Chapter 4
Bernie and I got back to Thornecroft Castle, bedraggled and soaking wet, just in time to get ready for the reception in the hotel bar. We dried our hair, tidied ourselves up, dressed in our party finery, and then we collected my grandmother.
She looked resplendent in full makeup (even more in the evening than the daytime) and a calf-length pink dress covered in silver sequins. She’d styled her short gray hair into spikes and accented the look with a jaunty pink feather attached by a clip to the hair.
“You look . . . amazing,” Bernie said.
“Not too much, I hope. I wouldn’t want to overshadow the birthday girl.”
“I suspect Lady Frockmorton can hold her own,” I said.
Rose twirled her cane in reply, and we made our way to the party. People were coming in through the main doors, depositing umbrellas and shaking off rainwater. Most of the guests were in their forties or older, but a few younger people were with them, including some children. Almost everyone was beautifully dressed. Men in suits and ties, or collared shirts under blazers, women in pantsuits or dresses. The children were scrubbed and brushed and tidied.
“Are any of the other servants from your time going to be here, Rose?” Bernie asked.
“Not that I’m aware of. I was one of the youngest then, and—well, time moves on, doesn’t it, dear? I asked after my friend Hazel, and Elizabeth told me she moved to London not long after I left.”
A small sitting room was tucked away next to the lobby. The paint on the walls was a deep red, the couch upholstered in pink and gold, with matching wingback chairs on either side. The large low table, scratched and marked by decades, centuries perhaps, of use, was covered in local magazines and tourist brochures. A big bouquet of pink roses sat on a side table.
A painting dominated the back wall, a life-sized portrait of a woman standing. She was tall and exceptionally beautiful, with perfect pale skin, full pink lips, huge eyes, and thick black hair piled on her head. She was dressed in a floor-length blue velvet dress, the deeply cut neckline and off-the-shoulder gown designed to show off a necklace and earrings of diamonds and sapphires. Her proud chin was lifted, and her intense blue eyes stared out of the frame at the viewer. “Elizabeth, Lady Frockmorton,” Rose said. “As she was when I knew her.”
“You said she was a great beauty,” Bernie said. “You were not kidding.”
“Indeed, I was not.”
“Are the rest of the paintings of family members?” I asked. Portraits, some of them stretching back centuries, filled the lobby walls and the hallway to the restaurant and bar.
“I recognize some of them from when I worked here, so likely.”
“Old paintings like that should be worth a lot,” Bernie said.
“Not necessarily. Not if the subject wasn’t a historical figure and the artist is unknown and forgotten.”
We followed the crowd down the two steps and turned right, going past a series of small dining rooms into the bar. The room was long and narrow, with deep-set windows and wood-paneled walls, full of small round tables. About fifty people were laughing and chatting and sipping from hefty beer glasses, long stemmed wine glasses, or crystal tumblers. Smiling waitstaff slipped through the crowd delivering drinks. The bar itself was at the far end of the room, behind a solid wooden counter. Wine glasses hung from racks suspended from the ceiling, and the back wall was filled with shelves of bottles, glass panes behind them reflecting the sparkling glass and the lights from the room.
“Oh, my goodness,” Bernie said with glee. “An entire wall of gin. Bring it on.”
A man approached us as we entered. “Welcome. I’m Julien Crawford, Viscount Darnby, Elizabeth’s eldest grandchild.”
We knew that—Julien had been at the table next to us at the pub earlier, complaining at great length about the cost of the party. And about Rose being invited. He didn’t show any signs of recognizing Bernie and me. Julien must have been intent on making his point to his cousins. Bernie doesn’t often go unnoticed.
“Lily Roberts,” I said, “And this is—”
“Mrs. Campbell, formerly Miss Walker. My grandmother speaks very fondly of you.” Julien took one of Rose’s hands in his and lifted it to his lips. The slightest of touches and then he released it. Rose beamed. “Such a pleasure,” Julien said. “Granny’s thrilled that you came.”
Bernie and I exchanged a wiggle of the eyebrows. Nice of him not to tell Rose to get back to the kitchen where she belongs.
“You’re the son of?” Rose asked.
“Robert, Granny’s eldest, and the current earl. Dad’s around here somewhere.”
Rose smiled. “Robert. Robbie we called him. Always in the kitchen begging for scraps of unbaked biscuit dough, or the first slice of cake straight from the oven.”
