Chapter 20
On Wednesday, Second Chances was very quiet.
There wasn’t a single customer for the first hour.
In the second hour, a man came in to ask where to find the Post Office.
There followed another period of no customers.
Presumably, they were sitting under trees or in darkened rooms or by swimming pools – anywhere with a bit of shade or a cool wind or an air conditioner.
None of which were to be found in the high street of Berrywick.
Julia, Wilma and Diane pottered around, tidying here, dusting there.
The heat seemed to suck up all the energy in the room, and they moved slowly, as if they were underwater.
Wilma, who was a busy bunny by nature, was particularly droopy.
She’d said almost nothing other than, ‘Gosh it’s hot,’ and ‘I wish we had a fan,’ since they’d opened the shop.
Julia yawned, a huge, deep intake of breath, setting off Diane. Diane was still mid-yawn when Wilma was infected with the yawns. Which made Julia yawn again.
‘Sorry, it’s the heat… It feels as if it has removed all the oxygen from the air.’
‘Is it too hot for tea, do you think?’ asked Diane, as the customary hour approached.
‘I never thought I’d hear those words from your mouth!’ said Julia. ‘You are the Tea Queen! Come hell or high water, there will be tea.’
‘Maybe Diane’s right. It might actually be too hot for tea. Shall I pop out and get us a cold drink instead?’ Wilma said. ‘Something refreshing would be nice.’
‘I’ll go,’ said Diane. ‘I need to get out and move a bit. And there might be a breeze out there.’
‘Doubt it. Anyway, take some money from the till,’ said Wilma, with a languid wave of her hand. ‘Bring the receipt.’
Diane left. Julia felt her eyelids drooping from the heat. It wasn’t even lunchtime, and she couldn’t imagine how she would stay awake for the rest of the morning at this rate.
‘Right, I need a proper task to get me going,’ she said, briskly. ‘This pottering around is making me tired and listless.’
‘You’re right. Let’s…’ Wilma drummed her fingers on the counter in thought. However, it seemed to produce no ideas, and her sentence petered out.
‘I know, let’s get started on the books from Greystone Manor,’ said Julia.
‘There are loads of boxes. And there’s very nice stock there for the holiday trade.
Newish fiction. And lovely classic children’s books.
Two or three boxes of them, as I recall.
I wouldn’t be surprised if there are some collector’s items among them. ’
Wilma, who loved children’s books, brightened up. ‘Let’s start with those. We can take out any collectables that might be worth taking to a book dealer, and put out some of the best of the rest. We can make a shelf of good reads for kids in the summer holidays. I like that idea!’
They fetched a box each and positioned them where the lightest breeze occasionally drifted in from the front door, which had been propped open with an old-fashioned flatiron that weighed a tonne.
Julia opened the box nearest her and reached in for a pile of books.
‘Ah, now, this brings back such lovely memories,’ she said, spotting The Wind in the Willows on top. ‘I read it as a child, and it was Jess’s favourite when she was about seven or eight. If I had to guess, I’d say I’ve read this book two hundred times, maybe more.’
‘Me too. I read it almost every day at one time in my life. I just wanted to live there by the river, and be friends with Mole,’ said Wilma. ‘A quiet life, close to nature. No stress, nothing to worry about.’ She sighed wistfully.
Julia looked up to see Wilma’s worried frown. ‘Are you okay?’ she asked. ‘Are you stressed about something?’
‘Oh no, not really stressed,’ said Wilma. ‘I’m just… Well… Douglas is out of town again, and I do feel a bit sub-par when he’s not around…’
‘I can imagine. Where’s he gone this time?’
‘Up north. He travels all over the country for his work. He’s away a couple of nights a week.’ She pulled herself together, and got on with unpacking. ‘Honestly, I was alone for years, and I had grown quite used to it. Now look at me. So silly.’ She laughed in embarrassment.
‘Not silly at all! It’s quite understandable. But it sounds as if the relationship is going well?’ Julia said.
