Four Silences Broken, page 2
Rachel picked up the photo and squinted at it. “Is Caroline pregnant or is it the dress she’s wearing? I’ve only ever known her to be as thin as a whippet.”
“Maybe it’s when she was expecting Rupert,” suggested Meera. “Who’s that crawling around on the rug?”
“It’s Jack, I think,” said Rachel, studying the chubby, dark-haired toddler, who was now the landlord of The White Hart and Jo’s boyfriend.
“Caroline can’t be pregnant then,” said Lucy. “Jack and Rupert were born within a few weeks of each other. Is there a date on the back?”
Rachel turned it over.
“It was taken in June thirty years ago,” she read.
“So, Rupert, Jack and I would all have been toddlers,” said Rachel. “I wonder where I am and who took the photo.”
“Perhaps it was Rupert’s father?” suggested Meera. “He was called Alexander, wasn’t he?”
“Yes, but I doubt he was here then,” replied Lucy. “At the time he was working for the foreign office. Caroline said he spent most of his time in London or at some embassy or other when Rupert was little. Besides, although he died before I had the chance to meet him, he didn’t sound like the type of man who would sit around with his wife’s friends taking jolly snaps.”
“Is Mary pregnant with Becky?” asked Meera.
Rachel frowned. “No, she wasn’t born until two years later. Mum must be going through one of her plump phases. She was always prone to putting on weight like me. You’ve only known her when she’s been at her thinnest. She dropped two stone after losing Dad. It must have been the shock.”
Meera nodded sympathetically and Jo yawned loudly.
“Are we boring you?” asked Rachel arching an eyebrow sarcastically.
“Sorry,” said Jo, yawning again. “I was working nights last week, and I’ve been knackered ever since. Last night I fell asleep at eight o’clock.”
“You do look a little pale. You should take better care of yourself,” chided Meera.
“I’m fine, but I need to catch up on some sleep. I’ll go home for a snooze before the bonfire,” she said standing up. “Thanks for feeding me, Luce. I’ll see you all later.”
Lucy walked Jo to her car while Rachel and Meera stayed by the crackling fire looking at the old photos.
A couple of hours later, as it was growing dark, they pulled on their hats and coats and set off for the village hall. Meera, who had only been drinking mineral water, drove them down there.
“Is Sarah going to meet us there?” Lucy asked Rachel.
“I hope so. I’m sending her a text,” replied Rachel from the back seat as she tapped at her phone.
When they arrive at the village hall, it looked like most of Hartwell had turned out. Certainly, all Krish and Freddie’s classmates and their parents had come to support the boys. Lucy waved to Jack who was inside the hall, preparing the food. Jo, who still looked a little pale after her nap, was helping him.
Before they lit the bonfire, Krish and Freddie gave a little speech thanking everyone for coming and explaining why they wanted to make the night firework free. Lucy thought she might burst with pride as she watched her little boy looking and sounding so grown-up. She felt a hand on her arm and turned to see Meera dabbing at her eyes.
“Wasn’t that wonderful?” she whispered. “I do hope Ben has videoed it.”
Then the crowd burst into applause as Rob helped the two boys light the huge bonfire. As the flames crackled and leapt into the dark November night, Lucy handed out the sparklers and laughed as she watched the boys try and write their names in gold and silver. Rob came and wrapped his arm around her.
“Happy?” he asked.
“Very,” she whispered back. “At the risk of sounding like Freddie, I think this might be the best Bonfire Night ever.”
Several hours and far too many hot dogs later, the three of them returned to Hartwell Hall and were greeted noisily by the dogs.
“It’s a good thing it’s not a school night,” said Lucy, attempting to sound stern.
“But I think everyone had a good time and I didn’t see one firework going off, so our plan worked,” said Freddie, yawning widely.
“Well done. Now straight up to bed,” said Lucy with a smile.
“Does that apply to me too?” Rob whispered in her ear as Freddie disappeared up the stairs.
