Chapter 22
Julia arrived home to find a note from Jess on the kitchen table:
Hi Mum. I’m going to Dylan’s. I’ll be back tomorrow. Jake has been walked AND fed, so don’t let him tell you otherwise! Chaplin was fed, too. I made a Thai veg curry – there’s some for you in the fridge. Enjoy! Love xxx
Julia reflected on what a fine young woman her daughter was, and how much she adored her. She was very fond of a Thai veg curry, too, particularly one that she didn’t have to concoct herself after a long and busy day. A day that was far from over.
Jake trotted to her, smiling and wagging his tail. He was pleased to see her, but because he was neither bored nor hungry, he didn’t leap about whining as if he’d been locked in the basement without food or water for a week.
‘Good chap,’ she said, giving him a pat. ‘Did you have a good time with Jess?’
He wagged his tail, because he always wagged his tail when she spoke to him. It was only polite.
Julia fetched the box of notebooks and put them on the kitchen table, ready for Emily. Emily would not be long behind her. Funny how the human mind and heart worked. Emily had been ready to toss them a few days ago, and now she was so eager to get them that she couldn’t wait until tomorrow.
While she waited, Julia opened the garden door to invite the late afternoon breeze in.
It arrived cool and fragrant with the sweet scent of the creamy climbing rose that covered the wooden fence between her house and Hester’s.
The bees from her neighbour’s hives were in such a state of ecstasy that Julia could hear the buzzing from the doorway.
She walked over to the chicken coop and opened the door.
Henny Penny strutted out looking mildly peeved to have been kept waiting.
The rest of the girls followed, more contentedly.
Returning to the kitchen, Julia was gripped by a sudden horrible thought. What if Emily wanted to have the notebooks in order to keep them away from someone else? What if she was going to destroy them, and with them some piece of evidence that might lead to the solving of a murder – or two?
She hurried over to the notebooks, and pulled out the one with references to Puppy and the gardener, and to the colonel sending Emily to France.
She snapped photos of the pages, and of a few more with Marigold’s diary notes from the time.
She felt a bit ridiculous, like someone from a spy movie.
Maybe James Bond, if only her camera were hidden inside a fountain pen.
When she heard a knock on the door, she abandoned her snapping, slipped the notebook into the pile in the box, and went to the front door to let Emily in.
Emily’s face lit up when she saw the box. ‘Oh goodness,’ she said. She sat down and stroked the cover of the notebook on top of the pile. ‘There they are!’
‘I was about to make a cup of tea,’ Julia said, putting the kettle on.
‘Thank you, I’d love a cup. What a lovely place you have,’ Emily said, looking around the kitchen, and then out of the kitchen door. ‘And the garden… Oh, and chickens!’
‘Thank you. I am very lucky. Your mum was, too – she must have been very happy in the Coach House.’
‘Oh yes, she loved it there. I’m glad that she had her last five years in that place.
In fact, I’d received a couple of such odd voice notes from her, asking me to come and visit and talk about the house.
Just before she died, she sent one saying that the house was mine – of all the absurd things to say.
She said that the house was mine, and that she wanted me to come back to England to live in it.
“The light will do you good,” she said. Of course, that was a crazy notion.
She couldn’t leave me the Coach House; it wasn’t hers to give.
It’s part of Greystone Manor, and the manor belonged to her brother, then.
And now his children, I guess, my cousins.
Which she knew very well, of course. But it seemed her mind was not right.
I was thinking about coming to see her, chat to her and see if she was okay, but… ’ She stopped talking.
‘But you didn’t get the chance,’ said Julia, spooning the tea leaves into the pot.
‘No. She died.’
Julia poured the hot water over the leaves and waited.
‘I wondered, then, if she knew that something was wrong. Maybe she was in pain, and didn’t tell me – it would have been just like her to keep it to herself, or to soldier on, hoping it would go away.
I think she felt her mind going, and knew she was confused…
Either way, I think she had a feeling that she wasn’t well.
That’s why she got all worked up about me getting the house.
But in her confusion, she couldn’t think it through. The house, the inheritance.’
‘It’s terribly sad.’
‘That being said, her financial affairs were in excellent order. Mummy was always clever with money – when my dad died, she invested his life insurance well. And she made a few other really astute investment decisions over the years. I haven’t looked at everything she did, but she left her finances in good order. So there’s that.’
‘That must be a comfort – it’s a nightmare when an estate is messy.’
Emily sighed. ‘I still wish I’d been around more. I went away very young, and I never really came back.’
‘You had to live your own life. She wanted that for you.’
‘Oh yes, she was very eager for me to go to France. You might say “insistent”.’ Emily said this with a small smile.
‘What was it like, going away so young?’
‘Tough at first, adjusting, and learning the language. I didn’t want to go, and when I did, I missed home… Mum… others… But you know how adaptable teenagers are. I soon loved it there. It turned out to be the best thing for me.’
Well, that was interesting. It seemed that Emily held no grudge at all about being ‘banished’ from the manor and sent to France.
‘And I’ve lived there ever since. Married a Frenchman, although that didn’t last, sadly. We got divorced last year.’
Julia poured the tea and handed a cup to Emily, saying, ‘I’m sorry to hear that. It’s very hard. I’m divorced, too.’
‘I’m sorry for you, too. Although it was probably for the best in my case.
We weren’t very well suited, and at least we didn’t have children.
I’ve always been a romantic, and made some, shall we say…
impractical choices where love’s concerned,’ said Emily, with a laugh that chased away the gloom that had settled on her when she’d arrived.
