The Last Dance (37 page)

She smiled thinly and sat down. She’d never felt lonelier than in this moment to be surrounded by empty chairs, as if the seats surrounding her were occupied only by ghosts.

‘So, Miss Myles, are you well?’

‘As well as I can be under the circumstances.’

He had the grace to look down. ‘I’m deeply sorry that you became involved. That was not my call, of course. Monty obviously insisted.’

‘Had he not, you would not now have what Joseph Altmann brought with him.’

‘We had no idea what he was bringing out.’ He looked in pain, his brow creasing with worry.

‘But you did know it was dangerous for Mr Ainsworth.’

‘They were family. He wouldn’t have hesitated in any circumstance. My dear, these are not easy times. I have a job to do for our government and I do my best not to get emotionally involved.’

She hated Peach in that moment. If not for Rafe’s plea, she would have walked away from this man without wasting another breath on him. He had no idea she’d heard their exchange during that phone call and how he had manipulated Rafe. ‘Nevertheless, it was brave.’

He nodded carelessly. ‘You have the stuff Altmann brought from Berlin?’

She tapped her bag, only now realising he had no idea of what the pages contained. ‘Yes,’ she reassured. ‘And you have something for me.’

‘I do.’ He touched the breast pocket of his light raincoat. Stella blinked, not understanding, but he was already talking again. ‘It’s courageous of you, Miss —’

‘Mr Peach,’ she interrupted, now hating his jolly, sweet face for sending Rafe away, for causing her a grief that she knew would never leave her. He stopped abruptly, staring at her, slightly alarmed. ‘I will not be giving you the papers Rafe has acquired until you give me what I want and it is not kept in your coat pocket!’

He shifted position, looking around. ‘Please calm yourself, Miss Myles.’

‘Calm? You’re asking me to calm down when the man I love is lost to me.’

‘Love?’ He looked astonished and then almost in the same moment she saw that he understood.

‘Dear old Monty.’ She glared at him, hearing his patronising tone. ‘Forgive me, I can see that it was real for you, Miss Myles.’

‘It was real for him too.’ She had to believe it.

‘Monty only had to look at a woman and she —’

‘Don’t, Mr Peach. I know you believe you know him, that he is your friend, but you are mistaken.’

He shrugged with repressed smugness.

‘Do you know his full name?’ she demanded.

‘Montgomery Douglas R. Ainsworth. Captain, if I’m not mistaken, and something of a war hero . . . predictably.’

‘And you knew him as Monty?’

‘It’s what he asked me to call him by.’

She nodded. ‘That’s right, Mr Peach. He was known as Monty by everyone he kept as distant as he could.’ As he baulked she pressed on. ‘No, you need to understand, you only think you know him. You are a colleague. That’s it, Basil . . . or should I call you Fruity?’

‘No one calls me Fruity,’ he corrected, his cheerfulness gone.

‘Oh? I thought that was your name at school.’

‘It was. I only share that with a few people.’

‘Precisely. You think he’s your friend but he shared it with me, chuckled about it – not unkindly, because that wasn’t his way.’

‘We used to go out often, drinking . . . dancing.’

‘Because he felt sorry for you, Mr Peach. I understand you care for your elderly mother, which is a fine thing to do, but he knew you were lonely for company of your own age, particularly female company.’

‘Listen here, many’s the time old Monty and I got quite filthy together and shared many a secret.’

‘Really? Did you know that he never actually drank the gin you thought he was consuming? Did you know that night you met Madge and myself that he was as sober as I am now? He threw most of it on his suit so he smelled drunk.’

He blinked with annoyance. ‘No, I didn’t know.’

‘And the secrets you think he shared . . . Let’s go with an obvious one, shall we? Do you know what the R stands for in his name?’

Basil Peach turned red. ‘A family name, no doubt.’

She shook her head. ‘It belongs to a name that only his sister, his mother, his closest friend, Joseph – a brother to him – and I were privy to.’

‘His wife must have known it.’

‘Perhaps she does but I doubt very much she was familiar with the short form of it. I only know him by one name, which he told me less than an hour after I met him, Mr Peach. You’ve been acquainted for years and don’t know it, his wife has been married to him for at least seventeen years and calls him Doug.’

