‘Sell the business?’ Daisy gazed in total disbelief at her husband. ‘But you can’t!’
‘No one can stop me – if I want to.’
‘But your father built it up, made it into what it is today. And – and your grandfather started it.’ She stared at him and Richard stared back. ‘But, why?’ she finally said, so softly it was almost a whisper.
‘Death duties,’ he answered tersely.
‘Oh. But do you have to pay them all? I mean, what about Edith?’
‘I, not Edith, inherited,’ Richard pointed out.
As if she needed reminding. The scene when the family solicitor read out Thomas Dobbs’s will was etched in her memory. She would never forget Edith staring at poor old Mr Parvill in blank disbelief. She had turned first so white that Daisy had thought she was about to faint, then scarlet as she vented her rage on each of them in turn; the lawyer for drawing up the will, Richard for being the chief beneficiary and finally Daisy.
‘You are the one to blame. You influenced my father, you schemed and smarmed up to him – you.…’ At this point Edith’s husband Frank intervened, taking her by the arm and leading her firmly from the room. As the three people left sat in shocked silence, they could hear her still screaming abuse at her hapless husband.
‘I – I didn’t …’ Daisy stammered. She wanted to say that she had never done anything in any way to influence her father-in-law; she had not discussed his will with him in any way. But she had been fond of him, they had got on well and at times she had found a warmth in him lacking in his son. It didn’t seem to her that Edith had so much to complain about. She had been left a nice house plus a bequest of several thousand pounds, and with a husband who was well enough off to be described by some as rich, she had no actual need of the business. Surely she hadn’t expected to inherit it and have Richard running it for her?
‘Your father didn’t leave it to you to sell,’ she pointed out now as her thoughts came back to the present moment.
‘He left it to me under such terms that I do not have much option,’ Richard countered. ‘Edith wants her cut now, immediately, and there are one or two other small bequests, mostly to people who worked for him, and the money in trust for our children.’
‘The money he left Giles and Hazel would be better left in the business anyway, wouldn’t it? And surely Edith will be happy to leave hers there for the time being. I would have thought it would be as good an investment as she is likely to find.’
‘Edith does not care one jot what happens to the business. In fact, I think she would be quite happy to see it go down the gurgler. What she wants is her money.’
‘But your father, he was so proud of the business, what he had done with it, proud of his father – your grandfather – how he built it up from nothing. He – he used to talk about Giles taking over … eventually.’
‘Huh!’ Richard gave a snort of derision. ‘By the time Giles is old enough to take it over, there won’t be a business to run.’
‘Well, there certainly won’t be if you sell it!’ Daisy retorted. ‘Couldn’t you – borrow?’
‘And put myself in hock for the rest of my life?’
He sounded so dispirited that Daisy was moved to say, ‘This isn’t like you at all, Richard. I never thought of you as the sort of person likely to give in.’
‘I am being realistic, that’s all. I don’t want to sell any more than you want me to. It is – as you said – Giles’s inheritance too.’ He paused and looked at her, almost as if he were seeing her for the first time. Or the first time in many days. ‘One of my problems is getting good staff in the office. You have been missed there, Daisy.’
Daisy wasn’t sure she was hearing correctly. Richard was, it would seem, praising her in his rather devious manner.
‘Are you asking me to come back?’ For a brief moment, she forgot that she now had two young children. Working had never been an option since she married Richard.
‘Yes,’ he told her without hesitation, yet looking faintly surprised as if he hadn’t expected to hear himself say this. ‘Let young Lizzie look after the children, and come back and help me keep the business going – for our son.’
‘Lizzie can’t do everything in this house and look after the children properly,’ Daisy objected.
‘You do.’
‘Of course I don’t, Richard. I have Lizzie to help me.’
It was then that Richard delivered his bombshell. ‘Edith has offered to come in and help.’
‘Edith! But I thought you and she … I thought she barely spoke to you, or you to her, since – since your father died.’
‘I am trying to save the business for Giles,’ Richard pointed out patiently. ‘Unless we pull together, I can see no alternative other than selling to pay off the death duties. Edith is willing to supervise the house and the children.’
Even when he told her that, it didn’t occur to Daisy that Richard had already discussed this with his sister.
‘Why doesn’t she come into the business?’ she asked now.
‘Edith has never worked. She knows nothing about the practical side of running the business. She has no secretarial skills – you have. On the other hand, she is used to running a house.’
‘She has no experience of children though.’
Richard shrugged as if to say that any woman knew how to look after children; it was something that came naturally. ‘She knows Giles and Hazel,’ he pointed out.
