Hothouse Flower (10 page)

‘Why not?’ Julia agreed. They made their way across to the cottage, tucked away in its own small quarter-acre garden just behind the Quad. Julia could already hear the sound of crashing and banging emanating from within its walls.

‘I hope that you won’t feel this has been ruined too, but it really wasn’t fit for human habitation. And whilst I still have the last vestiges of the estate workers in my employ, I thought they might as well do something useful.’

‘What will happen to them once the new owner takes over?’ asked Julia.

‘They will be re-employed, most of them, and probably far more content working for a hands-on employer than they’ve been for the last twenty years. Shall we step inside? I’m warning you, it’s very different.’

As Julia did so, she expected to see a dark, narrow hallway and a flight of steep stairs straight ahead of her. Instead she found she was standing in a vast empty space.

‘I’m allergic to low ceilings,’ he apologised, indicating his height. ‘I am six foot three, after all. So I took them out.’

The ceilings were not the only things Kit had taken out. The whole interior layout, which had previously housed all necessities such as kitchen, bedrooms and bathroom, had gone. She looked up to what had once been the bedroom ceilings and in the apex saw four newly fitted skylights. The only surviving interior feature was the large inglenook fireplace, which she had warmed herself in front of as a child.

‘I … it’s certainly … changed,’ she managed.

‘The upstairs is yet to go in. I’ve used the loft space to raise the level of the ceilings, providing more height downstairs. And I’m converting the old lean-to next door into a kitchen and bathroom. I know it’s radical, but I think it will suit me when it’s finished.’

‘You’ve certainly brought it into the new millennium,’ Julia murmured. ‘It’s difficult to think this is the same cottage.’

He looked down at her. ‘You’re upset, aren’t you?’

‘Of course not.’

But they both knew she was.

‘Look, Julia, why don’t you come up with me to the house for a sandwich? I feel I owe it to you, having desecrated your heritage.’

‘Hardly
my
heritage,’ she said. ‘But yes, I –’

‘Hi, my darling. Sorry I’m late.’

An attractive, auburn-haired woman appeared behind them. She kissed Kit warmly on the cheek and smiled at Julia.

‘Julia, this is Annie. She’s been helping me design my cottage and drawing up plans for turning the rest of the Quad into rentable homes – whilst she’s in waiting for her own project to come to fruition.’ Kit indicated Annie’s swollen stomach and threw an arm round her shoulder. ‘Not long now, is it?’ he said affectionately.

‘No, only four weeks to go, thank God.’ Annie’s clear green eyes twinkled at Julia. She spoke with a hint of an American accent. ‘I’ll be glad now when it’s hatched. You have any?’ she asked.

Julia’s eyes filled with involuntary tears and she stood silently, saying nothing. How could she answer?

‘Julia’s a very well-known concert pianist.’ Kit came to the rescue, understanding instantly. ‘We met at Wharton Park years ago and I was one of the first people she ever performed for. Isn’t that right, Julia?’ His eyes were full of empathy.

The respite had given Julia a chance to recover. She managed a nod and cleared her throat. ‘Yes. I’ve got to get off home. Nice to meet you, Annie, and … good luck.’

‘And you, Julia.’

‘Yes. Bye, Kit. I’ll see you soon.’ She turned tail and almost ran to her car before he could stop her.

8

The following Saturday, the weather-watchers were predicting snow. Julia decided to ignore the warnings – she wanted a day out of the cottage – and set off just after lunch towards Southwold and her grandmother’s bungalow.

She turned on the radio to break the silence and instantly recognised the haunting notes of the middle section of Rachmaninov’s Concerto No. 2. Julia immediately switched it off. There were some things that, even after her epiphany of the past few days, were still unbearable. Annie’s innocent pleasantry had torn her to her core. She’d cried for two hours on returning home. And that reaction was the very reason she’d hidden away for so long; being alone was a better alternative than facing a world full of sights, smells and people who, however well-meaning, were bound to say or do something to remind her of her tragedy.

Up until now, she’d known she couldn’t cope – that comments such as Annie’s yesterday would break her. But facing the pain was the next step on the road to recovery. Her emotions would take time to settle, and she’d slowly learn to deal with the visual and aural outside world. And the memories they brought. Like everything, it was a process. And she could not expect her rehabilitation to happen overnight.

