The Very Thought of You (42 page)

‘Oh Christ,' Della groaned. ‘I think he's after the house. Ma said that he was looking to buy himself a country estate, and he knows that your father is strapped for cash.'

‘How the hell does he know that?' said Frances with a scowl.

‘It might have been me,' Della said apologetically. ‘You told me that you didn't have two pennies to rub together and I told Ma when she asked after you.'

‘Well, I have to stop him. I'm going home tomorrow.'

‘Oh dear,' said Della. ‘I hope you're in time.' She turned her head to Catherine. ‘And what about you and the sex god Robert?'

Catherine blushed. ‘He's here in London,' she said. ‘I'm seeing him the day after tomorrow. We're meeting for lunch at the Savoy.'

‘No word on Christopher, I suppose?'

‘No, but Robert did say that he had something to tell me. Maybe conformation that my husband is' – she heaved a sigh – ‘dead.'

‘Fancy you and me both meeting men.' Della gave a weak laugh. ‘Who'd have thought it?'

‘I would,' Frances smiled. ‘'Specially you, Dell.'

‘You should talk,' said Catherine, leaning across the bed. ‘I saw you coming out of Guy's bedroom the other day. The pair of you were quite flushed, and I bet you weren't talking about cows.'

Frances shrugged. ‘It was fantastic,' she grinned. ‘And that's all I'm prepared to say.'

‘What a pair of trollops you two are,' Della giggled. ‘Tim and I have only exchanged a couple of chaste kisses. Not even so much as a fumble.' She leant back on her pillows and smiled. ‘That's to come.'

Lord Parnell was waiting in the old car when Frances got off the train. Johnny was on the back seat, with the red setters, who each had a head out of a window.

‘Mummy's home,' he cried, as she walked round to sling her bag in the boot, and his grandfather replied, ‘Yes, my boy, she is. Now we're in for ructions.'

Frances got in the front seat and, leaning over, gave Johnny a hug and a kiss before pecking her father on the cheek.

‘So good to see you, Fran, darling,' said Lord Parnell. There was a hint of nervousness in his voice, which Frances picked up on immediately.

‘Hello, Pa,' she said, as he put the car in gear and it rattled way from the station and down the lane. ‘Is there anything left in the house, or have you sold it all?'

‘Don't be silly, darling,' he said, and looked in the driving mirror to Johnny. ‘Mummy is being silly, isn't she?' He glanced quickly at Frances. ‘What's that scab on your lip? You look as if you've been in a fight.'

‘It's bomb damage,' she answered shortly. ‘Remember, there's a war on. And as for being in a fight, well, I think that's to come.'

‘Wait till we get home,' he said. ‘We don't want to upset the child, do we?'

Frances nodded and leant over to the back again. ‘Have you been a good boy?' she asked.

‘I have been a best boy,' he said eagerly. ‘Have you brought me a present? Grandpa said you would.' His little face fell. ‘Maggie said those who expects don't get.'

‘I think there might be a little something in my bag,' Frances smiled. ‘But I'll need lots of hugs and kisses first, when we get home.'

Her father turned the car into the drive and ahead she could see Parnell Hall, dim lights still showing in the downstairs rooms because it was too early for the blackout. She'd always loved the first sighting of her home, its red-brick exterior and the perfectly placed twelve-paned windows. When she was a girl and there was money, the house had glowed. It had been
the
place in the county, and her mother the perfect hostess. That had all gone years ago, and now her mother had gone too. God knows, I don't want her back, thought Frances, but the house? It will come back, she thought fiercely. I'll make it.

Lord Parnell drove round to the rear and parked beside the back offices. As she got out, Frances looked up. Scaffolding had been erected, and there was evidence of building work: stacked roof slates and beams lay about in the yard.

‘Where are the builders?' she asked. ‘Have they finished for the day?'

‘They weren't here today,' her father said. ‘But I suppose they'll come tomorrow. They have a lot on, you know.'

‘A lot on?' Frances asked. ‘Doing what?' Then a thought occurred to her. ‘Who are they? Fred Stone's men, from the town?'

‘Come on inside.' Her father opened the boot and took out Frances's case. ‘The child is getting cold.'

