The Woman From Paris (40 page)

Phaedra ate properly and enjoyed it: now
that
was a woman worthy of his admiration. He liked her tumbling curly hair and her thick golden skin and pink cheeks. She looked wholesome, as if she’d been conceived in a haystack. Yet she had a mischievous curl to her lips when she smiled, which he found encouraging. Despite her angelic appearance, he imagined she was capable of all sorts of naughtiness. And now she was a rich woman, too. She had it all.

“Tell me, have they given you the Frampton Sapphires yet?”

Phaedra finished her mouthful, suddenly feeling uncomfortable. “I accepted them, but I gave them to David to look after.”

“You did what?” Julius looked horrified.

“They’re not mine, Julius. Not really. You know that.”

“Of course they’re yours.”

“Look, I can’t just turn up and take a suite of sapphires that’s been in the family for generations. It’s not right.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. George wanted you to have them.”

“On a whim. He might have changed his mind further down the line.” She lowered her eyes. “In fact, I know he would.”

“You know nothing of the sort. I knew George far better than you, don’t forget. I was privy to his deepest thoughts. I know how he felt about you. He didn’t change his will on a whim, as you suggest. Sure, he felt guilty; he should have come clean, but he gave them to you to prove that his love was there to stay.”

“Don’t, Julius. I can’t bear to talk about it anymore.”

“You deserve those jewels even if you never wear them. You will hand them down to your children. Think of the inheritance.” His stare was bullying. “Think of your children.”

The conversation was halted by the waiters bringing their first course. Phaedra gulped her wine and took the opportunity to change the subject. She didn’t like discussing George with Julius. It made her feel beleaguered, as if she were complicit in a crime she had no wish to be part of. So she asked him about himself, and he was content to rattle on about his success and to share his opinions without noticing her disinterest.

She thought of David and wished she were back in the secure embrace of Fairfield. Suddenly, Julius represented everything that was distasteful about the city. He was full of greed, materialism, and self-interest. She didn’t imagine he had ever walked around his gardens in Gloucestershire and admired the flowers for their simple beauty. For Julius everything was about worth. The flowers were appreciated only for the value they added to the property as a whole. She began to wonder whether he was interested in her only because of the money she had inherited. Why else would he go on about the Frampton Sapphires? Surely anyone with Julius’s knowledge would encourage her to do the right thing and give them back? She stared at him with new eyes. He wasn’t advising her for her own good, but for his. She felt an unpleasant sensation creep over her body as she suddenly realized his intention.

Julius ordered coffee to prolong the evening. Phaedra longed to go home and close the door, leaving Julius safely on the other side. She watched him unwrap an Amaretti biscuit. “Have you seen one of these go up in flames?” he asked. She shook her head. He summoned a waiter with a brisk click of his fingers and asked for a box of matches.

Assuming the matches were for cigarettes, the waiter flushed and began to explain. Julius growled at him impatiently. “They’re not for cigarettes, you fool. I’m going to impress my lady friend here with a trick.”

“I do apologize,” said the waiter, blushing scarlet. Phaedra felt sorry for him and smiled sympathetically; Julius had no manners. A second later a different waiter appeared with matches, and Julius lit the diaphanous Amaretti wrapper. They all watched it rise into the air, consumed in flames. A moment later it dropped onto the table in a puff of smoke. Phaedra felt uneasy. There was something sinister about Julius. She wished he didn’t know so much about her—and she wished she’d never turned to him for help.

*   *   *

They walked to Cheyne Row beneath the streetlamps. It was almost midnight. Julius was very pleased with himself and strode with a bounce in his step, as if he had won the greatest prize. He told jokes and laughed vigorously while Phaedra walked beside him, barely uttering a word. She cheered up when she saw her front door. A few minutes more and she’d be inside.

Julius stopped as she searched for the key in her handbag. “Phaedra,” he said. There was a silky tone to his voice. Her heart accelerated. She knew what was coming. “Listen . . .” he began.

