Charles arrived home the following day, and he came in, cheerful and zinging with his usual energy.
‘Darling! You are a sight for sore eyes. Come here.’ He enfolded her in his arms and sighed happily. ‘I’ve wanted this very much.’
‘Hello, sweetie. Welcome home.’ She kissed him. ‘How was Rome? Did Charlotte wear you out?’
‘We certainly made the most of it.’ Tippi came bounding up and Charles rubbed at her ears and stroked her head. ‘Good girl, Tippi, good girl. Glad I’m home, eh?’
‘Carol’s bringing some tea.’
‘Wonderful, I’ve been longing for some. Let’s go and sit down by the fire and enjoy some home comforts.’
They walked through to the drawing room together, Tippi following.
‘So you had fun?’ Buttercup sat down in an armchair as Charles threw himself on the sofa and crossed his legs, Tippi settling at his feet.
‘When we weren’t marching about the Colosseum or down the Via del Corso, we were drinking a lot of prosecco. You’d be surprised how much Charlotte could get through.’
‘She’s only sixteen,’ Buttercup said, surprised.
Charles shrugged. ‘She’s growing up. But rather excitingly, I managed to find a little souvenir of Nelson in one of the antiques shops. I’m going to put it in the Redmain room. And how have you been here without me?’
‘Fine,’ she said. She told him about the bonfire party, and how the old lady had started one of her tirades. Charles laughed.
‘Oh, she’s harmless, if noisy,’ Charles said with a laugh. ‘She’s always liked dashing out to have a shout at anyone she thinks is up to no good. She used to rant at Charlotte regularly when she went by on her pony. We all got used to her.’
‘What did you think of her when you bought the house?’ Buttercup said.
‘Bonkers,’ Charles said simply. ‘Driven quite mad by the old place. You should have seen it then, the state of it – she should never have been allowed to live here all by herself. The agent told me that she’d been here for decades, ever since she was a girl, looking after her old mother, renting the place out to various tenants on condition she could stay here. The mother had died some years before we saw the house, and the old girl stayed on, desperately trying to hold the place together. Rather a sad story, by all accounts. She’d completely devoted her life to her mother. No wonder she’s gone barmy. Still, I expect she’s got enough money now to pay for some decent care when she goes gaga.’
Buttercup looked up at the portrait over the fire. It seemed so melancholy to think of that beautiful, spirited woman ending her days here, in a house crumbling around her ears; and her daughter sacrificing herself to her mother’s care. ‘So the daughter never married. She never had her own family.’
‘No, I don’t think so,’ Charles said carelessly. ‘Where is Carol with that tea? I’m parched.’
Buttercup looked back at the woman in the picture. Her daughter had no family. No children. Charles’s children taken away by their mother after just a year or two. What’s wrong with this place? Why can’t there be a family here?
As if to remind her of the emptiness of the house, Buttercup got a text that afternoon from Wilf Tranter.
Delighted to announce the safe arrival of Bethany Blue Tranter this morning at 4.10 a.m. Weighing 7lbs 3oz. Mother and baby doing well.
Attached was a photograph of an exhausted-looking but smiling Cathy holding a fuzzy-haired white bundle. Buttercup smiled and texted back her congratulations, then stared into space for a while, thinking of her disappointment, then pushed it aside and rang up to order a bunch of flowers and a big box of chocolates to be sent to the King’s Head from her and Charles, with their love.
Over dinner that evening, Charles talked excitedly about his Montenegro project which was finally getting close to being signed and sealed, and about a new plan for a mining deal in Australia. They were finishing up with coffee when he said:
‘How’s your mother? Was she all right when you popped in on Tuesday?’
‘Yes, she seems okay.’ Buttercup frowned. ‘Did I tell you I was going to see her?’
‘You must have – or you told Elaine or Rose, and they passed it on.’
‘I didn’t think I had,’ she said, thinking back, trying to remember.
‘Oh.’ Charles shrugged lightly. ‘You usually go and see her on your way back from London. Perhaps I just assumed . . . anyway, what does it matter? You did see her, didn’t you?’
