The Nothing Girl (27 page)

This was obviously news to Francesca who looked less than delighted – about the packing, I assumed, not me leaving Russell.

‘No, thank you, Aunt Julia. I’m fine here.’

‘How can you say that? I told you that animal was dangerous. I told you something like this would happen.
Jenny, you’ve been hospitalised.
’

Oh God, she was starting to talk in italics. That was never good. I tried to think of something soothing. Not that I was sure I’d be able to get it out.

It didn’t matter. Russell returned and added his contribution to the discussion.

‘Maybe you should think about it, Jenny. I’m sick to death of your family turning up and bitching every time you break a fingernail. I’m trying to work here, and I’m sick of the sight and sound of them.’

That brought the conversation to an emergency halt and while everyone was working out an appropriate response, the telephone rang and Mrs Crisp wheeled in a proper tea trolley. Cups, saucers, sugar tongs, the lot.

Russell went to help her. ‘Jenny, can you get the phone?’

Aunt Julia made a supreme effort to speak calmly. ‘Jenny finds it difficult to speak on the telephone.’

‘Speak into the end with the holes, wife.’

I pulled a face – which hurt – lifted the phone, took a deep breath and said, ‘Hello?’

Daniel Palmer said, ‘Oh good, it’s you, Jenny.’

I managed, ‘Hello, Daniel,’ and felt quite proud.

‘Look, I’ve got some exciting news. You remember that idea we discussed? Ages ago. About Elizabeth Tudor and Mary Stuart? Well, it looks like it might be a goer. Can we get together sometime? To talk about it? If you want to, that is.’

Everything else flew right out of my head.

‘Yes, yes, I’d love to. That is so  –’ and stopped, because I couldn’t think of a word.

‘Exciting,’ he finished for me, laughing. ‘So, when and where?’

‘Well, I’m only just out of hospital …’

‘Oh God, I forgot. Sorry, sorry, sorry. I just wanted to tell you …’

‘No, it’s fine. Could you come to dinner? … Tomorrow night?’ I glanced at Mrs Crisp, who nodded.

‘Yes, I can. At least, I think I can. I’ll have to check with Francesca.’

‘She’s right here,’ I said, glad to be able to drop her in it. ‘Just a minute.’

I passed the phone to Francesca who was only about six inches away and obviously dying to know why her husband wanted to talk to me, of all people.

I left her to it and joined Aunt Julia at the window. Obviously unwilling to be left anywhere near Russell Checkland in case she caught something, she was studying his plan of our garden.

‘This is pretty,’ she said, the words possibly choking her, but determined to give credit where it was due.

‘Russell did it. That’s how the garden will look,’ I said, turning it so it oriented with the view through the French doors. ‘Roses, peonies, foxgloves, geraniums – all the summer flowers – with hundreds of daffodils in the spring and lots of autumn colour too.’

‘It will be a lot of work,’ she said, severely, no doubt thinking of her own immaculate and never-changing heather and conifer desolation.

‘Come and drink your tea before it gets cold,’ said Russell and we all trooped back and sat down. Francesca nodded at me – the dinner was on. I wondered when she last actually spoke to me and couldn’t remember.

I told Mrs Crisp there would be an extra two for dinner tomorrow and picked up my cup and saucer.

My recollection is that everything happened in slow motion and in enormous detail, but of course, that couldn’t be so.

I sat back with my tea and from behind me, Mrs Crisp reached over my shoulder, said, ‘You don’t want to drink that, madam. It’s cold,’ took it off me and carried it out of the room.

I didn’t get it. I didn’t get it at all. I sat staring at the place where my tea had been and could think of nothing more useful than – she called me madam.

And then I got it. People say their world came tumbling down but mine was ripped apart. Much more sudden and much more painful. I realised suddenly what she’d done and why. I looked across at Russell, sitting opposite, who returned my stare with an expression of stone. The laughing magic of last night, this afternoon, this last nine months might never have happened.

The realisation hit me like a train. It was Russell. It had been Russell all along. I’d got it completely wrong. I thought I was so clever and I was wrong. I thought I had it all worked out – that it had been them, but I had been wrong. I really was as stupid as everyone thought I was. I’d been so proud of myself. And I was wrong, wrong, wrong. With no Thomas to guide me, I’d got it all – everything – completely and totally wrong. I was stupid after all. Stupid enough to believe … Stupid, stupid, Jenny Dove.

I slowly came back to the real world to find I wasn’t the only one sitting like a frozen statue.

