Chapter 16
CHAPTER 16
V iola pushed her lips together, compressing her red lipstick. It was the final touch to her appearance, complementing her off-the-shoulder, crimson, satin gown. It was the end of a busy day setting up the great hall for the evening’s ball and the beginning of what was likely to be a long evening.
Gillian had left an hour ago to get ready, leaving the place in a still silence that deepened with every passing minute. Watching Gillian in her element filled her with pride and a little of something else; competence was sexy, after all.
Gillian had spent the whole day directing people from behind her clipboard, making minute changes that always worked no matter how pedantic they might have appeared. Unsuspecting men were barked at as to the correct placement of the casino tables they were delivering, and with the authority Gillian carried in her tone, no one dared to disagree with or question her. She knew exactly what she was doing and excelled at it. With Bridget running around as her right-hand woman, they made a good team in bringing everything together.
Nerves tingled through Viola’s extremities, not just for Gillian and the significance of the evening, but for something deeper. She didn’t doubt everything would go smoothly; she knew it would. It was the thought of spending the entire evening with Gillian which made her stomach flutter.
Her phone vibrated, the name Arte appearing on the screen.
“Hi, Arte,” she said, answering it. “How are you?”
“Great thanks. It was good to see you the other day.”
“Yes, it’s been too long.”
“Look, this is a bit of an odd one.” Arte paused for a moment before continuing. “I noticed you in Country Life ; I’ve got a copy. You looked most impressive.”
“Oh, ignore all that; it was so embarrassing. Everything in the photos practically belongs to Gillian.”
“Including the artwork above the fireplace?” Arte questioned quickly with concern in her tone.
“No. Why?”
“I suspect it could be a lost painting, and it could be valuable. I couldn’t believe it when I saw it.”
“Lost? What does that mean?” Viola asked, concerned she was about to get a knock at the door from the authorities.
“That it’s slipped off the radar, the art world has lost track of it. I’m not saying it’s stolen or anything,” Arte reassured her. “Charlotte called a contact of hers at the Courtauld Institute in London. They want you to take it over to them to look at it properly. It’s quite hard to tell from a photograph. It looks like it could do with a clean.”
“Yes, it’s been in the attic at Kingsford along with some others.”
“I’ll send you the details for Charlotte’s contact if that’s okay. You should follow this up. Regardless of the value, finding a lost painting has significant importance in the art world.”
“Yes, of course,” Viola assured her, similarly intrigued to learn more about its origin.
“And if it does turn out to be something, please let me know. Immediately.”
“Of course. What do you think it could be?”
“It has the style of Artemisia Gentileschi, a seventeenth-century artist. There are several of her works whose whereabouts are unknown, presumed lost.”
Viola smiled at the name. “Is your name a coincidence or…”
“Yes, I’m named after her,” she replied with enthusiasm, only for her tone to become immediately serious again, “I’m going to text you the details right now.”
“Okay, thanks for your call, Arte, and thank Charlotte for me.”
“I will. Do take any others it was with. Who knows what else you might have? Please keep me posted.”
“Will do. Thanks, Arte,” Viola replied as she hung up, feeling slightly sick yet excited.
Her phone vibrated to alert her to Arte’s text. She ignored it, deciding to enjoy her evening and deal with it all in the morning. She would wait until she knew something concrete before mentioning it to Gillian. She certainly didn’t want to distract her from the evening’s event.
Making her way downstairs, the riff that popped into her head the night of their dinner came to mind again. Humming it aloud, she found the notes flowed effortlessly, and even lyrics came to mind. She paused by the grand piano in the great hall. The polished surface gleamed under the soft lighting, beckoning her to play.
As she ran her fingers over the keys, the piano’s rich tones filled the hall, blending with her voice in a harmonious duet. Lost in the moment, Viola forgot everything around her as each note seemed to rise from the depths of her soul. It wasn’t until she heard a soft, appreciative hum that she noticed Gillian standing beside her.
“I did knock,” Gillian said softly. “It’s a beautiful song,” she added, her voice filled with admiration.
Viola’s smile wavered, feeling both proud and a little vulnerable. “It’s new. It came to me a few weeks ago, the first in a long time. Every day, I keep my vocal cords in good shape using other people’s work, but there’s nothing quite like working them on your own songs.”
Gillian stepped closer, her eyes fixed on Viola with an intensity that made her heart race. “You have an incredible gift, Viola. Don’t let it go silent.”
