Precious Things (34 page)

Scrawny and freckled in her high-waisted jeans and striped top, a seventeen-year-old Maggie was squinting up at the camera, her mouth a tense, solemn line. It was just before she went off to college. Maggie remembered the afternoon clearly. It came back to her in a rush, just as though it were yesterday. An exchange with her mother had ended in a screaming match, and she'd slammed out of the house in a flood of tears, waiting at the bus stop for an hour to
make her desperate escape to Kate's house. But when she'd arrived, Maggie had found that Kate wasn't in – she'd forgotten she and David were visiting an aunt in the Cotswolds. Don had welcomed her inside anyway, ushering Maggie out to the garden. They were having a barbecue with friends, and taking advantage of the last of the summer heat.

She'd sat at that table with the grown-ups all afternoon, and they'd talked to her like she was a real person, with real thoughts and feelings of her own. They made her feel like her words
meant
something. Whereas at Maggie's home, platitudes and heavy silences were generally followed by heated outbursts. Maggie and Kate lived in the same town, but sometimes it felt like they lived on different planets. That's why she'd made such a fool of herself that evening.

Maggie thought of the way Don had come to find her and discovered her crying in one of the upstairs rooms. He'd leaned over for a hug but, just for a moment, Maggie had thought he was trying to attempt something more. Confused, she'd offered up her lips to his, and Don had frozen, suddenly awkward, backing away out of the room . . . What an idiot! He'd only wanted to help, but something had become all warped and twisted up inside Maggie, both her feelings for Kate's parents, and that night on the sofa with her dad passing out in her lap.

Maggie returned down the stairs, trying to put the horrible, cringing memory out of her mind. The smell of oil, garlic and thyme wafted through the air, mixing deliciously with something roasting in the oven, and Maggie followed it towards the kitchen, her stomach contracting with nerves and hunger. She pushed open the kitchen door and stood hesitantly in the doorway.

Standing in front of a pale yellow Aga on the far side of the room was a thickset woman in a lumpy brown cardigan, stirring a pot of something thick – caramel, thought Maggie, smelling the unmistakable scent of burnt sugar. Her legs felt suddenly weak. Dropping the bags by her side, Maggie felt again for the locket through the thin fabric of her blouse.

‘Jean?' she said, her voice coming out in an unexpected squeak.

The woman turned around. Her hair was cropped close and her face was more lined than Maggie had expected, but it was still Jean – definitely, unmistakably her – her brown eyes lighting up with genuine warmth and excitement.

Maggie smiled nervously.

‘Maggie, love!' cried Jean, adeptly flicking off the gas and flinging a potholder aside. She crossed the room, encircling Maggie in a warm, firm embrace.

‘Let me look at you,' she said, rubbing her hands up and down Maggie's shoulders as if she couldn't really believe it was her. Maggie felt the tension ebb away, as her insides unclenched and settled.

‘You've brought the girls, haven't you? Where are they? I can't wait to meet them.'

‘They're with Kate and Lola. Feeding the hens,' Maggie said shyly, feeling a rush of love wash over her as she returned Jean's hug.

‘Kate told me about your new job,' Jean exclaimed. ‘The V&A Museum! You must be thrilled, love.'

‘Yes,' said Maggie, still feeling a stab of excitement, even now, many weeks after taking up her new position. ‘It's wonderful, actually – they've been so flexible. I'm only in three days a week, but it gives me more time with Pearl, and I'm having a ball finding display pieces for them. It's a dream job, actually. I have to pinch myself daily.'

Jean pulled out chairs for them both, and motioned for Maggie to sit. As she sat down at one end of the farmhouse table, Maggie felt a strong sense of déjà vu. It was like two decades had simply fallen away between them.

‘Help me shell these peas while we chat?' Jean asked, passing Maggie a bowl of bright green pods.

‘These look delicious, so fresh,' Maggie said, leaning over the bowl. She could smell their crisp, earthy greenness and almost feel the heat of the sun still in them.

‘How do you like it here?' Maggie asked. ‘After Basingstoke?'

‘Bibury? Oh, I love it . . . I never feel lonely, there's always someone around. The locals have accepted me as one of their own . . . But how are you? I was so pleased to hear you and Kate were in touch again,' she said, flicking Maggie a look. Maggie felt that warm glow of recognition – the same one she'd had noticing the picture on the stairs. The knowledge that she and her little family
mattered
to these people. It was all she could do not to cry.

As Jean chattered on, Maggie's mind turned to Pearl and the recent change in her too. Since Maggie had left Bonninghams, Pearl hadn't been going to daycare quite as much and had seemed to settle down quite a lot. Maggie also felt that she was now more capable of dealing with her. Things had been easier for all of them lately. New transitions were tough, but it helped having the decision taken out of her hands.

Maggie thought back to the way she'd left Bonninghams. The awful mess of it. Her meeting with Charles Bonningham after the robbery, when it transpired that it was all her fault they'd been broken into. Almost all of Bonninghams' sale jewellery had been stolen – irreplaceable, precious jewels and costume sparklers from all over the country and Europe – on the very night of Tim's party.

On the Friday before the event, Maggie had flown out of the auction house early on her way to meet Francesca. She should have been the one locking up at work, but Maggie knew they'd be closed for the weekend and wasn't worried about the disarray on the auction room floor. With Michael, Francesca and the last-minute arrangements for the party all on her mind, she did something which she'd never done before – she gave Judy her set of keys and asked her to take over the locking up.

The auction house was broken into early on the Sunday morning. And of course, the jewellery department was the first to go. The furniture was all fine, and most of the artwork, but diamonds were so very easy to steal and on-sell. Maggie knew the gold and platinum pieces would have been melted down by now, and re-set with different stones. It was incredible to be so unlucky, really. The thieves appeared
to know instinctively which roller door in the loading dock Maggie had forgotten to mention to Judy. At least Bonninghams' offices hadn't been touched – small mercies.

