Chapter 3
Dorothy Reed had been in the boathouse all morning sitting on the balcony, overlooking the Thames, and watching the traffic on the water, trying to feel soothed by the white noise of the weir. It was busy, as it usually was, and she took a little comfort from the many boats meandering past her. Their own boat was below her: a narrowboat painted in a beautiful chalk blue with a glossy black bottom. Her husband, Philip, had bought her nearly fifteen years previously and had her restored in a boatyard in Essex before bringing her home to Hampton. She was called the Castillo del Mar, which translated to Sea Castle. It was a small joke for a small vessel, her husband had told her as he proudly showed her off.
The narrowboat hadn’t been out of their boathouse for the year since Philip’s death, though. Dorothy’s son, Miles, had asked her if he could take her out in the spring, but she had said no, as she couldn’t bear to see anything else of her beloved Philip’s taken away. Not yet, and possibly not ever.
Dorothy glanced at the watch on her thin wrist – it would need another link taken out of it before long, as it was perilously close to sliding off her arm. It was nearly twelve-fifteen and she had lost the entire morning up here, sitting, watching, seething. Lavinia would be here soon and she wasn’t at all ready.
She closed the doors and stepped back into the living area of the boathouse. It was another space they had renovated with a kitchen, a bedroom and a bathroom. Dorothy had filled it with the art she no longer made and a collection of houseplants, books and gorgeous scented candles. She had a lovely walnut sideboard and a long velvet sofa in a rich teal with gold cushions. Her house was more traditionally decorated in creams and greys, but out here she liked a bolder look. Miles had suggested she rent it out in the summer months to make use of it, or to get a lodger for a bit of company, but Dorothy couldn’t even think about that at the moment.
She walked down the steps and noticed her neighbour, Erik, relaxing on a sunlounger with a paperback book in his lap. He turned to her, shielding the sun from his eyes with his hand.
‘Good afternoon, Dorothy,’ he said. ‘Gorgeous day, isn’t it.’
Dorothy walked over to the low fence that separated the two gardens and rested a hand on the top of one of the panels. She was in the shade of the weeping willow that softened the hard edge of the lawn before it stopped at the water.
‘It is,’ she agreed.
Dorothy liked Erik very much. He was in his late sixties and had lived next door for the last five years. He was divorced from his wife and had a grown-up son who visited often. Erik had a narrowboat of his own and Philip and he could talk for hours about adjustments to the engines, or new latches for the windows, storage solutions or how best to fix a pump. Erik also had a penchant for crime thrillers and liked to discuss plot twists with Dorothy, but not so much recently.
‘I’m about to put the kettle on if you fancy joining me,’ he said, sliding a bookmark between the pages and getting up off the lounger.
‘I would like that very much; however, I have my daughter-in-law coming to assist in me choosing a companion this afternoon.’
‘Oh? Didn’t know you were in the market for help.’
‘I’m not, but we have this family wedding in Norfolk and Miles seems to think I need assistance while we’re there. Also, after my little fall the other week, they’ve got it in their heads that I need watching or something. They’re glossing it up as companion, but all I’m hearing is minder. I had a dizzy spell and fell over – that was all – and they want to move a carer in. It’s all very frustrating.’
‘Ah, I see. And you obviously don’t think you need help.’
‘I know I don’t need help, but they won’t listen, so I shall have to do my utmost to frighten off the applicants.’
‘Can I come and watch?’ Erik asked, with a grin.
Dorothy laughed for a moment and then seemed to catch herself.
‘I’d better go and sharpen my teeth,’ she said turning for the house, and she listened to Erik chuckling as she navigated the pathway to her kitchen door. She’d have a quick cup of tea and then prepare herself for the bustling and kind warmth of her daughter-in-law.
‘Well, I suppose we’ll let you know then, Clare,’ Lavinia said to the girl, who was already on her feet, her phone in hand and making her way to the front door.
Dorothy could hear the two of them whispering in the hallway and then the sound of the door clicking shut. Lavinia stood for a moment in the doorway to the living room, her arms folded tightly across her chest while Dorothy sat rigid in her chair.
‘Dot! What was all that about? You frightened the poor girl away. You can’t ask questions like that.’
‘But she did have a terrible complexion. I was only wondering what sort of skin care regime would result in such a breakout.’
‘It’s not like you to be cruel. We’ll never find someone if you behave like that and the wedding’s in only a couple of weeks.’
