Page 55 of A Curious Ending

A sudden memory returned to her of another Sunday spent with Lady Porter. Mrs M had been away and Lara had invited her friend to have lunch with her. She recalled that her cottage had been a lot tidier then and wondered when it was that she lost interest in her home. Lara remembered she had been anxious about her cooking skills, but Lady Porter had been the perfect guest, seemingly genuinely appreciative of all that Lara offered her. She had admired the cottage and commented on the large jug of freesias sitting on the dresser, a ghost of a smile on her face. Lara thought she had known they were from Julian, and although she was pretty certain that Lady Porter disapproved of him, she always made Lara feel that human frailty was not to be despised or judged. At the time she had simply asked, ‘Did they make you happier?’ When Lara had nodded, she had responded, ‘Well, flowers will do that.’ It was then she suggested that they visit the Chelsea Flower Show together and over pudding she had started weaving plans for their trip.

No, Lara thought standing alone in her shop. That was not a woman who would have killed herself.

But the more Lara thought of their investigation, the more she felt overwhelmed with feelings of frustration and ineptitude. She was sure she was letting her friend down. Lara wondered if Abby would appear. She was not certain how she felt about seeing her again. In her present frame of mind, she thought that talking to Abby would remind her too painfully of how little they had actually achieved and how exposed she felt standing on the stage the previous evening. Oh, how right Lady Porter had been about Julian. Why had she not been able to see it?

In an effort to halt this downward spiral, she grabbed an apron, turned on all the lamps, put the radio on and set about cleaning every single surface she could see.

Once her shop was spotless, Lara started unpacking the Christmas decorations. She pulled from the boxes twisted wreaths made of willow, glass baubles etched with flowers and stars, and plump reels of ribbon in crimson, chocolate-brown and gold. She found fairy lights that actually worked and things she had forgotten, like two pottery turtle doves. Plus, there were decorations she had hoped to find, like the string of stockings made from floral prints that had been her mum’s handmade gift to the shop last Christmas. She had had so many hopes back then. She had been seeing Julian (or thought she was) and had just met Lady Porter. She fought back tears as she tipped more decorations from the box. She was unsure whether to start decorating the shop then and there. She would have liked to, to cheer herself up, but she had an inkling that Becky would want to do it with her.

The problem was solved by a gentle tapping on the door. Becky was standing outside carrying two paper cups decorated with snowflakes. ‘I saw the light on from across the square and thought you might like this,’ she said, handing Lara a hot chocolate laced with cinnamon and nutmeg. Lara took the cup gratefully and ushered Becky into the shop to show her the treasures she had unearthed. Becky peered into a box containing white porcelain tea-light holders each numbered in red from one to twenty-four. ‘I had forgotten these,’ she said, smiling. ‘We could hang them in the window with the garlands.’

Lara suddenly remembered a package that had been delivered on Becky’s day off and hunted under the counter for it. It was a parcel containing two scarlet jumpers. With much coaxing Lara persuaded Becky to pop into the cloakroom at the back of the shop and try one on.

When Becky emerged two minutes later, Lara could not help beaming. She thought Becky looked amazing. She had to admit, Abby had been right. Becky could most definitely wear scarlet. It suited her colouring and it accentuated the darkness of her eyes. Then she saw Becky’s face. ‘You hate it,’ Lara stated. It was not a question.

‘I guess I could wear it,’ Becky said, trying not to sound reluctant, ‘it’s nice and warm,’ she added, as if she did not want to disappoint Lara.

‘But you look fantastic,’ Lara said, still holding out some hope that she might get Becky to see what she could see.

Becky looked down at the toes of her black boots. ‘The thing is,’ Becky said quietly, almost apologetically, ‘I like the way I dress.’

‘Oh God, don’t apologise Becky,’ Lara begged, ‘it’s lovely that you know what you like,’ and then seeing the look of real concern on Becky’s face, added, ‘No, really, it’s fine. I can send it back or give it to someone for Christmas.’ Lara then made a superhuman effort to be cheerful and to talk of what they would do tomorrow to get the shop ready for Christmas.

Becky went out the back and returned wearing her normal black attire. She handed the jumper to Becky. ‘I’ll wear it if you would like me to,’ she said again.

‘No, Becky,’ Lara said firmly, ‘you always look smart and professional in the shop and I appreciate that. Keep dressing the way you like.’

Becky got her coat. ‘You won’t stay too long will you?’ she asked, looking at her anxiously.

‘No,’ Lara reassured her, ‘I’m going to lock up and then light the fire and watch a film.’ She smiled at her and nodded to reassure her. As she ushered Becky out the door she saw a tall figure in the distance. Julian Armstrong was hurrying towards Gillmore House, following the path Pinky Porter had taken earlier. Were they meeting there? He had his jacket pulled tight around him and his collar turned up. Lara felt a churning, nauseous mix of envy and self-disgust.

Lara locked the door and walked behind the counter. Out of sight of the shop window, she tucked down where no one could see her, sinking into a sitting position on the floor. She brought her knees up to her chin and wrapped her arms about them, still holding tight to the soft red jumper in her hands.

And then Lara McGregor cried.