When the police had rung in the early hours of the Sunday morning, Maggie had rushed straight to the auction house, leaving Tim to clean up after the party. The meeting with the two young police officers had been grim and humbling, but Maggie had taken full responsibility – the last thing she wanted was for Judy to lose her job over the whole thing, and Maggie knew it was her own fault. It had only taken her a few moments to come to a decision: she had tendered her resignation.

At least Bonningham had given her a good reference; she knew how badly she'd disappointed him. But how could he reasonably continue to employ her? Her mistake had put in jeopardy some of the company's best relationships – ones she'd worked for years to develop and nurture – as well as costing them a fortune in insurance premiums. And so when Charles Bonningham had arrived at the auction house, looking immaculate in pinstripes even at three on a Sunday morning, he had accepted her resignation with grim determination, his nostrils flaring with distaste and displeasure.

But despite her tears in the car on the way home, in fact it had all worked out for the best – and remarkably quickly, too. The first few weeks at home had been gloriously restful and had done herself and Pearl the world of good. But after the novelty had worn off, Maggie had crossed all her fingers and toes for courage and decided to apply for a part-time role with the V&A. With Bonningham's reference, the interview process was a dream – even if it did take a further few weeks to settle the details. Fortunately the V&A had already heard of Maggie and were familiar with her work. It seemed her reputation had gone beyond the closed world of auction houses and dealers. They had mentioned the robbery at Bonninghams, but from what they had said about it, Maggie had been left in no doubt that Bonningham had forgiven her and had made light of it with her new bosses.

Maggie now realised just how frazzled and tense she'd become in those last few months at Bonninghams. Rushing, always running late, with never any time to take a full deep breath; it had felt like madness. Now she could breathe again.

‘I'm starving! What does one have to do for a bit of sustenance around here, woman?' Kate banged open the side door, striding into the kitchen. She bent down to give her mother a hug. ‘So you found her then?'

Jean swivelled around in her seat. ‘I certainly did, and not a minute before time, this girl is as thin as a rake.' She smacked Kate's hand away from the bowl of fresh peas. ‘Nothing before dinner, you – we're only an hour away.'

Maggie realised, all of a sudden, with everyone now crowded into the warm cosy kitchen, that she'd missed her opportunity to have a proper chat with Jean. Later, she told herself.

Undeterred, Kate dipped her hand in the bowl of fresh peas and popped some in her mouth. ‘Watch out for the dragon, Pearl,' Kate grinned.

‘Get away with you,' Jean clucked, swatting her away with a tea towel. Catching sight of Stella and Pearl hovering nervously behind Lola, Jean jumped up.

‘Hello!' she cried. ‘You must be Stella. And this little one's Pearl? You're the spitting image of your mother when she was younger!' she told Pearl. ‘Aren't you gorgeous. And Stella, I've heard so much about you.' Jean hugged them both, Maggie flushing with pride as the girls returned her cuddles.

‘And did my hens gobble everything up?' Jean asked them.

‘Yes!' cried Pearl. ‘They were so hungry . . . One even pecked my finger, you know,' she said, holding it up. ‘But it doesn't hurt very much.'

‘She tried patting them,' Stella explained, ‘but was holding on to some potato peel . . .'

The grown-ups started laughing and Pearl looked around, the expression on her face somewhere between aggrieved and delighted.

‘Ah well, that happens,' said Jean, nodding gravely. ‘You'll just have to be more careful in future,' she said, hugging the girls to her sides. She looked at Maggie with a twinkle in her eye, and gave her a wink.

Several hours later, the women were gathered together in the sitting room. Lola was leaning against Kate, and Jean was knitting in a faded chintz-covered armchair. Maggie felt drowsy, comfortably full of good food and warmed by a deep sense of contentment – she knew she was doing the right thing by coming here this weekend.

Jean had made them a delicious lamb roast with all the trimmings, followed by strawberries with cream and caramel sauce. Pearl was already asleep upstairs, having conked out on Maggie's lap at the table. Stella sat on the floor with her back against Maggie, long legs stretched out across the carpet in front of her, occasionally turning around to smile up at Maggie for reassurance.

Maggie tried to ignore the niggling voice inside her head that told her she needed to speak to Jean as soon as possible. It would be better to wait until morning.

A loud rapping at the front door interrupted their quiet talk, and Kate jumped up to answer it.

‘Sorry I couldn't make it any sooner,' Tim said, bending his head under the low doorframe and coming into the room.

‘You were meant to call us to pick you up!' Maggie cried, jumping up from her seat to greet him with a kiss. God, it was wonderful to see him here – Maggie felt even better knowing Tim was around, especially with the task that lay ahead of her.

‘It was no bother,' said Tim. ‘There was a cab outside the station. Besides,' he said, smiling at her, ‘I wanted to give you a chance to settle in.'

What a man
, Maggie thought, filled with love for her husband. He always seemed to know exactly what she needed. Even when she didn't seem to have a clue herself.

Jean put aside her needles and yarn and roused herself from the sofa. Tim held out his hand to shake Jean's, but she drew him in for a hug instead.

‘Look at you, gorgeous man. Maggie's told us so much about you. Welcome to the family,' she said, reaching up to pat his cheek fondly.

Maggie saw the surprise in Tim's eyes, before he broke into a genuine, lopsided grin.

‘You too, Jean. Thank you for inviting us, and taking such good care of my wife and girls. Maggie's been so excited, you know.'

‘She'd better stick around, then – I've always wanted some grandkids to share this place with.'

Maggie flushed with happiness.

‘Thanks,' said Kate, mock sourly. ‘What am I then? Chopped liver?'