“Still sounds like my dad,” Julien said. “That’s him over there.” He pointed to the man we’d met earlier in the drawing room, standing in a circle of men about the same age, all of them dressed in dark suits and ties, holding crystal glasses full of dark liquid. “May I help you to a chair, Mrs. Campbell? My cousin’s boy has got the manners of a sewer rat. I’ll give him the boot.”
“Thank you,” Rose said. “Your grandmother not down yet?”
“My grandmother,” Julien said, “loves to make an entrance.” He waved at an older woman, nicely dressed in a designer suit with pearls. “Allow me to introduce you to my mother, Annabelle, Countess of Frockmorton. Mother, this is Mrs. Campbell, the American lady Granny told us she was inviting.”
“How nice to meet you,” Annabelle said. She didn’t add “—not,” but her tone indicated she might as well have. “Thank you for coming.” Her gaze passed over us and she wandered off.
“I’ll get you a drink, Rose,” I said. “What would you like?” As if I needed to ask. My grandmother enjoyed a gin and tonic every evening before dinner. In cases of emergency, such as a murder on the grounds and the subsequent police investigation, she’d have a G&T before and after dinner.
“A G&T, love. A local gin would be nice.”
Bernie and I joined the line at the bar. A man and a woman were pouring wine and beer and mixing cocktails. A couple of young women slipped through the crowd with laden trays, and Irene, the waitress who’d served our tea earlier, came out from the back, bearing a tray of clean glassware.
I’ve worked in restaurants and bakeries all my adult life, but never in a bar. The principle is the same, however, and I always enjoy watching a well-oiled operation at work. All around us Yorkshire and London accents flowed along with laughter and the tinkle of glasses.
“Well, this is embarrassing,” a man said to us. “If you overheard my sister and my cousins and I squabbling earlier, I hope you’ve forgotten all about it.”
Bernie put her hand behind her ear. “Sorry, Tony, what was that? I have trouble hearing sometimes.”
He gave her a big grin. “Not so much trouble that you didn’t pick up my name. Which I never gave to you. Anyway, hi. I’m Tony, son of Katherine, Elizabeth’s youngest child. Plain old Anthony Waterfield, meaning I am not in line for the earldom, which I don’t want in any event.”
Bernie introduced herself and me, and she told Tony why we were here.
When it was our turn to be served, Bernie asked for a gin and tonic, and I requested a Negroni and a G&T. “Made with local gin, please, if you have it.”
“I assume the second gin is for your grandmother,” Tony said. “Jack, see the elderly lady sitting next to Mr. Lancaster gets it.”
The bartender nodded as he reached for the shelf behind him.
“Can I take a guess you’re more than a guest or ordinary family member at this party?” I asked Tony. “I own my own restaurant, and I’ve worked in food service all my working life. The way you’re watching everything tells me you’re supervising.”
He chuckled. “I’m the hotel general manager. Paid position. As in the upper classes of old, my destiny was decided for me when I was barely out of short pants, and I was bundled off to uni to get a business degree, and then into hotel management, despite my protestations that I wanted to be a rock star. But I’m not complaining. I like the work. I’m a proud Yorkshireman, and it’s a pleasure to work for and with my grandmother and care for this great piece of history. I not only manage this place, I love it on a deeply personal level. However . . .” A cloud passed over his eyes as he looked toward the entrance where Julien was greeting arrivals. Whoever was coming in now was obviously far more important than us. His mother, Annabelle, full of smiles, had joined him.
“However?” Bernie prompted.
“Nothing.” Tony turned his attention back to us. “My grandmother owns Thornecroft Castle in her own right. She consults with the family on major decisions and then does what she wanted to do in the first place. I can’t help wondering what’s going to change when she—is less involved.”
“Is this hotel the entirety of the estate?” Bernie asked.
“Not at all. We have some rental properties around the area, including the dowager house next door. You would have passed it on the way in. We still own a substantial amount of farmland around here, which we rent out. Nothing like it was in the glory days of the family, but enough to get by. Your grandmother looks comfortable, so why don’t I introduce our honored American visitors to the motley crew that is my extended family.”
We gathered our drinks and followed Tony to a crowded corner. Susannah took one look at us and said, “Oops.”
“Oops, what?” Emma asked.
“Nothing.”
“My cousin Emma Crawford, and my sister, Susannah Reilly.” Tony introduced us.
