Secrets and Lies (10 page)

She seated herself and clumsily played some exercises. The instrument badly needed tuning.

She laughed and closed the lid over the keys. ‘Perhaps we should put the dust sheet back over it, and your memories too,’ she said. ‘It’s a lovely piano. I wish I had one like it.’

‘It’s your piano, my dear. This is your house and almost everything in it belongs to you. It’s part of the legacy that was passed down through those with Sinclair blood. It comes from your grandmother’s side of the family. From Margaret it went to Richard, and then, when my son died it became yours.’ He pressed a door key into her hand and her fingers curled around it in possession. ‘This is yours, come here any time you like.’

‘I understand that my father was a hero.’

‘Yes, he was.’

‘You must miss him.’

‘Yes . . . it was a great blow when he died.’

‘I should have liked to have known him. What was he like?’

‘He was charming . . . always laughing. I didn’t do him justice. I was ashamed of his illness. I didn’t understand him, you see. Your mother did . . . she made him happy.’

Meggie drew in a deep breath, a sad one, because the atmosphere in the house was vibrating with pain. ‘Why don’t you get on with my mother?’

‘Why doesn’t your mother get along with you?’

Puzzled, she gazed at him. He couldn’t possibly know what her relationship with her mother was like, and besides, it wasn’t true. She did get on with her for most of the time. ‘I don’t understand what you mean.’

Silence pressed against her ears, held there by her own muted breath.

‘We cannot speak of this,’ he whispered, and the pain in him throbbed around her. His fingers pressed against his temples. ‘I shouldn’t be here.’

As he walked away, she said, ‘You’re my grandfather. I like you.’

He turned, tears trembling in his eyes. ‘You don’t know me, sweet girl. I have something wrong inside my head. I died once . . . I wanted to die, but I couldn’t, so I stayed alive. Now I just exist from one day to the next. I must go. Pretend you never met me, Meggie. Let the dogs lie undisturbed.’

She couldn’t understand what he meant by that, but his words made her uneasy. Perhaps he was insane.

She heard the door close and was left alone inside the house. Her house! The enormity of such a gift was too much to take in. It was a museum that belonged to an era, and to a life she couldn’t imagine.

She didn’t go upstairs but stood at the bottom, gazing up to the landing, where light streamed in through the window and patterned the dirty upstairs darkness.

She softly whispered her father’s name. ‘Richard Sangster.’

There was a crack in the upper reaches of the house and her heart thumped. She ran through the hall into the kitchens, and found the back door. It wouldn’t open. She rattled it back and forth, panicky, feeling as though she was trapped inside with some imaginary danger.

‘Ghosts can’t hurt me, they don’t exist,’ she said loudly, even knowing that they did, because she could feel them trying to claim her as a Sinclair. They retreated into indistinct, grey shadows.

Making an effort she calmed herself, twisted the knob a little more, and then heard the tongue click clear of the groove. As she closed the door gently behind her she thought: The next time she went to Foxglove House she would not allow her imagination to get the better of her.

Now Liam had made his move, Esmé became aware of him as a man, and he was attractive. She still knew very little about his background, because he rarely spoke about himself.

‘You have an Irish name, are you Irish?’ she asked him one day as they were taking time out from rehearsing.

Blue eyes lit on her, and they were guarded. ‘That’s the first time you’ve asked me anything about my background. Does that mean you’re interested?’

She shrugged. ‘Only to the extent of the question.’

‘You certainly don’t give a man much room in which to move. Am I Irish, you ask? No, I’m not. Do I sound Irish?’

‘No.’ She waited for him to say more but it wasn’t forthcoming. ‘Is that all you’re going to say?’

‘I answered your question to the extent it required.’ He laughed when she stuck her tongue out at him. ‘My name is William and I shortened it to Liam. I thought it sounded better than Will, and would make a less common professional name than Bill.’

‘I knew someone called Billy once. You look a bit like him.’

The expression in his eyes sharpened. ‘Where was that?’

She shrugged, not quite looking at him, because Livia had said it was better to keep quiet about their time in the orphanage. People would immediately think you were less than they were, if they found out. They came from a perfectly good background – probably better than most. Their father had been a parliamentary secretary and their mother a dress designer, until they’d died in a boating accident.

