The following Saturday the Daphne of aunts arrived a quarter of an hour before they were expected. They had booked a driver to collect them all from their various houses and, in spite of a traffic hold-up on the M4, had got to Fairacres in far less than the time they had allowed. Fortunately, Gilly was aware of Daphne’s passion for punctuality (which in her case meant being early).
‘How lovely to see you all!’ she said. ‘Do invite your driver in for a cup of coffee—’
‘Euphemism for a pee,’ said Daphne.
‘But also for coffee,’ Gilly persisted. ‘I expect he needs some after that long journey.’
‘Euphemism for he needs caffeine after driving a rabble of batty old ladies,’ said Daphne.
Gilly laughed. Daphne could have been a mind reader. ‘That too. I’ll go and get him. You come in anyway. I’m all ready. We just have to wait for William. He’s picking up the minibus.’
When everyone was installed in the minibus, sticks and walking aids to hand, Gilly turned round from her seat in the front next to William. ‘I feel like a proper tour guide. If I start holding up a rolled-up umbrella, talk me down gently.’
‘You carry on, darling,’ said Daphne. ‘We are as eager to follow you as a playground full of children after an ice-cream van.’
‘That’s a rather energetic analogy,’ said Mary, more thoughtfully. ‘But I like it.’
‘If everyone’s strapped in,’ said William, ‘we can go.’
Their first visit was to a little church which was not only historic but quite near a garden centre. Everyone loved a garden centre, especially one that had a huge outlet section.
Gilly had chosen the church for its history – it was a plague church, built a little way away from the village, but also because it wasn’t huge – it wouldn’t tire the old ladies too much.
‘Don’t come in with us,’ said Daphne firmly. ‘If you do we’ll feel obliged to look at everything and contribute generously to the upkeep of the building. You stay here and keep William company.’
‘I was looking forward to coming in,’ objected William. ‘I like old churches.’
‘So do I,’ said Gilly. ‘I picked this one particularly because it has high ratings on TripAdvisor.’
‘TripAdvisor!’ said Daphne, turning away from the minibus. ‘Pah!’
‘I do feel like that about TripAdvisor myself, sometimes,’ Gilly confided when she and William had got everyone safely into the church. ‘Shall we defy Daphne and go in?’
‘We could, but on second thoughts it might also be nice to go back to the minibus and sit quietly.’ He took her arm and they set off back in blissful silence.
Gilly and William sat in the minibus and said nothing until the ladies returned. It was indeed peaceful. As she and William assisted the aunts back into the minibus the thought flicked through her mind that being with Leo was always exciting. He liked to talk and talked well. Perhaps that was why she found him so attractive. Being with William was quite a different experience. She found herself enjoying the contrast.
As she predicted (only to herself) the ladies loved the garden centre and came back to the minibus laden with carrier bags.
‘We’ve all bought these super-comfy shoes,’ declared Daphne. ‘Mine are bright pink.’
‘It’s one of the joys of growing old,’ said Mary, having displayed her blue pair, ‘that you don’t care what you look like.’ She paused. ‘I don’t mean that exactly, but if it’s a choice between comfort and glamour I choose comfort every time.’
Gilly thought about this. Before she’d met Leo she’d have put herself in the comfort camp without hesitation. But would she let him see her in shoes like that? She doubted it. He was a man who appreciated elegant footwear – something resembling a gym shoe in dayglo colours would not meet his approval. Gilly appreciated lovely shoes too, but only if they were comfortable and, sadly, either she’d been unlucky or it wasn’t possible to have elegance and comfort at the same time.
‘Obviously you’re far too young to have to make those choices,’ said Daphne, mind-reading again. ‘But I don’t think anyone can look appealing if they’re in uncomfortable shoes.’
‘But can they look appealing if they’re wearing shoes like miniature bumper cars?’ said Gilly, without really thinking.
William laughed. ‘Of course!’
‘So what did you buy?’ asked Miriam, possibly sensing that Gilly needed a change of subject. ‘From the garden centre?’
‘Oh! Plants!’ said Gilly. ‘A silver thyme, a lemon thyme and another plain culinary one.’
‘You can never have enough thyme,’ said William.
Gilly made a face at him. ‘I get through a lot of it and they all do taste different. And talking of time, we should move on. Our lunchtime appointment is in …’ She looked at her watch. ‘Fifteen minutes and it’s about twenty-five minutes away.’
‘Drive, William!’ said Daphne. ‘Drive like the wind!’
William exhaled and shook his head. ‘Let’s go.’