Johnny was clinging on to his mother's hand, jumping up and down and pushing the eager dogs away. ‘Naughty dogs,' he shouted, and then in imitation of his grandfather, roared as loud as his little voice could manage, ‘Down, sirs.'

Amazingly, the setters obeyed him and bounded away past the stables and into the woodland beyond.

Lord John chuckled. ‘My God,' he said, ‘that boy's got such a way with the dogs, and you should see him on Achilles – he's fearless.'

‘Achilles?'

‘Ah yes' – her father ducked his head as they went through into the kitchens – ‘you haven't met him. It's the pony. Fine little beast. Just the right size.'

Maggie came bustling through and beamed when she saw Frances. ‘Lady Fran,' she said. ‘I can't tell you how glad I am to see you. There's been so much going on these last few weeks.'

Lord Parnell cleared his throat. ‘Never mind that now, Maggie. I think we could do with a cup of tea. Come on, Frances. We'll go on up.'

Frances raised her eyebrows, and when her father had gone up the stairs to the hall, she whispered, ‘I'll see you in a bit, Maggie. You can tell me what's been going on.'

‘I will,' the housekeeper said, shaking her head slowly. ‘There's a lot to tell.'

It was later, after Frances had handed out the presents she'd brought home: a carton of cigarettes and a bottle of Calvados for her father, a pretty piece of lace to trim her Sunday frock for Maggie, and for Johnny, a collection of pre-war toy cars that Guy had given her just before she left.

‘I played with them a lot,' he said, giving her the box of rather battered vehicles. ‘But I think your son should have them now.'

Dear Guy, she thought, watching Johnny's little face light up with joy when she put the box on the rug in front of the fire. I do hope I see him again.

‘Cars,' the child shouted. ‘Grandpa, look!'

Her father grunted as he got down on his hands and knees beside the boy and helped to arrange the cars in a line. ‘I'm getting too old for this,' he said.

‘Play, Grandpa, please,' Johnny demanded.

‘Yes, son. Now, let's put the biggest car at the front. Can you find which one that is?'

Frances watched them. Their friendship was wonderful to see and she never stopped being grateful to her father for accepting Johnny as his grandson. He was a decent man, but now, she had to find out exactly what he and Jerry Costigan had been up to.

She looked around the room, a perfectly square Georgian drawing room, with its dusty full-length damask curtains and the silk-covered sofa, so dreadfully torn on the arms but where the two setters lay, blissfully happy and snoring. All this was in danger of being lost.

‘Pa,' she asked, ‘who's doing the roof?'

‘Oh dear,' he sighed. ‘I wondered when you'd get on to that. I'm not sure of their names, but they came here with Mr Costigan. He found them.'

I might have known, she thought. ‘And how much have they done?'

‘You can see,' her father blustered. ‘The scaffolding is up, and they brought in slates and beams. They just haven't had time to be here in the last few days.'

‘Few days?'

He picked up a little tin Citroën and ran the wheels round with his fingers. ‘I suppose it's about three weeks.'

‘My God,' Frances cried. ‘Have you given him money?'

‘Not exactly. It's a loan, as I said. I'm paying the interest. Don't worry, darling. He's a friend of yours, so everything will be alright.'

‘It won't,' said Frances sharply, her face twisted with anger. ‘First, Mr Costigan isn't a friend of mine – I've met him briefly twice, but I do know all about him. He is a crook. He is a profiteer, a black-market dealer, a moneylender and loan shark, and he also buys and sells illegal booze. I have heard that he wants to buy a country estate and I think he has his eye on this one. He's going to fleece you first, and then when you're desperate, he'll have it off you, lock, stock and barrel at a knock-down price.'

Her father sat up, his eyes blazing exactly like his daughter's. ‘That can't possibly be true. You're exaggerating, surely.'

‘No.' Frances shook her head. ‘It's all true, every word, and I refuse to let you destroy Hugo's inheritance.'

They glared at each other, but John Parnell knew he'd lost and dropped his head. ‘I'm in deep, my dear,' he confessed, ‘and I don't know what to do. It's breaking my heart.'