“I’ve had a lovely evening, Julius,” she interjected hastily. “Thank you so much. You’re a dear
friend
.” She hoped the emphasis on the word
friend
might deter him. But he seemed not to hear it. He came closer, and she knew that he was going to kiss her. “Julius, I like you so much, but . . .” He wound his hand about her neck and pulled her towards his face. She could see the intention in his eyes, as if he were staring into a pot of gold. She resisted. “Julius, please. I don’t like you in that way.”

He released her. “What are you playing at?” he demanded, the silky tone replaced by a cold metal timbre. “You little tease!”

“I’m not teasing you. I’ve only ever been honest with you.”

“I don’t think you know the meaning of the word
honest
.”

She desperately wanted to get behind her door, where she was safe. The street was quiet. She was frightened of what he might do. “Julius, I’m not ready for a relationship.”

“Don’t fob me off with that crap.” He wiped his mouth with his sleeve, as if the idea of kissing her now repulsed him. “It’s fine. I get it. I get what you’re all about.”

“I thought we could be friends.”

“You
need
me. That’s the only reason you’ve been seeing me, right? I’m no fool. In fact, I’m one of the best. You don’t think I got to where I am today by being naive, do you? Well, I’m not going to be there for you anymore.” He snorted. “There, see how you like it now? Cut loose and drifting.”

Phaedra blanched. “Julius, come on. Don’t be like that. I really like you.”

“You’re not going to use me anymore.” He walked off down the pavement. “Have a nice life, Phaedra Chancellor!”

She watched, horrified, as he climbed into his car and roared away. Her legs felt numb with fear. Julius was now her enemy. She wondered how far he’d go to ruin her.

She retreated inside and locked the door behind her. Her big suitcase still lay on the floor in the sitting room, reminding her of everything she had to lose. With a leaden heart she climbed the stairs to her bedroom, where her small weekend bag was lying open on the bed. She began to unpack it. Everything seemed to smell of Fairfield. She pressed her T-shirt to her nose, remembering the scenes at the folly and the moment when David had almost kissed her in the drinks room. Tears welled in her eyes so she could barely see what she was doing.

She ran a bath and soaked in bubbles, trying to convince herself that Julius wasn’t as bad as she presumed. Perhaps he’d still harbor hope and therefore not betray her. She was tempted to call him, but he had turned so cold, she was frightened of making it worse. She thought of telephoning David, but what would she say? When she later looked at her iPhone, she had two missed calls and a text from David:
Phaedra, where are you . . . ?

*   *   *

Julius put down his whiskey and opened his safe. With an unsteady hand he pulled out a brown envelope. He chuckled to himself bitterly. Why were the most dangerous of documents always kept in brown envelopes? He pulled out a DVD and stared at it drunkenly. He had meant to send this to Lady Frampton a while ago, but it wasn’t until he had watched it again that he realized the devastating information it contained. To think he might have sent it unaware, had he not been compelled to watch it again to remember George.

George had been everything to him. Without George he was nothing. For all his bravado and boasting, he was back right down at the bottom of the pile again because he had given the best part of twenty years to George alone. Now George had gone, leaving him without a job, but worse, without a friend. He’d have to start again. He didn’t want to work for anyone else.

Julius felt the resentment burning in his heart like tar. If it wasn’t for Phaedra, George wouldn’t have been so distracted on that fateful March afternoon. If it wasn’t for Phaedra, George might still be alive today. He tapped the DVD on his hand and picked up his glass. He took a swig. Now he was going to punish Phaedra for the part she had played in George’s death, and for her rejection. Together they could have had it all. Nothing mattered anymore because George was dead.

*   *   *

The following morning Rosamunde said good-bye to her sister. Barry carried her suitcase to the car and heaved it into the boot. Antoinette wrung her hands apprehensively. She had taken comfort from her sister’s presence around the house. She had been good company. Now Antoinette would be alone.

“I’m not far away, should you need me,” said Rosamunde.

“Thank you for staying so long.”

“Don’t be silly. You needed me. Now you’re back on your feet again . . . and the dogs must be missing me.” She embraced
Antoinette and held her a little longer than was necessary. “Life goes on, doesn’t it?” she continued, pulling away. “I can’t sit in a lay-by for the rest of my life. I have to get back on the motorway!”

“Oh, Rosamunde, I’m going to miss you. I’ve got used to you now.”