‘Yes.’
‘Well then. I hope you gave her my love.’ He gave her a playful look and said, ‘How are things with the ovulation cycle? Am I on call at the moment?’
It’s the only thing about me he doesn’t bother with, she thought suddenly. How odd. He knows everything else, but he doesn’t bother with that. ‘I’m afraid it’s no go again this month.’
‘Oh darling! I’m sorry.’ He looked at her sympathetically. ‘I know you must be disappointed. Try not to be too downhearted.’ He reached out to take her hand. ‘We’ll keep trying.’
‘Yes,’ she said, and it was on the tip of her tongue to tell him about the clinic, but instead she said, ‘Cathy and Wilf had their baby. It’s a girl.’
‘Did they? That’s splendid news.’ He leaned over to kiss her. ‘But she won’t be half as fabulous a mother as you will. It’s bound to happen soon. I know it.’
With Charles home, the peculiar tension he brought to the house returned. When he was away, the house was quiet, only half alive, running on familiar lines; but he brought a sense of unpredictability and possibility. It was one of the things Buttercup had most loved about him when they first got together, along with his certainty and experience. He seemed to have the key to how life should be lived. Buttercup, reeling from the loss of her father and appalled by her mother’s descent into a shadow existence, had been enraptured by his verve and energy, and his determination to squeeze the most from every minute. Sometimes, at a stuffy dinner or a tedious social event, she could sense him getting bored and edgy, and soon he’d making their excuses and tugging Buttercup away. Outside, he would whisk her into the little Alfa Romeo and fly along the country roads back to the house, saying, ‘Weren’t they desperately dull, darling? A load of old bores. Why don’t we go to Paris this weekend and see La Bohème at the Opera?’
And within a few hours, a new adventure would be beginning.
But it’s been a while since we did anything like that. It was Charlotte he took to Geneva and Rome this time.
Buttercup was sitting in front of her computer, writing an email to Hazel, and she stopped short, frowning. It was true. They hadn’t done much together for a while; Charles had been travelling so much, and she had stayed here, doing far too little with her time.
She had a sudden vision of Elaine passing the report of her activities to Charles, saw him sitting at his desk, opening it up and inspecting the details of what she’d been up to and what she had spent. There wouldn’t be much of interest this time, if Elaine didn’t spot the clinic. Why did he need to know anyway? How did it contribute to her security for him to know what she’d been doing?
She trusted him when he said he was off to Geneva or Rome or was staying in London. It never occurred to her to check on him.
I trust him. Doesn’t he trust me?
A sudden shout from upstairs made her look up from her screen, and she heard Charles calling down the stairs.
‘What the hell has happened? Carol, can you come here?’
Buttercup stood up, concerned, almost tripping over Tippi, who was on the floor at her feet, and hurried out into the hall. Charles was on the landing above, leaning over the banister.
Carol came running out of the kitchen, looking anxious. ‘What is it, Mr R?’
‘Come here please.’ He marched away.
Carol and Buttercup exchanged anxious glances and then headed for the stairs, hurrying up to the first floor. The door to the Redmain Room was open and inside Charles was swearing.
‘What is it?’ Buttercup asked, suspecting she knew the answer.
‘Where’s the damn plate?’ Charles spluttered, pointing at the gap on the wall where it had hung. ‘I came to put my new acquisition in the cabinet, and I saw at once that it’s missing.’
Carol glanced at Buttercup, opened her mouth to speak and then stopped.
Buttercup stepped towards Charles. ‘Don’t get upset, darling. There was an accident. The plate was broken. Everyone is terribly sorry and Steve has taken it to a specialist repairer in Exeter, they say they can mend it—’
‘Broken?’ Charles hissed. He whirled round to face Carol. ‘Was it you?’
‘It wasn’t Carol,’ Buttercup said quickly.
He turned to stare at her, his eyes hard and accusatory. ‘It wasn’t you, was it?’
‘No, no!’
‘Then who?’