“Anything you might have overheard at the pub earlier was us rehearsing for a play,” Susannah said. “Right, Tony?” He ruffled her blond hair, the identical shade of his, and she smiled at him. The affection between brother and sister was obvious.
A scattering of applause began at the entrance to the bar, building as it traveled through the room. I turned to see Elizabeth entering on the arm of her son, Robert.
“Oh my gosh,” Susannah said, “are those—?”
“Wow,” Emma said.
Elizabeth, Dowager Countess of Frockmorton, was stunningly regal in a long-sleeved, low-necked, blue satin gown, falling in a sleek river down her thin frame, almost to the floor. She wore a heavy necklace of alternating sapphires and diamonds, which looked to be the same as the one in the portrait hanging in the sitting room. The chain touched the bottom of her throat; each individual blue stone must have been about a half-inch square and the diamonds were huge. Matching earrings of diamonds and sapphires cascaded almost to her thin collarbones.
I know absolutely nothing about jewels, but I had no doubt these were genuine. The brilliance of the light they threw off seemed to come from inside them, rather than being mere reflections from the lamps. More than a few people were openly staring at them, while trying not to be obvious about it.
“Nice necklace.” Bernie sipped her drink. “Good gin, this.”
“The Frockmorton Sapphires,” Susannah said. “I’ve never even seen them. She never takes them out anymore.”
“She hasn’t worn them since our grandfather died,” Emma said. “No reason to, I guess. No more balls at the great houses, no more receptions at court. Just hard work to keep the estate and the house from being sold off.”
“Tony and Susannah are Katherine’s children. Julien’s parents are Robert and Annabelle. I didn’t catch where you fit into the family tree,” I said, wanting to be polite.
“My dad’s Thomas, the second son. He’d be called The Honorable, as befits the second son of an earl, if he used his title, which he doesn’t. My parents are divorced, and he lives in Canada.”
“Canada. I noticed traces of an accent.”
“I went to school in Toronto for a while, and I still pop back and forth across the pond regularly, visiting my dad. He broke a leg last week, playing tennis, so he didn’t make it.”
Robert and Annabelle escorted the birthday girl into the room, as people stepped aside to let them pass. A girl about seven years old, all party dress, bright bows, and shining blond ponytail, was sitting at Rose’s table, while an almost identical girl ran around the room talking to everyone. The first girl leapt to her feet as Elizabeth approached and the woman took her place. Robert headed for the bar, and Annabelle hovered near her mother-in-law’s table.
Elizabeth smiled at Rose, and Rose returned the smile. The two old women exchanged greetings, and then party guests moved in to chat with the guest-of-honor.
“Oh my gosh,” Emma said. “Look at the expression on Aunt Annabelle’s face. At last, the sapphires are so close she can almost taste them.”
I followed her gaze. Robert’s wife was openly staring at Elizabeth’s necklace. And yes, the expression on her face might be described as greedy. I assumed the jewels would go to her, as the countess, after Elizabeth’s death.
“That’s quite the trinket your grandmother has,” Bernie said. “Are those stones real?”
“Oh, yes. They’re rather famous. The Frockmorton Sapphires,” Tony said. “The stones were gifted to the wife of the fourth earl, so rumor says, by her young lover on his return from the Far East, where he stole them from who-knows-who.”
“Is that true?” Bernie asked.
“Who knows what’s true and what isn’t true?” Susannah said. “Myth, legend, fact, it all becomes a blur as time passes. All the great jewels were stolen from someone at some point. You can be sure the fourth Earl of Frockmorton didn’t dig them out of the ground with his bare hands. Or even a shovel.”
“The story says the earl threatened to kill his wife’s lover. Or have him killed, which is more my family’s style,” Tony said. “To save himself, the young lover handed over the jewels to the earl, who made use of them to improve his family’s status. It was the seventh earl, I believe, who obtained the diamonds and had the necklace and earrings made into what they are today.”
“I hope you’ll pay no attention to my cousins.” Julien joined us. “They love nothing more than to gossip about the family.”
“I love hearing the stories,” Bernie said. “My father’s family came over from Ireland sometime in the early twentieth century. We have no exciting stories. No famous jewels, either—far as I know. I’m Bernadette Murphy, by the way, of the Lower East Side Murphys.”
Not entirely sure if he was being mocked, Julien said, “Pleased to meet you. Is this your first visit to Halifax?”
“First visit to Britain,” Bernie said. “After that drive we went through to get here, and then those mushy peas for dinner, I don’t know if I’ll be back.”
