Chapter 22 Elise
Elise
When Elise returned from taking Lulu for her walk next morning, Ted Cook’s van was parked outside Marsh House.
“Morning!” he called brightly, getting out of the cab.
“Hi.” Elise was grateful to see he was wearing a T-shirt this morning. Also, that there was no sign of his dog.
“Nice day, isn’t it? Listen, sorry if I put my foot in it with that girl yesterday. All right, is she?”
“As far as I know. I haven’t seen Sam yet today. Jasmine’s his daughter.”
“Who’s Sam, then? Your boyfriend?”
Somebody else asking her that? “No, Sam’s the carpenter working here. You’ll meet him soon, I’m sure.”
She opened the garden gate, and Ted followed her through, looking round the garden with awe.
“Blimey. Bit of a jungle in here, isn’t it? Good thing the weather is good today. How’s it going inside? Turning out all right, is it?”
They had reached the front door by now, and Ted was invading her space, angling to be invited inside for a tour.
It was the very last thing she wanted—there was something about the man she didn’t much like.
But on the other hand, Esther had said his family had lived in the village for generations, so maybe this was an opportunity to find out something about the boy in the photograph.
“I’ll show you around later, if you like,” she offered. “I’ve got to get on now, but I usually take a break for a coffee around eleven.”
“Sounds good to me,” Ted said.
Sam arrived at that point, walking up the path, toolbox in hand. Elise introduced Ted and went inside to start work. Sam popped his head around the door five minutes later.
“Okay?”
Elise found herself remembering what Jasmine had said and felt suddenly self-conscious. “Yes, thanks. How’s Jasmine?”
Sam sighed, coming further into the room. “As far as I can tell, she’s okay. She’s never very forthcoming about how she feels these days. Once she used to tell me everything, but not anymore. Not since the divorce.”
Elise nodded. “It’s probably got something to do with her age, as well,” she said, wondering whether Charlie would have become a clammed up monosyllabic teenager had he been given the chance.
Sam was looking at her. She suspected he could guess her thoughts. Of course, he could. It wasn’t exactly a Mensa Admission Test.
A strimmer started up outside, the sound glaring and aggressive.
“It’s going to be a bit noisy for you today, what with that going on outside and me hammering inside.”
Elise held up her headphones, doing her best to smile. “I’ll plug myself into some soothing Bach.”
Sam smiled back. “Good idea. This room’s just about finished now, isn’t it?”
“Almost. Just a few finishing touches left.”
“It’s magnificent. You’ve done such an amazing job.”
She flushed, feeling emotional all over again. “Thanks.”
Showing Ted Cook around the room at 11:00 a.m. was quite a different experience from showing Sam.
“Bloody hell,” he said, his coffee almost slopping onto the floorboards as his gaze did a three-hundred-and-sixty-degree sweep of the painted marshland.
“Fancy being surrounded by this lot while you’re trying to eat your dinner.
She must have been well batty, the woman who painted this. A real fruitcake.”
Well, it was one opinion, Elise supposed. “I like it.”
“Well, you would, wouldn’t you? I bet this job is earning you a whole heap of money, isn’t it?
I’d like all this if I was being paid to restore it.
Come to think of it, I probably could do the job—no offense, you understand, but it’s just a lot of old brushstrokes, isn’t it?
No way of telling if it’s like the original or not; you just need to slap the paint on.
My granny could probably do it if her arms were a bit stronger. ”
Ignoring her irritation at having her professionalism discounted, Elise picked up on his cue about his grandmother.
“Has your family lived around here for a long time?”
“Yeah, my family goes way back. My granny remembers the wartime. Rationing and all that.” He laughed.
“She was only a kid, but to hear her talk, you’d think it had all happened yesterday.
Can’t remember what she did a few hours ago, but crystal clear about how much butter and cheese her mum could buy in 1943. ”
“Does she live locally? Only I’ve been doing a bit of research, and it would be great to chat to somebody who remembers those times.”
“She lives in a care home these days. Only a few miles away, though. I go and visit her when I can. I’m sure she wouldn’t mind speaking to you if you want to come with me some time?”
“Thanks. I’d like that.”
Ted smiled, his gaze sweeping over her in a way that made her feel instantly uncomfortable. “All right, then. How about after work today? I was half thinking of going up there, anyway.”
“Wouldn’t she prefer you to ask first?”