‘Does it matter? It was an accident—’
But he cut across her. ‘Of course it matters. No one is allowed to touch the things in this room, let alone break them. Who was it?’
Buttercup couldn’t lie, but didn’t want to throw the blame on someone less able to defend herself. She glanced at Carol, who looked nervous now.
‘Who?’ shouted Charles.
Buttercup said in a small voice, ‘It was one of the cleaners. Agnieska. But it was an accident, she was devastated!’
‘Is she here?’ he asked brusquely.
Carol said, ‘She’s cleaning out the boot room—’
Charles strode out of the room, heading downstairs. The two women followed, Buttercup feeling powerless to restrain him and desperate that he shouldn’t take it out on Agnieska.
But it was a vain hope. He found her in the boot room; she was on her knees, scrubbing the floor, the boots and shoes in a pile outside. Agnieska looked up at him, her eyes wide and bewildered.
‘There’s no room for mistakes in my house. Collect your things and go, your services are no longer required.’
Agnieska seemed to understand, a look of horror going over her face. ‘Please! I’m sorry . . .’
‘That’s it, I’m afraid.’ Charles’s voice was steely and Buttercup suspected there was little chance of his changing his mind. ‘Carol will pay you a fortnight in lieu.’
He turned and marched away down the corridor, his shoulders set.
Agnieska turned anguished eyes to Buttercup. ‘No? I have to go?’
‘I’m so sorry,’ she said, putting out a hand towards her. ‘If only I’d got the plate back before he noticed. It’s such bad luck that he went in there before it got back from the mender!’
Agnieska didn’t understand all of it, but she knew it was hopeless. ‘I get my things,’ she said dully.
‘I’m sorry,’ Buttercup said again. She looked at Carol, whose mouth was set in a grim line. ‘Can you sort Agnieska out? Please give her two months’ wages. I’ll give you the money myself.’
‘Fine,’ Carol said quietly. Her expression was difficult to read. ‘Come with me, Agnieska.’
Agnieska followed her out, her grey eyes filling with tears. Buttercup watched them go, then marched back up the stairs to Charles’s study.
He was sitting at his desk monitoring his computer screens as she came in, looking up coldly as she stood in front of him. ‘Yes?’
‘Charles, that was unforgivable! You can’t sack her for breaking a plate!’
‘I can and I have.’
‘She’s a single mother with two small children and three cleaning jobs to keep it all going! It’s completely disproportionate to fire her for one mistake.’
Charles was staring back at her, his blue eyes icy. ‘That’s my decision. She’s my employee, not yours.’
‘But she’s got so little and you’ve got so much! What does one plate matter?’
‘It matters a lot,’ he said in a quiet tone.
Rose’s words in London suddenly came into her mind: I’ve seen what the boss is like. He won’t be disobeyed and he doesn’t like mistakes. She could see it now: that steel-trap ruthlessness Rose had described but in which she hadn’t quite believed.
Charles was still staring at her. ‘Trust, you see. I wouldn’t be able to trust Agnieska any more. I gave her access to my most precious possessions, and she’s shown herself unworthy of the trust. Do you understand?’
‘I honestly believe you’re being unfair. I can’t believe you would be so unjust!’
Charles stood up and went to the window. For a moment, he gazed out over the parkland, grey and spikily bare under the winter sky, then said in a tone that was now calm but still measured, ‘Let me try to explain. Life here is special. You must know that. Inside my circle, life is lovely. It’s safe and comfortable. When someone crosses me, they move outside my circle. Outside, it’s cold and miserable and unpleasant. Sometimes, very sadly, someone who has been a trusted and valued insider must be put out – like a sinner being shut out of heaven. And once you are out, you can never come back in. That’s how it is with Agnieska. She’s out, and can never come back. That’s my decision, I’m afraid.’ He turned back to look at her. ‘Now, darling, I must get on, if you don’t mind.’
Buttercup opened her mouth to protest again, then realised that there was no point with Charles in this mood. She had never seen him so cold and resolute, and she didn’t like this side of him at all. ‘Fine. I’ll see you later. I’m going for a ride.’