The Long Gallery, Chapters Six and Seven

Chapter Six

William Weston sauntered into the kitchen of his St John’s Wood home, glancing at his fiancée, Jane. ‘Coffee?’

‘Tea, if you wouldn’t mind.’ She dropped her magazine on the table, sat back on the chair, arms folded, her facial expression told him she wasn’t happy. ‘You know, considering you’ve lost out on a house worth millions, you don’t seem too concerned.’

William dropped his gaze to the ceramic tiles, to where the chair was being balanced on two legs. ‘I do wish you wouldn’t do that; it scratches the floor.’

Jane fixed her eyes on him, returning the two front legs to the ground. ‘Sorry.’

William poured water into the kettle, and realising Jane’s eyes were still fixed questioningly on him, sighed. ‘Why should I be concerned? I’ve got a nice house in an upmarket area, enough cash to keep me comfortable, including a tidy sum by way of grandfather’s inheritance, a stunning fiancée and a decent lifestyle.’ Spreading his hands wide, he added, ‘Now why would I want that rambling old property and the hassle that goes with its upkeep?’

Jane Lafarge rose elegantly to her feet, her long, strong legs carrying her quickly to his side. She pinched his cheek. ‘Thanks for the compliment.’ She turned astride of him, resting her back against the worktop, fingers lightly tapping the drawers. ‘But I still don’t understand. Surely your claim to the estate would have been the strongest; certainly more so than your grandfather’s niece – Daisy – Daisy Truman is it?’

‘Yes – well ...’ William poured water into the pot, leaving it to brew – ‘It really doesn’t matter.’

‘Ah ...’ Jane crooked her neck, examining his face closely, and when William frowned, said, ‘Why, do you go the teeniest bit red? Is there just the faintest edge to your voice when her name is mentioned? She is very pretty – that figure, that long mop of curly fair hair – there wouldn’t happen to be a soft spot ...’

The cup rattled in its saucer as William placed it down heavily. ‘You do say the most ridiculous things, sometimes. How could you suggest such a thing? She is my cousin after all.’

Jane smiled, swept back her long red hair and traced a finger down his cheek. ‘It wasn’t so much of a suggestion, dear – merely an observation. There’s no need to act so defensive. There is a certain similarity between you two, when all said and done – same tousled fair hair – same blue eyes ...’

‘You ignore certain differences, like the fact that I’m half-a-foot taller than she is – anyway enough of her,’ William retorted sharply, waving the subject away. ‘I don’t like where this is leading.’ He poured the tea with less than a steady hand.

‘We’ve never been the closest of cousins you know,’ William mumbled, finding it difficult to drop the topic now Jane had introduced it. He handed the cup and saucer to her. ‘There were times I wish she had of been consumed by her so-called magic garden.’

‘What?’ Jane smiled quizzically, revealing the faintest of crow’s feet around her eyes.

‘The magic garden we called it – or she did. She had the most vivid imagination.’ William sat opposite and took a sip from his cup. ‘There was a part of the garden partitioned off – secluded, sunken. It contained a ring of stone animals that dominated the place – still does actually – and I guess you could say they are somewhat hideous. Anyhow, Daisy was convinced they came alive at nightfall and would devour her if she weren’t indoors quickly enough. Mind you, she could run like fury, still can – phenomenal energy – but she was terrified of the figures, and yet she wasn’t frightened of the forest, where there were stories of the local riff-raff congregating. I never saw any myself, but I heard say they would scale the fence on its boundaries ...’

‘And you say you weren’t that close?’ Jane narrowed her eyes. ‘You sound almost fond of her.’

William tightened his lips thus avoiding a smile. ‘A certain grudging admiration I suppose. No, don’t get me wrong ...’ he reached out and took Jane’s hand, ‘we didn’t get on – fact – and nothing’s changed there. Far too bossy for me, most of the time – I don’t think she was grandfather’s flavour of the month, either.’

‘Which makes it all the more strange that she should inherit the property in preference to you.’ Jane watched William’s face cloud and asked, ‘What happened to Daisy’s father?’

William hung his head, staring directly into his cup.

‘Ah.’ Jane bit her lip. ‘One question too many.’

‘No – there was an accident,’ William paused, stirring his tea absently before he met Jane’s eyes. ‘Apparently, he swerved to avoid a vehicle speeding on the wrong side of the road. The car went into a ditch. He survived for two weeks before he died of complications. It was late and dark, or so it seems. Daisy’s father was convinced grandfather had been driving the other car. But of course, it was nonsense.’

Jane took a sip of her tea, her eyes regarding him over the rim, ‘It was proved to be nonsense, naturally.’

William gave a shake of the head, ‘No, nothing was ever proved.’ He looked past Jane, through the window to the well-tended garden beyond. ‘But Grandpa would never have committed such a thing – and he certainly wouldn’t have kept quiet about it, he would have been too overcome with remorse.’

‘No, I’m sure he wouldn’t have.’ Jane quickly tapped William’s hand. ‘I can see it grieves you to talk about it. I’m sorry I asked.’

William took her hand in his, ‘No, please don’t be. You weren’t to know.’

He managed a smile from a corner of his mouth. ‘Perhaps I should have told you about it. Anyhow – that’s all in the past. Let’s talk about our future.’

 

 

 

 

Chapter Seven

‘Gosh, it’s dark in here – and the dust – it’s like a veil of mist. I never thought these places could be so gloomy – and the musty smell – and ...’

