Eloise (32 page)

Chris looked startled.

‘No. Of course I don’t know that. What are you talking about? I only know that Ted found a document hidden among Eloise’s things. It was a DNA analysis. She’d taken hair from the girls and, without his knowledge, from Ted, and sent them away to a lab specializing in genetic testing. What the lab found was that the chances of Ted being their father were non-existent. And the document was dated five years ago. She obviously knew the girls weren’t Ted’s soon after they were born, but she never told him.’

Jesus. So that was why he wanted to kill the little girls as well as himself. He couldn’t cope with the idea that he had been cuckolded. That the children he had been charged with looking after, and in his mind unfairly recompensed for his care of them, were in fact the bastard daughters of another man.

I felt a flicker of pity for Ted. He had said bitterly the other day that Eloise had regarded him simply as a sperm donor. Now it was clear he wasn’t even that. I remembered Eloise’s
desperate wail when she appeared to me in my garden. ‘Oh Cathy, I’ve done something terrible.’ She knew that after her death Ted would find the DNA report. And she knew it would rebound on her girls. That’s why she told me never to trust him. And to watch over her babies. And I had, thank God. Her babies were safe.

It was Christmas Day and Juliana’s beautiful home looked, as always, stunning. The firs in the garden were strung with lights. Inside the hall, a magnificent Christmas tree glittered gorgeously, filling the house with its glorious scent. Every ancient mantelpiece was festooned with holly and mistletoe, ivy and fairy lights. We’d just finished lunch, and, full of turkey and plum pudding, Jack, Juliana, Chris and I watched our various offspring fondly as they played Kerplunk with Rose and Violet in front of a crackling log fire. Sam and Tom had brought their girlfriends, and Evie blazed with happiness
as she held Arthur’s hand. It was a beautiful sight, a perfect Christmas tableau.

Not quite perfect though. I watched Juliana’s face as her eyes suddenly filled with tears. I leaned across to her and took her hand.

‘You must be sad, Juliana,’ I said gently.

‘Yes. The first Christmas without her. It’s very hard. But of course I knew she probably wouldn’t be here by now; this time last year I knew I was celebrating her last Christmas. I mourned for her in advance, so to speak.’

‘The girls seem happy though, don’t they?’

‘Yes, and I thank God for that. They adore Jack, you know. He’s been absolutely wonderful with them.’

‘Yes. It’s good to see them together. Will he stay in Cornwall, do you think?’

‘I think so. He pretty much wound up his affairs in Australia when he went back in the autumn and he’s up for an oncologist’s post at Derriford Hospital in Plymouth. I’m sure he’ll get it. I’m so pleased, so delighted that he really is the girls’ father. So is he. He was thrilled after the DNA test results.’

‘The girls don’t know yet, do they?’

‘No. We both thought that after everything that’s happened, they needed some peace. No more surprises for the moment. But he intends to formally adopt them, and I’m
sure he’ll find the right moment to tell them he’s their daddy.’ She smiled at me. ‘And I think I might be meeting my other grandchild soon,’ she said almost coyly.

‘Isabella? That’s wonderful. Has she come to terms with everything now?’

‘Pretty much, I think. She’s written to Jack to say she’ll come over in the summer. She wants to see Arthur, and meet her little sisters.’

Annie and Eric were dispensing mulled wine from an enormous silver punchbowl on the sideboard. Jack shook his head as they offered him a glass.

‘No, thanks. I’m still OK to drive, but I won’t be if I drink any more.’

‘Why? Where are you going?’ asked Chris in surprise.

‘To Talland Church. I want to visit Eloise’s grave. I’d like to take Rose and Violet, Juliana, if that’s OK?’

Her eyes were moist again. ‘I think that’s a wonderful idea, Jack. May I come?’

‘And us,’ I said. I looked at Chris and he stood up straight away.

So six of us drove over to Talland on Christmas afternoon. Jack and his little daughters, Juliana, Chris and myself.

It was almost dusk when we got to the church, but lights glowed softly from the stained-glass windows. We gathered round Eloise’s grave. Jack spoke softly to the girls.

‘Put these flowers on Mummy’s grave, darlings. It’s her Christmas present from you.’

They solemnly placed the huge bouquet of lilies and lovely white Christmas roses at the head of Ellie’s resting place. Jack opened the backpack he’d brought with him. He took out two dozen sturdy white church candles. He lit each one and then he and Chris carefully pushed them into the earth. They flickered gently, surrounding Eloise like strong small soldiers standing guard.

I bowed my head, and prayed that Eloise was at peace. I was sure she was. Since the day Ted drowned, I had heard nothing from her. And although I missed her, her silence was the best gift she could have given me.

Violet looked up at Jack. ‘Do you think Mummy knows we’ve brought her flowers and candles?’ she asked.

‘I’m sure she does, darling.’

Then Rose spoke, shyly. ‘Jack? Do you mind if I call you Daddy?’

‘Me too,’ Violet piped.

There was a small silence. Juliana held her handkerchief to her eyes.

Jack’s voice was thick with emotion.

‘Of course you can call me Daddy. I’d be delighted if you called me Daddy.’

He took their hands, and they walked back down the path
towards the lych-gate. Juliana followed. I glanced at Chris. I could tell he was moved.

‘I love you, Cathy. I’m sorry for all the nonsense I put you through this summer. I don’t know what I was thinking.’

‘I love you too, Chris. Everything’s all right now.’

He put his arms around me and we took a last look at my dear friend’s hauntingly beautiful grave, glimmering softly in the darkness, at last a sanctuary, a place of love and peace.

And as we looked, I read again the inscription on her newly erected headstone.

This book owes a huge amount to my dear friend Caron Keating. Her family and mine shared many tender and lovely moments in Cornwall, where we both had homes. Caron died tragically young from breast cancer in 2004.
Eloise
is inspired by her deep passion for motherhood, which I share. And I am grateful for her husband Russ and mother Gloria’s forbearance in the writing of this story, which of course is a work of fiction, and has no bearing on reality.