The sincerity in Gillian’s words struck a chord deep inside. She nodded. “I won’t.” Viola stood, her eyes tracing the elegant outline of Gillian’s figure, which was accentuated by her silky, strapless black dress. The low cut at the front didn’t escape her notice either. “You look incredible.”
“Thank you. You look…” Gillian’s usually hardened expression softened, melted away even, as she struggled to find her words. “…exquisite. As always,” she remarked with a warm smile.
Viola’s heart felt like it stopped beating. Her lips parted, drawing in a deep breath that filled her lungs and rebooted her brain. “Thank you.”
“I thought you might go for a tuxedo.”
“I considered it, briefly.” Viola grinned. “It’s difficult to get me out of a dress.”
Gillian lifted an eyebrow as the corners of her mouth twitched. “Is it now?”
The flirtatiousness in her voice encouraged Viola’s response. “I guess it depends on who’s trying,” she said, her own voice low and teasing. The pinking in Gillian’s cheeks discouraged her from going any further. She didn’t wish to make her uncomfortable. “You’re early. That’s not like you,” she added, only to be met with a sly grin.
“I am not a guest, so technically I cannot be early. Anyway, I thought it was best, in case others put in an early appearance. I didn’t want to abandon you, and I thought the band would need cajoling from their van.” Gillian turned at a noise from the porch. “And here they are.”
Five men dressed in tuxedos filed in and went to the far corner of the hall, where their instruments were set up. Mrs Johnson appeared from the kitchen carrying two buckets with champagne bottles nestled within. Two waiters carrying trays of fluted glasses followed behind.
Checking her watch, Gillian reached for a set of nearby light switches. With a few clicks, the chandeliers dimmed, and the soft wall lights created a warm and inviting atmosphere.
“I hope people come,” Viola whispered, her nervousness rising again.
“Of course they will,” Gillian replied with unwavering confidence. “Don’t underestimate the pull of the main attraction.”
Viola raised a curious eyebrow. “And what exactly would that be?”
Gillian leaned in, a playful smirk tugging at the corners of her mouth. “You, Viola. You.”
Viola’s arms tingled with goosebumps as a shiver ran down her spine — a mix of nerves at her guests’ expectations and the thrill of Gillian’s playfulness. She tried to mask her reaction until the warmth in her cheeks betrayed her. “I’m not sure I’m ready to be the star of the show,” she admitted.
“Be yourself. That’s more than enough.”
Viola felt a wave of reassurance wash over her, though the flutter in her chest remained. “You make it sound so easy,” she murmured, half to herself.
“Remember who you are, how hard you’ve worked, everything you’ve achieved,” Gillian replied, her tone encouraging yet firm. “Trust me, Viola, you deserve all the attention. They’re here for you. And I am too.”
Viola couldn’t help smiling, her nerves slowly giving way to calm just as a knock from the front door resounded. “Well then,” she said, taking a deep breath, “we shouldn’t keep them waiting.”
Gillian tilted her head. “We?”
“They are as much your guests as mine. I mean, you invited them, not me. I don’t even know most of them.”
“Then we greet them together.”
Viola felt Gillian’s hand slip around her back, resting on her hip and guiding her to the front door. It felt good there, like it belonged.
Half of Kingsford appeared at the door, and the other half was further down the drive. Relief washed over Viola as the great hall filled to the band’s tune and faces filled with delight at the casino tables. What she hadn’t counted on was every guest having a copy of Country Life in hand, ready for her to sign.
Having satisfied them all with a signature on the cover, she took herself off to a corner of the room, hoping to disappear for a while. She watched Gillian mingle with the guests, her laughter feeling like a soft melody that carried through the room and tightened her chest.
She was a striking contrast to the woman Viola had come to know over the past few months. This was not the Gillian who was in the throes of navigating the challenges of her new life with a subdued demeanour. This was the confident, commanding, and self-assured figure who had made such a lasting impression on her from their first encounter. It was as if she was stepping back into a role she was born to play — a performer on her own stage. This was Gillian in her natural habitat, a place where she felt at home and where her true essence shone brightest. Gillian was not merely acting; she was embodying the role she thrived in.
