The Angel Tree (24 page)

‘Don’t go until Uncle David gets here,
please
, Mummy.’

‘All right, darling. I won’t.’

‘Is that my favourite girl all tucked up in bed?’ David appeared at the door.

Cheska managed a smile as Greta rose to her feet. ‘Goodnight, darling. Don’t go telling her frightening stories, David. She’s a little unsettled,’ Greta murmured, as she
passed him on her way out of the room.

‘Of course I won’t. I’m going to tell Cheska all about the famous Welsh gnome called Shuni, who lives in his cave on a hillside not so many miles from this house.’

Greta watched as David perched on the edge of the bed. She stood for a few moments at the doorway listening to him begin his story, before making her way quietly downstairs.

As David continued with the story, Cheska’s face began to relax and she giggled at the funny voice David was using for the gnome.

‘And everyone lived . . .’

‘Happily ever after!’

‘There now. I think it’s time you got some sleep.’

‘Uncle David?’

‘Yes, my darling.’

‘Why does no one ever die in fairy stories and films except the wicked people?’

‘Because that’s the way it is in those kinds of stories. Good lives on and evil dies.’

‘Was my daddy evil?’

‘No, sweetheart.’

‘Why did he die, then?’

‘Because he was a real person, not pretend.’

‘Oh. Uncle David?’

‘Yes.’

‘Are there such things as ghosts?’

‘No, they’re only in fairy stories, too. Sleep tight, Cheska.’ David kissed her lightly on the cheek and walked towards the door.

‘Don’t shut the door, please!’

‘I won’t. Mummy will be up to check on you later.’

David went downstairs and joined LJ and Greta in the library.

‘I don’t know whether it was such a good idea to allow Cheska to come to the funeral,’ he sighed. ‘She’s just asked me the strangest questions.’

‘She made a terrible fuss about going to bed in the nursery, which is most unlike her,’ replied Greta. ‘When we’ve been on location, she’s stayed in hotels and gone
to sleep in strange beds without a murmur. Still, she’s only a little girl. I don’t think she really understood what was happening today.’

‘She’s not that little any more. She’ll be in her teens in three years’ time,’ LJ commented.

‘I suppose I think of her as younger than she is,’ agreed Greta. ‘She usually plays seven or eight-year-olds on screen.’

‘Greta, do you think that Cheska understands the difference between the fantasy of her films and reality?’ asked David gently.

‘Of course she does! Why do you ask?’

‘Oh, just something she said upstairs, that’s all.’

‘Whatever it was, I wouldn’t read too much into it. What with the journey and the funeral, we’re both exhausted.’ Greta stood up. ‘I think I’ll head upstairs
for a bath.’

‘Do you not want any supper, my dear?’ asked LJ.

‘No, thank you. I’m still full from the sandwiches this afternoon. Goodnight.’

Greta walked quickly from the room and David sighed as he turned to his mother. ‘I’ve upset her. She hates anyone criticising Cheska.’

‘Odd child though, isn’t she?’

‘Sorry, Ma?’ David pulled himself from his thoughts and sat down in a leather armchair opposite his mother.

‘I said that Cheska is an odd child. But then I suppose she’s had an odd life.’

‘Yes, she has.’

‘Personally, I think all this film nonsense is no way for a young one to be brought up. She needs to run about in the fresh air, put some colour in her cheeks and some meat on that thin
little body of hers.’

‘Greta says she enjoys making the films.’

‘Well, it rather seems to me that Cheska has little choice in the matter or, in fact, knows no different.’

‘I’m sure Greta wouldn’t have her do anything that made her unhappy, Ma.’

‘Maybe not,’ sniffed LJ. ‘Poor little thing. Up until these past few days, it seems she didn’t even know she had a father, let alone the fact that he isn’t her
natural flesh and blood.’

‘Come on now, Ma, this is hardly the moment.’

‘Greta seems to have told the child almost nothing about her past,’ LJ continued, ignoring her son’s plea. ‘For instance, what does she know about her twin brother, if
anything?’

‘I’m not really sure. Look, Ma, try to understand that Greta has said little to Cheska about her past because she felt it was for the best. When she and Cheska moved to London, it
was under extremely difficult circumstances and she obviously wanted to make a fresh start. There was no point telling Cheska what had happened until she was old enough to understand.’

‘You do know that you’re always defending Greta, dear?’ LJ said quietly. ‘You don’t seem to see how brittle she’s become since leaving Marchmont. She used to
be such a soft, gentle soul.’

‘Well, if she’s become brittle, it’s because she’s had a lot to cope with. It’s hardly her fault.’

‘See, David? You’re doing it again. I know from personal experience that keeping your heart locked away, just because it’s been bruised in the past, is not the answer. More to
the point, neither is pouring all the pent-up love stored in it into one child. Anyway,’ she said, briskly changing the subject, ‘I have a suggestion for you: why don’t you ask
the two of them to stay on for a while here? If, as we presume, Owen has left the estate to Greta, she’ll need time to sort a few things out. It would also give Cheska a chance to live like a
normal little girl for a few days.’

‘I doubt Greta will stay here any longer than she has to,’ David said. ‘Let’s wait and see what happens tomorrow.’

‘Well, if she does inherit, given your obvious feelings for her, marrying her would be the perfect solution to the entire jigsaw. Greta needs a husband, you need a wife, and little Cheska
needs a father and a more stable existence. And Marchmont needs a man to run it, preferably a man with a blood tie to the place.’

‘You’re scheming, Ma! Stop it,’ David warned her. ‘Apart from anything else, I have no wish to run Marchmont, not even to please you.’

LJ saw the anger in her son’s eyes and knew that she’d gone too far. ‘My apologies, David. I just want to see you happy.’