She fobbed him off with a vague, ‘It was at school, I think. I can’t really remember him.’ Her curiosity was pricked. ‘Tell me more about yourself. What made you take up dancing?’

‘It’s the only thing I did well. My ambition is to go to America and I’ve been saving most of my wages. When we return to England I intend to apply for a position with the Cunard line. We dance well together, Esmé, and there’s no reason why we shouldn’t go to America together, as a partnership.’

She’d never had any ambition beyond finishing her nursing training before, and she gave a slightly doubtful laugh. Dancing for a living wasn’t as glamorous as she’d thought it would be. ‘America . . . truly?’

He nodded. ‘I’m acquainted with someone who might be able to help. He directed a stage show Eric and I were in before it folded. He might be able to get us on the
Aquitania
, even if it’s only in the chorus line.’ His voice was as enthused as his smile. ‘She sails the North Atlantic route. You said you could tap dance a little, and so can I. We could work tap into our routines. With legs like yours, and with your looks . . .’ He shrugged. ‘We could become a husband and wife act. Liam and Esmé Carr-Denison.’

‘Carr-Denison?’

He looked sheepish. ‘The Americans seem to like double-barrelled names, and they like the English, especially blue bloods. You could reinvent yourself with a title.’

She laughed at that. ‘I’m definitely not royal, and besides, I’m not a very good liar, and I’d rather be myself.’

‘You could still be yourself. You have good manners and one of those soft, ladylike voices that encourages respect. Most of the crew refer to you as Lady Esmé behind your back. You could use it as a stage name.’

‘Do they . . . how very odd. Why don’t you reinvent yourself?’

He didn’t answer her question. ‘Lady Esmé and Liam Denison is a catchy title for dancing partners. I’ve been so in awe of you that I could barely drum up the courage to approach you. I know I’m not nearly good enough, but —’

Sensing something vulnerable in him then, she placed her finger over his mouth. Liam Denison was not the confident creature he made himself out to be, and she smiled. ‘You didn’t make a bad job of it, considering the short time we’ve known each other, and just Liam and Esmé Denison will do fine.’

A gleam of a smile chased the anxiety from his eyes. ‘You mean . . . you’ll marry me.’

‘We could be engaged, but I don’t want to rush into marriage, so not until we get back to England. I want my family to attend my wedding, and I’d like to meet yours.’

His chin came up slightly. He had a small cleft in it, and was a handsome man. The female passengers flirted with him, as well as the women staff members. He kept his distance, spending most of his spare time with Eric, who shared a cabin with him, and who acted as their choreographer.

‘I haven’t got any family left. I had a younger brother once, Tommy, his name was. He died when we were children, in the Spanish flu epidemic.’

An image of the orphanage was a fleeting, unpleasant and unwanted thought. Her body had been burning and her head had spun every time she moved. She’d been listless and whimpering and suffered from bad dreams in the infirmary bed, where she’d been soaked in her own sweat.

Chad had been there. He’d been sick too, but he’d made her drink, forcing droplets of water into her mouth and telling her, ‘The flu took Tommy. I’m getting better and so will you, because you’re my twin, and if you die, I’ll die too.’

Absolute nonsense, of course, but they’d believed it then. Something surfaced in her mind, a flash of memory that seemed important, but eluded her before she could catch it.

‘I’m so sorry about your brother. I survived the illness when I was a child. What about your parents?’

He shrugged and his eyes flickered away from her. ‘Gone . . . both of them.’

She assumed their death had been caused by the influenza outbreak as well. ‘I lost my parents when I was small, too, and can’t remember them. My sister and her husband gave my brother and me a home, and she made sure we had a good education. My brother is training to be a doctor now.’

‘You were lucky to have someone to look after you.’

‘Yes, I suppose we were.’ A strong wave of homesickness swept over her and she could almost smell the fragrant perfume of fields alive with poppies and cornflowers drifting in the wind. But, no, it would be winter in England now. The hedges and trees would be bare, and there might be snow on the ground.

And in a few short weeks, spring would bring Livia’s new baby into the world. She was longing to see it. She knew her sister well enough to be certain Livia wouldn’t hold a grudge for the argument they’d had. The ship might be due back at its dock in time for the birth. She hoped so.