As the evening wore on, Viola couldn’t take her eyes off her. Despite dancing and chatting with everyone, Gillian didn’t falter once; it only appeared to energise her. The locals looked to be enjoying themselves, too, with free-flowing alcohol and a myriad of games to keep them entertained. It stemmed Viola’s nerves to see everyone relaxed.
The major caught her and coaxed her into a dance. As soon as they stepped off the dance floor, her eyes were searching for Gillian. He was launching into a story about his latest classic car purchase when a welcome hand pressed against her upper arm, gently tugging her away and rescuing her from any further conversation.
“You don’t mind if I steal her, do you, Major?” Gillian asked, not waiting for an answer.
Viola flashed him a polite smile of appreciation for the dance, only to notice his tongue practically hanging out. His gaze had locked onto Gillian, eyes sharp and hungry, like a predator stalking its prey. A flutter of anger and jealousy stirred inside her as Gillian steered her towards Elouise and Louisa. She pushed the feelings away, knowing it was unlikely Gillian felt anything for him except contempt.
Viola felt Gillian’s guiding hand slip away as they stepped out of the crowd and joined the two women. Gillian angled herself towards Viola before taking a deliberate step back, creating a sudden distance between them. It felt odd, especially after how close they’d been before everyone arrived. Why was Gillian pulling away now? Viola’s mind raced for an explanation. Was she trying to avoid giving the impression that they may be more than friends to the villagers?
“Are we enjoying ourselves, ladies?” Gillian asked.
Elouise nodded. “Louisa and I love a bit of gambling, don’t we, Louisa?”
“Indeed,” Louisa agreed. “Viola, this is a masterpiece. The best party we’ve been to in years.” She stopped, looking at Gillian as she bit her lip.
“Actually, this was all Gillian’s doing,” Viola clarified.
Both women looked visibly relieved. “In that case, Gillian, you have outdone yourself.”
The two Lous excused themselves quickly at waves from friends.
“See?” Viola said. “The villagers do embrace change. You should give them more credit.”
“I don’t believe they are ready to embrace all change,” Gillian countered, “and not the particular change you are insinuating.”
Viola conceded the point. Accepting a change in the ball’s theme was hardly the same as embracing someone they’d always seen as heterosexual as something else, even though it should have been.
She sighed, wishing Gillian could be herself, whoever that was. Instead, she was a butterfly in a jar, and Viola wanted to set her free. But whilst Gillian clung to these rigid ideas of how people should behave, she never would be free. She allowed herself to be shaped by the opinions of others, and in a close-knit society such as this — one she’d been part of for decades — breaking free from that would be no simple feat. It would require something worth risking it all for, something strong enough to tip the balance against her fears. Viola couldn’t help but wonder and hope that she could be that something — that someone .
Gillian admired Viola’s body as it moved gracefully around the dance floor. The more formal music she planned for the evening had given way to more modern tunes, as requested by several of the younger villagers. The older generations were politely covering their yawns with their hands; she knew they would be making excuses to leave soon.
Viola caught her eye and smiled, making Gillian’s heart skip a beat. As the song ended, Gillian took the opportunity to speak to Viola.
“May I suggest you thank everyone for coming? It will allow the older villagers to make their escape and anyone under sixty to let their hair down a little.”
“Good idea.”
Viola nodded and headed off to the staircase as Gillian strode over to the band to stop them from beginning a new song. Bridget joined her, her cheeks were flushed as they always were after a couple of drinks passed her lips.
“Everything is going swimmingly, don’t you think?” she exclaimed with a little bounce, her excitement bubbling over.
“Yes. Perfectly so.” The word reminded her of the annoying photographer from Country Life . She smiled at the recollection of giving him short shrift.
“You seem to be enjoying yourself. You and Viola are getting along like a house on fire.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Gillian replied sharply.
Bridget recoiled. “Nothing.”
Gillian felt instant regret and squeezed Bridget’s arm. “I’m sorry, Bridget. I’m rather tired.”
The chink of a champagne glass filled the air, and the room fell into silence. Gillian made her way towards the staircase as if drawn there by a force. Bridget followed behind.
“May I have your attention, everyone?” Viola called out.
All eyes turned to Viola immediately, including Gillian’s; they didn’t want to be anywhere else. She was captivating. The room seemed to dim around her, leaving only her figure illuminated. Her curls cascaded over her shoulders, catching the light in a way that made them shimmer with life.
Viola didn’t speak right away. She didn’t have to. Her presence was enough to hold everyone in a silent, shared anticipation. When her lips finally parted, her voice was soft yet strong.