Julien blinked. His cousins snickered. Bernie gave him a wink and a huge grin. She lifted her glass. “Gin is worth the trip, though.”
“I hope you enjoy your stay.” He moved on.
“What time are Ray and the kids arriving tomorrow, Susannah?” Emma asked.
“The kids aren’t coming. We decided we’d enjoy a nice little vacation without them, and Ray’s parents were pleased to have them. He’ll be on the early train from King’s Cross, getting in mid-morning.
“We live in London,” Susannah explained to me, “I came up a few days early to help Granny get ready for the party. My husband didn’t want to take the time off work, and we didn’t want to take the children out of school at any rate.”
“Not that Granny needs any help getting ready for the party,” Susannah said.“Tony is completely in control. As always.”
“An extra pair of hands never hurts,” Emma said.
Tony changed the subject smoothly. “What time’s Nigel getting in, Emma?”
Emma’s eyes darkened. It would seem, I thought, Tony had unwittingly landed on another unwelcome topic. “I do not know what Nigel is doing, and I do not care. As long as he’s not coming here. He’s out of the picture.”
“Again?” Susannah said.
“Permanently,” Emma snapped.
“Again?” Susannah said.
Emma turned on her cousin, but before she could reply, one of the little girls ran up to us, blue eyes sparkling, squealing with excitement. “Uncle Tony, can I have another glass of orange juice?”
“You can if you say ‘please’ and ‘thank you’ to Jack,” he said.
The girl bounced up and down as she tried to peer over the rim of the bar counter. “Please and thank you, Jack.”
“Twins?” I asked.
“Zoe and Katy,” Tony said. “That one’s Zoe.”
“No,” Emma said, “it’s Katy.”
“Are you sure?”
“Not entirely,” she admitted.
“They’re my cousin Jacqueline’s girls,” Tony told me. “Jacqueline’s Robert and Annabelle’s daughter, Julien’s sister.” He indicated a woman in her mid-forties chatting with guests at the far side of the room, with the fine fair hair and tall thin frame of the Frockmorton (or was that Crawford?) family. “The twins are a total handful, and the only thing that keeps their parents from disciplining them is they’re so darn cute. Speaking of being in control, I’m going to do the rounds. Bernie, Lily, I hope to get a chance to talk to you more later.” He smiled at me, but his eyes lingered on Bernie.
Emma and Susannah moved away also.
“You need to disabuse Tony of any notion you’re available,” I said to my friend, once we were alone.
Her green eyes twinkled. “Why would I do that?” The low lights of the bar and the flickering of the electric candles suited her dramatic coloring perfectly.
“Because he obviously likes you, and you’re meeting Matt on Monday.”
“A little harmless flirtation never hurt anyone, Lily. You should try it sometime. But I take your point. Fear not. If he’s the manager of this hotel, he’ll be busy all weekend, anyway. Change of subject, I sense some low-level tension in this family. The cousins bicker, and what Emma said about her uncle’s wife was downright nasty. No one took her to task for it, I noticed.”
“Families,” I said. “You should hear my mother when she talks about her brothers.”
“As I have. Many times. They all seem fond of their grandmother, though. Which is nice. Speaking of which, Rose seems to be enjoying herself.”
My grandmother looked relaxed and comfortable in the chair next to Elizabeth. As people approached Elizabeth to exchange greetings or offer their congratulations, she introduced them to Rose. A waiter bent over her to ask if she wanted another drink, and she shook her head.
“It’s nice of Elizabeth to make her so welcome,” I said. “After all these years, never mind the disparity of their positions at the time Rose lived here.”
“Might be a matter of two old ladies, the last of their kind, seeking comfort in each other.” Many of the guests may have been in their late seventies, but Elizabeth and Rose were by far the eldest present.
“There’s an old guy now,” Bernie said.
Two men had come into the room. They stood together, looking as though they didn’t know anyone and weren’t sure of what to do now. The older one was approaching his nineties, if not already there. His hair was still thick, his eyebrows, equally so. His face was a network of deep lines, and the permanent tan indicated a man who’d spent his lifetime outside or outdoors. Even in England. The topmost joint on the first two fingers of his left hand were missing. He gripped a cane in his right hand and leaned heavily against it. His back was bent, and his thin legs quivered under the strain of standing. His suit was about forty years out of date, and I could almost smell the mothballs from here. His white shirt, however, was so new it had fold marks from the packaging. The younger man accompanying him kept a strong hand on his arm.
