––––––––
Mrs Cromwell could have done what she did whilst staying with her sister for the night, but she was happy to wait. She was going to take more pleasure out of making the phone call in front of Yuan Ju. She didn’t know whether or not she understood, and didn’t care. There was more implicit and unpleasant mischief-making to be had if Yuan Ju knew what was going on.
On the drive home from Devon, Daisy gave Mrs Cromwell the full details of the visit of the DEFRA woman, which gave Mrs Cromwell one extra person to call. She had no intention of letting Daisy know what she was about to do, although she didn’t necessarily mind her knowing either. She milked her for all the information she could, although, once she had heard Horsfield’s name, she already had everything she required.
Friday morning, a grey day. Mrs Cromwell sat and ate breakfast with Pitt and Daisy at the table, for the first time eating food prepared by Yuan Ju. Daisy wondered what her mother was thinking. Pitt ignored her; had no doubt that she would have her reasons and that those reasons would be anything other than having decided to give Ju a chance. He refused, however, to allow himself any thoughts of Mrs Cromwell and her motives. Everything she did was in her own interest, with no regard for anyone else. Such a person was not to be second-guessed; you waited and dealt with the consequences of their actions when they arose.
No conversation at the table. Pitt did not look at Ju. Mrs Cromwell had the cool composure of a general who calmly eats breakfast before unleashing war. Daisy knew there was something coming and fretted over her toast. Her mother did everything for a reason, and the thought that she was about to do something bold, scared and excited and angered her.
Pitt finished breakfast and did not sit in silence for long. Most mornings, he would give it time, see how the kitchen would develop, gauge whether or not he was likely to get time alone with Ju. Today, he knew it wasn’t going to happen. The clouds were gathering.
As he was walking out the door, he hesitated, a sudden thought about whether or not he should be leaving Ju alone with the two women of the house. Something might happen in his absence. He played the scenario through of how the situation would develop if he returned to the table, and realised there really was nothing to be done. He was just going to have to wait to find out what it was that Mrs Cromwell had in mind.
He stepped out into a morning that was cooler and fresher than it had been for some time. He looked up at the sky, listened to the gentle wind in the trees. As ever, he found himself straining to hear the sound of birds.
There was no great change in the weather coming, despite the cooler day. A blip, and they would be back to another few days of hot sun. They still needed it, after the rather dull start to the summer. The vines were catching up.
Somehow, though, Pitt had the feeling that his time at the vineyard was coming to an end. With the unwanted attentions of the bank, the death of Hardyman, the arrival of DEFRA on his doorstep, and the strange case of the dying birds, Pitt could not help but think that inexorably the fates were closing in. The wine he’d produced and bottled the previous winter might well turn out to be his last.
He remained unmoved by even the darkest, most apocalyptic thoughts.
Another look at the sky, eastwards this time, from where the cool wind was blowing. He felt that the sun would be back with its lazy summer warmth by late morning the following day, and walked off in search of Jenkins.
*
Mrs Cromwell lifted the phone. Three calls to make. She stood by the Welsh dresser beside the back door, the receiver in her hand. Daisy remained seated at the table, watching. Ju was clearing up, washing dishes, drying dishes, cleaning work surfaces, starting to prepare the food for lunchtime, making a list of items on which she needed to stock up. She never looked once at Mrs Cromwell, not a glance in her direction. Mrs Cromwell stared resolutely at Ju, imagining that her eyes bored through her, tearing through her foreign flesh, laying waste the skeletal bones of her illegal immigration. For Mrs Cromwell was sure; Ju should not be there.
There was no paperwork, there was no tax or National Insurance; just a pittance, below the minimum wage, paid to her at the end of the week. And Mrs Cromwell had been asking questions, wondering what kind of thing it might be that Ju did at the weekend. And she had a good idea what that might be, having watched a documentary on Channel 4 and having read the Daily Mail for the previous fifty years of her life. Mrs Cromwell always knew or assumed the worst.
And it just so happened that, on this occasion, she was right.
She called Horsfield at DEFRA, but with no luck. She did not leave a message as she did not want Horsfield returning the call and getting Pitt. She called the UK Borders Agency and reported that there was a possible illegal immigrant working at their house, that they had taken her on in good faith but had become suspicious. She looked at Daisy as she spoke; Daisy trembled with excitement and rage, glad that her mother was making the call, annoyed that she was taking something else that Daisy had organised and was trampling it into the dirt.
And, when she was finished with that, Mrs Cromwell called the local police and said much the same thing as she’d said to UK Borders, but added her belief that the illegal immigrant was involved in something illegal at the weekends too, very possibly prostituting herself. The police replied that someone would be around to ask questions at the earliest available opportunity.
Daisy bristled with fury; she looked at Ju, having not considered this before. She had buried her head in the sand about the possibility of Ju not being legally in the country; however, the thought that she might be a whore had not even crossed her mind.
At last, she admitted to herself that her mother had been right. It was time for Yuan Ju to leave.
The two times that Mrs Cromwell mentioned Ju by name on the phone, she imagined she saw the stiffening of her body; but Ju did not allow herself to look up. Silently, she continued about her business.
Mrs Cromwell tried DEFRA once again, Horsfield answered the phone. This time she did not mention Yuan Ju by name, but mentioned that the strange instance of the birds dying had begun at exactly the same time as the arrival of an illegal worker at the vineyard. Perhaps it was nothing, yet it did seem a remarkable coincidence.
Horsfield, eager to grasp onto anything with which she might nail the sanctimonious Pitt, gratefully accepted the information.
The peculiarity of what Mrs Cromwell told Horsfield was that she was entirely accurate. The strange instance of the dead and missing birds dated precisely from the day that Ju first came onto the vineyard. The fact that she had inadvertently stumbled across the truth whilst in search of an incriminating lie had been entirely accidental.
She hung up and paused for a second. She had contemplated also calling the newspapers, but stopped short. There would be time yet. First of all, she could see how the three strands of attack that she had unleashed that morning would develop.
The possibility that the vineyard would suffer as a result, and that her lifestyle would also suffer, was of little consequence to her. She did not think in those terms, just as Pitt did not. She had only one concern; to make mischief, to make people as black and miserable as she was herself. If she had to suffer for her work, then so be it.
She left the phone behind, deciding that her work of the morning was done. With a harsh look at Daisy, who returned the glare of loathing from across the table, and another festering glance of hatred directed at Ju, Mrs Cromwell walked to the fireplace and settled herself into her favourite comfortable chair to read the news.
Mrs Cromwell had unleashed the first volley of her attack. War was upon them.