The Winter Secret Read online

  ‘Thank you so much for coming!’ Cathy said, coming up. She gave her a kiss on each cheek. ‘We appreciate the support.’

  ‘Don’t be silly, I wouldn’t have missed it!’ said Buttercup. ‘It looks brilliant.’

  ‘Are you here all on your own?’ Cathy asked, looking about for Charles.

  ‘Yes, I’m afraid so.’

  ‘You look rather lonely all by yourself.’

  ‘I’m fine, honestly,’ Buttercup said firmly. ‘He’s often away, I’m used to it. He’s gone from Geneva to Rome but he’s coming back the day after tomorrow.’ She waved one arm out towards the pub. ‘I can’t believe you’ve achieved all this in less than a week!’

  ‘It’s been kind of crazy,’ Cathy said, her eyes sparkling. ‘I don’t know if I’m coming or going. The fact it’s dark hides a multitude of sins, believe me. But it’s great, isn’t it? So many people! Look at all the kids! My mum is here looking after Olly. Goodness knows what time we’ll get him to bed. Oh! Sorry, I’ve got to go, Wilf is waving at me—’ She was off, weaving through the crowd, her bump more evident. She turned back to shout, ‘Come down tomorrow for a coffee and a catch-up!’ and then was gone.

  Buttercup stuffed her hands in her pockets and started to wander about. She had rarely been to the King’s Head, despite it belonging to the estate. It had been empty for most of the time she had lived here, and anyway, Charles was not a pub man.

  She moved about, enjoying the anonymity of the darkness. No one seemed to recognise her with the bobble hat and her upturned collar, and she didn’t know many of the villagers. After a while, she took up a position in a dark area, out of the lantern light, where she could watch proceedings and sniff the sweetly enticing caramel scent of frying onions. Children were suddenly illuminated by glittering golden fountains as they waved sparklers about, and then shadowed again when they burned out. Her attention was caught by a familiar face visible in the lantern light that, for a moment, she couldn’t place. Then she realised it was Agnieska, looking different with a large furry grey beret on the back of her head, muffled up in a dark coat. She was holding hands with two small boys, also bundled in puffy coats and wearing gloves, their small white faces visible in the darkness. Agnieska was smiling and talking to them rapidly.

  How nice to see her off duty. She looks happy. It’s good to see that she’s recovered from the plate-breaking incident.

  She watched as Agnieska and the children made their way towards the burger stall, then lined up herself for a cup of spicy mulled apple juice. She was sipping it in the darkness near the pub when the display started. The crowd quickly formed a semi-circle around the field where dark figures darted back and forth, setting off fireworks: small sizzlers first, to get things going. The oohs and aahs began, children whooping at the rockets whooshing upwards, then the display became flashier, with whirling Catherine wheels, and bangers that popped noisily in the night air, sending out red and blue sparks that flickered fast and died rapidly. The fireworks climbed higher, and exploded into bigger, brighter rings of red, blue and golden rain, exploding thousands of stars against the inky night.

  ‘Oooh,’ murmured the crowd.

  Buttercup became aware of a ragged noise behind the murmurs and cries of delight, a kind of shout that was growing towards a shriek. She began to make out words:

  ‘What do you think you’re doing? What is this? What’s going on?’

  She looked out over where the crowd were turning and muttering.

  ‘Silly old bag.’

  ‘It’s that mad woman from the house down the lane.’

  ‘Someone shut her up, please! We’re trying to have a nice evening here . . .’

  Buttercup went towards the shouts and saw an elderly lady in a fur coat, her white hair dishevelled and her eyes panicked and wild. She was ignoring those close to her who were trying to talk to her, and shouting out into the darkness: ‘This is unsupportable, I won’t have it! These frightful bangs and crashes! We are terrified, do you hear me? You must turn it all off at once.’

  It’s the woman from the other house – the one who sold Charcombe to Charles. The princess. She looks in a state.

  The mutterings were growing louder and angrier. The people closest to the old woman were frustrated that she was ignoring them. She saw a nearby woman give the old lady a quick shove and another said, ‘Real fur, is it? Disgusting!’

  Buttercup sensed the mood turning ugly, and she began to make her way through the crowd towards her, but she was impeded by the people watching the fireworks. Then she saw a grey beret moving ahead of her, and realised that Agnieska had reached the old woman’s side, taken her by the arm, and was talking to her gently.

  The princess remonstrated, but her voice lowered and she listened to Agnieska’s low murmur. People began to lose interest and turn away. A moment later, Buttercup saw the Polish girl leading the old woman away from the pub, back down the lane towards her house, the two boys following behind, clutching their hot dogs.