Aunt Julia stared at me in genuine horror. Her hand covered her mouth. Her eyes wide in shock and alarm. I’ll never forget the expression on her face. Slowly, she dragged her eyes from me to Russell.

Who hadn’t moved either. He still looked at me. Even when Aunt Julia breathed, ‘Russell,’ his gaze never faltered. I looked in vain for some emotion from him, annoyance, anger, fear even. I waited for him to speak. To defend himself. To do something. Anything. The whole universe had stopped. No sound. No movement. Everything waited on Russell Checkland.

Francesca hurriedly put down her tea and pushed it away from her, seeking to distance herself from it and him.

Her movement broke the spell. He stood up suddenly and without a word, left the room. I heard him speak to Mrs Crisp in the kitchen. I heard his Land Rover start up. I heard him roar off down the lane and then he was gone.

Chapter Fourteen

I couldn’t push past it. The same words clattered around inside my head. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t even think properly. I know people spoke to me, but their voices were lost before they reached me. I withdrew into a close, tight little world. The place where I lived before Thomas came. Where I was safe.

I didn’t move all afternoon. I stared at the fire and thought about how stupid I’d been. How stupid I was. Stupid and wrong. And conceited too. How could I think that anyone as handsome, charming, or gifted as Russell Checkland would even look at someone like me? How easily had he talked me into marriage and talked me out of divorce. And just to reinforce his control over stupid Jenny Dove, a little casual sex, just because he could. Just to make her worship him a little more than she already did. I stared unseeingly as hot, humiliating, soul-searing shame rolled over me in waves when I thought about how easy I’d made things for him.

Every now and then, my brain made a tiny effort to get to grips – to try and work things out – but always, always, I saw that arm come over my shoulder. To take away my tea and end the stupid fool’s paradise in which I had immersed myself.

It was Russell. It had always been Russell. Russell had slipped something into my tea while everyone was away talking on the phone or looking out of the window. And if Mrs Crisp’s conscience hadn’t got the better of her … Mrs Crisp, who maybe didn’t want to be responsible for the death of another Mrs Checkland.

I don’t know how she got rid of my aunt, but she did. I think Aunt Julia couldn’t wait to get away. If she’d told me again to pack a bag and go with her then I would probably have done so. But she wasn’t given the opportunity. Mrs Crisp had the pair of them out of the door barely minutes after Russell had left.

They never left me alone for a second. Mrs Crisp brought in her cookery books and sat at the table putting together a menu for tomorrow night. I didn’t know why she was bothering. After she’d gone, Sharon came in and pretended to dust. Then Kevin, sitting at the table by the window, quietly reading a book. Then Mrs Crisp again with an omelette. Then Sharon with a cup of tea. Then I went to bed. Then I got up to let the cat in. Then I lay awake for most of the night, desolate and empty, listening to the clock downstairs chiming the night away.

Russell didn’t come home. I wondered if he ever would again. Maybe he would just keep going and never come back. I’d live here for a few weeks longer and then my aunt and uncle would swoop down, pack everything up, and back I’d go. As if the last nine months had never happened.

I found I didn’t care.

The next morning was awful. Everyone seemed to have made a pact to carry on as if nothing had happened. At breakfast, Mrs Crisp showed me her proposed menu: smoked salmon pâté, my favourite lamb and apricot stew, and lemon tart. I nodded. She could have said stewed mud and sawdust and I would still have nodded.

They kept me busy. I turned Boxer and Marilyn out into their field, spent some time with Thomas, polished glasses and cutlery, and helped lay the table. We were eating in the big, dreary dining-room. It seemed appropriate. Mid-morning, the phone rang. Aunt Julia and Uncle Richard had invited themselves as well. Mrs Crisp swore, and at that moment, Russell walked back in and told her Andrew and Tanya were coming too.

She had her revenge. She handed him a shopping list and told him not to bother coming back if he didn’t get everything on it, which kept him nicely out of everyone’s way.

They let me go eventually. I wandered upstairs to my bedroom. My refuge. Despite all Thomas’s best efforts, still my safe haven.

At the door, however, I paused and looked up the passage to Russell’s room. I’d only been in it once. I was never likely to enter it again. Curiosity got the better of me. I climbed the little stair, opened his door, and stepped inside.

His bed was made. Of course, he hadn’t slept in it last night. I could smell brush cleaner and aftershave and a very faint whiff of horse. Very Russell. A pair of jeans hung over the back of a chair. Three shoes, all different, had been kicked around the room. A battered paperback lay open and face down on the bed. The picture of his mother still stood on the chest of drawers.