Meanwhile, ahead of her and just two days away was Melbourne. The sea sparkled in the sunlight and the air smelled of salt. Half the people in England would be wishing they were in her shoes, sailing on a passenger liner somewhere on the ocean, and soaking up the sun, whilst she was doing the opposite with little twinges of homesickness.

Following Melbourne they’d sail across the Bass Strait to Tasmania, and then on to Wellington in New Zealand. There they’d pick up passengers and mail before heading back to England.

Where she’d become Mrs Denison if the marriage went ahead! A thousand butterflies came alive in her stomach . . . or were they wasps? She couldn’t make up her mind whether it was excitement or a kind of dread!

Liam’s smile was a mile wide, as if he had no qualms. ‘I’ll buy you an engagement ring when we get to Australia . . . make us official. Can we keep it a secret between us, else people will talk.’

Her smile felt forced. ‘Does that bother you?’

He nodded. ‘Normally, it wouldn’t, but it would be better if nobody knew about it. The shipping company doesn’t like on-board affairs.’

She nearly pointed out that it wasn’t an affair, but an engagement, which was a promise to marry. Surely that was entirely honourable.

Later, she shared the secret with Minnie. Her friend shrugged and looked askance at her. ‘Well, you’re a fast worker, I must say. How long has this been going on?’

‘Oh, stop it, Minnie. Nothing’s going on.’

‘You knew I liked him; but all this time you’ve worked on him behind my back. What about the fiancée he’d left back home?’

She didn’t want to tell Minnie that Liam had invented a girlfriend to protect himself from predatory females like her. ‘I haven’t worked behind anybody’s back. Besides, you said you liked Wally. You can’t have all the men on board . . . though from what I hear it’s certainly not through lack of trying.’

Minnie’s eyes began to glitter and her fingers became claws that scratched at the empty air. ‘Well, meow. You can be a right bitch at times. What have you been saying behind my back?’

‘So can you. I haven’t said anything, it’s what others are saying.’ Her voice softened. ‘We’ve been friends a long time, Minnie; don’t let’s spoil that now. I know you don’t mean anything by your flirting, whatever impression other people get. You’ve forgotten that being on a ship is like living in a small village. Everyone gossips about everyone else.’

‘Oh la-di-da! How very kind of you to advise me of that fact, dear. Just because they call you Lady Esmé it doesn’t mean you’re the bee’s knees. You don’t know anything about me. As for Liam Denison, you can keep him. See if I care. He’s a bit of old rubbish that floated to the top because he happens to be able to dance. Wally said Liam’s deep, and he doesn’t trust anyone . . . so he’s probably got something in his past to hide.’

Which might hold a grain of truth. It was hard to get Liam to talk about his past or his background, and he’d lied to her in the beginning about having a girlfriend. But he’d put her straight about that, and she believed him.

Despite her strained relationship with Minnie, Esmé wasn’t entirely comfortable with her decision to become engaged, since it was a commitment. She couldn’t help wondering if anything else would go wrong after they’d docked at Melbourne.

It was a brilliant day, the sky a cloudless infinity of blue, and the air bursting with sunshine and warmth. The dockside bustled with people. Carts and cars came and went, piled high with luggage. Passengers were herded into queues. Babies screamed, children ran around getting used to their land legs, and mothers scolded.

Esmé thought she saw Minnie amongst the jostle of people, but it couldn’t have been because the crew wasn’t allowed ashore until the passengers had disembarked. She lost sight of the woman when a man got in the way.

After she’d finished her tasks, she went to the cabin to look for her friend, since they’d arranged to go ashore together. Minnie’s things had disappeared from the cabin. Esmé wondered if she’d moved cabins. Her friend had been tense since their argument.

The ship was a hive of activity as cabins were cleaned and the ship provisioned. Perhaps Minnie had slipped ashore with some of the staff, she thought. She must stop worrying about her friend. She would probably turn up at the last minute.

Then she learned that Wally had left the ship in Melbourne, and Minnie had gone with him.

There was a note left for her with Eric Blair.

She was in the salon with the small dance floor, going over the programme for the journey home when Eric handed it to her. He was apologetic. ‘Sorry, Esmé, Minnie asked me to wait until we sailed.’