Chapter Eleven
The motorway traffic westbound out of London was quite heavy until she got past Bristol, then she was able to put her foot down. Soaring along the elevated section of the M5 above the Gordano Valley with her headlights spearing through the gathering dusk, Vicky felt as if she was flying.
Thirty-two thousand pounds! Incredible. She had almost hugged Monsieur Laurent, the jeweller. He had identified the dragonfly brooch as a Cartier piece, and had been delighted with it, cooing over it as if it had been a fluffy kitten.
And that wasn’t the only cause for satisfaction. Any doubts that maybe she had leaped to the wrong conclusion about Jeremy and Jayde had been blown away within twenty minutes of leaving the apartment.
She had popped in for coffee and a bite of lunch in the café on the ground floor of the block. Watching out of the window, she had seen them come out — holding hands. And at the bus stop they had kissed. And not just a brotherly kiss on the cheek, either.
Apparently Jayde didn’t adhere to the Girl Code. But even for her, it was a new low — pinching her sister’s fiancé. Well, ex-fiancé, but neither of them had known that.
Anyway, good riddance to the pair of them — they deserved each other. So much for ‘sensible’. Maybe it was time to follow her dreams instead. And now, thanks to Aunt Molly, she could afford to do that — at least for a while.
It had taken her little more than an hour to pack up her clothes and the few other things she wanted to keep — her books, a couple of photo albums, some CDs and DVDs, and a few other bits and bobs she had brought back from holidays when she was younger.
She had left her engagement ring with a carefully worded note for Jeremy on the kitchen table, and a letter of resignation without notice from the Thorington estate agency. Let them try to sue her — that could be fun!
Then she had walked away from the apartment with no regrets.
It was dark by the time she got home. Pulling onto the gravel drive she glanced up at the cottage, welcoming in the moonlight, and smiled. Home — how quickly Molly’s cottage, and Sturcombe, already felt like home!
After the long drive to London and back in a day she was tired. A light snack and an early night beckoned. A couple of cheese toasties and a cup of coffee — one of the first things she was going to treat herself to, as well as a new television and a WiFi connection, was a good coffee-maker.
Ten minutes later she was curled up on the sofa, watching one of her favourite comedy panel shows. Jeremy hadn’t liked it, she recalled — in fact he hadn’t liked many comedies. Or movies, unless they were ‘art house’ movies with subtitles.
But she didn’t have to take account of Jeremy’s tastes anymore. She could watch whatever she liked.
She had taken her phone out of her bag and set it down on the coffee table beside her, but she hadn’t turned it on — she could guess what would be awaiting her. She’d finish her coffee first.
Or maybe she wouldn’t bother to answer it at all tonight. They could all wait until tomorrow.
* * *
Vicky didn’t wake until the sun was already climbing up the sky. She lay for a while, reliving that moment in the very exclusive Hatton Garden jewellers.
In that moment everything had changed. She wasn’t sure that she had fully absorbed all the implications yet. The first thought that came into her mind was that she was going to be able to keep the cottage.
At least, she was still going to have to take out a mortgage to pay off the inheritance tax, which meant she was going to need a job. But it was no longer the mountain it had once seemed.
And she could afford to have the kitchen she had liked, which she had rejected as being too expensive. She’d better ring Dan the builder and let him know about the change.
Energised, she rolled out of bed and skipped into the bathroom.
Twenty minutes later she was in the kitchen, singing along to the radio as she fixed herself scrambled eggs on toast for her breakfast. Her happy warbling was interrupted by a knock on the door. Her heart thumped so hard it was almost painful.
Tom.
Why would he be knocking on her door? After that brief episode in the garden the other day did he think she’d invite him in for a repeat? But who else could it be? Debbie? Bez? Unlikely...
Damn him! Was he going to give her the old ‘my wife doesn’t understand me’ routine? Did he think she was stupid enough to fall for that one? Anger surging inside her, she threw the door open, not bothering with a smile.
It wasn’t Tom. It was Bill.
“Oh . . .”
“I’m sorry.” He blinked, bobbing his head. “I didn’t mean to bother you, but I saw your car was there today, so...” He took a step back. “I’m sorry. If it isn’t convenient...”
“No — no. It’s fine.” She made her smile extra-warm to compensate for her initial reaction. “Come in.”
“No, I won’t if you don’t mind — my boots are terrible muddy. I just came to say... thank you.”
