Four Silences Broken, page 3
“We still have some work left to do, but it’s starting to feel like home, thank you.”
“I’m pleased. It’s a house that holds many happy memories for me.”
Meera thought this was an odd remark. Guy had been the previous owner of the Grange. Even before he was arrested, he and Caroline hadn’t been close, but Meera didn’t query her comment. Caroline was polite, but there was a coldness about her. Even when she smiled, it looked brittle. Like her face might crack, Jo would say. It was difficult to think of someone less like Lucy. Meera sensed this was the end of the small talk and decided to get to the point of her visit. She cleared her throat, not quite sure how to address such a delicate issue.
“I’ve also been busy making changes at the surgery,” she began. “Since I took over, we have been updating the way we store our medical records. As I entered your details on to the new database, I couldn’t help noticing that you had a blood test eighteen months ago. The results showed the white blood cell count was very low, but no treatment seems to have been offered. Did Dr Robertson speak to you about the results?”
“That incompetent old fool!” tutted Caroline. “I referred myself to Mr Charnsworth. He has rooms in Harley Street.”
Meera nodded. Oscar Charnsworth was one of the country’s leading oncologists.
“And was Mr Charnsworth able to give you a diagnosis?”
“He did. I have myeloma. There is no cure.”
She delivered this news as if she were discussing the weather, without any hint of emotion. It was what Meera had feared.
“There isn’t, but it is treatable. There are various options to maintain your quality of life and prolong it,” she suggested gently, but Caroline interrupted her immediately.
“Be pumped so full of chemicals and feeling worse than I do now? No thank you.”
“Are you in pain?”
“Nothing I can’t bear.”
“Are you still seeing Mr Charnsworth?”
“No, not since his diagnosis. He said I may have another five years. Three score years and ten is more than enough for anyone, Dr Kumar.”
Meera decided to try another tack. “Have you spoken about this to anyone else? I’m sure Lucy would want to know.”
Caroline rose to her feet. “Dr Kumar. Nobody else knows about this and I expect it to remain that way.”
Meera bristled slightly. She took all her patients’ confidentiality very seriously. “Of course,” she said, also standing. The discussion was clearly over. “But please think about what I’ve said. There are a range of treatments we could try. I’d be very happy to discuss them with you at any time.”
By now they were back at the front door.
“Thank you, Doctor. It was kind of you to call.”
Meera knew when she was being dismissed. Reluctantly, she left the dower house, but as she walked back to the surgery she couldn’t help wondering if she could have said anything that would make Caroline change her mind.
The older members of the village were still in her thoughts that evening as she cooked a lamb balti for supper, while Ben helped Krish with his homework at the kitchen table. Suddenly she heard Ben saying her name and looked over her shoulder, to see him grinning back at her.
“Ah so you are receiving us. We called your name three times. We need your help with tonight’s French.”
“Sorry, I was miles away. What was the question?”
Krish frowned at his book. He hated French. “Is it il pleut or il fait pleut?”
“Il pleut,” replied Meera, who had enjoyed learning a foreign language, but had dropped it to take three sciences instead.
“What were you thinking about?” asked Ben.
“Some of my patients. I went to see the colonel this morning. His foot isn’t getting any better and he’s worried about his dogs not getting enough exercise.”
“I could walk them for him, Mum?” offered Krish eagerly.
“Don’t be silly, Krish. You’re allergic to dogs.”
“I’m not as bad as I used to be. I never have an asthma attack when I’m with Freddie and his dogs and I’d be outside. Please, Mum, I’d like to help. The colonel has been really nice to me. He was great at cricket coaching in the summer. He said I would make an excellent wicket keeper.”
“He could ride his bike there. It would only take him about ten minutes,” chimed in Ben, who had bought Krish a new bike for his birthday the previous month.
“If I go now, I could be back before it gets dark and I promise I’ll finish my homework after tea,” said Krish, pre-empting Meera’s next argument. She sighed and raised her hands in the air. She knew she was beaten when the two of them ganged up on her like this.
“All right. You can try, but if your asthma flares up, you have to stop, okay?”