The longcase clock at the foot of the stairs struck midnight, but Lucy was still awake. She reached out and picked up her phone from the bedside table. Despite telling herself it was a bad idea, she couldn’t resist taking a look at the tabloid newspaper’s website and read the first instalment of her mother’s autobiography. She began scrolling through, but it was more about her than Sadie. Although her mother had been a notorious party girl with a string of famous boyfriends, she had chosen to launch her book by spilling all her daughter’s secrets instead.
It was all there. How Lucy’s fairy-tale wedding had turned into a nightmare thanks to Rupert’s drug addiction. Then how he had disappeared during lockdown and his body was eventually found months later in a cave. The financial struggle Lucy had faced to keep the estate solvent. How she had turned to her friend Guy, for advice and support, only to discover he was a deranged stalker. There were intimate details that Lucy had told her mother in confidence, but that obviously wasn’t important to Sadie. She even dragged Rob in at the end, referring to him as a ‘handsome rogue’ with ‘a violent past’, who had come between her and her beloved daughter.
It was a total lie. Rob had gone to prison for protecting his sister and the only person who had ruined their mother-daughter relationship was Sadie herself. Lucy felt sick. She quickly put the phone down and snuggled closer to Rob, who was gently snoring. He had been right. It was better to leave her mother and all she had to say in the past. She wouldn’t let her spoil a wonderful evening.
Chapter Two
“Which do you prefer for the drawing room, Solway Storm or Southwold Pebble?” asked Meera as she and Ben finished breakfast a few days later. She held up the paint colour chart.
Ben adjusted his glasses, bent down and squinted. “I’m sorry, Meera. I can’t see any difference. They both look grey to me.”
Meera pursed her lips. “Really? You don’t think the first is more blue?”
Ben’s phone bleeped. He checked the screen. “Sorry, I have to go up to Dan’s farm. His daughter’s pony has colic.” He quickly dropped a kiss on top of her head. “You choose whichever one you think is best. I’m sure it will be perfect.”
He grabbed his coat and bag and hurried out of the door. Meera watched him go then made her way out of the kitchen and across the hall to the drawing room, frowning slightly. She loved Ben very much. He had many wonderful qualities. He was an amazing vet, and he would be an even more amazing stepfather to Krish, but sometimes she thought he would be quite happy to paint every room in the Grange magnolia.
“Mr Linter? In here, please could we have Solway Storm below the dado rail and Southwold Pebble above? The rail itself to picked out in Antiguan Sand,” she said decisively as she entered the dust-sheet-strewn drawing room.
“Whatever you like, Mrs Bannister.”
This was the slightly doddery decorator’s response to almost everything Meera said. He always referred to her this way. Countless times she’d tried to explain that she and Ben weren’t married yet, her professional name was Dr Kumar, but she was happy for him to call her Meera. It did no good. Eventually, Meera had given up. She also tried not to get stressed about the fact that Mr Linter never wrote any of her instructions down. He had been recommended by Rob, who had used him to decorate the Hayloft, the property he had converted down by the village hall.
The original plan had been for Ben, with the assistance of Krish, to tackle the decorating themselves. Meera had approved of the idea of saving money and liked the thought of the two men in her life bonding as they transformed their new home. The first room they had tackled was Krish’s bedroom. It was a disaster. Ben’s glasses had managed to fall into a tin of paint. Then they’d left a tray of emulsion on the floor that Darwin, the ferret, ran through leaving a trail of tiny blue paw prints over the newly sanded and polished floorboards. In despair, Meera had told them they would have to call in a professional and so far she hadn’t regretted it.
Two months after moving in, there were only a few rooms left to decorate and with luck they should be finished before their wedding that was due to take place a week before Christmas.