‘What do you want from me, Miss Myles?’

‘Apart from your apology, I want to know where he is.’

‘I am genuinely sorry for calling into question how Monty felt about you.’

‘Felt?’

He took his monocle out. ‘He’s dead, Stella.’

She looked back at him with a dull expression. This was not a shock; it was not even a scenario she hadn’t anticipated since she’d crumpled to the floor in the Marrakech hotel room. Her heart had known it since he looked back once with such regret between the shoulders of the Germans. Now her mind simply had to catch up and resign herself to the confirmation of what her heart knew.

‘I wished to spare you this.’

‘Don’t spare me. Tell me, and then we can go our separate ways.’ Her voice was granite-hard.

He sat straighter and sighed. ‘Two bodies were found in a deserted area of the foothills of the Atlas Mountains. Our people have confirmed them to be Ainsworth and Altmann. It had been made to look like a car accident but you and I know better.’

She swallowed. ‘Their bodies?’

‘Both are buried in Marrakech.’

‘Mrs Ainsworth?’

‘She was contacted immediately. Knows only of the accident. Certainly doesn’t need or indeed, I suspect, want to know any more.’

‘How are his daughters?’

‘I cannot answer that, Miss Myles. I did visit Beatrice Ainsworth; she was under the impression that I represented the Foreign Office. It was easier that way. I didn’t meet the daughters.’

‘I see,’ she said. Stella unclipped her bag and retrieved an envelope. ‘I hope this was worth two men’s lives, Mr Peach. Two men whom you sent to their death for this.’

‘Rafe insisted on working alone. He took risks, refused any assistance. Miss Myles, I —’

‘Don’t, Mr Peach. I do not require your placation, especially when you head home each evening to the cosy little bedroom you’ve probably slept in since childhood!’

He cleared his throat, but the fresh bloom of red at his neck told her she’d hit the mark. Good! He needed to feel humiliated if he wouldn’t show remorse.

‘Have you read it?’ He looked at the envelope greedily.

‘Yes, of course I have. It is the ramblings of a mad but dangerous man. I trust Britain will act.’

He opened his palm, clearly reluctant to snatch the envelope from her despite his eagerness. She duly placed it in his hand and stood. ‘Forewarned is forearmed, they say, Mr Peach. I hope our nation will share this knowledge with her allies and not allow Herr Hitler to follow through with his dream of domination.’

Once again he looked around, fearful of being overheard. ‘No one else has seen this?’

‘No one. But Mr Peach, it’s a copy.’

He looked up in alarm at where she stood.

‘A faithful copy made by Herr Altmann. I saw the original, saw the handwriting of the German Chancellor, and will attest to that should I ever be asked.’

‘Is that a threat, Miss Myles?’

‘Not at all. It’s a promise. And as security, I have written down everything I know, including your name, the date and time of this meeting, everything I overheard of the conversation you had with Mr Ainsworth when you forced his hand into going on the cruise to his death, which I suspect you knew might occur.’

His denial died in his throat as she sneered at him.

‘It’s all locked up in a safe deposit box to be opened upon my death, Mr Peach, so it’s in your interests to leave me well alone.’

‘Good gracious! What do you think I am?’

‘I think you’re a snake, Mr Peach,’ she accused, smiling at how it suited him. ‘Or if that’s too metaphorical for you, how’s this? I think you hide in the grass like a snake – a cowardly, unimportant little government man who has gallant, brave others do his bidding. You sent the man I love to his death and you knew he’d go and get exactly what you wanted because you’d involved Joseph whom he loved and simply couldn’t permit to walk into danger alone. You knew Joseph was under threat and you did not hesitate to put Mr Ainsworth into the same orbit. In fact, recalling that conversation you bullied him from your safe, warm, hidden bed in the grass of your London office of the Secret Intelligence Service.’

His expression was pinched with affront. ‘Someone has to manage the affairs, Miss Myles.’