“Thank you?”
“About my niece — Bethany. Bez, as she likes to call herself. She told me about how you talked to her, how it did the trick. Brenda — my sister — isn’t always wise, nagging on at her. You can’t do that with teenagers, can you?” He chuckled. “They think they know everything. So anyway... thank you.”
“It was nothing,” Vicky assured him readily. “She’s a nice kid — I enjoyed chatting to her. I hope she’ll settle down a bit now.”
“I think she will. She was real excited about the idea of going to university. She showed me that website on her phone — she’s still deciding which ones she’d like to apply to. Of course she’s got to pass her A levels first. But if she does... she’d be the first in the family to go to university.” He beamed. “We’d be that proud of her.”
“I’m sure you will. Bill...” Impulsively she caught his arm as he turned to go. “Look, while I’m interfering, I might as well add something else.” She took a deep breath and plunged on. “Why don’t you ask Debbie out?”
His cheeks flamed scarlet as he opened and closed his mouth like a stranded fish. “I... I did once. She said no.”
“Once?” She laughed, shaking her head. “How long ago was that?”
“A year ago, mebee.”
“Just after she’d split up with her husband?”
He dropped his head, looking sheepish. “Um . . .”
“Probably not the best time to choose, was it?”
He hesitated, returning her a crooked smile. “No...”
“Maybe it’s time to try again,” she suggested gently.
“You . . . you think so?”
Vicky smiled. “I know she likes you. She’s just been wary of getting involved because of Amy.”
His eyes widened in surprise. “But I love that kid — she knows that.”
“She does know. But she’s afraid that if she gets involved with you and it goes wrong, it will break Amy’s heart.”
“I would never break her heart.” Suddenly his voice was assertive. “Or Debbie’s. I’d rather cut out my tongue. I want to marry her.”
Vicky suppressed the impulse to punch the air. “Then go for it,” she urged. “If you don’t take the risk, you’ll never know if you could have found the best thing in your life.”
He stared at her for a long moment, then nodded slowly. “Yes. Yes, I... I’ll try.” His smile was very sweet, and suddenly she saw why Debbie was attracted to him, in spite of his bashfulness. “Thank you.”
“Good luck.”
She watched him as he walked away, down the drive and into the lane. Oh dear — had she done the right thing? It had been bad enough meddling with Bez, but at least that had had a positive outcome.
Perhaps that was a good omen. She could only hope so.
She brought her breakfast to the table and sat down, eyeing her phone with reluctance. As soon as she switched it on, it started pinging to tell her that there was a stack of voicemail messages for her. Four from Jeremy, two from his mother, one from Jayde, three from her mother — and one from Leonard, the medal expert.
She wasn’t going to answer the ones from Jeremy or his mother. And she certainly wasn’t going to answer the one from Jayde. She opened the one from the medal expert.
“Hello, my dear. It’s Leonard Kovacs here. I’ve discovered some very interesting information about your relative Meline. Do call me back as soon as you can.”
Intrigued, she dialled his number. He answered after only two rings.
“Herr Kovacs? It’s Victoria Marston. I got your message.”
“Ah hello, my dear — I’m very happy to hear from you. You really will be fascinated by this. I found some more details about your Aunt Meline’s adventures in Paris during the war. Apparently she was quite the little heroine.”
“Really?” She put the phone on speaker while she poured herself a coffee.
“Yes, indeed. She worked with a local Resistance group — not just relaying messages between members, but also conveying weapons and explosives in her schoolbag, concealed beneath her books.”
“Wooo!”
“The group leader who recommended her for the medal spoke very highly of her. He said she was a key to the group’s success. And that’s not all. She also acted as a courier, helping airmen who’d been shot down, and escaped prisoners of war, guiding them between safe houses and putting them in contact with the escape lines to Spain.”
“Wow — that’s amazing,” Vicky breathed. “She really was quite a character.”
“She certainly was. And thank you so much for introducing me to her — I’ve been absolutely fascinated to find out about her.”
“Yes. Thank you for telling me about her.”
“My pleasure.”
They said goodbye and ended the call. Vicky sat staring at her phone for a long moment. Auntie Molly, that eccentric old lady with soft white hair and the lingering fragrance of roses... Incredible.
She wasn’t going to answer the calls from Jeremy or Jayde, or Charlotte Thorington. But she might as well speak to her mum — get it over with.
“Vicky! What on earth’s going on?”
