A Perfect Christmas (15 page)

Cait didn’t feel in the mood to deal with anything other than running herself a bath at the moment, but supposed she really ought to get to the bottom of this situation. She stepped over to the table with the large black Bakelite telephone on it, a pad and pencil by the side. Seeing nothing was written on the pad, she turned back to face Agnes. ‘Where is the woman’s telephone number?’

‘She didn’t give me one’

Cait snapped at her, ‘Then how am I supposed to telephone her back?’

‘Oh, I assumed Mrs Thomas would have it in her telephone book.’

Something that Nerys never let out of her sight, though Cait had always suspected that all it held were the numbers for her hair stylist and beauty parlour as those were the only people she had ever overheard her mother calling. ‘Which she will have taken with her,’ Cait retorted now. ‘Well, no matter how critical this woman’s situation is, I can’t do anything about it. Should she telephone back tomorrow, please ensure you get a number from her this time.’

Agnes hoped the sarcasm didn’t show in her tone of voice when she responded, ‘I’ll make sure I do. I’ll go and put your dinner out then I’ll be off home.’

Her mother would never consider it proper to thank an employee for doing anything for her as they were paid to do so. But what Agnes had done today for Cait she wasn’t being paid for, and Cait felt the least she could do was show the older woman she appreciated her thoughtfulness.

She called after her, ‘Thank you for cooking for me amid all your other chores.’

A shocked Agnes froze in her tracks for a moment, thinking she was hearing things, before she turned and smiled at Cait and said, ‘My pleasure.’ In her surprise at actually being thanked for something she had done after all the years she had worked here unacknowledged, she nearly forget herself and added ‘love’, but remembered her place just in time and instead said ‘Miss Thomas’.

A while later, feeling lonely in the eerily silent house and wishing Agnes were still here to afford her some company, Cait sat at one end of the large scrubbed pine table in the kitchen, forking small pieces of stew and potatoes into her mouth, surprised to find she was actually enjoying the meal. A copy of the local evening newspaper was open before her. Had her parents been here she would never have dared eat at the kitchen table, let alone read at the same time, but it was far warmer in here than in the large imposing dining room in which she felt overwhelmed. It also felt good to be doing something she wanted to do instead of having to abide by the house rules set by her mother. Her mind, though, was not on the print she was scanning but on the conversation she’d just had with Agnes. Cait couldn’t work out why her mother’s presence was needed so urgently to resolve a problem at a company. She wasn’t aware, had no inkling whatsoever, that her mother was involved in any way in business. But according to Agnes there had been no mistake. Her mother’s details had been found in the private files. It was all very confusing but equally intriguing.

Cait frowned. But then, what did she really know about her mother . . . about both her parents? Nothing much except that they were orphans and neither of them needed to work as her mother had a private income. She had long accepted that the past was too painful for them to talk about. But surely she had a right to know some bare facts about her own background, no matter how painful it was for them to tell her. Her need to find a place to live was suddenly overridden by a great curiosity about her own family background. With her parents away, this might be her only opportunity to see what she could uncover.

Her parents must both have birth certificates. At least from those she would be able to find out the names of both sets of grandparents, which was more than she knew now. There might even be a photograph or two so she could see what they’d looked like. But where would important papers like that be kept?

When she had needed her own birth certificate to show the vicar before the wedding, her mother had told her she was busy and would get it for her when she had the time. She hadn’t been busy at all, was just arranging some flowers she’d cut from the garden. Cait had apologised to her for not asking for it before but said she really did need it right then as Neil and she were off to see the vicar, and nothing could proceed apparently until he had seen her birth certificate. So Nerys had gone upstairs to her bedroom in a mood, telling Cait to wait down here. So that was where she obviously kept things of importance – somewhere in her bedroom.

Her parents’ bedroom had always been out of bounds to Cait. She was never allowed in there except when her mother expressly sent her up to do something for her. She had never dared venture into that private sanctuary unbidden before, for fear of the repercussions should it come to light, but now she had nothing to lose, had she? And there was no one here to witness her intrusion. As long as she left the room exactly as she had found it, no one would be any the wiser. Except herself if she was fortunate enough to find the information she was seeking.

