Unexpected Blessings

  Edwina glanced at the items on the coffee table, let out a long sigh, as if remembering something from long ago, and then continued softly: ‘The gift my mother gave me many years ago was for Christmas. She knew its meaning would not be lost on me, because it had once belonged to my grandmother Adele Fairley.’

  Reaching for one of the items, an extremely old black leather case of a circular shape, Edwina opened it and then placed it on the coffee table again.

  Both Tessa and India gasped, then leaned forward to get a better look.

  Placed on the black velvet inside the worn leather box was the most beautiful diamond necklace either of them had ever seen. It was in a lacey pattern, fell almost like a bib, and was composed of hundreds of diamonds. It was full of bright white fire, glittering in the lamplight, and it was a magnificent thing to behold.

  Both young women looked up at Edwina, who was scrutinizing them in the most thoughtful way. It was India who spoke first, when she said, ‘It’s simply gorgeous, Grandma, but how did Emma come by it, if it belonged to Adele Fairley?’

  ‘Many years before my mother actually gave the necklace to me, she had bought it at an auction of Adele’s jewellery in London. In fact, she bought the entire collection of Adele’s jewels.’

  ‘Why was it being sold at auction?’ India wondered aloud.

  ‘Because Gerald Fairley needed money to keep his businesses running, and he had inherited his mother’s jewellery collection from his father.’

  ‘So Gerald put it up for sale and Emma bought it,’ Tessa murmured.

  ‘Yes. I think she saw the irony of it all, as only she could. This necklace,’ Edwina indicated it with a finger, ‘was Adele’s favourite, and when Emma was a little servant girl at Fairley Hall she used to fasten the necklace around her mistress’s neck. Years later, she was the owner. What an ironic reversal, eh girls?’

  ‘Yes, indeed,’ India said. ‘And did Emma enjoy wearing it, too?’

  ‘Oh, she never wore it. Oddly enough, it was never worn by anybody after Adele, until my mother gave it to me. I wore it a few times, and now, Tessa, I am giving it to you.’

  ‘Oh, Great-Aunt Edwina, I can’t take it! The necklace should go to India, she’s your granddaughter. Thank you, but–’

  ‘No thank you, is that what you’re saying?’ Edwina asked.

  ‘Absolutely.’

  ‘No, Tessa!’ India exclaimed. ‘Grandmother should do as she wishes, and she wants you to have it.’ Looking at Edwina she added in the most genuine way, ‘You must do what you want.’

  ‘There’s a real reason why Tessa should have it,’ Edwina replied, looking from India to Tessa. ‘Jim Fairley was a legitimate Fairley, grandson of Edwin, and he was your father, Tess. I think Adele’s necklace should therefore be yours. And there’s another reason…Your mother was very close to Emma. Since Emma ultimately owned the necklace, she might easily have given it to Paula one day, rather than to me.’

  ‘But I–’

  Edwina held up her hand. ‘Please don’t argue with me, Tessa dear. This is my gift to you, because of who you are, a true Fairley through your father. But you must never forget that you are also a Harte, Tessa. Never. I did once and I lived to regret it. I love you, and it’s yours.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Tessa said a little tremulously, her eyes filling up. She tried to swallow but her throat suddenly ached and she flicked the tears from her lashes, feeling unexpectedly emotional.

  ‘Now to you, my beauty,’ Edwina went on, looking over at her granddaughter. ‘The rest of the jewellery in those old boxes belonged to Adele, too, it’s the collection Emma bought at that auction long ago, and she left everything to me in her will. You can choose anything you want, India, but I thought you might like this.’ Bending over the coffee table, Edwina picked up a tall red-leather case and opened it.

  Again the two young women gasped in surprise and stared at each other and then at the old dowager countess.

  ‘It’s for me, Grandma?’ India whispered, her eyes wide, full of astonishment.

  ‘If you want it, my dear.’

  India was silent. She simply bent over the coffee table and picked up the choker. It was made entirely of pearls and it was very wide, in the Edwardian style. At its centre was a huge sapphire surrounded by five rows of large rose-cut diamonds; the whole centrepiece was oval in shape, and, like the diamond necklace, it was a truly magnificent piece.