“Thanks, Mum!” he called as he disappeared out of the door.
Meera picked up her phone and dialled the colonel’s number to tell him Krish was on his way. It would be nice to deliver good news for a change.
Chapter Three
Rachel swept up the last of the soggy toilet paper from the playground and dumped it in the rubbish bin with a sigh.
“Thank God it’s Friday!” she muttered. A strong gust of wind whipped the long strands of her hair that had come loose from her ponytail across her face. She shivered and reached in her pocket for a tissue. It felt like she was coming down with a cold. Her half-term trip to sunny Athens with Sarah, seemed like a long time ago. The watch strap on her wrist slipped as she tried to wipe her hands dry. Her tan was beginning to fade already. Tucking her chin into the collar of her coat, she locked the gate and hurried up the lane before it began to rain again.
“I’m home!” she called out as she stepped through the back door of her cottage.
“How was your day?” asked Sarah as Rachel shrugged off her dripping coat.
“Exhausting. We started a new topic. The ancient Egyptians. I thought I’d get them interested by asking a volunteer to be a mummy and wrapping them up in loo roll.”
“What could possibly go wrong?” said Sarah with a wry smile.
“It was fine until Jared got hold of a roll and lobbed it out of the window. It rolled right across the playground, through the railings and down to the shop. Nora was not happy.”
“Is she ever happy?”
“Good point. What are you up to?”
Sarah was curled up on the sofa with her laptop open on her knee.
“We finished early. It was too wet to do any proper digging, so I sent the others back to York and thought I’d do a bit of virtual digging instead.”
Rachel peered over her shoulder at the screen, then froze. Looking back at her was a picture of Lord Rupert Hanley. Lucy’s late husband and someone Rachel had known all her life.
“Why are you reading about Rupert?” she asked trying to keep her tone neutral as a sense of foreboding began to grow inside her.
“This morning, before the deluge, we found a cufflink. One of the students got overexcited until I pointed out it was definitely twenty-first century. I assumed it belonged to Rob as we found it on his land, and it was engraved with the initials RH. When I saw him and Lucy, I gave it to him. Lucy turned as white as a sheet. Rob explained it wasn’t his but Rupert’s. That got me thinking. I know on that day we were first called out that everyone thought it was his body that had been found, but I realised I didn’t really know much about him and what happened.”
“Nobody does. Not really,” said Rachel quietly. Rupert had disappeared on the night the country first went into lockdown. Months later his remains had been found in a nearby cave. The police had stopped investigating after the coroner declared an open verdict. Only Rachel, Lucy, Jo and Meera knew that Lucy had argued with her husband on the land where Rob’s house, the Hayloft, now stood. She had hit him in self-defence and when she didn’t see him again, she’d been convinced she’d killed him.
“What was he like?” asked Sarah, interrupting Rachel’s thoughts.
“Selfish, arrogant, cruel,” she replied bluntly.
The anger in her voice made Sarah turn and give her a questioning look.
“He must have been okay at one time. Why else would Lucy have married him?”
“He could be charming when he wanted to be.” Rachel shrugged. “But I guess drugs change people. Was Lucy okay?”
Sarah’s bright green eyes turned cold.
“Fine, I think. I expect it’s always a bit of a shock when something from your past appears unexpectedly, but she’s moved on, hasn’t she? Now she’s got a new man in her life.”
Rachel heard the edge to her voice and decided to change the subject. Ever since Sarah had discovered that Rachel had once thought of Lucy as being more than a friend, she became quite frosty whenever Rachel mentioned her best friend. It was the only point of contention in their relationship and the one thing that stopped Rachel telling Sarah everything about Rupert’s disappearance.
“How about I make a risotto for supper?” she suggested, heading into the kitchen.
“Sounds wonderful!” Sarah called after her.
Rachel found her favourite pan and started rummaging through the fridge for ingredients.
“We are out of wine,” she shouted without realising Sarah had followed her through. Rachel turned with a start when she felt her hand on her shoulder. “I could go to the pub and get a bottle, or shall we both go for a pre-dinner drink? I haven’t seen Jack in a while.”