“I won’t keep you from your merriment for long, but I couldn’t let the evening pass without thanking you all, not only for coming this evening, but for welcoming me so warmly to your wonderful little village.”
Everyone cheered.
“I also can’t go without thanking Gillian and Bridget for organising everything this evening. Some of you may have noticed my skills lie elsewhere, so I couldn’t have done it without them.” Viola raised her glass in their direction. “To Gillian and Bridget.”
“Gillian and Bridget,” echoed around the great hall.
“Now don’t let me keep you. Please top up your glasses and get spinning on the roulette wheel.”
Viola descended the stairs, where she was immediately embraced by Bridget. Gillian took the opportunity to wipe the corner of her eye. As the band kicked back into action with something more lively than before, Bridget pulled their host towards the dance floor.
Taking a couple of steps up the staircase, Gillian scanned the crowd, only to realise what she was doing. Jonathon was dead; she didn’t need to keep an eye on what he was up to or with whom. Not that she would ever have stopped him. She turned a blind eye to his subtle and often less subtle escapades out of necessity.
After his mother died, she had feared he might divorce her and trade her in for a newer model. He would never have done it whilst she was alive. Divorce wouldn’t have been welcomed by her, she was fond of Gillian — they were cut from the same cloth, it turned out. Jonathon cared deeply for his mother, and he wouldn’t have wished to disappoint her.
Once she was dead, though, Gillian couldn’t rest on her laurels as she had done. She believed that if she let him pursue whatever he was seeking, she would be safe. Trying to stop him, she knew, would only breed resentment.
They both knew the role she should play, and she played it flawlessly, ensuring her position as the irreplaceable lady of the manor. She also knew him better than anyone, knew his likes and dislikes, his quirks and whims. Starting over would take effort, more effort than she believed Jonathon would be willing to make.
She looked up at his dead ancestors on the walls, as much ancestors to her now as they ever were his. Living in a place for so long, and a place like Kingsford, sank into your bones; it grew you like soil grows a plant. Without it, she was wilting.
As the evening wore on, Gillian found herself constantly drawn to Viola’s side, their interactions charged with a tension that neither openly acknowledged. Every glance felt like it carried a deeper meaning, a silent conversation understood only by the two of them.
When in conversation with others, she did her best to distance herself from Viola, mindful about what the villagers may construe from physical closeness. Although she was drawn to Viola in ways she could hardly comprehend herself, the last thing she wanted was people reading too much into their friendship.
“Gillian?” Viola’s voice cut through her thoughts.
“Yes?” Gillian blinked.
“I was asking if you’d like more wine,” Viola said, a flicker of concern in her eyes.
“Oh, no, thank you,” Gillian replied, trying to steady her voice. “I think I’ve had enough for tonight.”
“Are you okay? You seem a bit distracted suddenly. Is everything all right?”
Gillian nodded, grateful for the concern yet feeling the weight of her emotions pressing down on her. “I’m fine, just a little tired from a long week. I need some fresh air. Excuse me.”
Taking a moment alone to gather her thoughts, she stepped out into the garden, where the cool night air brought some welcome relief. She stared up into the vast expanse of the sky, filled by a universe of infinite stillness and endless possibilities. Here she was, nothing but a particle of it, feeling that something — someone — was pulling her towards a future of impossibility.
She wondered if Viola felt the same pull. If it was growing stronger every day as it was for her. She could feel parts of her that were once buried deep inside her trying to resurface. Forcing out a long breath into the cold air, it swirled around in front of her like a mist and dissolved into the darkness. As irresistible as Viola was, Gillian needed to ignore, control, and even fight these feelings.
Behind her, she could hear the door open and then close softly. She turned to see Viola standing there, the look of concern on her face making her even more beautiful than usual.
“Gillian, are you sure you’re okay?” Viola asked, stepping closer.
“I’m fine, honestly,” Gillian replied, though her voice betrayed her inner turmoil.
Viola reached out, touching her arm. “If something’s bothering you, you can tell me.”
Gillian looked into Viola’s eyes, seeing the genuine concern there. The tension between them was almost palpable, a mix of unspoken feelings and unresolved emotions. Be strong , she told herself.
“It’s… this place, memories of evenings like this,” Gillian began, her voice trembling. “It’s hard to see everything changing, to see someone else in a role I used to fill.”