She leaned forward and added in a conspiratorial tone: ‘Can you believe Ian and I had a flirtation when we were young?’
‘Ian, the gardener at the manor?’ asked Julia, feigning surprise. ‘Ian who died?’
‘Yes. In fact, I think that’s why Mum was so adamant that I should go away. The minute she saw that look in my eye – and in his – I was on a plane to France.’
‘Why didn’t she like him?’
‘She didn’t dislike him, particularly. In fact, she seemed to like him fine until she saw that spark between us.
I think it was snobbery, mostly. She just didn’t want her daughter to marry the gardener.
Which wasn’t like her, really; Mum wasn’t a snob, but I suppose when it’s your own daughter… ’ Emily sighed.
‘I’m sure the relationship would have run its course, and anyway, you could have done worse than Ian.’
Emily smiled. ‘He was a good chap, and honestly, you could travel fifty miles in any direction and not find anyone as handsome. He was still gorgeous right to the very end, but back then…’ She put down her teacup and made a fanning movement with her hands, as if flapping cool air onto her burning face.
‘I was mad for him. But we were not exactly a match made in heaven; I can see that now.’
‘That’s young love for you. All hormones and romantic notions, no prefrontal cortex.’
Emily laughed. ‘You’re so right! Not that I’ve got much better at picking them since, to be honest. Anyway, Ian and I had a good chat about what happened between us just a couple of weeks ago.
Well, it was more of a tricky conversation, to be honest. I had been furious at being sent away, and heartbroken to leave Ian, and at the time felt I was being punished while he got to stay and carry on with his life.
‘He thought I should have been firmer, and stood my ground, refused to go to France. When I told him recently that it was all for the best, well, he got quite cross, by Ian’s standards.
Turns out he had really had a thing for me, and had been hurt by me leaving.
It was weird to discover that the difficult feelings were still knocking about. ’
That would explain the argument Julia had witnessed in the distance. The airing of an old conflict.
‘I’m glad you were able to talk things out. Did it help you resolve things?’
‘Oh, yes. We talked again just before he died, and we realised we’d both felt hurt and sad and angry. But neither of us had actually done anything bad or wrong. We were young. And it was a long time ago. Water under the bridge. I’m so glad that he didn’t die angry with me.’
‘It always feels good to clear the air.’
Emily put her cup down and looked at her watch. ‘Goodness, look at the time! I’ve kept you so long with my talking, and you must have things to do.’
‘It was good to chat. And don’t forget these,’ Julia said, picking up the box of notebooks and handing them to Emily.
‘Oh, I won’t. I will treasure them,’ she said, hugging the box to her chest. ‘Thank you for hanging on to them. I can’t believe I nearly lost them forever.’
One of the pleasures of living alone was that you didn’t have to consult anyone, or take their opinions into account, if, after a busy day, you wanted to eat your Thai veg curry at the kitchen table at a rather early hour, mechanically scooping the gingery, coconutty deliciousness from bowl to mouth with a fork, while reading a cosy mystery novel held in your other hand.
Which was what Julia did that evening.
‘Jolly good curry,’ she said out loud, sitting back and patting her tummy in satisfaction.
She closed the book and cleared the table, and rinsed her bowl and spoon.
She liked the evenings she spent with Sean, but she also liked the gentle pace of her own company, worrying about nothing but her pets and her chickens.
Her chickens! She realised, with a jolt, that she’d forgotten to put the chickens away for the night.
‘Goodness me, I hope I’m not going dilly!
’ she said, wondering at the same time whether talking to yourself out loud was itself a sign of encroaching dilliness.
She hurried outside to find that the chickens had put themselves to bed – no doubt chivvied along by bossy old Henny Penny – and all that was required of Julia was to close the door to the coop.
‘Clever girls,’ she said. ‘Goodnight.’
Walking back to the kitchen in the cool of the evening, she was fairly sure that she wasn’t in fact going doolally, even if she did forget things from time to time.
It was all the talk of Marigold’s mental decline that had made her worry about her own.
Marigold’s sudden confusion, her strange emails to her daughter, that business about leaving her a house that she didn’t even own.
Julia felt she’d come to know this clever woman a little, through her notebooks.
Her creativity and insight shone through the words and pictures.
She had been bright, and good with practical things, too.
Julia had seen how well maintained and well organised her home was, and according to her daughter, her administrative and financial affairs had been left in excellent shape.
Her sudden diminishment was terribly sad.
Julia cleaned up the kitchen and headed for the bedroom, where she intended to finish her cosy mystery in the comfort of her bed.
Chaplin padded along behind her, following her down the passage and into the bedroom.
He leapt onto the bed with a satisfied prow and watched her impatiently as she disappeared into the bathroom to brush her teeth.
Staring into her own reflection, Julia couldn’t help but mull over the last weeks of Marigold’s life. From what Emily had said, she certainly hadn’t seemed like someone going into dementia. Could it have come on so quickly, Julia wondered? She would ask Sean what he thought when she next saw him.
Was it possible that what Emily had seen as confusion, had not been?
Was there perhaps another explanation for the messages about the house?
It occurred to Julia that Marigold might have another house somewhere.
She had her own income, and was by all accounts a shrewd manager of money.
What if she’d been referring to another property?
She might have invested in a place of her own somewhere, and it was this that she’d wanted Emily to have, thought Julia, vigorously working her foaming toothbrush around her mouth, tooth by tooth.
Where had Marigold lived before her husband died and she moved into the manor?
she wondered. Had she still owned that place all these years later?
If she had, that might clear up the confusion.
It was worth checking with Emily, she thought.
She decided she would do it in the morning.