Leaving the kitchen, Cait went upstairs and along the landing to stand outside her parents’ bedroom door. She reached out to take hold of the knob but withdrew her hand in a flash as a vision of her mother’s face swam before her, a look of severe reprimand on her face, reminding Cait this room she was about to enter was forbidden to her. Nerys was hundreds of miles away by now, but regardless her grip on Cait was still an iron one. Nevertheless, Cait’s need to fill in the blanks of her past spurred her on. Defiantly she grabbed the knob, turned it and walked purposefully inside the room.

The moonless evening was dark. Light from the street lamps did not reach the house as it was set well back from the road. Despite the fact there was no one to witness her intrusion into her parents’ private sanctum, Cait still felt guilty and went to pull the curtains tight across before she dare switch on the light, blinking to accustom her eyes as light flooded the room.

Then she cast her gaze around. It was a large room, the size of two bedrooms in most people’s houses. The paper on the wall behind the bed was of roses in shades of pink. The rest of the walls had been lined in heavy Anaglypta paper painted cream. The thick carpet on the floor was cream also. The furniture was all of matching light oak. A big solid wooden-framed bed dominated the back wall. To each side of it stood a small table with a lamp, the shades the exact colour of the heavy green satin counterpane covering the mattress. Two large wardrobes stood against one of the side walls. Obviously one was her mother’s, the other her father’s. Under the wide window on the wall opposite was a large mirrored dressing table with an assortment of jars of face cream and several perfume bottles arranged on top. It had three deep drawers down each side and a pink covered stool tucked into the gap in the middle.

Cait imagined her mother sitting at it every morning, applying her make-up and attending to her hair before she came down; cleaning her face and brushing her hair before she retired to bed at night. For a moment she wondered what it would have been like to have been allowed to sit and watch her mother, learn tips from her on how to look after her skin, instead of having to glean information for herself by looking through her mother’s discarded magazines.

She gave herself a mental shake. She had intruded into this room for a purpose, and moping over things that might have been would not help her achieve that aim.

The dressing table was the obvious first choice.

Cait worked her way through the drawers. Two were devoted to silk underwear, a third filled with scarves of every colour and pattern a woman could possibly need. Another held unopened bottles of perfume, face cream, make-up and hair products. It was apparent her mother didn’t like to run out of anything. Of the last two drawers, one was filled with packets of seamed stockings in every colour that was made. The last drawer was devoted to jewellery . . . rings, necklaces, bracelets, brooches, hair slides. Not all of it was gold but the costume pieces were so well made they would have been taken for real.

The dressing-table drawers did not contain what Cait was seeking.

After checking each drawer to make sure not one thing looked as if it had been disturbed, she went over to the wardrobes. One was slightly shorter than the other and only had one large door; the other side held drawers, eight in all. It was a man’s wardrobe. The larger one had double doors and no drawers. A woman’s wardrobe. Opening that one, she stared in shock at the number of clothes hanging inside. There was an item for any occasion. Cait was aware her mother had an extensive range of clothes, judging by those she’d seen, but not on this scale. Flicking through them, it struck her that more than half the items here she had never seen Nerys wear. Anger started to flare within her. On Cait’s starting work her mother had stopped buying her clothes, telling her that was now her own responsibility. Nerys knew she struggled to clothe herself well on her wages, but had never offered to help her. Her mother used to dress her expensively so having to lower her sights had not been an easy thing for Cait to come to terms with, having to shop at places such as C&A instead of Marshall & Snelgrove. She had been told by Nerys that funds would not stretch to an elaborate wedding and had lowered her sights accordingly, settling for an off-the-peg dress not a specially made one to her own design, the same for the bridesmaids, and a Daimler to ferry her to the church instead of the coach and white horses she would have liked. The reception was booked for the Bell Hotel and not the Grand . . . and yet her mother seemed to find the funds to clothe and adorn herself with the best money could buy.