‘Welcome to Country House life, what did you expect?’ Daisy interrupted Alison’s torrent of complaint and then turned to the window, watching beams of September sunlight reveal particles of floating dust. ‘Never mind, it’s nothing a spot of cleaning won’t solve.’

Alison shoved her hands on hips. ‘What? The size of this place we need more than spring cleaning. We could clean right through ’til next spring and not keep it under control. Plus we’ve jobs of our own. Surely we can hire a cleaner?’

Daisy raked a hand through her thick, fair hair. ‘Well, Uncle provided funds for maintenance – |I guess that covers cleaning … what the …’

A brisk clip of footsteps in the hall stopped her in her tracks.

‘Dear lady – that’s where I come in.’

Daisy swung round, her blue eyes flashing annoyance at the tall, beige-suited newcomer. ‘Don’t dear lady me, who the hell are you? I hate to appear rude, but there are a door and a bell on this house …’

‘Yes I do apologise, please excuse my intrusion, but both gates and door were wide open. I did announce my presence by sounding the bell, but it appears not to be working. You are Miss Daisy Truman, I presume? It appears I’ve entered at an appropriate moment.’

Daisy took a step towards the man, her lithe body arced forward. ‘I asked who the hell you were.’

The uninvited guest coughed, placing a balled hand to his mouth. ‘I do beg your pardon, Frobisher-French, madam. Richard Frobisher-French. Allow me to explain myself. I am managing director of Anchor Estate Management. I take it you received our letter?’

 

‘Oh that.’ Daisy drew in a breath, let it out slowly. ‘Well, as you can see I’ve hardly moved in. I fail to see what’s appropriate about it – now if you wouldn’t mind butting out again ...’

Undaunted, the tall man took a couple of paces forward. ‘Forgive me for contradicting madam, but this appears to be exactly the right time. You see, we provide a highly efficient service from the outset, attending to both internal and external maintenance of your property. Moreover, we can provide at no additional expense to your good self, as an introductory offer, an estate-warming party with which we include the services of a butler and meet all expenses incurred therein during the function.’

‘Is that a fact?’ Daisy appraised the distinguished-looking man who’d simply strode into her property as if he might have been the owner and not she – but then they had left the hall invitingly open to all and sundry, and he had told them he’d sounded the bell, which was a point – the electricity not due to be reconnected until the following morning.

She twisted her lips and donned her thinking cap, then turned away and gazed out the window. She and Alison had taken time out to assess the Hall and grounds prior to moving in, three days hence. Some consideration would need to be given to employing a cleaner and groundsman at least. In point of fact, she ought to have acted sooner. But handing a contract to an unknown agency was another matter.

‘I’m not sure, Mr Frobisher French, that I want a company or organisation administering my affairs. I have been of the inclination to employ my own staff,’ she said swinging round to face him.

‘Well, dear lady, if you feel you have sufficient experience and expertise to undertake such recruitment, then so be it. May I?’ French took a few paces to the right, placing the briefcase he carried onto a library desk and pulling out a brochure. ‘I’ll leave this with you if I may – for you to peruse at your leisure. Should you consider you might benefit from our services please do not hesitate to call.’ Retrieving his case, French bowed to the girls. ‘Please accept my apologies for the intrusion – good day to you ladies.’

‘Frobisher bloody French; smarmy bastard!’ Daisy marched through the hall and slammed the main door shut. ‘If he’d have called me “dear lady” once more I swear I’d have slapped him one ...’ she yelled at Alison on her return.

‘Providing you could have reached his face, of course,’ the plump girl said, straight-faced, then stepped back as her friend made to wind up a punch. ‘Seriously, I thought he was quite a charmer. Shouldn’t you at least have thought about it, here and now?’ Alison traced a finger through the covering of dust that lay like a grey shawl on the mantelpiece above the Adam fireplace. ‘I mean, what an opportune moment for the guy to walk in. I mean, here we are with mountains of cleaning we know we won’t be able to handle – and what about the introductory offer – free party and all ...’

‘Stop right there!’ Daisy raised a hand as though regulating traffic. Forget about the free party – that was precisely my point – that’s what he did, just walk right in, I mean. This company seems too pushy by half. First I get the letter, and then he strolls in the moment we walk through the door. How does that happen, eh? I’ve heard of precision timing but … huh! Daisy ran her eyes over the glossy brochure French had left on the desk. ‘Anyhow, he’s left us a pamphlet. It doesn’t do to rush things. As a matter of fact, I meant what I said, I’d rather employ my own people.’

Alison smacked her hands, ridding them of the dust. ‘So who do you know ...’

‘Nobody – as you are well aware. But we should be thinking about keeping control of our own affairs,’ Daisy said, flicking absently through the brochure’s half-dozen pages.

‘Huh!’ Alison raised her eyes to the ceiling. ‘Fine in theory, but in practice we wouldn’t have a clue who we were hiring. Better to let the professionals take over from the start. I reckon it was fate that the guy walked in here. If I were you, I’d get started on that brochure right now.’

‘Later.’ Daisy flopped it on the desk and took a deep breath; she felt the myriad of dust particles invade her lungs; sharp, piercing. She was loathed to admit it, but Alison had a point. However, she wasn’t capitulating to her demands. She was jumping to nobody’s tune. The brochure was waiting until she was ready to read it.