The last time I’d been in here, the walls had been bare, but now, six or seven sketches were stuck here and there. Some were no more than a collection of lines, two looked finished.

Uncomfortably aware I was spying, I inched closer. Pictures of me reading, staring into space, a profile … pictures of
me.
Gently, delicately rendered. It was almost a physical shock. I’d never sat for him; He must have done these from memory. Why?

I had no idea … On the other hand, I’d missed so much over the last months that this one more thing hardly made any difference. We’d already established I was stupid – it was only the depths of my stupidity that remained to be ascertained.

A slight sound on the stairs had me bolting in guilty fright. I gained my own room and closed the door behind me. When my heart rate returned to acceptable levels, I curled up on the window seat, picked up my book, held it in front of me like a shield, stopped being stupid, and really,
really
started to think properly.

Mrs Crisp brought me a cup of tea just as the afternoon started to draw in. There was nothing for me to do downstairs. I was to concentrate on getting ready. She seemed surprisingly brisk and cheerful, given events over the last twenty-four hours.

I didn’t make any huge effort with my appearance. Why should I? Those days were done. I changed into clean trousers, a white top, a warm grey waterfall cardigan, and a pair of black boots. An outfit that made me feel warm and secure. I fastened on my pretty watch for good luck. And to send a message.

I knew Russell was in the house. I’d been hearing echoes of his voice this last half hour.

Taking a deep breath and wishing more than ever for the comforting smell of warm ginger biscuits, I made my way downstairs. At Mrs Crisp’s request, I inspected the dining-room. It was never going to be beautiful, but the table was nicely laid, the old carpet hoovered, and most of the chairs matched.

The first guests were Andrew and Tanya, a good half an hour early; at Russell’s request, I suspected. Once they were inside and welcomed with a drink, the master of the house appeared, ignored me, and went to stand with Tanya at the other end of the rom. When Andrew came to stand close by, Mrs Crisp, clear-eyed this evening, left me and drifted back into the kitchen.

Next up were Daniel and Francesca. Francesca ignored Russell, turning a shoulder very pointedly. I wondered what he thought about this very public rejection by the former love of his life. Battle lines were being drawn up. Andrew and Daniel chatted aimlessly. I stared into the fire and ignored the drink waiting for me. I know Russell was down the other end of the room, out of reach, but I wasn’t taking any chances. The further away he was, the safer I’d be.

Finally, Aunt Julia and Uncle Richard arrived. Soberly dressed and stern-faced. Mrs Crisp got us lined up and marched into the dining-room.

I had no idea what, if anything, was going to happen that night. I had no idea who, if anyone, was on my side.

Russell began to fill glasses. Everyone got one but me. Mrs Crisp took a glass, filled it from a bottle on the trolley, and passed it to me with a warning frown.

‘Your wine, Mrs Checkland.’

I sipped and kept my face straight. It was water.

The implications of the separate glass and bottle were not lost on the others. I braced myself and wondered who would open the batting.

It was Aunt Julia. Of course it was. I just prayed Russell would keep his head down and his mouth shut.

‘Oh, God,’ he said, loudly. ‘She’s going to orate.’

‘You could at least try to remember the courtesy due to your guests,’ she said, angrily.

‘You’re not my guests,’ he said, draining his glass and refilling it. ‘You invited yourselves, remember? Feel free to leave anytime.’

That reminded her why she was here. She turned to me, her face tight with anger. ‘Jenny …’

I cleared my throat and focused …

‘Before anyone goes any further,’ I said, interrupting her for the first and last time in my life. ‘I’m not … going anywhere. I’m staying here. I like it here. I’m not sure how many plans that ruins, Russell, Francesca, Aunt Julia, but that’s the … bottom line. I’m staying here.’

I recklessly finished my water and Mrs Crisp, equally recklessly, filled it up again.

Aunt Julia drew breath.

‘Never mind all that,’ said Francesca, homing in on the important issues like a heat-seeking missile sighting Krakatoa. ‘Daniel, I’ve been thinking about which part I shall play – Mary Stuart or Elizabeth Tudor. I mean, obviously Elizabeth wins in the end and lives longer so it’s a bigger part, but Mary has a wonderful death scene. Tragic, but defiant. But it’s up to you, of course, darling. I prefer Elizabeth, but whichever you think best.’

He didn’t speak. The table, to a man, braced themselves.

‘Actually, Francesca, I already have someone in mind for Elizabeth.’

‘Oh. Well, never mind. Mary it is, then.’

‘And for Mary, too.’

‘But … you can’t … what about me?’

Good old Franny – straight to the heart of the matter.

