“Can we contest it?” Noel asked.
Olivia turned on him. “We’re not contesting anything,” she told him flatly. “Even if it were legally possible, I would have nothing to do with it.”
Nancy, who had been struggling with mental arithmetic, now re-entered the discussion. “But five fourteens are seventy. Do you mean that young man gets seventy thousand pounds?”
“If he sells the sketches, Mrs. Chamberlain, yes.”
“But surely, that’s dreadfully wrong. She hardly knew him. He was her gardener.” It took Nancy only moments to work herself up into a state of high agitation. “It’s outrageous. I was right about him all along. I always said he had some sinister hold over Mother. I said that to you, didn’t I, Noel, over the telephone, when I told you about her giving The Shell Seekers away? And Aunt Ethel’s earrings … given away. And now this. It’s the last straw. Everything. Just given away. She can’t have been in her right mind. She’d been ill, and her judgement was affected. There’s no other possible explanation. There must be some action we can take.”
Noel, for once, was on Nancy’s side. “I, for one, am not about to sit back and let this all wash over me…”
“… she obviously wasn’t in her right mind…”
“… there’s too much at stake…”
“… just taking advantage…”
Olivia could bear it no longer. “Stop it. Be quiet.” She spoke quietly, but with a controlled fury which the editorial staff of Venus had learned, over the years, both to fear and respect Noel and Nancy, however, had never heard this voice before. They stared at her in some astonishment but, taken off their guard, were startled to silence. In the ensuing quiet, Olivia began to speak.
“I don’t want to hear any more. It’s all over. Mumma’s dead. We buried her today. Hearing you both wrangling away like a couple of mangy dogs, one would think you’d forgotten that. You can’t think, or speak, of anything but what you’re going to get out of her. And now we know, because Mr. Enderby’s just told us. And Mumma was never out of her mind … on the contrary, she was the most intelligent woman I ever knew. All right, so she was generous to a fault, but never unthinkingly so. She was practical. She planned ahead. How else do you think she managed, all those years we were growing up, with scarcely two pennies to rub together, and a husband who gambled away every brass farthing he could lay his hands on? As far as I’m concerned, I’m more than content, and I think you should be too. She gave us all a magic childhood, and a terrific start in life, and now that she’s dead, it’s evident that each of us is comfortably provided for. As for the earrings”—she looked at Nancy in cold accusation—“if she wanted Antonia to have them, and not you or Melanie, then I am certain she had good reason.” Nancy’s eyes dropped. She picked at a scrap of fluff on the sleeve of her jacket “And if Danus gets the sketches, and not Noel, then I’m certain there was good reason for that as well.” Noel opened his mouth, and then changed his mind and shut it again, without saying a word. “She made her own will. She did what she wanted to do. And that is all that matters, and nobody is to say one more word.”
Without once raising her voice, she had said it all. In the uncomfortable pause that followed, she sat waiting for Noel or Nancy to offer objections to the tongue-lashing she had delivered to them. After a little, across the table, Noel shifted in his chair. Olivia sent a dagger-glance in his direction, tensed for further infighting, but it seemed that he had nothing to say. In a gesture that admitted defeat more clearly than any spoken word, he put up a hand to rub his eyes, and then to smooth back his dark hair. He straightened his shoulders, adjusted the knot of his black silk tie. Self-possession returned to him. He even managed a wry smile. “After that little outburst,” he said to the company in general, “I think we all deserve that drink.” He rose to his feet. “A whisky for you, Mr. Enderby?”
And so, smoothly, he brought the meeting to a close, and, as well, broke the tension. Mr. Enderby, obviously much relieved, accepted Noel’s offer, and began collecting his papers together and stowing them away in his brief-case. Nancy, murmuring something about powdering her nose, gathered her tattered dignity about her, picked up her handbag, and left the room. Noel, in search of ice, went after her. Olivia and the lawyer were left alone.
She said, “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry. It was a splendid speech.”
“You don’t think Mumma was out of her mind, do you?”