‘Lose that indignant tone, Fruity,’ Stella sneered, surprisingly herself at her behaviour, although it felt empowering to strike back at the person she held ultimately responsible for Rafe’s sacrifice. ‘One day someone might manipulate you into a dangerous situation and I wonder how you will cope? I wonder if you’d walk to your death as calmly and determinedly as the man I love did. He couldn’t keep Joseph safe but I now realise he would rather be damned than let Joseph go to his execution alone. And even as he did so he made sure that London received what it needed because he was loyal and he also kept me safe, though I don’t know why. I’m lonely, Mr Peach. I’m grief-stricken, and I don’t know how to claw my way out of this well of self-pity and loathing, although I suspect today is the first rung of that ladder. The next is to walk away from you and that letter and to work my damnedest never to think on either you or it again.’

Basil struggled but didn’t successfully disguise how affronted he was. Spots of colour pinched his cheeks. He withdrew a buff envelope from inside his coat pocket. ‘I was asked to give you this.’

She stared at it, not touching it. ‘By whom?’

‘By the man you loved.’

‘Not past tense. I still do love him, Basil.’

His glare softened at the use of his name and the tenderness in her voice. She felt her hate for him drain from her body. It took too much energy to retain her anger. ‘I’m so sorry, Stella. I miss him too, if that helps to know. I really did think of him as a friend and although friends don’t send each other into danger, we’re already fighting a war that most of the country doesn’t even know about yet.’

She pointed at his chest. ‘Then be one of the brave people who fight for peace. Don’t let it happen. You have information now that can at least get people working towards prevention.’

‘You make it sound simple.’

‘It is, in my mind.’

‘He was brave to the last,’ he finished, handing her the envelope.

‘Have you read what’s inside?’

‘Of course I have,’ he said, and they shared a sad smile at his echo of her words. ‘He insisted I organise some matters for him. He came up to London after our phone call on your behalf.’

Stella frowned. ‘I didn’t know.’

He shrugged. ‘Please take it.’

She did so.

‘To be frank, I don’t know the full extent of what is in there, only that he was making arrangements. It was disgustingly wrong of me to think that Ainsworth was simply providing for you. Given what you’ve told me, no doubt he has done a lot more than I could imagine and we should put my appalling manners down to the green-eyed monster. You’re a beautiful woman, Stella, and Ainsworth was always surrounded by them. I always hoped one might take an interest, you know – one of his cast-offs – but as long as he was in the midst, no one looked my way.’

‘Madge looked your way. Did you ever bother to take her out again?’

He looked stunned. ‘Madge. Your friend? She was fun.’

‘Well, I saw her yesterday and she’s not attached to anyone and would like nothing more, I suspect, than to have a constant companion; someone she could rely on and trust . . . someone to love.’

He blushed furiously. ‘Really? She was so pretty, I didn’t think for a moment she was anything more than a party girl.’

Stella raised her eyes to the sky. ‘Madge is working at the millinery counter at Bourne & Hollingsworth. I suggest you drop by. Her day off is Wednesday.’

‘I don’t deserve your forgiveness,’ he admitted.

‘No, you don’t, which is why I haven’t forgiven you, Mr Peach, but I don’t wish ill on anyone . . . even you. You and Madge would be good for each other – she takes no prisoners. Don’t say I haven’t warned you.’

He grinned, despite her warning.

Stella held out a hand. ‘I hope you won’t take this the wrong way, but I trust we shall never meet again.’

He gave a small cough. ‘I understand.’

‘Make it count, Basil. Make his life matter.’

Stella walked away before he could answer, striding purposefully down the beautifully straight avenue, rounding the duck pond and heading as quickly as she could towards Lancaster Gate. By the time she left the park she was hurrying beyond a walk, finally breaking into a jog, tears streaming, heedless of people noticing and pausing as she desperately tried to outrun her despair.

The young woman in the starched apron tapped on the door of the tiny office.

‘Someone to see you, Stella.’

She looked up from some bookwork. ‘Oh, thank you, Sarah.’ The girl turned to leave. ‘Wait,’ Stella called. Sarah halted, looking alarmed. ‘Your apron tie is coming loose. Come here, let me fix that.’ Stella stood and pulled the ends of the sash. ‘Hmm, your uniform is looking a bit worse for wear too, isn’t it?’

Sarah looked sheepish. ‘I didn’t want to ask but I know how much importance you place on how we turn ourselves out for the customers.’

‘That’s right. We never drop our standards. Indent for a new one. I’ll make sure Miss Baker is aware that I’ve authorised a new uniform.’