Again Cait reminded herself what she had come into this room for. The bottom of the wardrobe held nothing but a dozen or so pairs of handmade shoes neatly lined up, each pair with a matching handbag. Shutting the doors, she turned her attention to the hat boxes arranged on top. Each held only what it was intended for. Expensive creations, one of which wouldn’t have looked out of place in Buckingham Palace, in Cait’s opinion. All these clothes and accessories for a woman who never went out socially or entertained, just so she could look good for her husband.

Shutting her mother’s wardrobe, she then turned her attention to her father’s. Again the clothing was all of top quality, shoes handmade, an array of tasteful cufflinks and tie pins, all gold and jewel-encrusted, but nothing Cait found was of interest to her in her quest. Nor was there anything in her father’s tallboy. The only place left in this room where she felt important things might be hidden was under the bed. Down on her hands and knees, she peered under it. To her disappointment there was nothing, not even a speck of dust thanks to Agnes’s thoroughness.

It seemed her mother did not keep important documents in her bedroom. The only other place that came to mind was the attic. Cait was back on her feet now and giving a violent shudder. She had only been in there once, as a child. The door to it was always kept locked and her childish imaginings viewed this inaccessible place as somewhere magical where fairies lived, a wonderland such as she’d seen in pictures in her books. She was to find out that it was anything but. One day when she was about six, having been left alone for hours to entertain herself, she had ventured out of the nursery in search of a drink to find the door to her wonderland ajar, and noises coming from up above. Excited that she was about to enter a magical world, she slipped inside and climbed the stairs. She arrived at the top to discover her wonderland looked nothing like the ones in her books. It was a dim cavernous place, curtains of cobwebs hanging from the beams, most of the dusty floor filled with equally dusty discarded furniture, which her mother had got fed up with and replaced, and trunks of old clothes. From a wire in the ceiling above her head hung a single bulb. There was another at the far end of the huge room where the noises she had heard downstairs seemed to be coming from.

Then she froze rigid, her heart thumping in her chest, when behind a broken curtain of cobwebs loomed a huge figure, heading towards her. Cait wanted to run away from this monster that she knew would gobble her up, but her feet wouldn’t move. As it neared her, the terrifying figure suddenly stopped and seemed to be staring at her for a moment before a voice boomed, ‘This is no place for a little ’un like you, love. Now back down yer go. I’ve nearly finished fixing the leaking water tank then I’ll be out of here meself. For as big and ugly as I am, I can’t abide spiders and there’s an armyful in here.’

Her monster was just a plumber and her wonderland just a dirty attic where unwanted items were stored. Cait’s disappointment had lasted for weeks. She had never been up there since and didn’t at all like the idea now, but it was either that or abandon all hope of finding out something about her ancestry.

After taking a look around to make sure nothing seemed amiss, she was heading for the door when she stopped short on spotting a small half-door in one corner of the room, on the wall opposite her parents’ bed. It must be a cupboard. She hadn’t noticed it before as it was painted the same colour as the Anaglypta wallpaper. Her hopes escalated. This looked promising. She went over, bent down and pulled on the small knob. The door did not budge. Then she noticed the keyhole. Her hopes rose further. Surely this cupboard door would only be locked if what was kept inside was important enough to be kept safe. But where could the key be?

She hadn’t come across one when she was searching the room. Cait gave a sigh of frustration as her mind sparked into action. The only option open to her was to make another close search.

She had tried everywhere and just about given up when she pulled too hard on one of the two smaller drawers at the top of her father’s tallboy and it fell out, scattering the pile of folded socks and packets of new ones inside on the floor. She was left holding the handle of the tipped-up drawer in her hand. Issuing a loud sigh of annoyance with herself, she knelt down and put the drawer on the floor, proceeding to pick up the scattered socks and hoping her father would not notice anything amiss when he next used the drawer. It was then that she noticed that on the side of the drawer facing her was taped a small key. She had found what she was looking for.