Acutely embarrassed, he shifted in his chair. ‘I hardly think this is the place …’

‘No,’ said Aunt Julia, dragging the conversation from one crisis back to the other. ‘Jenny …’

Again, she got no further.

Mrs Crisp served the pâté.

I received a separate portion. She stripped off the protective cling film and placed a blue plate in front of me. Everyone else had white. Everyone stared at my blue plate and then back at their own.

Aunt Julia pushed hers away with loathing. Francesca stared at hers as if it was about to go for her throat. Andrew, Tanya, and Daniel got stuck in. I waited. Things were happening here, and as usual, I didn’t have a clue.

Francesca regrouped.

‘So what part do I have?’ she said. ‘There must be something for me. I have red hair.’

That more qualifications for appearing in a major new TV drama might be required never seemed to enter her head.

Silence fell. I looked down the table at Russell, flanked by Aunt Julia and Tanya. I had Uncle Richard on one side and Andrew on the other. Francesca and Daniel occupied the neutral zone in the middle. I felt very alone.

Even as I looked, Russell caught my eye, stared expressionlessly for a moment, and then looked away. My stomach lurched.

‘Jenny, my dear. Try and eat a little.’ Uncle Richard pushed my plate forward, smiling gently. His expression said, ‘We’ll let them fight it out, shall we? Then we’ll put our heads together and do the sensible thing. You and I together.’

I remembered my last evening in his house, sitting at the kitchen table, cosy and warm while he waited for his milk to boil. Before all this started. I could have cried my eyes out. Cried for all the opportunities missed. Cried for everything that had gone wrong.

‘Leave her alone,’ said Russell, harshly.

For the third time, Aunt Julia said, ‘Jenny …

‘Yes, Aunt Julia? Are you enjoying your pâté? Mine is delicious.’

‘So, Jenny,’ said Daniel, weighing in again. In his own, but much more charming way, he was at least as single-minded as Francesca. It crossed my mind that she might have met her match. ‘I was wondering if you might like to contribute. You know, ideas, suggestions, a bit of research. And you’ll get a credit. From an idea by Jenny Checkland. That sort of thing.’

I wrenched my attention away from Russell and back to Daniel. I must have gaped at him, because he grinned and said, ‘Just nod if it’s easier.’

I did. I supposed this must be what real life is like. Down one minute, up the next. Never quite sure if it’s the best or the worst evening of your life.

‘Daniel, dear, you mustn’t forget that Jenny is recovering from a serious accident. She must regain her strength first. Perhaps after a few months careful rest in our home …’

Did no one
ever
listen to me?

‘That’s very kind of you, but this is my home. I’m staying here.’ I looked at Russell. ‘Unless you want me to go.’

He said, neutrally, ‘It’s your decision.’

‘That’s settled, then.’

Although, of course, it wasn’t.

‘Jenny, I’m sorry,’ said Daniel, ‘but we do have to get a move on.’

‘I’ll be fine,’ I said.

‘So we’ll make a start next week, if that’s all right with you?’

I nodded.

‘Have a think, jot down anything you think might be useful. Anything at all. You’d be amazed what’s useable.’

‘But what about me?’ demanded Francesca, returning again to the crux of the matter.

‘Well, my dear, it’s lovely that you’re so – enthusiastic. Perhaps – a lady in waiting…’ he said hopefully.

‘Or a courtesan?’ murmured an anonymous voice from the other end of the table.

‘Russell!’ snapped Aunt Julia.

‘What?’ he said in either genuine or well-feigned indignation.

‘Yes,’ I said, before anyone else could say anything. ‘Do I come to you, Daniel? Or will you come here?’

‘Come to me. All my notes are there. Shall I pick you up?’

‘No need,’ said Russell, curtly. ‘I’ll bring her over.’

‘Thank you, Russell. Then, when Thomas is better, I’ll ride over. If that’s all right with you, Daniel.’

‘It’s not all right at all,’ broke in Aunt Julia.

‘Nearly two minutes without emoting,’ said Russell, in what he probably imagined was a low voice. ‘Could that be some sort of record?’

If he was trying to deflect her, he was wasting his time. Where did he think Francesca got it from?

‘You can’t be serious, Jenny. Riding? After what happened? I don’t expect much from you, Russell, when it comes to your wife’s safety, but I can’t believe that animal hasn’t been destroyed. It’s clearly unsafe.’

He drank more wine and smiled dangerously.

‘Never going to happen, Julia.’

Her eyes narrowed. ‘You’re hardly in a position to dictate to anyone, are you?’