Dorothy set her lips into a tight line, chastened. Lavinia was right – that was probably too much. She hated to disappoint her daughter-in-law. Lavinia was a blessing and the best thing Dorothy’s son, Miles, ever did was to marry her. Some considered her a little cold, but really, when you got to know her it was obvious she just liked things done properly. She quietly put in the hard work to make sure everything was perfect. Someone needed to, because if Dorothy was honest, Miles was rather lacking sometimes. Oh, he worked hard enough at the office, but left all of the emotional heavy lifting to his wife.
The sound of a car on the gravel outside made both women turn to the open window. A door closed and footsteps could be heard, then voices.
‘Are you here for the companion job?’ said a voice that sounded like Clare, clearly still loitering outside. They couldn’t hear the response, though.
‘Good luck with that, then,’ she said. ‘She’s a right miserable cow.’
Lavinia’s head whipped round to Dorothy and the two women locked eyes for a moment before they both began to giggle as the doorbell rang.
‘Be nice,’ Lavinia whispered before going to answer it.
An older woman walked into the living room and seemed to be sizing up the place, the way her eyes darted over Dorothy’s possessions.
‘Dot, this is Gina Knight,’ Lavinia said with a pointed look. ‘Gina lives in Oxfordshire and has two grown-up children and two grandchildren.’
Dorothy thought that Lavinia sounded like a game show host introducing a contestant, but decided to keep her mouth shut.
‘Good afternoon, Mrs Reed,’ Gina said.
‘Dorothy is fine,’ Dorothy said, taking in the woman standing awkwardly in the middle of her living room.
She seemed a bit mousy. She wore navy trousers and a white cotton blouse. Her shoes were sensible and flat, and her hair hung in gentle waves around her face. She could be as young as fifty-five or as old as seventy; it was hard to tell because she had the air of an older person, but her skin was luminous and had few wrinkles. At least she was considerably closer in age to Dorothy than the last girl, but then she reminded herself, she had no intention of employing her anyway.
‘You have a lovely home,’ Gina said, taking the seat Lavinia offered her. ‘It’s such a great setting with Hampton Court just over the road and the Thames behind you.’
‘Thank you, dear, I’m very happy here,’ Dorothy said, but she could hear how wooden her own voice sounded and she didn’t smile.
Her daughter-in-law beamed, though, and Dorothy sensed that Lavinia was overcompensating.
‘Isn’t it lovely. It was my husband’s childhood home. We love coming back to visit, well me visiting, him coming home I suppose. So, what was it that appealed to you about a job as a companion? I see you have no experience,’ Lavinia said glancing at her notes. ‘Not that that’s a bad thing necessarily.’
Gina shifted her position on her chair and suddenly looked a little awkward.
‘My circumstances have recently changed and, I suppose, I’m looking for a new challenge.’
‘I don’t think Dorothy is much of a challenge,’ Lavinia said with a smile. ‘What did you do in your working life? Did you have a job outside of the home?’
There was silence for a little longer than was comfortable and Dorothy wondered if Gina was going to lie, but when her words arrived they seemed to come naturally.
‘I was an art historian many years ago and spent some time curating collections at Ham House in Richmond, actually. But then I gave it up, and we moved to Oxfordshire anyway, for my husband’s job, so it didn’t really work. That might be one of my biggest regrets,’ she said wistfully.
‘Art historian?’ Dorothy spoke up, her interest piqued. ‘Well, that’s fascinating.’
‘Yes, I worked at the British Museum for a while too. At Ham House, I worked with my mother,’ she added.
Dorothy sensed a complete change in the direction of her afternoon and she homed in on Gina’s expression, which clouded over for a moment at the mention of her mother.
‘I do realise that art history doesn’t feature in the working life of a companion,’ Gina continued quickly, while blushing, ‘but I’m practical and quick-witted.’
‘I think it could feature, actually,’ Dorothy said. ‘I’m very interested in art myself.’
‘I can see,’ Gina said, looking around Dorothy’s living room. ‘Your Meissen vases are beautiful.’
‘Thank you. Would you like me to give you a tour? We could walk down to the boathouse. My husband was a collector and kept a few pieces in there and some of my own too.’
‘You’re an artist?’
‘Used to be. I worked with kiln-formed glass,’ Dorothy said, suddenly keen to impress this woman.
‘Are those your pieces in the borders under the windows at the front? Because they’re stunning. The sunlight really catches them.’
‘I made those in my friend’s studio in Buckinghamshire and Jacque and I exhibited at Stourbridge.’
Dorothy tried to rein herself in as she realised she was beginning to sound boastful.
