I SAT at the kitchen table and braced myself for the inevitable questions because, of course, Aunt Butters would want to know how much I’d lent Julian (everything), for how long (no idea) and whether she could see a copy of the contract (no, because there wasn’t one). She’d then demand to know how I could have been so stupid (natural ability) as to lend money to Julian (I thought I was in love with him) without any kind of legal agreement (apparently thinking I’m in love makes me moronic). So it was almost an anti-climax when Aunt Butters said, ‘Pancakes.’
‘What?’
‘With maple syrup.’
‘Aunty B, did you hear what I said?’
‘Yes. And ice-cream. The one with chocolate fudge sauce.’
‘I’m broke, Aunty B, and a complete failure and—’
‘Fiddlesticks!’ She slapped her hand down on the table so hard that the cups rattled in their saucers. ‘You made a mistake, that’s all.
‘But I gave Julian everything.’
‘Because you trusted him. It’s not your fault that he let you down.’
‘You’d think I’d have learned by now—’
‘Journey of a lifetime, figuring out who people really are. And you’re very young—’
‘I’m almost twenty-eight.’
‘And still finding your way. Why, when I was your age, I got hopelessly lost in the Negev Desert, met a tribe of Bedouin and fell madly in love with the chief’s son.’ Aunty B emptied the teapot. ‘So foolish, but I had such dreams.’ She smiled as if at some distant memory. ‘And the sex was outstanding. Of course, it all went wrong and was nothing like I’d imagined, but I learned a lot from the experience.’
I considered my great-aunt through narrowed eyes. The trouble with Aunt Butters’s exotic tales was that they were often true. It was a fact that the day she turned nineteen she’d farewelled her twin sister and her dour, straitlaced parents and stowed away on a cargo ship to China. She hadn’t come home again until she was thirty, and by then she’d been married three times and was well on her way to becoming a world-famous photographer.
Aunt Butters spooned fresh tea leaves into the pot, added boiling water and brought the teapot back to the table. ‘This is just a blip, Cassie. You’ll see.’
A blip? I sighed. ‘I might agree with you if I didn’t have to go home and explain to my parents what happened to the fabulous boyfriend I’d promised to bring home for my birthday dinner tomorrow night.’ I slumped back in my chair. ‘Just thinking about it makes me depressed.’
‘That’s understandable.’
‘And the worst part is that Father will spend the whole evening making snide remarks about how I’ve lived down to his expectations again.’
Aunt Butters sat up. ‘Not if you’re not there.’
I stared at her. ‘What do you mean? I have to be there. It’s my birthday dinner at Meryton House – practically a command performance.’
‘Not this year. Not when there’s a family emergency.’
I quirked an eyebrow at her. ‘What family emergency?’
‘Me.’
‘You?’
The sudden mournful look on her face was belied by the irrepressible twinkle in her eyes. ‘Yes. I’m horribly unwell.’
‘You are?’
‘Yes, and I’ve begged you to forego your birthday dinner to look after me.’
‘You want me to lie to my father?’
‘Well, you could spend tomorrow explaining to him why you have no home, no money and no boyfriend.’
She had a point.
‘But if Father thinks you’re really ill won’t he want to come and see you?’
Aunty B’s eyes twinkled. ‘Not if he thinks I’m contagious.’
I considered. ‘That could work.’
‘And if I tell him I’m not likely to last much longer he won’t want to come rushing to my bedside in case he looks too eager for his inheritance.’
‘I’m sure Father wants you to live to be a hundred—’
‘Oh no, Cassie. The truth is, your father will not be sorry when I’m dead.’ She chuckled at my surprise. ‘There’s no point pretending that George approves of me or that he’s not eager to get what he’s always seen as his rightful property. He’s too much his mother’s son.’ She took a framed photo from the dresser drawer and handed it to me. ‘Poor Cordelia, I was such a trial to her. Especially after our parents died. I think she always resented the fact that I was able to buy Queen’s Solar when she was forced to sell it.’
‘Your parents should have left it to both of you.’
‘They would have seen that as rewarding me for breaking the rules they held so dear.’
I gazed at the picture. It was of two young women utterly alike and yet strangely different. They were about eighteen and had the same curly red hair, dark eyes, tilted noses and wide mobile mouths. Physically, they looked identical, but my Grandmother Cordelia stood ramrod straight, arms folded across her body, her smile wooden, the antithesis of the laughing girl beside her. Amelia – Aunty B – radiated warmth and energy and seemed ready to embrace the world.
Maybe because we were so alike in looks and temperament, from my earliest years I’d been drawn to Aunt Butters. I glanced fleetingly at Grandmother Cordelia’s grim face and suppressed a shudder as my last memory of her stirred within me. I thrust the photo back into Aunt Butters’s hand before the memory could take hold.
She touched a finger to her sister’s face. ‘My mother always said that I took after the Butters side of the family, while Cordelia was all Lloyd. As children we very close, but when we grew older Cordelia came to hate my impulsiveness and constant flouting of the rules. Eventually, I caused her so much unhappiness that I decided to leave.’
‘I never knew that. Do you think it helped?’
‘I hope so. She’d become engaged to your grandfather and I’m certain she was happier without me around. John Austin adored her, and Cordelia was devastated when he died. She moved home to Queen’s Solar when your father was three. It can’t have been easy for George growing up as an only child in this house. No wonder he never learned to have any fun.’
I blinked. I’d never thought of my father having fun. I tried to imagine him relaxed and laughing, but it was impossible.
‘Now, you are not to think about George or that Julian or sordid things like money anymore.’ Aunty B returned the photo to the dresser. ‘You’re going to forget your troubles and stay here for as long as you need. We’ll celebrate your birthday together, and you can help me with… a project at the cathedral. Yes, that will work out nicely, I think.’
I could only nod and smile, wondering exactly what I’d embroiled myself in when I’d retreated to Queen’s Solar.
‘But first: pancakes!’