One of the waiters waved to the new arrivals as he passed, and the younger man laughed.
They made their way across the room to Elizabeth. She clapped her hands in delight when she saw them coming, her smile broad and welcoming. A woman at their table leapt to her feet, and the younger man helped the older one sit. Elizabeth gestured to Rose and the old man grinned a mouthful of stained and broken teeth. He reached out his gnarled and damaged hand to pat my grandmother’s knee. Rose roared with laughter.
All around them, people were smiling as they watched.
Children and the extreme elderly. We do like seeing them happy.
The young man went to the bar and ordered two pints. He saw us watching him and gave us a nod, and then he carried one of the drinks over to us. “Mrs. Campbell’s granddaughters, I presume. Come from America for the festivities.”
“I’m the granddaughter,” I said. “This is just my friend.”
“Just a friend,” Bernie snorted. “I hope I’m far more than that. I’m sort of an honorary granddaughter to Rose. I’m Bernie, and this is Lily.”
“Josh Hansen. My granddad, Reggie, was a stable hand when your grandmother worked here. He doesn’t remember a lot of things these days, but he remembered her well enough. He says she’s the one who got away. He was working up his nerve to suggest they step out sometime when she announced she was leaving Thornecroft and going to marry an American she’d just met. Broke his heart, she did.”
Josh’s eyes twinkled as he told the tale. He was a lightly built man in his mid- to late forties. Short dark hair and olive skin. Not particularly handsome but with huge brown eyes and a warm smile. “Not that he ever said that in my nona’s hearing. She was Italian, and she could wield a frying pan to great effect.” The smile faded. “I miss her every day. Your grandfather?”
“Also gone,” I said. “Just a couple of years ago. They had five children, and I’ve got more cousins than I can count.”
“Do they still have stables here?” Bernie asked.
“Do you like to ride?” he responded.
She visibly shuddered. “I’m from Manhattan. The carousel at Central Park is more than enough danger for me.”
“Nothing like it once was, back in my granddad’s day, but they keep a couple of horses Elizabeth is too sentimental to part with. I’m not full-time on staff—no one is anymore—but I help out now and again. I’m a farrier.”
“A blacksmith,” I said, delighted. “I’ve never met a blacksmith before.”
“Not a lot of call for farriers in Manhattan,” Bernie said.
“Now you’ve met one. Enjoy the party.” He crossed the room to talk to some of the other guests.
Bernie and I stood together, sipping our drinks and watching people. The room was full, the mood friendly and upbeat. Besides the twins, a few other small children escaped parental supervision and ran around, dodging legs and ignoring warnings to behave themselves. Several people came in from the terrace and they were not wet, so I assumed the rain had let up for now.
“We should be friendly,” Bernie said at last.
“Must we?”
“Yes, we must.” She left me standing alone and went to the bar to ask for a fresh drink. I shook the melting ice in my own glass. I was supposedly here to assist Rose, but she clearly didn’t need any assistance. At the moment she was laughing uproariously at something Reggie said, while Elizabeth looked on, smiling.
I’d had my doubts about coming on this trip. About closing the tearoom and leaving the B & B underutilized. Traveling across the ocean to a place I’d never been, in the company of an elderly woman, to visit people I didn’t know and had nothing in common with. But now, I was glad I did.
The only thing that would make this evening better was if Simon was here with me. But I’d be seeing him soon. Yet about that I was also unsure. A long-distance relationship is difficult to maintain, even if it had only been a few weeks since he left. I found myself parsing every word and sentence in his phone calls and texts, looking for clues as to whether or not he’d moved on and was afraid to tell me. I hadn’t confided my worries to Bernie. She, always the optimist, would tell me I was looking for problems where none existed. I watched Bernie join a circle of chatting guests and comfortably introduce herself.
“Get you another, love?” Jack, the bartender, asked me.
I passed him my glass of watery ice and a lone orange rind. “Thanks. Negroni, please.” While he made my drink, I asked, “Have you worked here long?” He was in his early fifties, and he handled the bottles of liquor and mix with practice and skill. “Thirty years,” he said. “Started out in the kitchen washing dishes and chopping vegetables, and one day Elizabeth suggested I think about going to bartending school. I hadn’t so much as thought of doing that, but it turned out to be the best move I could have made.”
“The staff here seem very fond of Elizabeth.”