His pathetic confession made her fury melt away and she realised that he was a frightened man. Years of juggling a diminishing income had almost broken him, and added to that had been her own ‘disgrace' and then Hugo's incarceration. Her mother leaving, which should have been in many ways a relief, seemed to have been the last straw. He was exposed and open to predators.

‘Alright, Pa,' Frances said with a sigh. ‘I'm here now. I'll think of something.'

Rather than being depressed, she was invigorated by solving the problems of the estate, and the next day, she drove to the town to speak to Fred Stone, the builder. She told him some of the events, only saying that her father had been persuaded to call in builders from somewhere else and that they'd let him down. ‘I would be grateful if you could come and look as soon as possible,' she said. ‘We will pay, of course.'

All the way home, she prayed that her share of the money they'd found in Captain Fortescue's suitcase would be enough.

Going in through the kitchen, she found Maggie plucking a brace of pheasants. ‘I can't tell you how glad I am to see you back, m'lady,' she said. ‘There were times when I thought you wouldn't have a home to come to. That blasted man, walked around here as though he owned the place. And them builders? They've never built anything in their lives.' She put the birds on the table and, taking a bit of string from her apron pocket, tied them up securely, ready for the oven. Frances, who had poured boiling water into the teapot and put two kitchen cups on the table, sat down opposite Maggie.

‘I know that my father has sold the Meissen,' she said, ‘and got into some dodgy deal over the roof, but I think he's holding something back. Have you any idea what it can be?'

Maggie got up to singe the last of the feathers from the birds over the open flame of the gas cooker and then came back to sit down. ‘It's not the paintings,' she said. ‘I've looked there every day, because I know that Mr Costigan is interested in them, and the Waterford and Royal Worcester are safe in the plate room.' She frowned, sipping at the tea that Frances had poured, then looked up. ‘Jethro Western said he saw his lordship walking the grounds with Mr Costigan. They were pointing to Sparrow Wood and all along towards the river. You don't suppose he's sold some land?'

‘If he has,' Frances said furiously, her recent compassion for her father curdling in her stomach. ‘I'll bloody well kill him.'

At the same time that Frances was threatening to kill her father, Catherine was walking into the Savoy Grill. The maître d' welcomed her with an excited smile. ‘Madame Fletcher,' he said, taking her coat. ‘Such a long time since you were here. It must be over a year.'

‘Two, I think, monsieur, but it's so kind of you to remember me.'

‘Who could ever forget that beautiful voice? Now, may I show you to a table?'

‘No, thank you,' she smiled, looking round the packed restaurant. ‘I'm joining someone … Oh, here he is.'

Robert, looking extraordinarily smart, had come to meet her. He dropped a kiss on her cheek and, taking her hand, led her, followed by the maître d', to the table he'd reserved. ‘You look absolutely beautiful,' he said, when they sat down.

‘What, with this black eye?' she laughed.

‘I would say yellow now, rather than black.' He looked up to the maître d', who was hovering. ‘Miss Fletcher was blown up in France last week,' he said. ‘At the front.'

‘
Mon Dieu
,' he exclaimed, and then bowing, said, ‘In that case, champagne perhaps? On the house, of course.'

‘Thank you,' said Robert, and after the man had gone, repeated, ‘You really are lovely.'

‘It's because I'm not wearing uniform,' she smiled, taking off her calf-leather gloves. ‘Actually, I feel quite naked without it.'

‘Don't say that,' Robert whispered. ‘I might lose control.'

She put her hand across the table so that it was touching his. ‘When can we be together again?'

‘I don't know. Soon, though.'

The champagne arrived and was poured with an extravagant flourish. Other guests looked on, rather enviously, Catherine thought, and she was embarrassed. An officer at a nearby table got up and came over. ‘Excuse me,' he said. ‘Miss Fletcher, I saw you sing in France a few weeks ago. I must tell you how much your show was appreciated. It was a real boost.'

‘Thank you,' Catherine smiled. ‘That is so very kind of you.'

He left then, going back to his companion, while Robert lifted his glass and drained it. ‘Is this how my life is to be from now on?' he grinned. ‘Champagne and adoring fans following us around.'

‘I hope not.' Catherine gave an embarrassed shake of her head, and then she said, ‘Robert, you said you had something to tell me. What is it?'