*
After setting Mr Linter to work, Meera dropped Krish off at school before beginning the series of house calls she was scheduled to make that morning. He gave her a cheerful wave as he dashed across the playground to meet Freddie. Since arriving in Hartwell, her quiet, shy little boy had become so confident and she’d seen a vast improvement in the asthma that had plagued his childhood. She had been so proud watching him make his speech in front of all those people and that he had worked so hard campaigning for something that he thought was important. He had always adored animals and, together with Freddie, he had convinced the rest of the village not to set off fireworks because they caused distress to both pets and wildlife. Almost everyone in Hartwell had supported the idea; in fact, several local farmers had approached her and asked her to pass on their thanks to Krish.
“It’s the first fifth of November I haven’t had to call Ben out,” Dan Foxton, Rachel’s cousin had said. “At least one of my herd usually gets spooked and injures themselves running away.”
First on her list was Colonel Marsden. He had phoned the surgery yesterday to say that his gout had flared up and he was unable to walk to his appointment. Following his precise instructions, Meera let herself into Beck House, the colonel’s Georgian house that could only be accessed via a bridge over the village stream. Her arrival was greeting by loud barking from his three dogs, but they were silenced by a sharp command from their master. She found him in the snug, wearing a tartan dressing down and sitting in an armchair with his foot resting on a padded stool.
“Good morning, Colonel,” said Meera politely. “How is your foot?”
“Take a look for yourself, Doctor,” he replied, looking rather sorry for himself. Meera gently lifted the bag of frozen peas he had placed on the offending toe. She winced. The skin around the big toe was horribly red, hot and very swollen.
“I’m going to prescribe you some steroids,” she said. “I want you to keep resting and drinking plenty of water. The swelling should go down in a day or two.”
“That’s all very well, Doctor, but what about the dogs? They need regular exercise or they get restless, like the troops. If you don’t keep them occupied that’s when they get up to mischief.”
Meera glanced over to the three black Labradors, who were lying in a neat row next to the colonel watching her intently.
“I understand,” she said. “I’ll ask around and see if someone can help. Now, I think I should take your blood pressure while I’m here.”
“Well, if you must, but it’s bound to be high with all this stress,” he grumbled, rolling up his sleeve. He was right.
“One hundred and forty over ninety,” reported Meera sternly.
“Now don’t start telling me to cut down on alcohol and salt again, Doctor. We’ve all got to die sometime, and a man has to have some pleasures in life,” grumbled the colonel.
Meera let herself out. She didn’t blame him for being so grumpy. The poor man was alone and in a lot of pain. Her next call was Reverend Davenport, who was also incapacitated. He had sprained his ankle after slipping on the church steps following the first frost of the year. The door of the vicarage was opened by a large, jolly-looking woman. With her mop of short white hair and large round glasses, she reminded Meera of the barn owls Krish was so fond of spotting.
“Hello, can I help you?” she asked brightly. Her voice had a slight Durham accent.
“Hello, I’m Dr Kumar. I’m here to see Reverend Davenport.”
“Are you? That’s nice. He does like company.” She pumped Meera’s hand up and down several times. “I’m Belinda, by the way. I’m the new curate. I’ll be taking the services until he’s back on his feet again.”
Meera followed Belinda through the vicarage. From the outside, it was a pretty, well-proportioned house, built in mellow York stone; but inside it was like a 1970s time warp, with woodchip on the walls and an ugly carpet with brown swirls. Reverend Davenport was in the sitting room, lying on an orange velour sofa, tucked under a duvet with a tray of tea and chocolate biscuits next to him. He was chuckling to himself as he watched an old Ealing comedy on the ancient television in the corner. He looked up in surprise when he saw Meera.
“Hello there, Doctor. This is a nice surprise. Forgive me for not getting up to greet you—I’ve injured my foot, you know.”
Meera felt a little perplexed at his greeting. He’d phoned the surgery yesterday in quite an agitated state, insisting he needed to see someone.
“Yes, I do know about your foot, Reverend. You telephoned to say you thought it was getting worse,” she said, gently.
The old man frowned. “Did I, my dear? How very odd. I was only saying this morning that it feels much better today, wasn’t I, Belinda?”
The curate nodded and smiled encouragingly. “Yes, you did, Michael.”
