The Keeper of Stories, page 28
“No, best not. That will be Tiberius with the wine. I can only stand a small amount of excitement in one day and you calling my son a thief might send me over the edge.” Mrs B is back to grinning.
Janice opens the door into the hallway for Mrs B and pushes it closed behind her. She and Euan are left alone once more.
“Rosie is something else,” he comments, nodding towards the door.
“Rosie!” Janice can’t help saying.
“Well, I’m not calling her Mrs B, and she said ‘Lady’ was too formal.” He puts an arm around her. “You and me? We okay?”
“Oh, I’d say more than okay.”
“We don’t have to rush things, Janice, just take it one day at a time. Could we do that?”
She nods. “One step at a time.” And not for the first time, she wonders if this man would like to dance with her.
They can hear voices in the hall and they sit down quietly on the sofa. Janice feels like a naughty schoolgirl, hiding from the headmaster. She hears the front door close and then, in a sudden rush, the living room door bursts open. Through it bundles a bouncing fox terrier, toes pointed, head held high. He leaps towards Janice like he has been pulled towards her on a taut string. As he lands bodily on top of her, his face says it all: “Fuck it, you took your time.”
For some minutes Janice cannot speak to anyone else; she is far too busy telling Decius how much she has missed him. Eventually she raises her head. “Oh, thank you Mrs B; you brought him to see me.”
“Not brought. Bought.”
“I’m not with you.”
“Oh, the nuns really wasted their time with you.”
“What do you mean?”
“I said bought not brought. Part of my negotiations with my son – who would probably sell his grandmother, if he had one – was that as I would be living on my own somewhere new, I would need a dog for company and security. As it just so happened, I had a particular dog in mind.”
“But you don’t want a dog,” Janice exclaims. “I didn’t even think you liked dogs.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. Of course I don’t want a dog,” Mrs B barks as she sits down in her armchair, but Janice can see the tell-tale twitch in the side of her face. “He is yours. And I hope you appreciate him, because I believe that fox terrier cost the bones of £2 million.”
Janice cannot move; she just keeps staring straight ahead of her. Then she launches herself at the old woman, trying not to crush her as she hugs her. “I bloody love you, Mrs B!”
As she hugs her, Mrs B starts to make small gurgling noises. Her gurgling turns to a coughing splutter and Janice is reminded of the time she told her that her son had called his dog Decius. Janice steps backs and watches as Mrs B slaps both arms of the chair and tears of laughter start to run down her wrinkled face.
“What is it, Mrs B?” Janice asks, but this only seems to make her laugh even more and all the old lady can manage to say in a strangled voice is, “Mycroft.”
“Has Mycroft done something?” Janice says, sitting beside her on the carpet, one hand on Mrs B’s knee and one arm around Decius.
All Mrs B can do is nod and rock back and forward.
Janice looks at Euan and shakes her head uncomprehendingly.
Mrs B gives a last chortle and pats Decius on the head. “I may have exaggerated this good dog’s worth somewhat, now I come to think of it.” She grins. “I’m not sure it was a full £2 million.”
Janice sits back on her heels. “What do you mean?”
“Jarndyce versus Jarndyce,” Mrs B declares and makes a sound remarkably like a giggle.
Janice shakes her head.
“I think I’d better explain,” Mrs B says.
“I think you better had,” Janice says, getting up and sitting back on the sofa beside Euan. Decius parks his bottom contentedly on her foot.
Mrs B begins to make happy humming sounds. “I think what my son may have overlooked is that any legal costs pertaining to his father’s trust…”
“The £2 million?” Euan clarifies.
Mrs B nods and continues. “Yes, any costs that occur come out of the capital sum before the legacy is passed on. And it does seem that Mycroft is an extraordinarily expensive attorney. Worth every penny, of course.”
Janice is confused. “But I thought he wasn’t going to charge you anything?”
“Ah, the dear man wasn’t, until he realised the full sum would go to my villainous son”—here she looks a little sadly at Janice—“then he felt that it might be a good idea to harvest a largish slice of the pie for himself.”
“And you don’t mind?” Euan looks as confused as Janice.
Mrs B glances from one to the other. “You should never, ever underestimate Mycroft.” She then turns specifically to Janice. “And you should never give up hope, for Hope changes everything.” She makes a tiny bowing movement to Janice. Janice returns the bow. “As it was,” Mrs B continues, “Mycroft donated his fee to the college on the understanding that he and I have some say in the conversion of my old home into a library. There will be ample funds to achieve this and Mycroft has been talking to the Master about naming the new library after Augustus.” Mrs B smiles mistily.
“Oh, Mrs B, that’s wonderful.” Janice then mutters, “No one ever sees Mycroft coming, do they?”
“Indeed they do not, my dear. And no,” Mrs B adds, as if reading her thoughts, “I am not going to tell you about our time in Madagascar.”
Janice’s laugh is cut short. “Will Tiberius be angry? He won’t be able to take Decius back?”
“Oh no, my dear, Mycroft was particularly stringent about including him fully in the terms of the agreement that we both signed. I believe drawing it up took a considerable amount of time and may have cost Tiberius quite a few thousand pounds.”