As Julia neared the outskirts of Southwold, she reassured herself that the very fact she was here, sixty miles away from the sanctuary of her cottage, was testament to her radical improvement of the past few days. And Julia knew that seeing her grandmother would not cause her pain. Instead, she would be hurtling backward over the past few years of her life to a time that held no memories other than comforting ones. It was ‘safe’ territory and she was genuinely looking forward to seeing Elsie again.

Julia consulted the directions she had scribbled down. She followed them and found herself turning into a tree-lined cul-de-sac, and then into the drive of an immaculate bungalow.

She picked up her bag, which contained the Changi diary, and walked to the front door to ring the bell. The bell played a tinny, electronic tune and within seconds her grandmother was at the door, throwing her arms open to welcome her.

‘Julia!’

She was enveloped in the fulsome breast, which smelt of Bluegrass perfume and talc.

‘Let me look at you.’ Elsie took Julia by the shoulders and stepped back, clasping her hands together with pleasure. ‘My! You’ve turned into a beauty,’ she exclaimed. ‘You’re so like your mother was at your age. Now come in, my love, come in.’

Julia followed Elsie inside. The bungalow was tiny, but everything was neat as a pin, fresh and bright. Elsie led her into a small sitting room, furnished with a pink Dralon three-piece suite, crammed around a gas fire.

‘Now then, let’s take your coat, and you sit and warm yourself by the fire whilst I go and make us a nice hot drink. Coffee or tea?’

‘A cup of tea would be lovely thanks, Granny,’ answered Julia.

‘Righty-ho then, and I baked you some of those scones you used to like as well.’ Elsie eyed her. ‘You look as though you could do with some of Granny’s feeding up.’

Julia smiled. ‘You’re right. I probably could.’

Elsie went into the next-door kitchen and switched on the kettle. Julia sat back in her chair and succumbed happily to the familiar cocoon of security her grandmother had always provided for her. ‘So,’ said Elsie, returning with a laden tray and placing it on the small coffee table, ‘how has my famous granddaughter been?’

‘I’m okay, Granny. And it’s really lovely to see you. I’m sorry I haven’t visited before. I haven’t been out much lately.’

‘You’ve been through a lot, my love, and I knew you’d turn up when you was ready.’ Elsie patted Julia’s hand in sympathy and understanding. ‘Now then, I’m putting plenty of sugar in your tea. You could double for your grandpa when he turned up back from the war; like a skeleton he was. There now –’ She passed Julia a cup, then began the task of thickly buttering some scones and adding jam. ‘It’s my special homemade damson. Do you remember how you used to love it? I managed to grow a damson tree in that tiny patch of fresh air they take for a garden round here –’ Elsie indicated the small lawned area visible through the window – ‘and it does lovely, it does.’

Julia looked at Elsie’s twinkling eyes. Whatever she had been expecting in terms of her grandmother ageing, it just hadn’t happened. Perhaps when someone was, in the eyes of the young, ‘old’ to begin with, the ageing process seemed much less obvious. Julia took a bite out of the scone and savoured the familiar taste.

Elsie watched her approvingly. ‘I haven’t lost my touch now, have I? I bet they’re the best scones you’ve tasted, for all your fine Frenchy food.’

Julia chuckled. ‘No, Granny, you haven’t lost your touch.’ She saw Elsie was frowning as she studied something on the top of her head.

‘I can tell you haven’t been eating, miss. Your hair’s lost all its shine.’ Elsie reached a hand across to Julia and picked up a lock of her hair, rubbing the ends between her fingers. ‘Dry as a bone. You need a good trim and a pot of conditioner on that. And some decent food inside you,’ she clucked. ‘It’s what I tell all my ladies; what you put in your mouth ends up on your head.’

Julia stared at Elsie in surprise. ‘Your “ladies”? Are you hairdressing now?’

‘Yes, I am,’ she confirmed gleefully. ‘Only at the old people’s home on a Thursday morning, and they’ve hardly got much hair left between them all,’ Elsie chuckled, ‘but I love it, I do. Finally got myself the career I always wanted!’

‘Have you still got all your wigs?’ Julia enquired.