Lunch was very jolly. Gilly and William were not permitted to pay for theirs in spite of their protests. ‘It’s as if we’re children and you’re taking us out for a treat,’ said Gilly.
‘And we are!’ Miriam said. ‘So you must let us buy you lemonade and ice cream.’
‘In my day we sat in the car outside pubs for hours, sharing packets of crisps,’ said Mary. ‘It wouldn’t be allowed nowadays.’
‘A bottle of warm Coke if we were lucky,’ said Daphne. ‘I hated Coke. I suppose because I only ever had it warm.’
‘This sparkling water is lovely and cold,’ said Gilly.
Daphne laughed. ‘You can have wine later. Now let’s have a look at the menu.’
Gilly had planned a short walk to a monument for after lunch but when she turned round to declare they had arrived she saw that everyone was asleep, mouths open, faintly snoring.
‘Oh,’ she said to William. ‘We might as well have a nap too, then, I suppose.’
‘Are you feeling drowsy? If not we could go and see the monument? Have a bit of a walk?’
‘Actually some fresh air would be good.’
He got out of the minibus quickly and was there to take her arm as she got out. She was confused. Had he just got into the habit of helping people, given he’d been doing it all morning? Or was he quite old-fashioned?
He kept hold of her arm as the path was muddy. ‘I’m quite glad our party didn’t get out here now,’ she said. ‘They might have slipped and hurt themselves.’
‘And they would have brought a lot of mud into the bus, too,’ said William. ‘So now I don’t have to clean up after them. Come on.’
He continued to hold her arm as they walked and Gilly found it surprisingly pleasant. He let her go when he reached the viewpoint.
‘Wow, look at that,’ said Gilly. ‘This view is why I thought the ladies would like the monument.’
‘It is spectacular,’ William agreed. ‘Fantastic to glide over.’
‘I’m not sure I’d ever be brave enough to go gliding. I’m not great at small planes.’
‘I took Daphne up once. She loved it, although she didn’t expect to. It was a few years ago though, when she was more mobile.’ He chuckled. ‘Getting her into the glider was interesting but worth it.’
‘She’s jolly brave,’ said Gilly, ‘a proper feisty woman.’
‘Definitely on the eccentric spectrum but that’s a good thing. She, Mary and Miriam have a lot of fun.’
‘Sometimes I wonder if I have enough fun,’ said Gilly, thinking about what Leo had been saying a few days earlier. ‘Maybe I should sell up.’
‘And spend your children’s inheritance on foreign travel and cruises? I can’t quite see you doing that,’ said William, looking down at her.
‘But maybe I ought to! I don’t mean I ought to spend the money on travel and things – I like travel but I don’t have a huge desire to go round the world. I mean maybe I should release the money from my house and give it to them now. Am I being selfish hanging on to it, do you think?’
‘To be honest, speaking as your accountant who has a bit of liberty in these matters, I think your children are being a bit selfish suggesting you should sell up when you’re so young.’
‘I’m not young—’
‘Very young to retire, unless you hate what you do in which case I think everyone should retire at thirty-five.’
She laughed. ‘And then do nothing? Or do something they love?’
‘Do something they love, definitely.’
‘Do you love being an accountant?’ she asked.
‘I do find a lot of satisfaction in it, yes. I like working with people.’
‘But aren’t you mostly working with figures?’
‘Yes, but the figures are attached to people. I get to know people’s lives from how they spend or save, take risks or keep their money safe at all costs. It’s fascinating.’ He paused for a minute, looking at the land. ‘I don’t think you’d do so well at your B & B if you didn’t love it.’
She nodded. ‘Like you, it’s the people I love. They all bring their stories; I see snippets of their lives and I enjoy making them happy. It’s why I like doing evening meals for them. It’s a service they need so I offer it. Value added.’
‘So don’t sell.’
‘But my children need the money!’
‘I never thought I’d say this but there’s a difference between need and want. Your children may want your money but they don’t need it.’
Gilly laughed reluctantly. ‘You’re right in Martin’s case. He doesn’t need to live in a mansion with a granny annexe – they’ve got a very nice house already.’
‘Which you helped them pay for,’ he said.
‘I can’t hide anything from my accountant!’ said Gilly, laughing properly now. ‘But Helena does need it.’
‘Does she? Wouldn’t she rather sort out her own problems?’
‘Probably, but I’m not sure she can.’ As a mother she’d never got over the ‘wanting to make everything all right for her children’ phase, even when they were adults. ‘What about equity release?’
He shook his head. ‘If you really want to do something, you should come in and we’ll look at all the options but really I think you should leave everything as it is for now. It’s too big a decision to make in a hurry.’ He paused. ‘Or because someone else suggested you should.’
