The House On Willow Street (33 page)

T
he days following Kevin’s revelation, outwardly Tess continued to drive Zach to the bus, take Kitty to school, and carry on with her daily business. Inside, Tess wondered was the whole separation disaster all her fault and thought that if only she could have kept her mouth shut, if only she’d been happy with
I love him most of the time
love, then she, Kitty, Kevin and Zach would still be a family. Then Zach wouldn’t have to put out the bins in an attempt to be the man of the family, Kevin wouldn’t have fallen for Claire, and she wouldn’t be consumed by the most unbelievable rage she’d ever experienced.

Despite her best intentions, a great vat of anger was boiling inside her over Kevin and Claire.

“I’m so furious with him for doing this to the kids and to me,” she said to Vivienne. “How could he?” Tess paused because the last bit was the hardest: “And I’m angry with myself for almost pushing them together!
I
made this happen.
Me
!”

Zach wasn’t talking to her at all, as if it was all her fault.

I DIDN’T TELL KITTY THAT CLAIRE IS PREGNANT. WE NEED HER TO GET USED TO THE IDEA OF CLAIRE FIRST
, Kevin texted.

Wonderful, thought Tess.
Now
he turns into the concerned parent.

Then she felt guilty—Kevin had always been a good parent. And he loved Zach and Kitty. He probably was doing his best under difficult circumstances. She needed to meet him to discuss what they did next.

The problem was that Kitty was desperately keen to meet Claire and Zach seemed incredibly angry with his mother.

“She had to go away,” fibbed Tess, which earned her a furious glare from Zach.

“It’s not my fault, Zach,” Tess said to her son.

Only to have him hiss: “Isn’t it?”

“If Gerard did that to me,” Vivienne said, “I’d take him to the cleaners in the divorce courts. I’d be more than bitter, I’d be furious.”

Under the circumstances, Tess felt that bitterness was allowed, except that, having met a few bitter divorced women, she wasn’t in any hurry to join their ranks.

They were the women who divided life into two chunks: Before the divorce and After the divorce. Everything in the After category, be it global warming or a stock exchange crash, could be blamed on the departed husband.

We had no holes in the ozone layer until he left me!

Much of the stock in her shop had come from these perpetually enraged women. It was astonishing how many of the husbands had failed to collect their belongings after they left.

“This was
his
mother’s,” one ex-wife said furiously, holding up a particularly fine piece of Chinese pottery.

In the interests of legality, Tess inquired whether the woman was entitled to sell the pottery. It was a valuable piece. Perhaps her ex-husband’s lawyers would need to be contracted . . .

“I got the house and everything in it!” hissed the woman, making Tess think, not for the first time, that the antique business was not your average job.

It was almost easier dealing with bankruptcy sales, much as Tess hated those. Having been through it herself, she found it unbearable trying to make a profit from people who were forced to sell everything they owned.

“No, Vivienne, I’m going to concentrate on the business,” Tess said. “I need it now that we’re not getting back together. I’ll have to hire someone to work here occasionally so I can attend more auctions and go off around the country to executors’ sales.”

“You should find a new man. That would show bloody Kevin what a mistake he’s making,” Vivienne said. “There’s that lovely Cashel Reilly, he’s not married. A nice millionaire—or is it billionaire? Either way, you could do worse.”

“I told you, we dated years ago and it ended horribly,” said Tess miserably.

“Oh, that was years ago. People move on. He’s been married since, he’s got over you. And besides,” Vivienne said, returning to a well-worn theme, “if you made even the slightest effort, Tess, you’d look fabulous. I’ve never seen a woman less interested in her appearance.”

Tess wasn’t even mildly insulted by these words because Vivienne had been saying them for years. Ever since they’d been shop neighbors, she’d been pushing Tess to have her hair cut properly, wear makeup and, obviously—befitting advice from a woman who owned a clothes shop—to dress beautifully.

“I could do so much with you, Tess,” Vivienne would say regretfully. “Look at you, you’re slim and tall. Most women would kill for long legs like yours, and such a narrow waist. And heavens, Tess, your hair! You’ve got to stop going to
Eileen’s to get your hair cut. Eileen can only do blue-rinse shampoos and sets. Her version of the pixie cut makes you look like someone went at your hair with sheep shears.”

“Stop with the compliments,” said Tess drily. “I don’t think I can take any more of it.”

“I’ve only got your best interests at heart,” said Vivienne. “Now that you’re a single woman, you have to make more of an effort. At least go to the beauty salon and get your eyelashes tinted, seeing as you won’t wear any eyeliner or mascara or anything. You’re like my sister-in-law, Gladys, determined to live her life without a bit of lipstick passing her lips.”

“You hate her! You always say she’s a complete cow,” said Tess, finally insulted.

“Oh, you know what I mean,” sighed Vivienne. “You’re anything but a cow. You’re one of my best friends and I love you dearly, but I don’t know why you persist with this sheep-farmer-from-the-back-of-beyond look. You’re beautiful; you could be so stunning if you made even the slightest effort. It’s as if you want to look like some old boot so that no man will ever look at you again.”

And there it was finally, the thing that really hurt Tess.

She quickly moved the conversation on to something else because Vivienne had touched a nerve. Kevin had never said anything to her in all the years of their marriage about dressing up or wearing eye makeup, and that had suited Tess. Suited her too much, she realized now.

“Of course, hunky Cashel is going to be around much more now that he’s bought the house.”