‘No, I don’t need them no more, now I have the real thing.’ Elsie glanced at her. ‘You must have thought me odd, the way I used to spend hours fiddling with them, but they were better than nothing. It was all I ever wanted to do,’ she sighed, ‘and I used to be right good at it, I did. Her Ladyship used to have me style her hair and do the same for her guests who came to stay at Wharton Park. Ah well, funny how life turns out, isn’t it?’

‘Yes, it is, Granny. And are you well in yourself?’

‘As you can see,’ Elsie surveyed her substantial waistline, ‘still enjoying my own cooking. Bit more of a struggle now though, as it’s only me to feed. Your great-aunt died at the beginning of last year, so it’s just me rattling around this place now.’

‘I was sorry to hear that, Granny.’ Julia finished her scone and took another one from the plate.

‘Well, at least she didn’t suffer. She went to bed one night and just didn’t wake up. That’s the way I’d choose for me too, when I go.’ Elsie was sanguine, as old people often were about death. ‘She left me the bungalow, seeing as though she didn’t have kids of her own. These modern buildings are so much better than those poky, damp cottages I used to live in. Always warm, with hot water for a bath whenever I want one, and a lavvy that flushes every time.’

‘It’s very cosy, certainly,’ said Julia kindly. ‘So, you don’t get lonely?’

‘Lord, no! I’m rushed off my feet. I’ve got my hairdressing, and there’s not a day goes by when I’m not to one of my social clubs or out visiting some of my friends. We was so isolated at Wharton, Julia, with just the other estate workers to choose friends from. Here, I’ve got a whole town full of OAPs!’

‘I’m glad to see you’re so happy, Granny,’ said Julia. ‘You obviously don’t miss your life at Wharton Park.’

Elsie’s face darkened. ‘Well now, that wouldn’t be the truth, my love, cos I miss your grandpa something rotten. But no, I don’t miss the life I had there. Remember, I went into service when I was fourteen at the Big House; up at five, bed by midnight if I was lucky and they didn’t have a dinner or no guests staying. I worked like that for over fifty years of my life.’ She shook her head. ‘No, Julia, I’ve enjoyed my retirement, make no mistake. Anyway, enough of me, now you know I’m well and happy. How are your dad and your sister?’

‘The same as ever,’ Julia answered. ‘Dad’s still working far too hard and just about to trek off to the other side of the world on a research project. Alicia’s got her big family to look after, so that keeps her busy too.’

‘I should bet it does, she sends me pictures sometimes. She’s always saying come over for a visit, but I don’t like to be a bother. And besides, I can’t drive and I don’t like them trains. Maybe one day, when they’ve got time, they’ll come and visit me here, like you have today.’

‘I promise I’ll try and come to see you more often from now on. Especially now I’m back in the country,’ Julia added.

‘You’re staying here, are you? Permanent, like?’

‘I don’t know,’ Julia sighed. ‘I’ve got some decisions to make, but up to now, I haven’t wanted to make them.’

‘No, my love.’ Elsie looked at her with sympathy. ‘I’m sure you haven’t. So, you told me you’d got something you wanted to ask me.’

‘Yes,’ Julia said. ‘I don’t know whether you’ve heard that the Wharton Park Estate is being sold?’

Elsie’s face remained impassive. ‘Yes, I had heard,’ she answered.

‘Kit Crawford, the heir, is keeping the Quad and moving into your old cottage.’

Elsie threw back her head and laughed, a deep rich sound that resonated throughout her body and made it shake. Finally she wiped her eyes. ‘Master Kit, or should I say, his Lordship, moving into our old gardener’s cottage?’ She shook her head. ‘Oh, Julia, you do make me laugh.’

‘It’s true,’ insisted Julia. ‘He’s had to sell up because the estate is in bad debt and needs a lot of money spent on it. Besides, it was a lovely cottage,’ she added defensively.

‘That’s as may be, but the thought, in my day, of Lord Crawford moving into our basic place makes me laugh, oh it does.’ Elsie found a hanky from her sleeve and blew her nose. ‘Sorry, my love,’ she said, ‘carry on with your story, do.’

‘Well, the thing is, that when the plumbers were putting in some new pipes, they had to pull up the floorboards.’ Julia dug into her bag and pulled out the diary. ‘And they found this.’