“Would you mind if I took a quick look anyway?” asked Meera.
“Not at all. Be my guest, Doctor.”
Meera carefully lifted the duvet to expose his ankles. The bruising and swelling had almost totally disappeared.
“It looks a lot better,” she confirmed, “and if you aren’t in any pain, I’ll be on my way.”
“Won’t you stay for a cup of tea?” offered Belinda.
Meera shook her head. “No thank you, I still have another visit to make.” She turned back to the reverend. “You should be back on your feet very soon, but take things easy at first.”
“I certainly will, Doctor. It was very nice to see you. God bless,” he replied cheerfully.
Belinda lowered her voice as she walked Meera to the door. “I am very sorry, Doctor. He does get a little confused and forgetful these days. His mobile is on the table next to him, so I don’t always know if he’s made a call. The other day he called the village store complaining they hadn’t delivered the newspaper, but it was laid right next to him. I think that’s partly why the diocese sent me here, to help look after him.”
Meera frowned. “That sounds a little worrying. Perhaps he should come in for some tests when his ankle has healed.”
“I think that would be an excellent idea, Doctor.”
“Does he have any family?” asked Meera.
“There is a niece, who lives in France. I contacted her after his fall. She’s away on business at the moment, but she’s promised to come and see him as soon as she can.”
“Good,” replied Meera. “And in the meantime, do let me know if you have any concerns.”
Belinda waved her goodbye and Meera left the vicarage wondering if the reverend’s confusion was simply due to shock following his fall—he had bumped his head—or something more sinister. She couldn’t help thinking that although Reverend Davenport’s surroundings might not be as grand as the colonel’s, she would rather be in his position with the kind and jolly Belinda there to take care of him, than alone except for his dogs.
A loud rumbling sound caught her attention. On the other side of the street, several large barrels of beer were being rolled over the cobbles to the White Hart. Jack, the landlord was taking delivery. He was a large, bear-like man, who had once been a professional rugby player, until a knee injury had ended his career.
He greeted Meera with a huge grin. “I’m sorry, Meera. I know you like to start the day with a double whisky, but we don’t open until eleven.”
“Very funny,” laughed Meera, who was used to his teasing, “but actually I was hoping you could help me with something. Colonel Marsden is suffering from a painful bout of gout at the moment, and his biggest worry is that his dogs aren’t being walked.”
Jack’s expression turned serious. He might be a bit of a joker, but he had a heart of gold. When Krish and Freddie had approached him during their crusade to ban fireworks, he had offered to help immediately.
“I thought I hadn’t seen him yesterday. I can normally set my watch by him. Poor old chap. Look, I can definitely call round in the mornings and walk his dogs when I take Baxter out, but evenings might be a bit trickier—I’m usually busy here.”
“Mornings would be a big help,” replied Meera, gratefully. “And maybe you can think of someone who could pop in and sit with him, check he’s had something to eat, that sort of thing. Hopefully, it should only be for a week or so.”
“Leave it with me, Meera. I’ll see what I can do,” Jack assured her.
*
The last call of the morning was not officially on Meera’s schedule. With a slight sense of trepidation, she lifted the shiny brass knocker and tapped lightly on the door of the dower house. A few seconds later it was opened by Lady Caroline Hanley. She was an elegant, slim woman with pale blue eyes, who was rarely seen in anything other than her uniform of cashmere twinset and pearls.
“Good morning, Doctor Kumar.”
“Hello,” replied Meera, feeling unusually nervous. “I was wondering if I might have a word.”
After the briefest pause, Caroline nodded. “Of course. Do come in.”
She led Meera through into the drawing room where a Siamese cat was snoozing in front of a blazing fire. The dower house was elegantly and expensively decorated with antique furniture, silk curtains and Persian rugs. Meera, who had always had an eye for interior design, thought it might be the most beautiful house in the village. She hoped one day to make her new home look as lovely.
“How are you all settling in at the Grange?” asked Caroline, as if reading her mind.