“No you go. I’ll make a start on chopping the onions and mushrooms. Don’t be long,” she said, dropping a kiss on Rachel’s head.
*
For once the White Hart wasn’t too busy. She found Jack, her oldest friend, over by the table in the window where Meera and Ben were sitting.
“Evening, Miss Foxton!” he said with a grin. “It looks like you have survived your first week back.”
“Only just,” replied Rachel grimly.
“Would you like to join us?” offered Meera. “Our kitchen is out of use for a couple of days while the plumbers fit a new sink and Krish is having a sleepover with Freddie, so we thought we’d treat ourselves to dinner out.”
“No thanks, Meera,” Rachel replied. “I’ve left Sarah prepping supper. I’ve only come to get a bottle of wine.”
“Red or white?” asked Jack.
“White, please.”
“I’ll get it,” said Jo, jumping down from the stool at the bar she was perched on. Since she and Jack had got together, Jo spent most evenings in the pub with him, occasionally helping out if they got busy. She went behind the bar and retrieved a bottle of sauvignon blanc from the fridge.
“Thanks,” said Rachel handing over the cash, then turning back to Meera. “How did Lucy seem when you saw her?”
Meera looked a little puzzled. “Fine, I think. Although I didn’t really speak to her. She was ordering pizzas for Rob to collect on his way home. Why do you ask?”
Although Meera knew what had happened on the night Rupert disappeared, Rachel didn’t want to bring up the whole story of the cufflink in the middle of the pub, so she simply shrugged. “No reason really. Has Rob officially moved into the Hall?”
“I think so,” said Meera. “He always seems to be there, but doesn’t he still own the Hayloft?”
“Yes. He wants to sell it but is going to wait until Sarah has finished the dig. He’s not sure how keen people will be to buy with her team unearthing dead Druids next door, but he’s been really good about it, telling Sarah to take as long as she needs.”
“That is kind of him. I think he and Lucy make a lovely couple. She’s so bubbly and outgoing while he’s the strong, silent type. Like Mr Rochester,” sighed Meera, ever the romantic.
“Surely, with Lucy being a bit posh, he’d be more of a Mellors,” said Jack with a grin.
“I didn’t know you were a fan of D H Lawrence, Jack,” said Meera, who was an avid reader and adored all the classics.
“No need to sound so surprised! You and Ben aren’t the only intellectuals around here,” said Jack, pretending to look offended as Meera flushed with embarrassment. “I’m only joking, Meera,” he reassured her. “I haven’t read Lady Chatterley properly. When I was a kid we passed it round the team bus, looking for all the dirty bits.”
“I did the same,” Jo said with a laugh. “I sneaked into the school library to read it because the nuns had banned it from the children’s home. I was only interested in the naughty bits too.”
“And what did you think?” asked Jack.
Jo shrugged. “A bit disappointing really.”
Rachel laughed along with the others. It was strange. A few months ago, she wouldn’t have been able to joke about Lucy being in a new relationship—it would have been too painful—but now she had Sarah and a new future to look forward to.
“I’d better go,” she said. “I’m meant to be cooking.”
“I’m going too,” said Jo reaching for her jacket and kissing Jack goodbye. “I need to get some sleep. I feel dead on my feet.”
Out on the street, Rachel waved Jo goodbye and hurried across the road, only to see Becky, her sister, walking just as quickly towards her. She checked her watch and tutted.
“I thought you started work at five?” she said loudly.
Becky stopped abruptly and scowled at her. “I’m only a few minutes late. Jack won’t mind.”
“That’s hardly the attitude. He gave you that waitressing job as a favour to me. You shouldn’t take advantage of him.”
“I’m not,” snapped Becky, flicking her long blonde hair away from her face. “Besides it’s not my fault—the traffic from Leeds was terrible.”
Rachel narrowed her eyes. “Have you been with Nish all day? Leaving Mum to look after Minty, I expect.”
“She enjoys it. They both do and if I have been with Nish or if I’m late, it really is none of your business, so butt out.”