Vicky felt a small stab of guilt. Maybe she should have stayed over at her mother’s last night, instead of dashing back here to Sturcombe.
But that would have meant facing the third degree. Not that she was going to escape it entirely. But at least on the telephone, with two hundred miles between them, it was a little easier to smile about it.
“I’ve had Jeremy calling me, asking where you’ve got to.” Her mother’s voice was shrill with agitation. “He’s been so worried, and so have I. Where are you?”
“I’m at the cottage, Mum.” She spoke calmly, reassuringly. “Where else would I be?”
“But... Jeremy said you came up to the flat yesterday, and took all your things.”
“That’s right. I’ve decided to move down here.”
“What — for good?”
“Very much for good.”
“But . . . just like that? Vicky, do be sensible . . .”
Vicky rolled her eyes. “I am being sensible, Mum. What could be more sensible than living where you’re happy?”
“But what about Jeremy? What does he think about it?”
“It’s none of his business anymore.” Time to make the announcement. “I’ve ended our engagement.”
“But... I don’t understand.” She sounded totally bewildered. “Why?”
“I’ve decided not to marry him — that’s all there is to it.”
“But what about your job?”
“I resigned.”
“Oh, Vicky — have you gone crazy? What are you going to live on?” Now there was real distress in her mother’s voice. “You don’t know anyone down there. Oh dear... I don’t know what to say.”
Vicky smiled to herself. Her mother never had any trouble finding something to say.
“It’s all okay, Mum. It’s lovely here, and Aunt Molly has left me enough money to manage for a while.” She’d tell her the details another time. “Once I’ve got the place done up you’ll have to come down and visit me.”
“Well . . .”
“Did you know that Aunt Molly lived in France during the war?”
“What? I...” Her mother sounded confused by the abrupt change of subject. “Yes, I believe she lived near Paris. Why?”
“I was just wondering about her. Why did the family stay there when the war broke out? Why didn’t they come back to England?”
“Well, her mother had to stay to look after her grandmother. It’s hard to remember the details after all this time. If I recall, the old lady was an invalid, bedridden — she couldn’t be got away. Her father had already joined up, of course. And her brother — your grandfather — was at boarding school in England.”
“But Molly wasn’t evacuated?”
“Apparently not. I don’t remember why. It was probably thought too dangerous to send a little girl away on her own — more dangerous than staying with her mother. They didn’t live in the centre of Paris — it was somewhere on the outskirts. Boissy, or something like that.”
“Did she ever tell you about what it was like?” Vicky asked.
“Well... she said they were always short of food. Everything was rationed and they had to queue for hours to buy anything — but of course it was much the same here. And they couldn’t get shoes. She had a pair made of raffia, with wooden soles, or she wore her grandmother’s stuffed with straw. And coal — that was hard to get, too.”
“Did she tell you anything about the Resistance?”
A pause. Vicky could visualise her mother’s face, mouth puckered as she considered the question. “I don’t think so. She told me how there were German soldiers everywhere, but most of the time she was able to stay out of their way. And of course she was just a schoolgirl, so I don’t suppose they would have bothered her.”
“No...” Vicky smiled to herself. Sometimes her mother was wonderfully na?ve. “Anyway, Mum, I’ve got a lot to do today — I want to make a start on the garden. Speak to you soon.”
“Yes, dear . . .”
Vicky ended the call before her mother could remember to ask any more questions.
Well, she’d done it. She’d burned her boats. Now she had a whole new life to make for herself. She rose to her feet and strolled through to the sitting room, and opened the French windows to step out into the garden.
It was hard to believe that she’d only lived here for a little over a week — it really felt like home already. Much more so than the smart apartment in London that she’d shared with Jeremy.
Could she really find a way to keep the cottage? If she was going to take on a mortgage to pay the inheritance tax bill, she’d need to find a job. Not as an estate agent — she’d had enough of that. But there was bound to be something.
* * *
Vicky stood watching as the trailer turned carefully out of the drive and down the lane, bearing Aunt Molly’s old motorbike and sidecar. Not ‘old’ she reminded herself, but ‘vintage’.
Barry from the garage had almost wet himself with excitement when she had rung to ask if he knew anyone who might be interested in buying it. A genuine Royal Enfield from 1959 — he had positively drooled over it when she had opened the garage door. At least it would be going to a good home!