Mrs B gazes vaguely up at the ceiling and Janice is strongly reminded of her friend, Fred Spink. “It is quite amazing how costs can accumulate,” Mrs B says dreamily. “Now, I do think we might open a special bottle of wine to celebrate,” she adds, looking back at the two of them.
After drinking a very good bottle of Augustus’s pinot noir, Euan and Janice say their goodbyes and, along with Decius, make their way back down the path into town, Euan wheeling his bike and Janice holding tight to Decius’s lead, as if he might suddenly disappear into thin air if she let go. “We must go and see Adam.”
“I’ve been thinking about that,” Euan says, negotiating a bollard. “Decius is a pedigree hound, isn’t he?”
“Of course,” Janice says, looking down fondly at Decius’s curly head.
“Well, how about a ‘Son of Decius’ for Adam?”
“Oh, I think that is a great idea. But maybe let’s not mention it straight away. You know what happened last time.”
They walk on in silence, then Janice remembers something. “You never told me your fourth story.”
“Oh, I don’t know, maybe I don’t need more. How about you? You still going to be collecting other people’s stories?”
She nods. “I don’t think I could stop. And I wouldn’t want to. I think it’s in people’s stories that you discover the best of what we can be.”
“And what do you want to be?” Euan asks, glancing at her profile.
Janice is not at all sure, but she is certain that, with this man walking by her side, she will figure it out along the way. So, she just smiles at him and shakes her head.
“A new story?” he suggests hopefully.
“Oh, I think so. And maybe you’re right, perhaps I’ll have three or four stories. I think I’ve got some catching up to do.” She reaches out and takes his hand. “Anyway, come on, I thought you said you were going for five stories?”
“Well, I think maybe some were a bit of wishful thinking.” He glances down at her. “Okay, well do you want bus driver learns to dance? Or we could go for bus driver wins the lottery?”
“Oh, I think the dancing, don’t you?”
“Whatever you say,” Euan agrees.
They walk on in silence.
“Well, do you fancy going dancing?” he asks her.
“Yes, I do. Where were you thinking? Is there a tango class somewhere we could try?”
“I was thinking maybe Argentina,” he suggests tentatively.
“Argentina? Be serious.”
“Oh, I was, and I thought maybe we could come back via Canada. I’m sure Adam would look after Decius.”
Janice gives him a double look.
It is only then that she notices that Euan is wheeling along beside him a rather smart, new carbon-fibre bike.
Author’s Note
I came across the story of “Becky” – in reality a woman called Marguerite Alibert – whilst reading Adrian Phillip’s excellent book about Edward VIII, The King Who Had to Go. Marguerite gets the briefest of mentions, but it was clear that here was a woman who became involved with the future king and who then went on to get away with murder. I was fascinated to find out more and I turned to Andrew Rose’s book about the scandal, The Prince, the Princess and the Perfect Murder, as well as investigating news reports and documentaries about the subject.
There is debate about whether Marguerite did intend to blackmail the Prince of Wales and what role the letters played in her trial and acquittal. However, there is no doubt she was an important woman in the prince’s early sexual life and that he sent her many indiscreet letters. I have to say I agree with Mrs B’s reading of Marguerite’s character – a Becky Sharp, for sure. And I am certain Mrs B knows more about those letters than she is saying…
Acknowledgments
I would like to thank my friends and my daughters who along the way have read my various attempts at creative writing. Thank you for your forbearance and patience, and also for your kindness in delivering your comments. In particular I would like to thank my Dad, who has proofread every page I have written, with neverending enthusiasm and encouragement.
I would like to thank all the people who lent me their stories. For a year I was a story collector, like Janice. Almost every story in this book is true or based upon a truth. At times I have embroidered the stories to suit the narrative or to mask the identity of the person whose story I was telling. But the essentials are drawn from real life. Which just goes to prove that Janice is right – it is within ordinary people you find the extraordinary.
Thank you to my agent, Tanera Simons. I now think of my writing life as; before and after Tanera. Writing in a vacuum and dealing with rejection can be depressing and isolating. After being accepted by Tanera from Darley Anderson, I found I had a friend by my side, offering astute and invaluable advice.
I would also wish to thank my editor Charlotte Ledger and the team at One More Chapter, without whom Decius would never have found his voice. Which I think would be a f***ing shame.
Finally, I could not write a book about cleaning without mentioning my cleaner, Angela. For many years, Angela has made my life easier and my house a whole lot cleaner. So, thank you, Angela.
Thank you for reading…
We hope you enjoyed The Keeper of Stories!
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After studying history at university, Sally moved to London to work in advertising. In her spare time she studied floristry at night school and eventually opened her own flower shop. Sally came to appreciate that flower shops offer a unique window into people’s stories and she began to photograph and write about this floral life in a series of non-fiction books. Later, Sally continued her interest in writing when she founded her fountain pen company, Plooms.co.uk.
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In her debut novel, The Keeper of Stories, Sally combines her love of history and writing with her abiding interest in the stories people have to tell. Sally now lives in Dorset. Her eldest daughter, Alex, is studying to be a doctor and her youngest daughter is the author Libby Page.
www.sallypage.com
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Sally Page, The Keeper of Stories