Later, with twenty-twenty vision bestowed by hindsight, Daisy knew she should have refused to do this even for a few weeks, but Richard had used her two vulnerable points to win her acquiescence: her lack of self-esteem and her love for her children.
‘Very well, Richard. I will come into the office to see you through this difficult period.’
What she had envisioned as a purely temporary arrangement soon became the status quo, and there seemed no way to change things back without causing a gigantic upheaval in the household.
Edith and Frank leased their own house and moved into The Grange. Lizzie left, whether of her own choice or not never seemed quite clear, and was replaced by another maid of Edith’s choosing. In other, more subtle ways, Edith took over the reins.
Daisy’s temporary employment in the business had extended to nearly four years by the time the flu epidemic struck. Giles, now at kindergarten, had brought the virus home and when both Edith and his wife went down with it, Richard sent an SOS for his mother-in-law to come and help them out.
Ella swept into the house like a blast of fresh air and when she left, she had a convalescent Daisy and the two children with her. By the time she arrived, Edith was already on the mend, but Ella was shocked to find her daughter not only very sick but suffering from a lassitude and depression she could relate to all too well. She knew that something more than a virulent influenza virus was affecting her. Ella’s previous visits over the years had been restricted to lunch on Sundays. Ella had thought Edith bossy and overbearing, but had not realized just how much of her daughter’s position in her own household she had usurped.
‘I can’t leave Walter much longer. He is not young and – well, not too good on his own,’ Ella told Daisy who was slumped in one of the big armchairs in what was known as the morning-room. Ella was in a straight-backed chair sewing something for one of the children. For once they were unlikely to be interrupted by Edith who had taken Hazel with her to fetch Giles back from school.
‘It was very good of you to come, Mother. I – we all appreciate it.’
‘That’s as may be.’ Ella’s voice was tart. ‘But how are you going to manage when I leave?’
‘We’ll manage … Edith….’
‘That’s just it, Daisy. Edith is managing much too much. I thought this was supposed to be a temporary arrangement, helping Richard. Well …’ she added when there was no response from her daughter, ‘I just hope he is paying you well, at least the same salary you got before you were married.’
Daisy’s lips tightened and she turned her head away.
‘He’s not paying you anything, is he? Fair enough for a short time, a very short time, but you have handed over everything to that sister of his – the running of your house and the care of your children. You’ve become nothing in your own home. You are not even Daisy any more. Well, Richard can call you what he likes, but you will never be Margaret to me. Where is your self-respect, your spirit?’
‘Don’t, Mother!’ Daisy caught her breath on a sob and made no attempt to stop the tears brimming over and rolling down her cheeks. She fumbled about, but did not seem to have a handkerchief. Ella reached into her own pocket and pulled out a large, white one belonging to Walter.
‘Just tell me – honestly – that you like this arrangement. That you enjoy seeing another woman take over your children as well as your household, and I won’t say another word.’
Daisy responded by sobbing louder than ever and wailing, ‘Of course I don’t, but what could I do? Richard wanted me to help him and I felt I should. It’s a wife’s duty to help her husband, isn’t it?’
‘What about a mother’s duty to her children? Where does that come in?’
The only answer was an agonized wail and even louder sobbing. Ella could feel her patience ebbing. ‘You need to convalesce. I am taking you back with me. If Richard has any sense, he will realize that you are not much good to anyone in this state.’
‘What about the children?’
‘The children too. A change of scene won’t do them any harm.’
But when it was mooted to Richard, he was adamant that Giles must stay at home. ‘He cannot miss school,’ he said.
Daisy demurred and Ella pointed out that it would not be too serious for a six-year-old to miss a week or so of school. But there was no changing Richard’s mind; Daisy and Hazel left to stay with Ella and Walter the following day.
It was on this visit that Hazel became ‘Nutmeg’. Walter, who had no grandchildren of his own, was enchanted by the child. She in turn found him a delightful companion. A man who found time to read to her, play with her, most of all talk to her was a novelty, and within a couple of days they were almost inseparable. Hazel, who had no memories of her real grandfather, was following him around like a devoted puppy and happily calling him ‘Grandpa’.
Hazel came dancing into the kitchen one day where Ella and Daisy were busy peeling and slicing apples for a pie. ‘I’ve got a new name, I’ve got a new name. Grandpa says I’m “Nutmeg”,’ she chanted.
‘How did he get to that?’ Ella asked, realizing as soon as the words were out that she knew just how he had reached this new name.
‘He says Hazel is a nut and Meg is short for Margaret and I’m called Hazel Margaret so that makes me Nutmeg. He said I’m full of spice too, just like nutmeg.’ Her excited treble stopped its singsong chanting and she turned to her mother. ‘Why does Grandma call you Daisy and Daddy call you Margaret?’