  ‘I thought it would suit you, India, since you have a long, swanlike neck. There’s another box there, containing the matching sapphire earrings. Oh, and Tessa, there are diamond drop earrings to match your necklace. Now why don’t you rummage among the smaller cases and find them.’ Edwina sat back, smiling.

  ‘Is this really for me, Grandma?’ India asked, her voice quavering ever so slightly. She was awed by the choker.

  ‘It is, my darling, because I love you very much. You, too, are a Fairley through me, and you should also have something that belonged to your great-great-grandmother.’

  ‘Thank you, thank you so much,’ India said, and putting the necklace down in its box she went to her grandmother and embraced her, her eyes damp, so touched was she.

  Tessa followed her, and kissed her aunt, and then Edwina began to laugh, delighted to witness their shock, their pleasure, and their obvious gratitude. ‘There’s a mirror over there. Why don’t you girls try them on?’

  India, who was wearing a black dress with a scooped-out neckline, found that the choker went on easily, and she turned and said to her grandmother, ‘How does it look? It’s so beautiful, isn’t it?’

  ‘It suits you perfectly, India. I was absolutely right, choosing it for you. Come here, let me look at you properly.’

  Hurrying over, India stood in front of Edwina, who nodded her approval. ‘It’s absolutely perfect on that long neck of yours, my dear.’

  ‘Thank you again, Grandmother, it’s so generous of you.’

  ‘I’m having trouble with this necklace,’ Tessa said, over her shoulder. ‘It doesn’t seem to fall properly.’

  India ran across the room, and unzipped the back of Tessa’s white dress. ‘Slide the dress down a little bit, off your shoulders, then the necklace should sit properly.’ Tessa did as her cousin told her, and then went to show Edwina.

  ‘What do you think, Great-Aunt Edwina? Does it suit me?’

  Edwina nodded, and unexpectedly her eyes welled. ‘Why, the two of you suddenly look like beautiful ethereal beings from another age, a long age ago, and you know something, you both look more like Adele than ever. It’s your blonde hair and silvery eyes…’ Edwina groped in her pocket for a handkerchief and blew her nose. Recouping quickly, she said in a more businesslike tone, ‘The jewellery is my legacy to the two of you, and the rest of Adele’s collection I will give to your mother, India, and to Paula.’

  Now Edwina stood up. ‘Let’s go in for supper,’ she said in a quiet voice. ‘I think I’m really quite hungry.’

  ‘Yes, let’s do that, Grandmother,’ India agreed, ‘but perhaps we ought to lock the other leather cases away, don’t you think?’

  ‘Good idea,’ Tessa said, taking off the diamond bib, placing it in the box and then fastening her dress. She suddenly threw a pointed look at India, and turned to Edwina, ‘Don’t you have a safe here, Great-Aunt?’

  ‘You don’t think I keep all of this priceless stuff lying around, do you, you silly girl? Jack Figg would have my guts for garters, if I did.’

  Tessa and India burst out laughing at the same time, and India asked, ‘So who sent Jack to see you?’

  ‘Gideon Harte. Who else? He’s got a soft spot for me. And Jack was very pleased to see I had three safes. One for documents, one for jewellery and one for the silver. He was most impressed.’

  ‘I bet he was,’ Tessa laughed.

  ‘Oh, Grandma, you’re such a scream.’ As she spoke India began to carry the cases over to the desk, and Tessa helped.

  Edwina watched them, her face glowing with pleasure. br />
  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  The paintings were beautiful, landscapes which Dusty had painted earlier in his career, dominating the walls of the drawing room at Willows Hall.

  India stood in front of each one for several minutes, studying the scenes intently before moving on to the next. There were four altogether, one on each end wall and two hanging on the long back wall, which was intersected by French windows leading out to the terrace and the gardens.