She stopped herself from adding that it was even harder that it was Viola now fulfilling that role, someone she admired more than she should. It would be easier if she could go back to disliking her.
Viola’s expression softened, her grip on Gillian’s arm tightening. “I understand. Don’t forget you’re still important here, Gillian. More than you know.”
Gillian swallowed hard, feeling a lump in her throat. “Thank you. That means a lot.”
The night air wrapped around them like a comforting embrace. Gillian knew she couldn’t avoid properly addressing her feelings forever. For now, though, she was content to stand beside Viola, sharing a moment of quiet understanding, friendship, and companionship.
“Holding parties like this was a big part of your role, wasn’t it?” Viola asked.
Gillian nodded. “I’ve felt more like my old self than I have in months.” Looking up at the manor she added, “About now I would be crawling upstairs to my bed. Instead, I’ll be walking to the end of the drive.”
“I understand how difficult it must be, but you are mid-journey to somewhere new. It seems a shame to look back rather than forward.”
Gillian wasn’t so sure she was moving forward or even if she wanted to. She couldn’t go back, but the pull of the past was strong. She felt trapped in a halfway house suspended between the past and the future, unsure which direction to take.
“Change can be good,” Viola continued. “It challenges us. It’s my first performance soon without Mum. I have to get through it; I don’t have a choice. I’m sure once I have, I will be stronger for it.”
These last months with Viola around, although challenging at times, felt easier, particularly in recent weeks. Was she serving as a distraction from her problems? Tonight held the atmosphere of old times, a reminder of her previous life, which was unexpected. She had prepared herself that it would feel different with Viola as hostess, but it hadn’t. The ball carried the ambiance of any other party she’d thrown at the manor.
She looked to Viola; her face was solemn and deep in thought, no doubt about her upcoming performance. Her expression didn’t appear convinced she would be stronger. Should she offer to accompany her? Viola needed to get through it; it didn’t mean she should do it alone. She was about to offer until she remembered Caroline. Would she be going?
“Would you come with me, as my guest?” Viola said, seeming to read her thoughts. “You’ll have a whole box to yourself. Caroline can’t make it.”
“Oh.”
“I hope it’s not too much to ask of you. Especially after the magazine shoot, and then tonight.” She quickly added, “You could bring Bridget… if you didn’t want to be alone.”
“No, I don’t mind coming alone.”
“That’s a yes then?” Viola questioned, a tone of hope in her voice.
“Yes, of course. I’m here for you. As much as you are for me.”
“Thank you, Gillian,” Viola replied, placing her hand on Gillian’s upper arm and shooting a pleasant warming sensation through her in the process. “I know I shouldn’t be nervous; it is my job after all, but it’s been a while, and things are different now. I don’t just mean Mum. I’ve been enjoying my time off… late mornings, late evenings.” She paused, then added coyly, “Spending time with you. My workload only increases from here.”
The thought of Viola returning to the world that demanded so much of her, of a space growing between them again, made her chest tighten.
“I’ll still be here,” Gillian reassured her.
Viola’s hand lingered a moment longer on her arm, sending the gentle warmth deeper into her skin, into her thoughts.
“I know,” Viola whispered, her gaze unwavering as their eyes locked.
There was a vulnerability in Viola’s stare that Gillian wasn’t used to seeing. A rare glimpse beneath the composed surface she always presented to the world.
Gillian felt suddenly overwhelmed, and her throat tightened. “It’s late. I’d best be getting back. I don’t want to turn into a pumpkin,” she said with a grin as she stepped back. “I’ll head back from here rather than coming inside.”
“Thank you for a wonderful evening,” Viola said. “You really do know how to throw a party, not that I ever doubted it.”
Gillian smiled. “This was all your idea, remember?”
“But you made it happen.”
“Bridget and I made it happen.”
Viola conceded with a smile and reached forward, embracing Gillian in an unexpected hug. “Good night, Gillian.”
With their bodies pressed together, it took her a few seconds to respond, but she placed a hand on Viola’s back and patted it. An urge to pull Viola tightly against her body betrayed her initial reservations.
Nevertheless, she resisted. Pulling herself back, she said, “Good night, Viola.”
She turned, relieved to be creating some distance, not only from the pull of Viola but from the reminder that Kingsford Manor was her home, her heart, and she wanted it back — along with the life she held so dear.