‘Oh yes, very.’ Wilma blushed, or glowed, or both.
Julia continued sorting the books she’d just pulled from the box. Next on the pile was Roald Dahl, an old favourite of hers and Jess’s. She opened The BFG, and saw that there was an inscription on the opening page, written in the same artistic scrawl she’d seen in Marigold’s notebooks.
Happy birthday, darling Puppy, with love from your mum.
Julia’s brain was whirring like a fan – the fan they didn’t have in Second Chances – processing the information that Puppy was Emily.
It was Emily who had been making eyes at the gardener all those years ago.
She wondered how that situation had ended up, way back when.
If the flirtation had blossomed into something more, that might have complicated life at Greystone Manor significantly…
Diane appeared with three glistening bottles of iced tea, and a cellophane bag holding a bunch of grapes, cold from the fridge.
‘Marvellous,’ said Wilma, reaching for a bottle. She held it to her forehead for a moment with a groan of pleasure.
Diane handed an iced tea to Julia. It was deliciously cool in her hand and, moments later, in her mouth. They passed the grapes around. Everyone perked up considerably. It helped that a few customers came in.
A woman tried on costume jewellery, and bought two pretty necklaces.
Another came in to donate a big bag of kitchen utensils and cutlery.
An old fellow gave them two fishing rods, tackle and a fly box, saying, with a wry smile, ‘Either the fish are getting smarter, or I’m getting stupider. Let someone else have a try.’
Still, the shop was hardly bustling, and Wilma told the other two to take off early. They didn’t have to be asked twice.
On her way home, Julia mulled over the Puppy/Emily revelation, and what it might mean.
If Ian and Emily had had a relationship, it would have affected a whole network of relationships at the manor.
Ian was Biddy’s nephew and he was an employee.
Emily was the daughter of the woman who had agreed to hire him, somewhat as a favour.
And she was the niece of the owner of the house, who was also Ian’s employer.
And what would the colonel think of it all?
Julia hadn’t known the colonel well, but she couldn’t imagine the words, ‘Go on, young people. Enjoy yourselves!’ emerging from beneath his luxurious moustache.
Back home, Julia got out Marigold’s old notebooks.
It was still too warm to walk Jake, so she would sit in the slightly cooler sitting room and page through the diaries, hoping to find out more about what had happened between Emily and Ian.
Quite aside from the murders, her curiosity was piqued.
She had become intrigued by the goings-on of the residents of Greystone Manor, and the youthful romance in particular.
She felt she’d seen the first episode of a soap opera and wanted to know what happened next.
Except, unlike TV, she had to work this one out herself.
Jess had stacked the notebooks on the desk in chronological order, so it was easy to find the book that came after the one with the sketch of the handsome young gardener and the note about Puppy.
Julia leafed through, not even sure what she was looking for, beyond mentions of Emily and Ian.
The books really were a delight. Marigold captured lambing season, filling her pages with pictures of wobbly little lambs beside their fluffy mums, and then a week later, slightly older ones gambolling charmingly around a list that appeared to be spring gardening tasks.
Julia was pleased she’d kept the books for Emily – or Puppy, as her mum had called her.
A picture of Emily caught her eye. The girl looked to be in her late teens, or perhaps twenty.
She was standing straight on to the viewer, with a suitcase on the ground at her side, and the Eiffel Tower in the background.
Above it, the words Bon Voyage, Puppy! It was hard to tell from a sketch, but to Julia’s eye, Puppy didn’t look as if she was filled with joie de vivre at the prospect of going to la France. She stared stonily out of the page.
Julia wondered if she had been going on a school tour, or on holiday with her mum, or alone.
Or even with le hot jardinier, although she doubted that.
She went back a few pages to see if she could find the answer to her question.
She didn’t have to look far. A couple of months prior, there was a short list of what looked to Julia like schools, all with French names, and with notes and prices against each one.
There was an asterisk against Institut de Lafayette.