‘I’m very impressed,’ Gina said.
Dorothy glanced at Lavinia who looked completely surprised.
‘I’ll go and make a pot of coffee, Dorothy, ready for when you get back, shall I?’ she said.
‘That would be lovely, my dear,’ Dorothy replied, easing herself up out of her chair.
After Dorothy had shown Gina some of Philip’s most treasured pieces in the house while steadfastly ignoring the glaring gap on the wall above her fireplace, they walked down to the boathouse.
Dorothy had picked up the key from the dish inside her patio doors for the second time that day before they had stepped out into the garden, and once they had walked up the stairs to the side of the boathouse, she used it to open the door.
Gina was impressed, Dorothy could tell, and it gave her unexpected pleasure to see this woman pick up her things and talk about what she knew about them and listen as Dorothy filled in the gaps in her knowledge. She marvelled at the space too and said how much she loved the decor. Then she noticed that Dorothy had left a small candle lit and her expression changed at once.
‘Did you know you’d left a candle alight?’
Her voice had gone up an octave and her eyes were wide. She lifted her hand suddenly and clutched at her other arm.
‘I was out here earlier, must have forgotten to blow it out,’ Dorothy said, stepping forward to do exactly that.
‘It’s very dangerous, you know – anything could happen.’
‘Yes, my mistake,’ Dorothy said, thinking that not much was really going to happen, other than a waste of an expensive candle with no one to admire the scent. She guessed that Gina must have had a mishap at some point; that would explain her odd reaction. Keen to get her back onto the topic of art, she got Gina’s attention on the three paintings by Patsy Niven that hung along the wall above the sideboard and the candle was forgotten.
‘You really do have a super place, here,’ Gina said, her hands now back by her sides, her voice even.
‘Miles, my son, jokes with me that he’s going to move into the house and move me out here, but you know, I wouldn’t mind, because I love it up here.’
Dorothy turned the lock and opened the doors, pushing them back to the balcony and watched as Gina took in a breath and admired the view.
‘That’s the south end of Ash Island there,’ Dorothy said, pointing across. ‘You can see their houseboats and boats, and all that rushing water, of course, is the weir.’
‘I can see why you love it here; it’s a really special spot, Dorothy.’
‘I do feel guilty, though, just me in that big house, and I will move, but when the time is right and that’s not quite now.’
‘You shouldn’t feel guilty. This is your home. Why should you give it up to please others?’ she said and then added, ‘I’m moving at the minute.’
‘Where are you moving to? Are you staying in Oxfordshire?’
‘Not sure, to be honest. I’m on my own now,’ she said, pausing for a moment. ‘I guess I can go anywhere I want to, but I don’t really know where that is.’
Dorothy laid her hand gently on Gina’s arm and offered her a sad sort of smile.
‘You feel untethered,’ she said. ‘I know exactly how that feels.’
When Dorothy had locked up and they’d walked back down the steps, she took Gina round to see the boat.
‘It belonged to my late husband, Philip,’ Dorothy said.
‘I honestly know nothing about boats, but I can see she’s a beauty,’ Gina said. ‘I love that chalky blue colour.’
‘We used to go out quite a lot, but not any more. Honestly, she’s become just an expensive place to sit and have a coffee. It’s really rather sad.’
Lavinia’s coffee was always strong and Dorothy took the sugar bowl and gave it to Gina with a sidelong glance and a conspiratorial smile.
‘Do you have any questions about the job?’ Lavinia asked.
Dorothy watched as Gina racked her brain to think of one. She liked this woman who seemed interested in art with a history of expertise under her belt, and an audacious plan started to form in Dorothy’s head. She wondered if Gina was up to the task, but she could hardly ask her with Lavinia here, and besides, she didn’t want to scare her off just yet by telling her what that task was. She wondered how biddable Gina was, how persuadable. She certainly wasn’t young, but Dorothy had noticed that she seemed like a quiet and compliant type. Then she silently chided herself for her thoughts.
‘How about we just work it out as we go along,’ she interrupted before Gina could come up with a legitimate question that Dorothy probably wouldn’t have an answer for.
‘We do have five other candidates, Dot,’ Lavinia said.
‘Cancel them. I think Gina is perfect, if you’d like the position, that is?’
‘I’d be delighted,’ Gina said, although Dorothy couldn’t tell from her expression if this were true.
‘Well, I very much look forward to seeing you in Norfolk then,’ Dorothy said, and despite herself she beamed at Gina.