Chapter 29
It was dark by the time Dr Boxer pulled in through the gates of Foxwood.
The stone statues looked down in surprise at this new arrival.
They hadn’t been expecting anyone. There were so many windows, thought Stella, looking at the facade.
Some blank with blackness, some glowing warm amber, giving away the whereabouts of the inmates.
The house was even more impressive than she’d imagined.
Edwin had played it down to her, describing it as ‘just a comfy family home, really.’ But it was elegant.
Impressive. And a little intimidating. Not the kind of house you turned up at unannounced.
‘Just leave us here,’ she told the doctor.
‘Would you like me to come in? I know Mr and Mrs Arbutus.’
‘No. It’s fine. Thank you so much.’ She opened the car door and slid out onto the gravel, Ted scrambling out after her.
‘Would you like me to come back tomorrow?’
She was touched by his concern. ‘I’ll let you know if we need you. If that’s all right.’
He nodded his agreement. ‘Do look after yourselves. You’ve had a shock.’
Despite the awfulness of their situation, Stella couldn’t help smiling at the understatement. ‘We will.’
As he drove away, she took Ted’s hand. ‘This is the house where your father grew up,’ she told him.
She had always been honest with him about who his father was, a famous artist who died in the war before he was born, and had explained that as she had never met his parents while he was alive, she had never got to know them.
And because her mum and dad had died before he was born, he’d never really queried it.
He’d never felt the lack of grandparents.
‘Crikey,’ he said as they walked up the steps to the front door. ‘Does that mean we’re rich?’
‘We’re not, sweetheart, no. But I hope they might help us.’ She tugged on the bell pull, and heard it jangling inside the house. Who would come to the door? And how would she explain herself?
Eventually, the door opened. It was the young woman Stella had seen in Margaret’s shop that summer, the cook who had been making the wedding cake. She gave Stella an uncertain smile which widened when she saw Ted.
‘I’m here to see Clementine,’ said Stella. ‘If she’s in?’
There was a puzzled frown. ‘Who should I say is calling?’
‘Stella. Stella Knight.’
‘If you don’t mind waiting, I won’t be a moment,’ said the cook, and she shut the door.
She didn’t blame her, thought Stella, for shutting the door on them.
An unlikely couple turning up out of the blue couldn’t be brought inside a house like that without further investigation.
She shivered a little in the night air, a typical dank November, chilly and mean.
For a moment, she imagined the remains of Penelope sinking into the depths of the canal, giving herself up to whatever lay underneath – weeds and eels and bicycle wheels, no doubt – and their blackened belongings sinking into the mud.
And then she heard voices, and the door opened and there, there was Clementine, her face alive with excitement, the cook three steps behind her.
‘Stella! This is a surprise. A lovely surprise. It’s wonderful to see you. And Ted.’
She reached out and tousled the little boy’s hair. To her horror, Stella found herself completely overwhelmed, mostly by relief at Clementine’s warm welcome. She tried to speak, but all that came out was a choked sob.
‘Whatever’s the matter?’
Somehow Stella managed to find the words. ‘It’s the boat. Our boat. It caught fire. This afternoon. There’s nothing left …’
‘Oh, Stella.’ Clementine didn’t hesitate. She stepped forwards and wrapped her up in her arms. ‘You poor girl. I’m so sorry. This is awful. Come in, both of you. Quickly.’
She ushered them over the threshold and into the hall. Stella gasped at the sight of the paintings. All of Edwin’s work, plastered all over the walls.
‘Now listen,’ said Clementine. ‘I’m going to ask Daisy to take you into the kitchen and get you something to warm you up. I need to go and speak to Edwin’s parents and explain everything to them. Would that be all right?’
‘Of course,’ said Stella. ‘I suppose it will be a shock.’
‘Leave it to me.’ Clementine gave her a reassuring smile.
Daisy was staring at them both, wide-eyed. ‘He’s a dead ringer for Mr Alfie,’ she said, nodding at Ted.
‘I know.’ Clementine bent down to Ted. ‘Do you remember me from the train?’
He nodded. ‘You gave me chocolate.’
‘Well, there might be some more in the kitchen, if you’re lucky. There’s definitely a tin of biscuits, because we had some earlier. Daisy, look after them, would you? I’ll be as quick as I can.’
Clementine knew that Elizabeth and Michael would be in the small sitting room having drinks, for she and Alfie had been about to join them as was their habit before dinner.