A quick Google search showed that it was a finishing school for young English-speaking girls, and it had been in operation for over a hundred years.
Etiquette, French language, cooking and business skills were amongst the useful things young women could learn in the course of a one-year stay.
Paging forward again, Julia stopped on a picture of a little chap in a jester’s outfit, dancing and playing a flute of sorts. Underneath was written, He who pays the piper calls the tune. She had no idea what that referred to, until she turned the page and read an entry:
Emily is still furious. She leaves in two weeks, and she refuses to speak to me.
(Although she had a lot to say when Clarence informed her of his decision on Tuesday!) But since then, not one word to him or to me.
It’s awful, but I quite admire her determination.
I hope we are doing the right thing. But Clarence is insistent.
I don’t know why he didn’t just get rid of the gardener.
It seems unfair. But what the colonel says, goes.
A few pages later she wrote:
Puppy goes to Institut tomorrow. I do believe it will be good for her. I’m so tired from all the stress. It’s at times like this that I wish her father were here.
So Emily had been sent to finishing school in France in a hurry, and she hadn’t been happy about it.
Julia thought about Dylan’s theory that Emily hadn’t got on with her mother, and that that was why she didn’t want any of her possessions, beyond a few artworks.
Maybe he was right. And maybe this was the origin of all the pain.
Julia’s brain hurt from trying to think things through.
She put down the notebook and looked out of the open window.
A waft of air played in the crab apple tree outside the window, and a few clouds had drifted into view.
Julia suddenly had a memory of looking out another window, at another garden – the garden at Greystone Manor to be exact.
On that first day, she had seen Emily and Ian talking in the garden, and had wondered if they were arguing.
Could that be relevant to what had happened to Ian?
Catching the breeze, Julia realised that the intense heat had abated somewhat. It was cool enough to go outside. Cool enough, in fact, to take Jake for a little walk. She wished that Sean weren’t busy with appointments; she would have liked to bounce her ideas off him.
Jake looked up when she came into the kitchen.
He wasn’t necessarily the Einstein of dogs – he was no border collie – but he knew precisely the statistical probability of any dog-friendly activity (walk, food) happening at any particular time of day.
Late afternoon was peak walking time. His chances were good.
He stood up and stared at her as if trying to read her mind.
Or perhaps control it. When she reached for the lead, he hurled himself around, circling her and then rushing outside.
Julia and Jake headed for the river, where there were trees, and often a cool breeze off the water. Walking always cleared her head and often brought unexpected thoughts and solutions to the fore.
She wondered about Emily, and what her feelings were about her family today.
About fifteen years had passed since the flirtation with Ian, and the girl’s banishment to France.
It seemed like a long time to hold a teenage grudge.
But grudges could be surprisingly long-lasting, especially when children felt betrayed by their parents.
Maybe Dylan was right… Maybe Emily was still smarting from being sent away.
Her mother’s death had brought her home.
But had it also stirred up painful memories and difficult feelings from her teenage years?
Julia wondered about Emily’s relationship with Ian.
It was hard to imagine she was still holding a candle for him, but you never knew.
They had definitely been having words when Julia had seen them in the garden.
But was it a lover’s quarrel, or a fifteen-year-old source of pain and anger reawakened?
Or perhaps it was just a heated discussion about deadheading the dahlias?
And what about Emily’s relationship with Clarence?
It must have galled Emily that he had sent her away, while Ian, the gardener, had stayed at Greystone Manor.
Did she hold the past against the colonel all these years later?
It was Emily, after all, who had been the one to discover the colonel lying behind the sofa. The one who had realised he was dead.
Julia remembered the sight of Emily standing over the colonel’s body, the shock on her face, the lamp in her hand. Emily, who at least at some point in time had loved both Ian and the colonel, and been angry with both of them, too.
The more Julia thought about it, the more she thought that Emily was at the centre of the mysteries of the manor. Unable to wait a moment longer, she reached into her pocket for her phone, and called DI Hayley Gibson.