I wouldn’t accept any money from Arty. The new project gave me some respite from worrying about the bodies and the police and what they may or may not be thinking. While I was sewing I imagined setting up an empire of Daisy Daydream clothes, like Kaboolu, but with branches all over the world.
Sometimes we got together on Arty’s lunch break and looked through his copy ofMiller’s Antiques Encyclopaedia, a comprehensive guide that he kept in his car for when he went to flea markets at weekends. Then, I would go back to the house and fantasize about running away with Arty to run an antiques shop by the coast.
I began taking various items from the house down to show him, a few of the smaller items, the Victorian clock, some silver, pieces of jewelry. We looked them up and he put prices to them. It turned out some of them were very valuable, particularly the jewelry, but that wasn’t a surprise to me.
Arty’s passion for the pieces I brought him reminded me of how I had been.
“Look at the craftsmanship in this!” he said, opening a locket, and we wondered who the picture inside was of, if the answer was in Langley Hall somewhere.
“Think of the history this has seen!” he exclaimed of a doll. “Look at the life it’s lived!” as he examined a crack in a butter dish. Then he gave me an estimate for it. It ended up being left for Mrs. B, but even she had her standards.
***
Not long after the discovery of the bodies, an invitation arrived through the post. There was to be a fundraiser in memory of Lennie to raise money for his good causes.
It was to be an auction, which was something I’d never been to, but when I showed it to James, he assured me it would be both expensive and dull.
“They’ll be selling theater tickets with meet-the-cast backstage passes and weekends on luxury yachts, or hampers of stuff you would never use. They know someone who’s big in a TV production company, so there might be a walk-on part on a TV show.”
“But we’re not going?” I asked, horrified, as James propped the invitation up on the mantelpiece. It was to be hosted by Margery again, and her husband, who I now learned was called Gordon.
“Why wouldn’t we go? We always go to these things.”
“It wouldn’t be appropriate for us to go,” I said. “Under the circumstances.”
“Try looking at it from the point of view of someone who doesn’t know the circumstances. Imagining you don’t know we’re responsible for Lennie’s death—excuse me,you’reresponsible—I’ll ask you again: Why wouldn’t we go?”
“Because there’s nothing in it for you.”
And that, James conceded, was a fair point, but we had to go anyway because it would look suspicious for him to decline an invitation for the first time in recorded history.
***
“You’re driving again,” James said on the night of the fundraiser, “but be careful this time.”
“I can’t drive. I’ll be too scared,” I told him, the emotions of that night were starting to come back to me and I hoped desperately for something to happen to stop us going. I even thought seriously for a minute about burning Langley Hall down, with or without us in it.
“We can’t do anything out of the ordinary,” he reminded me. “Just take a few deep breaths before we set off.”
And so, it was decided. In preparation, I let James’s suit back out again and added a bit to the waistband of his trousers. If nothing else, it would be a distraction to see his bafflement when he realized he was going to need a belt.
When the night came I wanted to go in a loose yellow dress, with daisies embroidered around the hem, which was the last thing my mum and I had made together. Over the years I’d had to add some panels in, to let it out, but it was worth it because it took me back tohappier days and reminded me that there had once been someone who was on my side. It helped me stay calm. But James wasn’t keen.
“What in god’s name are you wearing?” he said, when I appeared downstairs.
“What’s wrong with it?”
“It looks like it was cobbled together from old rags.”
Which it pretty much was. I shrugged.
“Go and get changed.”
Instead, I put on the same gray silk dress I’d worn on the night of the accident, which had survived the hot wash surprisingly well. It was just a bit smaller now, but I had shrunk as well. The stress had put the snacks in the priest hole largely out of my mind. I accessorized with another tablecloth-scarf.
“It’s not meant to be a reconstruction!” James yelped, hoisting up the trousers I’d adjusted.
So, I went back upstairs—“Grab me a belt while you’re up there!”—and redonned the yellow dress I’d started out with. “We’d better get a move on” was all James said about it that time.