With that she stomped over to the pub. Rachel watched her go. Becky and her little girl now lived with Mary, their mother, in the old family farmhouse. Max, her soon to be ex-husband, was on remand awaiting trial. He had used his position as Lucy’s estate manager to steal from her and tried to do the same to Mary. After running away to Spain, he had finally been caught when Rachel found him hiding out in a deserted farmhouse. Automatically, her hand went to touch the scar on her forehead from where he’d hit her.
Becky had always sworn she had no idea what he was up to. More than anything, Rachel wanted to believe that her selfish little sister wasn’t guilty of anything more than being naïve, but like a chameleon, since meeting Meera’s brother, Nish, she had transformed from being the wife of a would-be country squire to girlfriend of a cool city clubber. Sometimes she wondered if Becky had a mind of her own. A few heavy raindrops began to fall, and Rachel sneezed twice. She was definitely coming down with a cold. Pushing all thoughts of Becky to one side, she dashed back to Sarah and the warmth of the cottage.
*
“How much do you think Rob will want for the Hayloft, when he puts it on the market?” asked Sarah as Rachel spooned the risotto on to their plates and Sarah poured the wine.
“No idea. A lot I should imagine. Why, are you planning on moving?”
Sarah smiled. “No, but I thought it would make a great home for the heritage centre. You know, as it’s right next to the burial ground.”
The idea of creating a centre for the study of Celtic history in Hartwell was something the two women were passionate about. Even before she arrived in Hartwell, Sarah had been studying the work of Joseph Baxter Tarrant, a young archaeologist who was buried in Hartwell’s churchyard. He had been writing a paper on the legend of the Hartwell nobles. These were a collection of ancient silver coins belonging to the Foxtons and the other families who had always lived in the village. One of the Hanley’s ancestors had given them away in attempt to lift a Druid curse for building Hartwell Hall on sacred land. However, the villagers were tricked as the coins turned out to be silver instead of the promised gold and the Hanley men were still said to be cursed. This story, combined with all the artefacts Sarah and her team had found, had convinced them Hartwell should have a Celtic heritage centre. Now all they needed to do was find the right place to house it.
*
After supper, Rachel had a long soak in a hot bath and went to bed early in the hope of fending off the cold while Sarah stayed downstairs looking into funding for heritage sites. As Rachel pulled the duvet up to her ears and closed her eyes, she could hear the occasional whirl of the printer.
It would be wonderful for the two of them to work together on a project. She only hoped Sarah’s sudden interest in Rupert would be short-lived.
Chapter Four
Jo leaned her head back against the cool bathroom tiles and groaned. She closed her eyes and slowly inhaled, before another wave of nausea hit. Her stomach heaved and she wretched into the toilet bowl.
“Oh, please stop,” she moaned, wiping her mouth. She had been slumped here for the last hour. Whenever she tried to move, she threw up again. It had been the same yesterday. Foolishly, she’d starved herself for twenty-four hours, thinking she might have food poisoning. However, the little white stick with the two blue lines lying on the floor next to her, told her differently. While she waited for her stomach to settle, she racked her brains to think when she’d last had her period. She’d never been very regular and didn’t bother to keep track.
She retched again. How could this have happened? Then it came to her. The weekend in London. Jack had taken her down there as a surprise for her birthday. He’d made her wear a blindfold in the car and refused to tell her where they were going until they hit the M25.
“You’re always complaining about how much you miss the place,” he’d said and laughed at her stunned face.
It was the first time back in her home city since she’d been sent to Hartwell. She’d only been away a few months, but it had still felt weird. Playing at being a tourist. They had stayed in a lovely boutique hotel in Covent Garden, gone to a show in the West End and taken a boat trip on the Thames. Jack had spent a small fortune in Fortnum and Mason buying food and wine so they could have a picnic in St James’s Park. It was there, behind an oak tree in one of the Royal Parks that passion had taken over. She remembered giggling that if one of her old colleagues caught them, they’d be arrested. As it turned out the risk of arrest wasn’t the biggest consequence of their recklessness.