“We love her,” he said simply. “Tough but fair. Always tough, driving us to do our best, and always fair when she knows we are. Course, she’s less hands-on these days, and young Tony handles most of it.” He passed me my drink and looked over my shoulder. “I’m glad I’ve put in my years. Things are going to change soon. And it won’t be for the better, I can guarantee that.”
“What do you mean?”
“Never mind me, love. You enjoy yourself. The rain stopped, and we’ve mopped up out on the terrace and dried off the chairs. If you’re wanting some air, it’s nice out there of an evening.”
“I’ll have a look.” Unlike Bernie, I’m never comfortable meeting new people. So many faces here I didn’t know and would likely never see again after tomorrow. I stood alone, clutching my drink, feeling quite uncomfortable. I headed for the table where Elizabeth was holding court, with Rose and Reggie as her courtiers. I slipped up behind my grandmother’s chair and leaned over to whisper, “You okay here? Can I get you anything? Do you need the restroom? Are you ready to leave?”
“I’m perfectly fine, love,” she said. “Haven’t had such a good time in ages. Reg, this is my granddaughter, Lily.”
“What?” the old man bellowed.
“My granddaughter, Lily,” Rose bellowed back.
“Your daughter? Pretty girl. Looks just like you, Rose. Did I tell you I live in town now? Nice enough place but no room for the horses.”
Rose smiled at me, and I left them. I wanted to call Simon, just to say hi. I’d texted him earlier to say we’d arrived and sent a selfie of the three of us grinning broadly at the entrance to the house, but I wanted to hear his voice. I crossed the room in the direction the bartender had indicated, pushed open the door, and stepped out. It was cool, and I was glad I had a jacket, but the air was as fresh as it always is at night after a rain, when you’re far from the city. Fairy lights glimmered from the tops of the trees, and low lighting illuminated the footpaths. The ground was covered in flagstones, moss pushing beneath the cracks. The wall, lined with trimmed bushes, was made of old, weather-worn, darkened stone. A handful of people were sitting around small wrought-iron tables, wrapped against the cold, some of them smoking. Electric candles glowed from the center of each table. I walked to the end of the wall and peeked around a corner. Another terrace overlooked a sunken garden, formally laid out in a hip-high maze. A young couple stood in the center of the maze, arms around each other, staring into the eyes of their beloved. I stepped back. I wouldn’t explore the grounds tonight, but if I got up bright and early, I should have time before reporting to the kitchen for duty.
“How much longer do you think she’s going to last? She’s a hundred years old for heaven’s sake.” The voice was a woman’s, the accent less pronounced than that of most of the people I’d met in Yorkshire, coming from the other side of the wall.
“She’ll last as long as she wants. To spite us all. I wouldn’t put it past her.” A man. Julien by the sounds of it. “We need to go to the courts.”
I stayed where I was, frozen in place. Clearly, this was meant to be a private conversation, and clearly, I’d already heard more than I should.
“The courts will throw you out, with costs, along with any reputation we might still have as a united family, not to mention as a trustworthy company to do business with. She’s obviously in full possession of her faculties.”
“That can be . . . altered.”
“Perhaps. By someone who serves her dinner and pours her wine, or who takes care of her medications and gives her a glass of water to take to bed at night. Not you. Not me. If you start fussing around, wanting to fluff her pillows, she’ll be on her guard instantly.”
“People can be paid to help with that sort of thing.”
“Julien, don’t you even think of going there. Granny’s staff are amazingly loyal to her. They’ll betray you in a heartbeat. Betray Father, too. Mother, most of all.”
“Don’t get your knickers in a knot, Jacqueline. I’m just throwing out some ideas,” he said.
“Well, stop it,” she replied.
I pushed myself further into the damp cold wall. Julien must be talking to his sister. She called his parents “Father” and “Mother.” Not your father or your mother. Tony told me Jacqueline was the name of the mother of the twin girls. This must be her.
“All we can do is bide our time,” she said. “No one lives forever, Julien, and then you and Father can do with the place as you like. And Mother will finally achieve her heart’s dream: the right to wear the Frockmorton Sapphires. Now, I’m freezing out here, and I saw a bottle of Prosecco behind the bar with my name on it.”
I heard the sound of her heels tapping on the stones, gradually fading.
A lit cigarette butt landed on the ground at my feet. I stared at it and was about to pretend I’d only just come from the garden maze, but Julien muttered a curse and also headed inside. The cigarette lay in a puddle, fizzled once, and went out.