‘Oh, you’re very kind, thank you,’ Sarah gushed.

‘How’s that young man of yours?’

‘I’m worried he’ll be conscripted.’

She nodded. There was no answer for this, other than an empty placation. Instead she gave her staff member a cheer-up smile. ‘Well, we just have to hope it doesn’t come to that, Sarah. No one wants another war.’

‘That Hitler does.’

The name sent chills through her. Stella had worked hard not to think upon that meeting in Kensington Gardens in five years but she wondered now whether Basil Peach ever did take any action based on the hard-won intelligence that she had smuggled out of Africa. Britain and its allies had granted the Führer, as he was known, the right to annexe Sudetenland, which suggested the warnings had fallen on deaf ears. Uncertain and rocky times certainly felt like they were travelling towards them and Stella hated that she had been living with the fear of this situation since 1933.

She cast a look over her shoulder at the paperwork that would have to wait and walked out to the front of the tearooms, anticipating a supplier wanting to offer wares at a discounted rate to her current one. But the woman waiting for her near the door, clearly feeling awkward, and who raised a nervous hand in salutation, was possibly the very last person in the world Stella imagined would come looking for her. There was a real nip in the air now that warranted the dove-coloured overcoat trimmed luxuriantly with fur at the cuff and collar. Stella’s still keen buyer’s eye noted expensive leather shoes and an even more costly handbag, that even conservative styling couldn’t hide. Golden hair was cut shorter with soft curls emerging from beneath a matching grey-blue, broad-brimmed hat of satin. She looked lovely, relaxed, even tanned. Stella stopped behind the counter, stunned, to take a moment and be sure she wasn’t imagining it.

‘I can’t believe it! Georgina Ainsworth?’ she exclaimed in disbelief.

It was a quiet morning, so there were only a few people enjoying a pot of tea, but they all looked up.

The newcomer ignored the scrutiny and, pulling off her tan suede glove, twisted her upraised left hand, grinning. ‘It’s Mrs Rex Frobisher now,’ she said, a diamond solitaire glittering above a gold wedding band.

Stella hurried around the counter and then halted again, unsure. It was Georgina who moved to gather her up and hug her tight. ‘Stella,’ she breathed, not letting her go quickly. ‘I’m so glad you’re here and that I can see you again.’

They stood back from each other and Stella was shocked to discover that she was feeling a pang of bright sentiment. If someone had told her a year ago that she’d be delighted to see this person, she’d have smirked in disbelief. ‘Gosh! Look at you, you haven’t changed a bit!’

‘Oh, I think I have, Stella,’ she murmured, her smile faltering. ‘But only for the better,’ she added. It’s why I’m here. I need to . . .’ She searched for the right word. Stella sensed that to apologise wasn’t enough for her. ‘To atone,’ she said, and shook her head.

Stella felt happy within to realise she felt nothing but warmth to see a familiar face. This was no time in her life for grudges or regrets. ‘What can I get you?’

Georgina looked around. ‘A cup of tea, perhaps?’ she said in a gently wry tone. ‘Only if you can spare the time?’

Stella waved away all protestation. ‘Are you alone?’

‘Rex figured we’d like some time to ourselves. He went to the library to read the papers. We’re on honeymoon.’

‘Oh, Georgina! This has made my day. Is Grace up north with you too?’

‘No, she’s at school but I’ll tell you everything about her over that pot of tea,’ Georgina replied and Stella heard the hesitancy.

‘Let’s find somewhere private then. Come with me,’ she said, relieved to be welcoming her former nemesis as a friend. Rafe would be proud and she felt a gust of happiness spread like a warm blanket around her shoulders. ‘Sarah, be a darling and bring a tray out into the garden, would you?’

‘In a jiffy,’ she said.

Stella led her guest out through the back of the tearooms and into a conservatory.

‘What a lovely place this is, Stella – so much light, and as though the gardens are inside.’

‘It reminds me of Harp’s End because of the conservatory. I decided it made the perfect gathering place for taking tea and passing time with friends.’

‘You’ve even got a fireplace!’ Georgina exclaimed.

‘I felt that was lacking in the Harp’s End conservatory . . . though I’m channelling Mrs Boyd and trying to hold off lighting it for another week before I give in to winter.’ She winked.