‘Because,’ Ella began to explain, ‘her name is really Marguerite. That is the name of a flower, a pretty daisy, so when she was a little girl, we all called her Daisy.’
Hazel, now Nutmeg, squealed in delight and clapped her hands. ‘That’s much nicer than plain old Margaret!’
Ella smiled. ‘I think so too.’ She turned to her daughter. ‘Why did you choose to become Margaret?’ she asked. ‘I always thought you were quite happy being Daisy.’
‘I didn’t,’ Daisy shrugged. ‘Richard said Marguerite was too much of a mouthful and Daisy was common, so he started to call me Margaret.’
‘I see.’ Ella threw a thoughtful look at her daughter before asking, ‘What about you? What would you prefer to be called, or don’t you have a say in it?’
‘Me? Oh, I haven’t really given it much thought, but if you ask me, I suppose Daisy is what I have been called for most of my life. That is who I think I am, somehow.’
‘Then be Daisy,’ Ella said firmly. ‘As far as I am concerned, anyway. I just couldn’t remember to call you Margaret; you had always been Daisy to me, ever since….’ She stopped abruptly and busied herself with the pies she was making. She was not into dwelling on memories, whether bitter or sweet.
‘Why are you making such a big pie, Grandma?’ Hazel asked as she reached across the table and grabbed an apple slice that had missed the dish.
‘Because someone is coming to lunch.’
‘Who? Are they nice? Will I like them?’
‘Yes, he is very nice, so I hope you will like him,’ Ella told her. ‘He is Grandpa’s son.’
‘Ooh, a little boy coming to play.’
Daisy laughed. ‘Not a little boy. He is quite grown up. In fact, I suppose he is a sort of uncle to you.’ She turned to her mother. ‘How old is James, Mother?’
‘Oh, about a couple of years older than you, I think. Actually, I don’t know him either. He’s been overseas, in New Zealand, for several years.’ She looked across at her daughter and added, apparently apropos of nothing, ‘He isn’t married.’
Daisy felt herself flush. She wished, not for the first time, that her mother did not have such an uncanny knack of tuning into other people’s thoughts. Anyway, what was it to her? She was married – very much so.
Daisy tried to efface herself over lunch, leaping up to change plates and bring in the next course until Ella, irritated by her behaviour, commanded:
‘Do sit down, for goodness’ sake, Daisy. Let Sarah do all that.’ She almost added that Daisy was indeed behaving like the servant that Richard equated with the name Daisy. She found it irritating when her daughter was in this self-effacing mood. It was something that her young granddaughter was never likely to suffer from.
‘I’m not Hazel any more,’ the child had announced precociously when she met James. ‘I have a new name. Nutmeg. Grandpa Walter gave it to me.’
‘He did? Can you explain why?’ James responded seriously, and she launched into an explanation of her new name.
‘I see….’ James smiled over her head at Daisy, ‘And what does Mummy think about that?’
‘Oh, she thinks it’s a lovely name,’ Nutmeg said airily.
‘Mummy thinks it’s fine, but I don’t think Daddy will,’ Daisy told her, feeling a sudden need to let this attractive young man know that there was a daddy in the equation.
He smiled again, once more catching Daisy’s eye, and she had the feeling that what he was conveying to her was that the information had been received and noted but he still found her attractive. She found herself blushing and turned away quickly to help her mother with the meal.
James Crutchley was a doctor. He had spent the last five years in New Zealand and when he talked of his time there, it reminded Daisy of her own childhood in Australia.
‘Have you come back here for good?’ she asked him over dessert.
‘I haven’t decided. It all depends.’
Looking up and meeting his gaze across the table, Daisy felt that telltale flush warming her cheeks again. Somehow he had made it sound that it depended on her. But this of course was ridiculous; she had met him less than two hours ago. She asked, so casually that she was afraid she sounded uninterested.
‘Depends on what?’
‘Whether I decide to stay or not.’ His smile took the rebuff out of his words.
I deserved that, Daisy acknowledged to herself.
‘You sound as if you have the same dilemma as myself, James.’ Ella took up the conversation. ‘I have never been able to decide whether I am Australian or English. When I am there, I long to be back here, and when I am here, I often yearn to be there.’
‘Exactly!’ James agreed. ‘I suspect the true answer lies in the heart, not the mind. Wherever you have the most and deepest attachments is where you are truly at home.’
Daisy was to remember this conversation many times in the years ahead as she struggled with her own loyalties and identity.