Ted shrugged. “Nah, she won’t care. Like I said, she loves to talk about the old days. How about we set off about four? That suit you?”
Focussed as she was on the possibility of finding out more about the evacuee boy in the photograph, Elise completely failed to consider the fact that Ted might ask her questions about herself during the journey to the care home.
She answered them as briefly as possible—no, she wasn’t local, she lived in London. Yes, she liked London, but she liked the countryside too. She was an artist and had always been an artist. She was married, yes, and no, she didn’t have any children.
It was the first time she’d told anyone she didn’t have children, and afterwards she turned to look out of the window at the passing countryside, hugely grateful when Ted took a work call on his hands-free, his attention momentarily diverted.
It was technically true, wasn’t it? What she’d just said?
She didn’t have any children. Not any longer.
But she didn’t feel childless. Would never do.
Because she had been a mother, and she would always be a mother, whether Charlie was here or not.
“Sorry about that, where were we?” Ted said, ending the call, and Elise turned from the window, determined to redirect the conversation.
“Have you got any family photographs of your granny when she was young?”
“You’d have to ask her, but I’m pretty sure she has. Like I said, I tend to switch off when she goes on about it. Can’t see any point harping on about the past, I can’t. It’s the here and now that’s important, isn’t it? Why you so interested in all that, then?”
“Oh, just to help me get a feel for those times; you know, when the paintings in Marsh House were being painted. It all adds to the authenticity.”
He laughed. “If you say so, darling. If you say so.”
It was a distinct relief to arrive at the care home.
“Here we are,” Ted said, turning into a driveway. “Rosie Lee Towers.”
Recognising the rhyming slang for tea and having just read a sign giving the name of the care home as Rose Lodge Care Home, Elise smiled at his quip, thinking that a great deal of tea was probably drunk inside the building he was currently parking outside.
Instantly, Ted smiled back. “You know, you’re a lot prettier when you’re not scowling.”
When Elise immediately stopped smiling, he laughed. “Come on, Granny’ll be at the window watching out for me.”
They got out, their feet crunching on the gravel drive as they made their way to the care home entrance, and as soon as they went inside, Elise’s nostrils were assailed by the combined smells of steak pie and cabbage—the exact same smells which were often to be found in the care home her great-grandmother lived in.
Ted led the way through the hallway, calling out greetings as he went, obviously a familiar face.
Elise caught a quick glimpse of several residents engrossed in a TV game show in the lounge area, but Ted continued on to a quieter room where an elderly lady swathed in crochet blankets was waiting for him.
“Hello, Granny.”
“Hello, Ted, love. Who’ve you got here, then?”
Ted bent to kiss his granny’s cheek, and Elise stepped forward with her hand extended. “Hello, my name’s Elise. I’m working at Marsh House at the moment, and your grandson thought you might be able to tell me something about the history of the village during the war . . .”
The old lady took Elise’s hand, but instead of shaking it, she held on to it, giving Elise a searching glance with her dark eyes. “Nice to meet you, I’m sure. I’m Belle.”
“It’s good to meet you, Belle.”
“I’ll go and get us some tea, shall I?” Ted said, going off without waiting for an answer, and, seconds later, Elise heard him making some jokey comment which was greeted by elderly girlish laughter. Clearly, he enjoyed flirting with the residents.
“Marsh House, is it?” Belle said. “I heard as they were doing the place up. Sit down, love. Ted’ll be a while, doing his rounds. Love him here, they do. What are you doing at the house, then?”
Elise made herself comfortable in a wing-back chair. “I’m an artist. I’m doing some paintings and renovations in the interior.”
“That’s interesting. She was an artist, too, she was, Lilias, who lived there.
” Her face grew reminiscent. “Had a proper falling out with my dad, Lilias did. Not that that was unusual. Fell out with most people who didn’t agree with him, my dad did.
Not sure what happened to Lilias, I’m not.
Upped and left the village and never came back.
They had an evacuee, her and her sister—a boy.
I remember him because he punched my brother on the nose.
Might be what Dad and Lilias fell out about, I suppose. He was certainly hopping mad about it.”
Elise’s heart had begun to beat faster the second Belle had used the word evacuee. Now she sat forward in her seat. “What was his name, d’you remember? The evacuee?”
Belle frowned for a moment, thinking about it. Then her face cleared. “David, I think. Yes, that was it.”
David. She’d known it had to be him, but it was such a relief to have it confirmed.