A muffled sound, a cough from within. Then the word drifting out quietly, like a trail of smoke through the keyhole: ‘Fine.’
‘Do you want to come downstairs?’ she asked. ‘The guests…’ She trailed off, not knowing what to say about the guests. They were all perfectly content, drinking and eating, even the men who were forgetting themselves and playing billiards during a wake. After all, everyone—she knew—enjoyed a funeral.
‘Thank you, Margaret,’ came the voice from within.
The acknowledgement was also a dismissal and she nodded and went back downstairs, pausing halfway to rearrange a bouquet of flowers on the window sill, the better to give her more time to know what to do or where to go when she got there. She had been proud of her Owen that day, more proud than she had been of him in ten years when her love for him had changed so suddenly. What he had said in the church had moved and surprised her. Was there ever a boy who loved his uncle so? This boy that I raised, she thought. As much mine as theirs. This boy who I saved. She stood stock still, her eyes focused on nothing but the past, the childhoods, the finger paintings, the hugs, her babies.
A lady whose husband was the former Home Secretary from the billiard room emerged from the drawing room and touched her arm with the tip of a velvet-gloved finger, as if a servant was potentially riddled with disease and should be approached with caution.
‘It’s Miss Richmond, isn’t it?’ she asked.
‘Yes, ma’am.’
‘I wonder, would it be too much trouble to ask for some more tea? I asked one of those young girls but really, she looked right through me as if I was trouble personified.’
‘Right away, ma’am,’ said Margaret, happy to have a task again, happy to be of use. ‘Sorry, ma’am. I’ll see to it immediately.’
* * *
IN THE SMALL PARLOUR to the right of the kitchen Annie the cook was relaxing. Most of the food had been prepared the night before and the fresh sandwiches had been made that morning; there was little for her to do now but wait for the guests to leave and instruct the hired help about the cleaning arrangements afterwards, although she knew that Margaret Richmond would likely look after that too. Annie’s niece, a local girl called Millie, brought her a cup of tea. Millie was one of the girls who had been hired for the day but was hoping for a more permanent residency.
‘Precious little chance of that now, my girl,’ said Annie, shaking her head. ‘I can’t see me lasting here very much longer myself if I’m honest.’
‘But you’ve been here for years,’ said Millie.
‘Only eight years. That’s just a blow-in to an old family like this. And with just the two of them left now, what need do they have of a cook? That Owen hardly spends any time here as it is, he’s always gadding about in London, getting up to Lord knows what. And as for Stella…’ She rolled her eyes for she had disapproved of modern girls ever since her arms had turned flabby and her waistline had disappeared. ‘She’s no better than she ought to be. No, I wouldn’t be surprised if I got my marching orders soon enough too.’
Millie frowned. She would have to look elsewhere for employment then, and there were precious few opportunities to be found anywhere. ‘What was he like anyway?’ she asked, settling on a chair beside her aunt.
‘Who?’
‘Mr Montignac. Him as was buried today.’
Annie shrugged. ‘He was all right, I suppose,’ she said. ‘I’ve known worse. Not very friendly but not deliberately rude either. They say he was a lot different in the old days, before his first son died. His only son, I should say, as that Owen’s not his. But I didn’t know him well to tell you the truth. It was a shock, though, him going like he did.’
‘Really?’
‘Well he never seemed like he was on death’s door,’ said Annie. ‘Oh he had his problems of course. Heart problems. Stomach problems. Every kind of ailment known to mankind it seemed sometimes. Kept that doctor busy over the last few years and no mistake. But he ate like it was going out of style and always had his meat cooked so rare that any half-decent vet could have brought it back to life. And then suddenly, just out of the blue, that was it.’ She clicked her fingers together dramatically. ‘Gone.’
‘It seems a shame to have such a big house for only two people,’ said Millie, imagining for a moment what it would be like to be mistress of it; Owen Montignac had caught her eye earlier in the day when he had returned from the funeral and she’d stared at him, transfixed, as he ran up to his room, her heart beating faster inside her chest as she saw what appeared to be a pained expression on his extraordinarily handsome face. She had never seen a young man with such white hair before, nor with eyes of such a piercing blue.
‘His father was the same,’ said Annie. ‘Married a Frenchwoman, if you please.’
‘He’s very handsome,’ said Millie, lost in thought.
‘I wouldn’t set much store by that.’
‘Not like most of the others round here.’
‘Everything’s changing,’ complained Annie. ‘People don’t live in houses like these any more. They can’t afford to, most of them. Costs run too high. They all live up in London in townhouses and fancy flats and keep their country retreats locked up all year round. They’re just for show now, most of them.’
‘Is that what Mr Montignac is planning on doing?’
‘Well I don’t know, do I?’ said Annie, laughing as she took a long drag on her cigarette. ‘He doesn’t let the likes of me into his thoughts. He’s like his father that way. His uncle, I mean. Doesn’t have much time for anyone on the staff, except maybe Margaret Richmond. But then she practically brought him up from the day he came here.’
At that moment the lady in question walked through the door and Millie stumbled to her feet quickly while Annie remained unmoved, refusing to acknowledge the older lady’s authority.
‘I’m getting questions about the tea, Annie,’ said Margaret in a tired voice.
‘The tea?’
‘The lack of it.’
Annie shuffled in her chair and dragged herself up as if she was carrying a ton weight and the effort was almost too much for her. She stepped past Margaret without acknowledging her and went into the kitchen to issue short, sharp orders.
‘And … Mildred, is it?’ asked Margaret.
‘Millie, ma’am.’
‘Millie, yes. Perhaps you would go and check on the gentlemen in the billiard room. I don’t hold with the playing of games on a day like today but they will insist.’
‘Yes, ma’am,’ said Millie, blushing scarlet as she was spoken to and leaving the room.
Margaret glanced around the parlour irritably when it was empty, annoyed that everything was left to her. If only Stella or Owen could circulate a little bit, she thought, thank the guests for coming, then everything would be so much easier.
6
LEONARD BROUGHT THE CAR around to the front door of the house on Tavistock Square, driving slowly so as not to knock over any of the reporters who were loitering outside, despite his desire to do that very thing. A couple of them tapped on the window, throwing a few random questions at him through the glass, but these came only from the most inexperienced journalists; the rest knew that the chauffeur would neither say anything to them nor have anything interesting to say.