And she had a little more money in her bank account to live on until she got a job, or to put towards paying the inheritance tax bill that would be due in six months. She couldn’t restrain a few little dance steps as she walked back into the kitchen. Even finding more messages from Jeremy on her phone couldn’t dampen her mood.
Time for a stroll down into the village and a cup of coffee at Debbie’s. Swinging her bag onto her shoulder she locked the door and set off at a brisk pace down the hill.
It was another glorious sunny day — Monday’s rain had given the ground a welcome soaking and then departed. Bumblebees and bright butterflies were dancing among the wild flowers in the hedgerows along the side of the road, and the soft chirruping of birds filled the trees.
Oh, yes — she really wanted to stay. That brief trip to London — the traffic and the pavements and everyone rushing about and never even looking up at the sky... Who wouldn’t choose this?
And that was before she’d even reached the beach.
The café was bustling with happy holidaymakers, children wide-eyed with excitement at the prospect of the pretty iced cupcakes being brought to their tables, parents munching on pizza slices and paninis, thankful that someone else was doing the washing-up.
A family had just left a table by the window. Vicky put her bag on it and collected up the debris of their meal to carry over to the kitchen.
Debbie greeted her with a happy smile as she passed. “Hi. I’ll just wipe your table down. Your usual?”
“Yes, please.” She couldn’t miss that there was something special about her friend — her eyes were sparkling like stars, her cheeks softly tinged with pink. “You’re busy this afternoon.”
“The season’s starting to build up. It’ll get a lot busier than this. Oh — you remember my mum?” she added, indicating the older woman seated beside the till. She had Debbie’s soft brown hair and soft brown eyes, but her skin was pale and her cheeks a little thin from her recent illness.
“Of course.” Vicky smiled warmly. “Hello, Mrs Rowley.”
“Why, it’s little Vicky! You call me Kate, my luvver.” Her accent was as rich as Devon cream. She came round from behind the counter and took both of Vicky’s hands in hers. “Debbie told me you was here. How are you? My, you’ve grown up into a beauty.”
Vicky laughed, squeezing her hands. “Well, I’ve grown up anyway. How are you? Debbie said you’d been poorly.”
“Nothing serious — I get a touch of bronchitis now and then, and this time it turned into a bout of pneumonia, so the doc ordered me to bed. Silly thing to make a fuss over.”
“Not at all — pneumonia can be very unpleasant. You have to take care of yourself. I hope you’re better now?”
“Much better, thank you. And so bored of sitting up in bed with my knitting. I’m much better off down here, where I can make myself useful.”
“And if you don’t stay on that chair like the doctor told you, you’ll be back up there again,” Debbie chided as she passed.
Kate chuckled with laughter, but sat down again. “So are you planning on staying then?” she asked Vicky.
“Yes — at least I hope so. Aunt Molly left me some jewellery, as well as the cottage. I sold most of it to Digby’s, in town, but there was a brooch that he said was worth more.”
“That was a bit of luck.”
“Yes, it was. That was why I went up to London yesterday, to sell it. And it was worth more — a lot more.” She drew in a deep breath, feeling the excitement bubbling up inside her again. “Enough to pay for the work on the cottage, and a bit left over.”
“Oh! That’s wonderful.”
“I still have to pay the inheritance tax. I’ll need to get a mortgage on the cottage to pay it off, or arrange to spread the payments — though that will mean paying interest too. Either way, I’ll need to get a job.”
“Hmm — there’s not a lot round here.” Kate shook her head, frowning in thought. “The young ’uns struggle to find anything — I feel sorry for ’em. So many of them end up having to move away.”
Debbie set down Vicky’s coffee on the counter. “What about the Carleton?” she suggested.
Her mother’s face brightened. “Oh, yes — of course!”
Vicky glanced from one to the other. “There’s a job going there?”
“That’s right. It’s only temporary, mind. Lisa, their assistant manager, will be going on maternity leave in a few weeks, so they’re going to need someone to cover.”
Vicky hesitated. “I don’t know. I don’t know anything about managing a hotel. They’ll want someone qualified, with experience. And I doubt if Jeremy’s mother will give me a reference,” she added with a humourless laugh.
“They’ll just want someone smart, with intelligence — you’d soon pick it up. Why don’t you pop up and speak to Mike, the manager?” Debbie urged. “At least it’s worth a try.”
“Well... I suppose so.” She shrugged with a wry smile. “He can only say no.”