“Then it’s good that I’m going. You can’t depend on me forever. You have to get your life back, too.”

Antoinette’s eyes glistened. “I’m not sure what I’ll do without you.”

Rosamunde felt the warm sense of being needed spread over her like rays of sunshine. “You have your garden and the folly. I’m sure William will help you put on that final coat of paint.” Antoinette pulled a sympathetic face. “Come now,” Rosamunde continued, “I’m not to be pitied. It was a flirtation and nothing more. Fancy me falling in love at my age! Unthinkable.”

“Will you come again soon?”

“You only have to call.”

“I’ll be rather lonely in this big old house without George.”

“You have Margaret.”

Antoinette grinned. “Yes, Margaret. She’s lightened up recently for some reason, hasn’t she? Do you think it’s Reverend Morley?”

“I pity the man, whoever he is.”

“Well, nothing would surprise me now.”

“Let’s hope it lasts. I must go. Don’t watch me drive off. I hate good-byes. Off you go and do something in the garden. I’m sure Barry could do with help weeding. They’ll all start coming up now, you know. You want to get them while they’re small.”

Antoinette’s heart flooded with compassion as Rosamunde climbed briskly into the front seat and put the key in the ignition. “Drive carefully,” she said.

Rosamunde waved and took her spectacles out of their case. Antoinette walked up the steps then turned at the door. She saw her sister peering through the windscreen like a mole, her glasses perched on her nose, a frown on her forehead. She looked old like that and a little bewildered. Antoinette wondered what she had to get home for, besides her dogs. At least
she
had David.

Rosamunde’s car disappeared round the hedge and out of sight. Antoinette took the dogs into the garden to find Barry. A menacing wall of cloud moved in over the horizon, as purple as a bruise. It would certainly rain. She tried not to think of being alone. After all, she had been alone on many occasions when George had been away on his adventures. It hadn’t bothered her then. But now there was a permanence about her solitude that made her feel lonely. At least when George was alive, there was always an end to it.

Barry was in the greenhouse, bustling about the potted plants. “Ah, there you are, Barry. I thought I might do some weeding.”

“It’s going to rain, ma’am.”

“I don’t mind a bit of rain.”

“I think it’ll be more than a bit.”

She was disappointed. “So you think I should give it a miss today?”

“You can certainly start in the herbaceous border if you like. Lots of little nasties coming up already.”

“I’ll start,” she said, brightening. “Then if it rains, I’ll go back inside.”

“Righty-ho, ma’am. Just fill the wheelbarrow, and I’ll empty it for you when it’s full.”

Antoinette managed to do an hour on her knees in the border before the first drop of rain fell from the sky like a wet pebble. She looked up at the dark mass above her, amused that she had been so busy with her task that she hadn’t noticed it creeping up on her. Hastily, she took off her gloves and ran for the house, Wooster and Bertie trotting along behind her.

Harris was ready to make her a cup of tea. His presence was reassuring, as was the fire he’d lit in the little sitting room. But she had the whole day before her. What was she going to do without Rosamunde to talk to? She couldn’t go outside; it was now raining hard—big, heavy drops like tropical rain. She could sit and do a crossword, or read a book. It didn’t feel right to watch television in the middle of the day.

The room felt empty in spite of the cozy fire. Rosamunde had spent so much time lying on the sofa it now reverberated with her
absence, like the loud ticking of the grandfather clock in the hall that seemed so much noisier than normal.

Harris brought in a tray of tea and Mrs. Gunice’s biscuits, which only served to remind her even more of her sister’s departure. “I’ll take it upstairs, I think, Harris,” she said. “As it’s raining, I might as well go through George’s room. I’ve been putting it off, but I can’t put it off forever.” She wished Phaedra were there to help her. Her spirits lifted at the thought of that delightful girl, and she felt a little happier as she climbed the stairs. Perhaps she’d come down at the weekend and help her finish what they’d started together.

George’s room was silent. Harris put the tray on the table at the end of the bed. “Would you like me to help you, ma’am?” he offered.

“Oh, would you, Harris? That would be very kind.”

He smiled at her, and his sympathy made her eyes fill with tears. “I’ll go and get some more bin liners and boxes. I can see you’ve already made a good start.”