‘I like the colour palette throughout your tearooms,’ Georgina noted.

‘
Eau de nil
,’ they said together and laughed.

‘Come on,’ Stella said. ‘We have so much to catch up on.’ She led her guest down the corridor. ‘I live upstairs. That’s our office,’ she gestured and then walked Georgina through a side door to outside. ‘Just around here is my private courtyard, where I can find some sanity, but it’s a sunny day despite the cool, so maybe let’s head down into the garden. The orchard should be lovely – we can get drunk on the smell of all the apples I can’t keep up with. Apple chutney, apple jam, apple paste, even dried apples . . .’

‘Apple tea, perhaps?’ Georgina offered and grinned, allowing Stella to lead her to where a table and two chairs sat beneath a laden apple tree and looked back upon the house at the back of the tearooms. ‘It’s lovely. I swear even the little I’ve seen makes me believe I could live in Harrogate.’

‘Spa towns always have a particular atmosphere and Harrogate has a rich history – it’s certainly an easy place to call home. Please, do sit,’ she said. ‘I can’t quite believe you’re here.’

‘Me either,’ Georgina admitted. ‘I’m only sorry it’s taken so long. I’ve thought about you many times,’ she said, no doubt watching Stella’s expression frown with surprise, but she pushed on. ‘However, the truth is it wasn’t until Rex suggested York and Scotland for our honeymoon that I realised we could easily swing through Harrogate and see you.’

‘How did you know where to find me?’

‘The letter, the one you sent Mother about five years ago.’

‘Ah,’ she said, ‘that’s right, I would have just moved up here. I left the south around mid ’33. However, my short time at Harp’s End left unfinished business, particularly Grace. Do tell me about her.’

Again she noted Georgina’s reluctance. ‘My mother was wrong to deny you contact. You can imagine what a traumatic time it was for Mother . . . for all of us.’

‘Yes, and that’s why I didn’t pursue it. I hoped time would heal and permit me to at least be able to write to your sister.’

‘I’m so sorry it’s all taken so long.’

Stella looked at Georgina with a sense of wonder. ‘Is this really the Georgina I knew talking to me? You’re apologising?’

‘I’m deeply sorry about all of that too.’ She laughed. ‘I was every inch the little beast you accused me of being. I’m horrified, Stella, when I think back at my behaviour. Amazing what five years of growing up does. I was sent to a finishing school in Switzerland. They were so strict. It didn’t matter how much I cried, they wouldn’t let me go home. By the time the first holidays came around, though, the strange thing is I didn’t want to leave . . . Finally I fitted in: I had some real friends, I wasn’t being allowed to get away with my awful behaviour,’ she admitted. ‘I improved my French,’ Georgina threw Stella a glittering smile, ‘I met Rex and he changed everything for me. He wasn’t chosen by Mother, he wasn’t even from our circle of people – he’s a farmer! That wouldn’t have been my mother’s choice at all. Good heavens, I’m a farmer’s wife,’ she declared and they both laughed. ‘Who’d have thought?’

‘Marriage suits you,’ Stella said. ‘So does smiling and being happy. You look so radiant.’

Sarah arrived with a tray of tea implements. She expertly laid it out on the table between them, together with a slice of fruit cake. ‘That’s Stella’s French mother’s recipe,’ she said in a well-rehearsed line, smiling politely at their guest. ‘Is that all, Stella?’

‘Perfect. Everyone happy in there?’ She nodded back towards the tearooms.

‘Calm waters,’ Sarah said. ‘Peg’s headed out to do the midday pick-up.’

‘That’s fine, thanks.’

Sarah left them in the dappled sunlight. They both watched her leave and Stella sensed she needed to let Georgina approach the topic of Grace in her own way.

‘Congratulations. You’ve clearly built a wonderful life and business.’

Stella shrugged. ‘I enjoy my life. I have about a dozen staff and several people help with the baking. We’re doing nicely and beginning to make quite a name for Stella’s Tearooms around the region. We’ve been approached to open one in York too, can you believe? I shake my head. But tell me more about you! It’s so exciting to have you here.’

