to learn to survive on my own again. Little did I know I would literally be alone again.”
Gillian noticed Viola’s hand reach under her sunglasses as if wiping a tear away.
“Sounds like a lonely place at the top. Do you not have groupies, or whatever they call them these days? No girlfriends?”
“I don’t think the type of groupies you are thinking of exist anymore; not quite in the same way, anyway. As for girlfriends… I’ve been too scared to let anyone in. I’ve never quite managed the whole long-term relationship thing. The few people I dated lost interest once they saw how little time I could give them.”
Gillian nodded her understanding, even if the concept was alien to her. She would have loved for Jonathon to have been around less; it would have been perfect. Her thoughts turned to the woman beside her and how she would feel if she was around less. A tug in her chest took her by surprise.
Viola pushed a button on the dashboard, and music began to fill the car. Gillian immediately recognised it as one of Viola’s songs, which her driver then proceeded to sing along to. Hearing the real thing only a foot away from her created an even more visceral reaction than hearing the song at home. The warmth and passion that exuded from Viola as she sang made Gillian’s body tingle from head to toe. She rubbed at her arms, hoping the hairs would stand down before Viola noticed her goosebumps.
“I wasn’t expecting a live performance,” Gillian said as the song ended.
“It’s the least I can do for you taking me shopping. Are you cold? I can turn the climate control up,” Viola said, noticing Gillian rub her arms.
Gillian stumbled, unsure whether to agree that she was cold or admit the effect Viola’s voice was having on her. Why was it so hard to get the words out? She didn’t normally have a problem being honest; it was simply easier when the tone was negative rather than positive. She wondered why that was.
“Oh! Did I do that?” Viola asked.
Gillian was about to deny it, then found the words, “Your voice seems to have an effect on me,” coming out instead.
The resulting smile that formed on Viola’s lips lit up her face. A smile crept onto Gillian’s, too, knowing that smile had come from her words. Viola really was incredibly beautiful.
“Singing is about all I can do, so, sorry, not sorry, I guess,” Viola said.
“And fly a helicopter! That’s rather impressive.”
“Yes, that too. I’m sorry it took you by surprise.”
“I may have overreacted.”
“You didn’t, considering your history,” Viola remarked gently as the car pulled up outside the lodge. “Here you go; you can make an escape.”
Gillian didn’t feel like she wanted to, yet her hand naturally reached for the handle and opened the door. “Thank you for lunch.”
“Thanks for helping me out with the outfit.”
“It was my pleasure.” Gillian felt her face flush as she realised how pleasurable their time together had been.
“We should do it again,” Viola said. “Soon.”
Viola’s suggestion caught Gillian off guard, as much as she approved of it. “Erm, yes. That would be agreeable.”
As she shut the door, she noticed the window going down, and Viola was leaning over from the driver’s seat. Her breath caught at the eyeful of cleavage Viola was accidentally revealing.
“If I don’t see you before Sunday, please ensure you take the Kingsford pew and get that damn reverend off my back. Tell him you are representing Kingsford; the lodge is part of it after all, and if he doesn’t like it…”
“Yes?” Gillian said, peeling her eyes up, to Viola’s face.
“You can deal with him, I’m sure,” Viola winked.
Gillian smiled at Viola’s confidence in her ability to handle the situation and at the thought of retaining her pew. She was right; the lodge was a part of the estate, despite having different owners — though she very much hoped she would see the owner of the manor before Sunday.