  She loved these landscapes, with their lush dark greens and pale-blue skies, light-filled and luminous. His skies reminded her of the sky in the Turner painting that hung at Pennistone Royal. She knew how hard it was to capture light on canvas, and how brilliantly Dusty had achieved it here. She admired the style he painted in, Classical Realism, and he had once mentioned to her that it was hard to master. ‘Painting landscapes and people as they are exactly seen by the world is not an easy thing to do,’ he had pointed out. She had nodded her understanding, had wanted to tell him how his landscapes of the English countryside resembled the great classical paintings of Constable. But she hadn’t dared for fear he thought she was saying he had copied Constable, which he hadn’t, of course. He could be touchy.

  Over the beautifully-carved white marble fireplace hung a fifth painting. This was a portrait of a beautiful woman dressed in the clothes of the Georgian period. It looked as if it had been painted in the 1700s, but there was Dusty’s small signature in the right-hand corner to prove otherwise. It brought to mind George Romney’s famous portrait of Lady Hamilton that hung in the Frick Museum in New York. Her maiden name had been Emily Hart, and she had later changed her first name to Emma, and so became Emma Hart, oddly enough, but without the e at the end. For that reason, that odd coincidence, Lady Hamilton, Lord Nelson’s mistress, had always been of interest to India.

  Walking across the floor she went and sat down on the sofa facing the fireplace, gazing up at the portrait of the young woman, but her mind was filled with thoughts of the artist, not the subject.

  She had driven to the hospital in Harrogate this morning, picked him up and brought him home to Willows Hall, and after a light lunch, which the housekeeper Angelina had prepared, Dusty had gone to the studio. ‘To re-acquaint myself with it,’ he had explained, ‘to banish the hobgoblins.’

  He had not had to tell her he wanted to go there alone; she understood that. This was one of India’s great assets, her awareness of another person’s moods, her ability to understand them, even to second guess them, to empathize: reasons everyone in the family loved her.

  She heard footsteps in the marble hall, and she turned her head towards the handsome walnut doors, which stood open. Her face lit up at the thought that it was Dusty, but the smile faltered slightly as Paddy Whitaker hove into view.

  ‘I’m not disturbing you, am I, Lady India?’ he asked from the entrance to the room, his manners scrupulous, as usual.

  ‘No, you’re not, Paddy,’ she answered, ‘I was just sitting here admiring the portrait over the fireplace.’

  ‘Yes, it is rather lovely,’ he agreed, now stepping into the room. ‘Mr Rhodes was wondering if you could come over to the studio…he just buzzed me on the intercom in the butler’s pantry. There isn’t one in here, you see.’

  ‘Of course,’ she replied and jumped up, walked around the sofa towards the double doors.

  ‘This is the first opportunity I’ve had to thank you for putting me in touch with Jack Figg,’ Paddy said. ‘He came over to look at Willows Hall, and then sent in a team of specialists. Remarkable blokes. You know, I’ve long been after Mr Rhodes to spruce up the security here. Anybody can wander in whenever they want. At least they could. Things have already improved.’ The house-manager looked directly at her, and added, ‘You saved Mr Rhodes’s life, Lady India, and for that we are all grateful, very grateful indeed.’

  Dusty Rhodes was standing near the easel when she walked into the studio, and he stepped forward, stretched out his hands to her, smiling broadly. ‘It’s all right in here, India, after all. Perfectly all right. No hobgoblins, no bad vibes.’

  She took hold of his hands, smiling back, allowed herself to be pulled forward, closer to him. Dusty leaned into her and said against her cheek, ‘Thank you.’ Then he moved away, looked into her face, and added softly, ‘It’s been such a difficult time for you. I’m sorry.’

  ‘Dusty, there’s nothing to be sorry about! It happened. Thank God you’re all right. You are all right?’

  ‘Yes. Are you?’ he asked carefully.

  ‘Absolutely. I’m fine…as long as you’re fine.’

  ‘I thought I might feel uneasy in here, but I don’t. So I can happily go back to work tomorrow, India my sweet.’

  ‘Are you sure of that?’

  ‘Oh, yes, very sure. Anyway, I paint with my right hand, not my left.’