‘You’re being awfully decent. I wasn’t sure what sort of welcome to expect. Rex promised me that the passage of time would make things easier between us but I was scared you hated me.’

‘Oh, I did. But as you have, I grew up too. You were just a silly twit of a thing, Georgina, so dreadfully indulged it was almost like parental cruelty.’

Georgina exploded into laughter. ‘Yes. Mother has much to answer for, although I can’t blame her entirely.’

‘No. She bears the major share but I blame all the adults around you.’ They both looked down immediately as Rafe loomed between them. ‘Do you take milk and sugar?’ Stella quickly asked, reaching to pour.

‘Just a dash of milk would be lovely, thank you. Where are your brother and sister? I hope they’re well?’

‘They’re at school. They should be home after four. They’re doing just fine. Rory wants to be a footballer and Carys thinks she may be an actress – well, that’s this month’s plan anyway.’ Stella raised her eyes to the heavens with an ironic grin and Georgina smiled.

‘They have ambition. That’s great.’

She couldn’t bear it a moment longer. ‘Please tell me about Grace.’

‘I’m sorry that I sound so reluctant, but Grace is not a happy child at the moment.’ Georgina shrugged. ‘She’s a teenager and that rebellious mindset is compounded by the fact she’s dreadfully smart, as you no doubt recall . . . but she’s also deeply traumatised by losing both her parents.’

‘Both?’ The teacup stopped before it reached Stella’s mouth, her hand frozen with shock. ‘What happened?’

‘My mother’s lungs were pocked with cancer tumours. The physician suggested it was her smoking. They tried surgery twice but she was very ill after the second hospital expedition and truly, Stella, I don’t think Mother wanted to fight it. Apparently the disease has been on the rise since the Great War.’

‘In men, surely?’ Stella remarked, feeling obliged to say something.

Georgina shook her head. ‘Her physician told me that so many more women have begun smoking since the war that they are noticing a steep rise in deaths from my mother’s complaint. She was never far from a cigarette. Kept her slim, she said, but I think it was to calm her nervous agitation. She had terrible bronchitis as a child, I gather, and her lungs were not strong anyway, so smoking was really a very bad idea – she couldn’t walk up a hill, for instance. Another reason my parents didn’t connect. You know how my father was always such a great outdoors person. My mother was the antithesis of that.’ She sighed. ‘How did they ever imagine themselves as a couple, one wonders?’

‘I’m so sorry, Georgina. Was she even forty yet?’

‘Nearing forty-eight.’ Stella felt surprised to hear this but recalled learning that Beatrice was older than Rafe.

‘She always looked younger than her years,’ Georgina continued, ‘but frankly, Stella, she wanted to die. She’d been dying a little each day since . . . well, since that cruise.’

And with those words the five years of distance that Stella had worked so hard to put behind her closed up and she was back in Marrakech watching Rafe leaving her.

‘Anyway,’ Georgina continued, ‘she’s been gone now for three months and it’s time I sort out things for Harp’s End when I get back from my honeymoon. We may not sell it – Grace is against that, so is Rex – but it needs to be cleared out. I came here for several reasons, but one of them is to see if there is anything of my father’s that you might like to have . . . I mean, perhaps some of his sketches? You are in a few of them.’

Stella looked back at her guest in deeper shock, unsure of how to respond because there was so much to say, but she couldn’t imagine in that moment where to begin.

‘I’m . . . I’m really lost here. But as you’re asking, there’s a wonderful photo of him peering out of a tent that was in the nursery. If the family doesn’t want it, I’d be glad to have that – it’s the original and has much meaning for me.’

‘Consider it yours. It’s the least I can do for you.’

‘But really, Georgina, I don’t need anything from Harp’s End.’

There were a few moments of silence between them as Stella added hot water to the teapot, waiting for the topic of Grace to be addressed properly. A bird, smaller than a crow but bigger than most garden birds, landed on the fence to watch them.

‘Good grief, that’s a large bird,’ Georgina remarked.

Stella cocked her head in thought as she handed the cup and saucer to her guest. ‘Well, I never; that’s a young jackdaw. Do you know, I saw one the day we took over the premises and came out to admire the garden and I haven’t seen one that close up since? Look at his glossy feathers in the sun – almost purple they’re so black.’