Alfie wasn’t going up to London until the morning, and she was glad he was here.
She was nervous as she headed to the drawing room, and she hoped they would have open minds and open hearts, and most of all wouldn’t think her duplicitous.
She stopped for a moment outside the sitting room, wondering how best to explain, feeling grateful that Elizabeth hadn’t come out to see who was at the door, praying that her revelation would end in Stella and Ted being made welcome.
How awful, she thought, to lose their home.
It was up to her to make sure they were made at home here, after such a terrible thing.
She put her hand on the doorknob, took in a deep breath, and headed inside.
Elizabeth and Michael were deep in conversation.
Michael was standing by the fire, while Elizabeth was in the same place on the sofa she’d been when Clementine had spoken to her about Jasper – her favoured spot.
It was the perfect English country house scene, thought Clementine, with a soft glow from the well-placed lamps, a vase filled with orange and yellow chrysanthemums on the coffee table, thick silk curtains drawn against the night outside, a hint of Elgar spilling out of the gramophone.
And through it all, Oscar snoozed on the rug in front of the fire, oblivious to everything.
Shameless Joyce was out in the stables, banished for the time being with a litter of mystery puppies, the result of a careless open door the last time she was in season.
‘Who knows where she got to?’ Elizabeth had said. ‘The father could be a chihuahua or a St Bernard. I suppose we’ll never know. But they’re here now, so we have to look after them.’
Clementine hoped that she would feel the same way about Stella and Ted.
They both smiled as she came in, and Michael automatically headed to the drinks trolley, picking up an empty glass and brandishing it.
‘Clementine. What can I get you? We’re having brandy and ginger to warm us up. It’s so damp …’
‘That’s sounds lovely.’ Her voice sounded high, pinched with nerves. ‘But I’ve got something I need to talk to you about.’
She went and sat down opposite Elizabeth, who looked concerned.
‘Is everything all right?’
‘I’m not sure where to start. But I think the easiest way to explain is …
I met a woman on the train a few weeks ago, when I went up to London.
’ She paused. ‘With her son. He looked just like Edwin and Alfie. I’ve seen pictures of them when they were small.
’ She nodded over to the piano in the corner of the room, which was smothered in photo frames of the Arbutus family over the years.
Elizabeth and Michael glanced at each other, then back at Clementine. Elizabeth reached for Michael’s hand.
‘What do you mean?’ she asked, her voice a little tight.
‘When I got back, I did a bit of detective work and found out where they lived. On a narrowboat, on the canal. I went to see her.’
‘And?’ Elizabeth was stiff with wariness. Michael seemed much more composed, as if he was ready for what was to come.
‘She and Edwin fell in love, towards the end of the war. After he died, she found out she was expecting his baby.’
Elizabeth’s grip tightened on her glass.
‘So was he the little boy? On the train?’
‘Yes. His name’s Ted. Named after Edwin, of course. And they’re here, tonight. There was a fire on their boat today. They have nothing left. Nothing.’
There was a stunned silence, broken only by the grandfather clock in the hall striking seven.
‘But why didn’t we know about her?’ Elizabeth was bewildered. ‘Why did he never tell us? And how could she have kept the boy from us?’
Clementine knew this was going to be difficult to explain, and that she had to be careful not to make Stella the villain. To elicit Elizabeth and Michael’s sympathy, not anger.
‘Edwin never knew about his son. And Stella always felt that she wouldn’t be welcome here. Which is terrible, of course. But she worried that she wouldn’t fit in at Foxwood. That she was too ordinary. Or that’s what she thinks. She’s not ordinary at all. Far from it.’
Elizabeth shook her head in disbelief. ‘This is too much to take in. You mean he’s been here in Breverton all the time? Our own grandson?’
Michael hadn’t said anything at all during this exchange, but suddenly he stood up. His face was grim.
‘Clementine, would you leave the two of us alone for a moment?’
Clementine blinked, a little taken aback by his abruptness. ‘Yes. Of course.’
She stood up, not sure what was going to happen next. Michael didn’t look happy, and she prayed he wasn’t going to banish Stella and Ted from the house without even meeting them. She hurried from the room, closing the door behind her. Michael turned to his wife.
‘I knew about her,’ he said. His face was white.
‘What do you mean?’ Elizabeth was finding it hard to take it all in.
‘I knew there was another woman. Apart from Meg.’
‘How?’
Michael’s voice shook as he tried to explain.