  She nodded, and walked across the studio, sat down in one of the armchairs.

  After a moment or two loitering near the easel, Dusty came and joined her, took the other chair and stretched out his legs. There was a small silence before he said, ‘I haven’t felt up to talking about the stabbing before now, even though I know you’ve been anxious to discuss it.’

  ‘Yes, I have needed to talk it through with you, Dusty.’

  ‘The day it happened it wasn’t possible, and since then I haven’t been in the right frame of mind to explain, but it’s okay now. There’s one thing I must make clear, India. I do know her…the woman who stabbed me.’

  India simply nodded.

  He said: ‘We were involved once, a few years ago now, but only for a short while. We split up about a year and a half ago. She’s a drug-addict, very self-destructive, and, to be honest, try though I did to help her, she just couldn’t stay away from smack-heroin. I hadn’t seen her for a year, until about six months ago, when her mother phoned me up. Melinda, that’s her name, was really bad, and her mother needed help to get her into a clinic. I did my best to find the right place, and fortunately she agreed to go into detoxification. I thought it was all going well until she showed up here, then went berserk when she saw you.’

  ‘She must be still involved with you,’ India suggested, her eyes on his.

  ‘I dunno, maybe. And how she ever got out of the clinic I’ll never know,’ he answered, slightly embarrassed.

  ‘Is she back there now?’ India probed.

  ‘Yes. Her mother’s a good woman and she found Melinda within a day, convinced her to go back to the clinic. She put herself under the care of Dr Jeffers again.’

  ‘Can she get better, Dusty?’

  ‘If she wants to, and if she works at it. I hope she can, for her sake.’

  ‘Well so do I.’ India cleared her throat, gave him a very direct look and asked, ‘You didn’t press charges did you?’

  ‘How could I, India? She was off her head that day! I’m convinced she had access to drugs of some kind, and you know full well she was going for the painting, not me.’

  ‘Yes, I do,’ she replied softly. Biting her lip, she added in a low voice, ‘I think you did the right thing, actually.’

  He looked at her alertly and held himself still, conscious of the worried expression on her face, the lack of energy when she spoke. He hoped she wasn’t going to tell him that she was going her own way. He wanted her to stick around, to be part of his life; he had known that in the hospital, and now he truly understood that she had become important to him. He leaned across the space between the chairs, took hold of her hand. ‘It wouldn’t have been a good idea to bring a case against her, darling.’

  ‘I know that, and I also know that stabbing you was an accident.’ India swallowed hard before asking, ‘Do you think she’s going to be a pest, though? She could make your life miserable.’

  ‘And yours, too, that’s what you’re getting at, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes, it is. I’m concerned for both of us, Dusty.’

  ‘She’s going to be in the clinic for a long time. Also, thanks to your bl
oke, Jack Figg, there’s no way she, or anyone else, can get onto the estate without being spotted. Security’s tight.’

  India began to laugh. ‘Poor Jack undertook to do something for Linnet, and now he’s become the security expert for the entire family, and you, too. Oh dear, Jack must be cursing us all.’

  Hearing the laughter, seeing the sudden cheery smile, Dusty immediately felt a lightening of his spirit. Everything was going to be all right with India and him, he felt certain of that. Wanting now to please her, he said, ‘What was it you told me earlier? About going to have dinner with your grandmother?’

  India exclaimed, ‘Would you go?’

  ‘She sounds like a gutsy lady, just my type, don’t you think?’

  ‘She is. And she’ll be thrilled. Whenever you feel up to it, she’d love us to go to supper. She’s not far away, between Harrogate and Knaresborough. Can I tell her yes? Maybe over the weekend?’

  ‘You can tell her yes,’ he responded, smiling and then standing up. ‘Come on, let’s go back to the house.’

  They left the studio hand in hand and walked in the direction of the back terrace. India was thinking how pleased her grandmother would be to meet Dusty.

  And he was thinking how cowardly he had been not to tell India he had a child by Melinda. He hoped to God the press wouldn’t find out and make splashy headlines out of the story.