“Not for an instant.”
“You spoke to Danus this afternoon. Did he strike you as a devious character?”
“The very opposite. I would say a young man of integrity.”
“But still, I would really like to know what prompted her to leave him such an enormous legacy.”
“I don’t suppose, Miss Keeling, that we shall ever know.”
She accepted this. “When will you tell him?”
“Whenever is a suitable time.”
“Do you think now is a suitable time?”
“Yes, if it would be possible to speak to him privately.”
Olivia smiled. “You mean, after Noel and Nancy have gone.”
“It might be better to wait till then.”
“Won’t that make you rather late getting home?”
“Perhaps I could phone my wife.”
“Of course. I want Danus to know as soon as possible because he’ll probably be around tomorrow, and it might make things a little constrained between us, if I know and he doesn’t.”
“I perfectly understand.”
Noel returned, carrying the ice bucket. He said, “Olivia, there’s a message for you on the kitchen table. Danus and Antonia have gone to have a drink at the Sudeley Arms. They’ll be back at half past six.”
He came out with this quite naturally, saying their names, for the first time, without resentment or venom. Which was, under the circumstances, reassuring. Olivia turned to Mr. Enderby. “Can you wait till then?”
“Of course.”
“I am grateful. You’ve been endlessly patient with us.”
“Part of my job, Miss Keeling. Just part of my job.”
Having spent some time upstairs, combing her hair, powdering her nose, and generally pulling herself together, Nancy rejoined them in the dining room and announced that she was on her way home.
Olivia was surprised. “Aren’t you going to stay for a drink with us?”
“No. Better not. I’ve a long way to go. Don’t want any accidents. Goodbye, Mr. Enderby, and thank you for your help. Please don’t get up. Goodbye, Noel. Safe journey back to London. You stay where you are, Olivia, I’ll see myself out.”
But Olivia put down her glass and went with her sister. Out of doors, they found the flawless spring day sinking into cool and scented evening. The sky was high and clear, stained pink towards the west. A breeze rustled the topmost branches of trees, and from the hill behind the village came, clearly, the voices of sheep and their lambs.
Nancy looked about her. “How lucky we were with the weather. It just made everything possible. It went well, Olivia. You arranged everything perfectly.”
She was, it was apparent, doing her very best to be agreeable.
Olivia said, “Thank you.”
“A lot of work. I realize that.”
“Yes. It took some organizing. And there are still one or two details to be seen to. A headstone for Mumma’s grave. But we can talk about that some other time.”
Nancy got into her car. “When do you go back to London?”
“Tomorrow evening. I have to be in the office on Monday morning.”
“I’ll be in touch then.”
“Do.” Olivia hesitated, and then remembered her good resolutions of the afternoon. Mumma had never let any of her children go without a goodbye kiss. She leaned through the open window of the car and kissed Nancy on the cheek. “Drive safely,” she told her sister, and then, feeling reckless (in for a penny, in for a pound), added, “My love to George and the children.”
Going back indoors, she found that the two men had left the dining room and returned to the comfort of the sitting room. Noel had drawn the curtains and made up the fire, but once he had finished his whisky and soda, he looked at his watch, got to his feet, and said that it was time he took his leave. Mr. Enderby suggested that this might be a good moment to telephone his wife, so Olivia left him doing this and accompanied Noel to the front door.
She said, “I feel as though I’ve done nothing but see people off all day.”
“You’ll be tired. Better have an early night.”
“I think probably we’re all tired. It’s been a long day.” It was getting cooler. She folded her arms against a shiver of chill. “I’m sorry about the way things worked out, Noel. It would have been nice for you to have the sketches. God knows you worked hard enough looking for them. But as it is, there’s not a mortal thing you can do about it. And, admit it, we’ve none of us done so badly. This house will go for a bomb. So don’t brood on imagined injustices. Otherwise you’ll end up with the worst sort of spiritual indigestion, all twisted and bitter.”
He smiled. Without much joy, but still a smile.