“What house?”

Vivienne paused. “Avalon House,” she said reluctantly.

Tess nearly dropped her cup of tea.

“You hadn’t heard? Oh hell, I’m sorry, Tess . . .” Vivienne
flailed around, trying to find the right words. “I honestly thought you’d know, that someone would tell you . . .”

“Why would anyone tell me?” Tess said. “It hasn’t been my home for years. It’s nothing to me now.” She put down her cup and gave Vivienne a brief hug. “Sorry, love, I’m going next door to shut up shop. It’s been a tough few days.”

She almost ran out of the shop and into her own. Silkie, who’d followed her into Vivienne’s, ran after her and looked up in alarm.

“Come on, darling,” said Tess, getting to her knees and burying her head in the dog’s silken coat the way she had with her animals as a child, “let’s go home.”

She’d had enough.

But the wheels of business move on and the next day, Tess knew she couldn’t miss the year’s biggest antiques auction. She had to find some fresh stock—as cheaply as possible.

In the past few years, Tess had got used to closing early when she needed to go out to an auction because she could no longer afford to hire anyone. But with Christmas only a month away and the books looking so bad, she was nervous of losing a day’s trading. Danae’s gorgeous niece, Mara, whom she’d
loved
on their night out, seemed like the perfect stopgap: she was looking for work, and she was happy to fill in for one day.

Mara said she had worked in property, and Tess prayed she’d be okay holding the fort for a small, unusual antique business. Though it helped enormously if the person had even a vague knowledge of antiques, Tess had descriptions of everything in the shop on the tiny luggage labels she used for the prices.

She was due at nine. Bang on time, there was a knock on the door.

Tess looked up to find a vision in the shop doorway.

For the occasion, Mara had dressed in an exquisite arrangement of vintage, figuring that this was one job where old clothes would be an advantage. She wore a 1950s butter-yellow dress with a Peter Pan collar, a tiny waist and whirling skirts. She had a fluffy white mohair cardigan draped over her shoulders and carried a white hard-frame handbag.

“Mara, you look wonderful!” she said.

“Thank you, Tess,” said Mara, and stepped into Something Old.

That night in the restaurant, Tess had decided that Mara had a glow about her, like she was lit up inside. Tess couldn’t quite put her finger on the exact cause, whether it was Mara’s rippling mane of auburn hair or the huge green eyes that looked at everything with such interest. Today, she was the same: glowing and smiling, looking as delighted at the possibility of a day’s work as she might have been over being headhunted for some glamorous corporation.

“You’re wildly overqualified for the job,” Tess said. She knew of Mara’s career history but looking over her CV now, she could see that was definitely the case.

“Oh, you must read my reference,” Mara said cheerfully. “The ex-boyfriend I was telling you about: he wrote it. They were all terrified I’d sue them or him, so from the reference, you’d think I’d personally run the entire office single-handedly for three years.”

She paused thoughtfully. “I could have too—run the office, that is. But property is not the job to be in right now. Too many people selling their beloved homes in misery for half of what they’d bought the place for, and you still have to demand commission. Horrible. I’d probably have been made redundant soon anyhow.”

“I’m not sure the antique business is much better,” Tess
said. “A lot of my current stock is from people who’ve been forced to part with pieces they’ve had in their families for decades and they’ve looked as if they wanted to cry as it went out the door.”

“So kindness is a necessity if anyone comes in with something to sell,” Mara said quickly. “Trust me, I can do kind.” A wistfulness crept into her voice. “I’d have gone mad if not for other people’s kindness over the past couple of months. Henry James said kindness was the most important word in the English language. He was right.”

“Do you know anything about antiques?” asked Tess briskly. She didn’t want to talk about people’s kindness or how she melted into a puddle of tears when she experienced it. It was easy being strong as long as nobody said anything gentle to you: that was when the floodgates opened. There was definitely something magical about Mara: she made people open up. Tess hadn’t been crying much at all these past few days: she’d trained herself not to.

“Oh look!” in an instant, Mara had swooped on one of the rosewood jewelry cabinets (a stunning piece for displaying jewelry, but for sale if the correct price was reached), and pointed to a dainty Art Nouveau brooch displayed on a velvet choker on an old gold papier-mâché bust.

The brooch was so tiny that it would get lost worn any other way, but the sinuous silver lines made a perfect adornment to a choker, exactly like the one in the old oil painting of Great-great-great- (Tess forgot how many greats were involved) aunt Tatiana from Avalon House, although in the painting, Tatiana was wearing a vast diamond choker which had come from the Tsar’s court in the 1800s. Pity they’d never been able to find that necklace in Avalon House when they had to sell everything, Tess thought wistfully. It was one of those priceless pieces, with a maharajah’s diamond in the
center of it and a whole history surrounding the necklace. It would be worth hundreds of thousands. But even though she and Suki had searched for it, they’d never found it or Great-great-great . . . aunt Tatiana’s alleged hiding place for her gems.

As soon as she’d seen the lovely brooch, part of a job lot, Tess had known how beautiful it would look worn as a choker and set against black velvet.

“That is
so
beautiful,” Mara breathed. “And where you have it is perfect. I feel like it’s on a lady’s dressing table and she’s about to cast off a silky robe so she can dress for a fabulous party, cover herself in Chanel No. 5 and . . . oh, I don’t know—what would she be wearing for something of this period?”