After they’d got back from their tour, tired but happy, William stayed for dinner, dealt with the wine and was generally useful. Gilly reflected that her ex-husband, Sebastian, had never been useful like that. He always claimed he didn’t know where anything went and it was true. Gilly felt he could have taken the trouble to find out where things went. But it was a policy with him: he prided himself on not helping around the house as he was the one who put food on the table, as if that exonerated him from doing anything else. Sebastian had never changed a nappy in his life. Not part of his job description.
Now here was William filling the dishwasher and finding where the glasses were by looking and asking.
‘You are being amazing,’ said Gilly after he’d managed to locate some very pretty pudding plates she didn’t use very often but thought the ladies would appreciate. ‘You could have just played host in the dining room.’
‘It’s a pleasure to hide out in here doing things. If I’d stayed in the dining room my aunts would have started dropping heavy hints in stage whispers about my asking you out.’
‘Goodness me!’ said Gilly, hugely taken aback.
‘Matchmaking is what aunts like to do best. They’ve been on at me for years – well since about six months after Annabel died at any rate,’ he went on cheerfully. ‘But don’t worry, they haven’t managed to make me do anything I didn’t want to yet.’
‘Good,’ said Gilly, not sure how to take this. It was the first time he’d mentioned his wife since she’d known him although she did know she had died tragically young.
‘They’ve already told me what a good cook you are, how pretty you are and how you’d make me a wonderful wife.’
‘Oh, William, I am sorry!’
‘Don’t be. It’s all true and anyway, I told you I always make my own decisions.’
Gilly didn’t know what to say so she smiled and put a tray full of lemon syllabub into his hands.
It was Sunday morning and Helena was about to round up a couple of friends to help her and Jago move her loom into the newly pointed barn when he looked through the open door of her studio.
‘Have you got a minute?’ he asked.
His expression was serious, which was unusual for him. ‘I hope you’re not going to tell me you can’t help me move my loom,’ said Helena, frantically thinking who she could call on instead.
‘No.’
‘So why are you looking like you’ve got bad news?’ Then she remembered. ‘You’ve got bad news.’
‘I’m afraid so.’
‘Should I make coffee?’
‘Probably. Or maybe something stronger like a turmeric latte.’
She forced a smile. ‘Fresh out of latte. I’ll put the kettle on.’
‘So?’ asked Helena. They both had drinks and were settled in her little sitting room. ‘Tell me all. Is he an axe murderer?’
He laughed. ‘If he is, no one’s caught him at it, but Leo Simmons is not a nice person.’
‘Where was he off to the day he nearly killed me and Mum?’
‘I didn’t manage to find out but I did discover he appeared in court a few days later facing a charge of embezzlement.’
‘And did he get off?’ asked Helena.
‘He got seven years but of course didn’t serve anything like that. He’s not someone you’d want your mother involved with though.’ Jago sipped his coffee. ‘Do you want all the stuff I printed out? Or would you rather not know the details? There’s a charge of dangerous driving in the mix.’
‘Oh God! Although I suppose that shouldn’t come as a surprise.’ Helena bit her lip. ‘Just tell me what you think I need to know. I may have to give Mum all the stuff though. This is horrible, Jago! It’s going to break her heart!’
‘Better now than later, I suppose, when it may be too late.’ He went on to tell her of shady property deals, offshore accounts, even dodgy funeral plans. ‘So when will you tell her?’
Helena sighed and didn’t answer for a little while. ‘Part of me wants to run over to Fairacres now but the other half wants her to stay being happy for as long as possible.’
‘Why don’t we get your loom moved now and then you can decide? If she’s upset you won’t want to leave her and this old girl’ – he patted the loom fondly as if it were a horse – ‘needs to go to its new home.’
‘Just the two of us?’ asked Helena.
‘I think we can manage.’
Although it took longer than Helena had hoped, they did get the loom moved. But by the time she’d bought fish and chips for them both it was too late to go and see her mother.
Helena had appreciated the distraction. The loom had to be partly dismantled to move it and while she was taking photos of how various intimate bits of it looked before it was taken apart, she wasn’t thinking about the shattering information she felt obliged to tell Gilly.
She had wondered briefly if she actually needed to tell her but soon realised she couldn’t risk a man she saw as practically a murderer becoming permanently attached to her mother. And Jago had been quite sure he felt her mother should be warned.
She decided to invite herself for lunch. It would give them plenty of time to talk. She didn’t want to drop a bombshell and run, much as she might have liked to.