“It’s a hell of a pill to have to swallow, but it seems I have no alternative. And yet I should like to know why she never told us about those sketches, never mentioned their existence. And why did she leave them to that young man?”
Olivia shrugged. “She was fond of him? Sorry for him? Wanted to help him?”
“There’s something more to it than that.”
“Maybe,” she admitted. She gave him his goodbye kiss. “But I don’t suppose we’ll ever find out.”
He got into the Jaguar and drove away, and Olivia stayed where she stood, listening to the receding din of his car, waiting until the roar of the faulty exhaust died away into the still of the evening and could be heard no longer. Country sounds once more took over—the sheep from the sloping fields across the road, the rising wind, stirring high branches, a dog barking. She heard brisk footsteps approaching from the village, and young voices. Danus and Antonia, returning from the Sudeley Arms. Their heads appeared over the top of the wall, and as they came through the open gateway, she saw that Danus had his arm around Antonia’s shoulders, and Antonia had wound a scarlet muffler around her neck, and her cheeks were pink. She looked up and saw Olivia waiting for them.
“Olivia. What are you doing, standing out here on your own?”
“Noel’s just left. I heard you coming. Have you had a good time?”
“We just went for a drink. I hope you didn’t mind. I’ve never been inside the pub before. It’s lovely. Really old-fashioned, and Danus played darts with the postman.”
“Did you win?” Olivia asked him.
“No. I was hopeless. I had to stand him a pint of Guinness.”
Together they made their way back into the house. In the warm kitchen, Antonia unwound her muffler. “Is the family meeting over?”
“Yes. And Nancy’s gone too. But Mr. Enderby’s still here.” She turned to Danus. “He wants a word with you.”
Danus appeared to find this hard to believe. “With me?”
“Yes. He’s in the sitting room. Perhaps you’d better not keep him waiting because the poor man wants to get home to his wife.”
“But what’s he got to say to me?”
“I’ve no idea,” Olivia fibbed. “Why don’t you go and find out?”
Looking bemused, he went. The door closed behind him.
“Why on earth does he want to talk to Danus?” Antonia’s expression was one of deep apprehension. “You don’t suppose it’s something dreadful?”
Olivia leaned against the edge of the kitchen table. “No, I don’t suppose so for a moment.” Antonia, however, did not look convinced. Not wishing to continue the conversation, Olivia firmly changed the subject. “Now, what are we going to eat for supper? Is Danus staying?”
“If you don’t mind.”
“Of course I don’t mind. He’d better stay the night as well. We’ll find a bed for him somewhere.”
“That would make everything much easier. He hasn’t lived in his cottage for two weeks, and it’ll be all damp and cheerless.”
“Tell me what happened in Edinburgh. Did he get a clean bill of health?”
“Yes, he did. He’s all right, Olivia. He’s well. He’s not an epileptic and he never was one.”
“That’s wonderful news.”
“Yes. Like a miracle.”
“He means a lot to you, doesn’t he?”
“Yes.”
“And you, I think, to him.”
Antonia, radiant, nodded.
“So what plans have you made?”
“He wants to start a nursery garden … go into business on his own. And I’m going to help him. We’re going to do it together.”
“How about his job with Autogarden?”
“He’s going back to work on Monday, and giving them a month’s notice. They’ve been so good to him, about all this time he’s had to take off, he feels that working out his notice is the very least he can do.”
“And after that?”
“We’ll take off and go and look for some place we can afford to rent or buy. Somerset, maybe. Or Devon. But I meant what I said about staying here, and we won’t go until Podmore’s Thatch has been sold and the furniture taken away. Like I said, I can show people round, and Danus can take care of the garden.”
“What a frightfully good idea. But he mustn’t go back to his cottage, he must stay here with you. I’ll be much happier knowing that he’s around and you aren’t on your own. And he can have the use of Mumma’s car, and you can keep me in touch as to how many prospective clients come rolling in. And I’ll keep Mrs. Plackett on, if she’s willing, until such time as the house is sold. She can give the place a good spring-clean, and she’ll be company for you while Danus is rotovating other people’s gardens.” She smiled as though she had planned it all herself. “How neatly it’s all worked out.”