  That was kind of her. I didn’t realise Agnieska knew the old woman.

  She turned to back to see a circle of golden stars in the sky behind her, and the crowd sighed with pleasure at its beauty.

  Buttercup went back to the pub the following morning to see Cathy.

  ‘Welcome to the King’s Head!’ Cathy said, leading her into the bar area. ‘We’re still in a state in here, I’m afraid, even though we did everything outside last night.’ She looked around and put her hands on her hips so that her bump looked even bigger than before. ‘There’s plenty to do in here, as you can see.’

  Buttercup nodded. The room was full of higgledy-piggledy stacks of chairs and tables, and the bar was covered in boxes and glassware and bottles. ‘I won’t keep you long.’

  ‘Don’t be silly, it’s nice to have a break. And I’ve just got the coffee machine working, so we can have a nice cappuccino or something. What do you fancy?’ Cathy headed behind the bar to a large shiny silver machine.

  ‘Cappuccino would be lovely, thanks.’ Buttercup remembered suddenly how, during her last pregnancy, she had completely gone off coffee. Did that mean she wasn’t pregnant? It’s only a couple of weeks. I’m sure that kicks in later. ‘It’s getting there, though?’

  ‘Oh yeah. The decorating is done. Once we’ve got the stock sorted, we’ll do the last twirls and whirls. Wilf is busy setting up the computer system and the till, and sorting the kitchen.’ Cathy sighed and smiled. ‘There’s so much to do. But if everything arrives, we’ll be able to run a soft opening next week, try the menu and get the hang of the kitchen and train the staff. Then, the grand opening after that.’

  ‘Wow. I’m impressed. And it looks great. Love the light fittings.’ Buttercup looked around. The walls had been painted a chalky blue and adorned with antique brass wall lights. Old prints had been put up and the fireplace set up with a huge iron grate full of logs. ‘It’s going to be gorgeous.’

  ‘Thanks.’ Cathy smiled as the coffee machine roared, hissed and released a cloud of steam. ‘I hope so.’ She came over with the two froth-topped cups. ‘Can’t find the chocolate powder, I’m afraid. Next time.’

  They cleared two bar stools of detritus and sat down.

  ‘So – did you see the crazy old lady who came and shouted at everyone last night?’ Cathy stirred the foam into her coffee.

  Buttercup nodded. ‘Yes, poor old thing. She looked quite upset.’

  ‘I feel bad. I should have let her know about the Bonfire Party – I thought all the posters would be enough but perhaps she didn’t see them. I’m going to send a note apologising. Apparently she calmed down quite quickly. I’ve seen her a few times, actually. She came out and shouted at the removal vans when we were moving in. Is she completely bats?’

  ‘I think she’s a bit eccentric, but I haven’t been properly introduced to her. All I know is that she sold the house to Charles a while ago. Her mother was a film star – Natalie Rowe. They lived together in the house for years apparently
, with the whole thing falling to bits around them.’

  ‘Natalie Rowe? Wow, that’s amazing! I love Delilah, it’s one of my favourite films. She’s Natalie’s daughter?’ Cathy shook her head. ‘Unbelievable. I’d love to ask her about her mother, but I’m not sure what kind of reception I’d get.’

  ‘Maybe you should get to know her. Don’t try to be too pally though, Charles said she’s very particular about being called Princess.’

  ‘Princess? What is she, a Disney fanatic or something?’

  ‘No – she actually is a princess, a descendant of some Russian prince . . . imperial family . . . that sort of thing.’

  ‘Weirder and weirder. And kind of fantastic.’ Cathy laughed. ‘And they said moving to the country would be boring!’

  Buttercup walked back home thinking about her own lack of activity in comparison with Cathy’s energy and enthusiasm for the pub, how busy she was despite being on the brink of giving birth.

  She puts me to shame. I need to do something to engage my mind. I’ll call Lazlo, she thought, and ask him if he’s sure he doesn’t want me to look for clients down here.

  As she passed Fitzroy House, she glanced over. It still appeared shut up, with no signs of life there at all. Where was Ingrid? For so long Buttercup had wished that Ingrid would just disappear so that she could forget all about her. Now that she had, she was thinking about her more than ever. It didn’t make sense.

  As she walked up the drive to the house, she felt a dull ache in her stomach and when she got back to the house, she found that her period had started, bang on time. The ovulation tracker, the temperature taking, the fervent lovemaking had done nothing at all.

  She gritted her teeth in sadness and frustration, feeling hopeless and miserable.

  Why isn’t it working? Why?

  Chapter Nineteen

  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.