She cried with a sense of foolishness and loss for the secret hopes she had nurtured of meaning something to Julian. She cried because she missed her mum and the easy relationship they once had, she cried because she knew it was she who craved transformation, not Becky. But most of all she cried for Lady Porter. She wept because she wanted to walk around Chelsea Flower Show with that exceptional woman, and she sobbed because she felt she was letting her down. All she seemed to be doing was stirring up trouble and possibly putting herself in danger.

When Lara raised her head, she found Abby was sitting beside her on the floor, her back to the counter and her knees pulled up. She was wearing a pale wool dress and matching shawl, but no hat or gloves. The two of them sat there for some time saying nothing.

Without looking at Lara, Abby started to speak. ‘When I was in London during my second Season I met a man called Charles Hartbury. He was introduced to me at a ball that Lady Mendlesham held in their house in Eaton Square. He was accepted by most in Society but he had a certain reputation. He was fond of sports of all kinds, he particularly liked gambling and he had a predilection for young women. He did not win me by flattery or by chivalry, rather he ignored me, then teased me and that fascinated my younger self. He affected me as no other man had done and his physical presence unnerved me. At times, I questioned my own sanity.’

Abby paused and looked at Lara meaningfully. ‘Sometimes I would go driving in Hyde Park just in the hope of seeing him riding there.’ Abby pulled the soft shawl she was wearing more tightly around her shoulders and knees. ‘My mother was not in London much at this time, preferring to spend her days in Cambridge near to the libraries and her garden. During the Season, I lived with my aunt Augusta. It was assumed that I was being closely chaperoned, because she was a very severe woman. But the truth was, she was preoccupied with establishing her own daughters and she despised me. By the time anyone realised how deeply my affections were engaged it was too late. I had never listened to my aunt’s advice as her strictures were so numerous and in the main they were nonsensical. So when she confronted me about Charles I neither believed her nor heeded her. It took the intervention of her brother, my uncle Henry, to sever the connection. Charles did not contest this. He had never viewed our relationship as anything other than a game, my fortune not being large enough to tempt him. I still do not know what my uncle Henry said to Charles, but I do know from my mother that when Henry met Charles, he succeeded in humiliating him. Charles never forgave him. He was an extremely proud man.’

Lara rested her head back on the panel of wood under the counter and wished she could reach out and hold Abby’s hand.

‘After a period of two years, I became engaged to Miles. As near neighbours I had known him for many years, but as is often the case I could not see what was under my nose.’ Abby smiled sadly. ‘Before I married Miles I told him about Charles. I thought it was only fair. We married and all was well. I thoroughly enjoyed being a young wife. I had much more freedom than I had as a single woman and Miles liked to spoil me. He bought me clothes, jewels and horses, and thoroughly indulged my every wish. I confess it went to my head somewhat. I liked to think I was smart and fashionable and it did not help that others began to follow my lead. At that time, I made a good friend, Lady Emma Ketteridge. She was some years younger than me, but was witty and vivacious so she appeared older – Kate very much reminds me of her. Emma was a very wealthy woman, and it was not long before she caught the eye of Charles Hartbury. Now she was rich enough to tempt him. He set about ensnaring her in the same way he had captured me. But this time he was in earnest. I knew him to be the worst possible kind of man. As a married woman, I heard far more about him than I had ever known as a single woman and it made me afraid for my friend. I tried to tell her what he was like and even confessed to my previous infatuation in the hope that it would show her that I understood. All it did was to convince her that I was acting out of jealousy.

‘At this point I took Miles into my confidence. He was not in a position to talk to Emma’s father as they were not that intimate and he believed it might damage my reputation by discussing my past with one who was almost a stranger.’ Abby rubbed her nose. ‘Miles was always very protective of me,’ she said fondly. Then she frowned. ‘It was at this point that we started to argue. I was genuinely worried about my friend and wanted at any cost to protect her, but Miles would not hear of it, if in doing so it might threaten my good name. So the arguments raged on.’ Abby sighed. ‘At length I came up with an idea. When our relationship had ended, Charles had written me an extremely cruel and vindictive letter. I believe he poured into it all the vitriol he could not display to my uncle Henry. Charles was essentially a bully and was cowed by someone stronger than himself, but he liked to exert his power over those whom he considered weaker. When the relationship ended, I had returned all his letters and asked him to return mine. He had not done so and it occurred to me that he might have kept them all. If I could show Emma this last letter from Charles, she could no longer delude herself about the type of man she would be marrying.’

‘How did you get hold of the letter?’ Lara wanted to know. By now, she was sitting cross-legged on the floor listening to Abby’s story. She was using the red jumper as a make-shift muff to keep her hands warm.

‘Miles saw to that. He was clever enough to realise that if Charles was a bully, there would be those among his staff whom he would have belittled and abused. It did not take him long to find a man whom Charles had dismissed unfairly and who had a score to settle. Using his connections in the household this man found the letters Charles had written and brought them to Miles.’

‘What did Emma say when you showed her?’ Lara asked.

‘She did not say anything,’ Abby replied. ‘I wish she had. I wish she had shouted at me, even struck me. I have never seen anyone in so much emotional pain.’

‘What did she say to Charles? Do you know?’ Lara asked.