“There’s just one thing. I shan’t be coming back to London.”
“I gathered that.”
“You were so sweet to say you’d help me, and I was really grateful, but I wouldn’t have been any good as a model. I’m far too self-conscious.”
“You’re probably right. You’ll be much happier in a pair of wellies with your fingernails full of mud.” They laughed. “You are happy, aren’t you, Antonia?”
“Yes. Happier than I ever thought I’d be again. It’s been a funny sort of day. Tremendously happy and dreadfully sad all at the same time. But somehow I think Penelope would have understood. I dreaded the funeral. Cosmo’s was the only other I’d ever been to, and that was so shatteringly awful that I dreaded going to another. But this afternoon was quite different. More of a celebration, really.”
“That’s the way I wanted it to be. That’s the way I planned it. And now…” Olivia yawned. “… it’s all safely over. Finished.”
“You look tired.”
“You’re the second person who’s told me that this evening. It usually means I’m looking old.”
“You don’t look old. Go upstairs and have a bath. Don’t worry about supper. I’ll cook supper. There’s some soup in the larder and lamb chops in the refrigerator. If you like, I’ll bring up a little tray and you can have it in bed.”
“I’m not as old and tired as that.” Olivia pushed herself away from the table and arched her aching back. “But I will go and get into a bath. If Mr. Enderby leaves before I appear again, will you give him my apologies?”
“Of course.”
“And say goodbye to him for me. Tell him I’ll be in touch.”
Five minutes later, when Danus and Mr. Enderby, their business over, came into the kitchen, Antonia was at the sink scraping carrots. She turned from the sink to smile at them, waiting for something to be said; for one of them to explain what it was they had been talking about But neither did, and in the face of such masculine solidarity she hadn??
?t the nerve to ask. Instead she gave Mr. Enderby Olivia’s message.
“She’s rather tired, and went up to have a bath. But she told me to say goodbye to you, and to apologize, and she hopes you’ll understand.”
“But of course.”
“She says she’ll be in touch.”
“Thank you for telling me. And now I must be on my way. My wife is expecting me home for dinner.” He shifted his briefcase to his left hand. “Goodbye, Antonia.”
“Oh…” Caught unawares, Antonia hastily wiped her hand on her apron. “Goodbye, Mr. Enderby.”
“And the best of luck.”
“Thank you.”
He took himself off, striding out through the door, with Danus behind him. Antonia, left on her own, returned to her carrot scraping, but her mind was not on her work. Why had he wished her the best of luck, and what on earth was happening? Danus had not appeared particularly crestfallen, so perhaps it was something nice. Perhaps—happy thought—Mr. Enderby had taken a liking to Danus, as they chatted over the teacups, and was offering to help them raise a bit of cash to help buy their nursery garden. It seemed unlikely, but for what other reason had he wished to speak to him…?
She heard Mr. Enderby’s car drive away. She stopped scraping and leaned against the sink, waiting, with the knife in one hand and the carrot in the other, for Danus to return.
“What did he say to you?” she asked, before he had even got through the door. “Why did he want to talk to you?”
Danus removed the knife and the carrot, set them on the draining board, and took her in his arms.
“I have something to tell you.”
“What?”
“You’re not going to have to sell Aunt Ethel’s earrings.”
* * *
“Yoo-hoo!”
“Mrs. Plackett?”
“Where are you?”
“Up here, in Mumma’s bedroom.”
Mrs. Plackett climbed the stairs.
“Made a start, have you?”
“Not really. I’m just trying to decide how we’re going to do it. I don’t think there’s going to be anything worth keeping. All Mumma’s clothes were so old and so unconventional I can’t imagine anyone would want them. I’ve got these trash-bags. We’ll just fill them and leave them all out for the dustbin men.”