‘And I you. Now, no more talk of this,’ he said firmly. ‘Let’s go and have supper.’

Cheska was having the dream again.
He
was here again, next to her . . . the boy who looked like her. His face was so pale, and he whispered things to her that she
couldn’t understand. She knew all she had to do was wake up and switch on her light to see her own cosy bedroom and the nightmare would disappear. She fumbled for the lamp on the table by her
bed, but her hand reached into nothingness. Desperately, she searched around, groping the air, her heart slamming against her chest.

‘Please, please,’ she moaned, but as her eyes became accustomed to the dull greyness of early morning it was not the comforting shapes of her bedroom she could see. It was the room
in her dream.

Cheska began to scream, ‘
Mummy! Mummy! Mummy!
’

She knew she should get out of the bed and leave the room and then the nightmares would stop. But she was too terrified to move and the ghostly outlines would reach out their clammy, dead hands
and . . .

A light was switched on and her mother appeared at the door. Cheska leapt out of bed, ran across the room and threw herself into Greta’s arms.

‘Mummy, Mummy! Take me away from here! Take me away!’ she sobbed.

‘Come now, darling, whatever is the matter?’

Cheska pushed Greta out of the room, into the corridor and slammed the nursery door behind her. ‘Don’t make me go back in there,
please
, Mummy!’ she begged.

‘All right, all right, darling. Calm down. You come along into Mummy’s bed and tell me what frightened you.’ She steered Cheska along the corridor and into her bedroom. Greta
sat her on the bed and the child buried her face in her nightgown. ‘Did you have a bad dream, darling? Is that what’s wrong?’

‘Yes.’ She looked up at her mother with genuine fear in her eyes. ‘But it wasn’t a dream. It was real. He lives’ – Cheska shuddered – ‘in that
room.’

‘In the nursery? Who lives there?’

Cheska shook her head and buried her face in Greta’s chest.

‘Come on, darling.’ Greta stroked Cheska’s hair gently. ‘Everyone has nightmares. They’re not real. It’s simply your imagination playing silly games while
you’re asleep, that’s all.’

‘No, no. It was real.’ Cheska’s voice was muffled. ‘I want to go home.’

‘We’ll be going home tomorrow, I promise. Now, why don’t we climb into my bed and snuggle up? It’s nippy now and you’ll catch cold.’

Greta pulled Cheska under the covers with her and held her tightly. ‘There. Feeling better?’

‘A little bit.’

‘No one can hurt my baby while Mummy’s here,’ crooned Greta, as her daughter’s arms gradually slipped from around her neck. Greta lay back too, fretting over
Cheska’s reaction in the nursery and wondering how much she actually remembered about Jonny.
No matter
, she told herself firmly, by this time tomorrow they would both be safely in
London and she could pull the protective curtain back around their past.

‘Are you sure you don’t mind looking after Cheska?’ Greta asked Mary the following day. She studied her daughter, looking for further signs of anxiety.

‘Of course not. Look you, we’ll have a fine time, won’t we,
fach
?’

Cheska, sitting on a stool at the big kitchen table, up to her elbows in flour from the pastry she was helping Mary to make, nodded in agreement.

‘I won’t be gone long. Are you sure you’ll be all right?’

‘Yes, Mummy,’ Cheska said, a hint of exasperation in her voice.

‘I’ll see you later then.’ Greta left the kitchen, relieved that Cheska didn’t even look up as she went.

David and LJ were waiting for her in the car.

‘How is she?’ LJ had heard the child’s screams last night.

‘Absolutely fine,’ replied Greta tersely. ‘I think it was just a very bad nightmare. She seems to have forgotten all about it this morning.’

‘Well, I’m sure she’ll have a marvellous time with Mary. Right, let’s be off.’

David drove the few miles to Monmouth, then the three of them walked along the picturesque main street to Mr Glenwilliam’s office in tense silence.

‘Hello, Greta, David, Mrs Marchmont.’ Mr Glenwilliam shook them all by the hand. ‘Thank you for that wonderful spread yesterday after the funeral. I think you did Owen proud.
Now, if you would all like to come through to my office, we can get down to business.’

They followed him and settled themselves into seats in front of Mr Glenwilliam’s desk. He opened a large safe and drew out a thick roll of documents secured with a red ribbon, then sat
down behind his desk and untied the bundle.

‘I should tell you that, at Owen’s insistence, I went to visit him approximately six weeks ago to make a fresh will, and this negates any will he may have had before. Even though he
was extremely poorly, I can confirm that he was neither drunk nor deranged at the time and therefore of sound mind and body. Owen was very definite about the contents of this will. He gave an
indication of the delicacy of the situation.’ Mr Glenwilliam coughed nervously. ‘I think the best thing is to read it, and then we can discuss any points that arise.’

‘Let’s get on with it, then,’ said LJ, speaking for all of them.

Mr Glenwilliam cleared his throat and began to read:

Mr Glenwilliam continued, naming a few additional small bursaries, but the three people in the room were no longer listening, each lost in their own thoughts.

LJ was fighting the lump in her throat. She never cried in public.

David was watching his mother, thinking that at last justice had been done.

Greta was relieved it was over and that she and Cheska could return to London sixty thousand pounds richer, and only have to endure a short visit to Marchmont once a year.

Mr Glenwilliam finished reading and removed his glasses. ‘One last thing. Owen left a personal letter for you, Greta. Here.’ He passed the envelope across the desk to her. ‘Any
questions?’

Greta knew he was waiting for her to protest that, by rights, Marchmont should have gone to her. She remained silent.

‘Mr Glenwilliam, could you possibly give us a few minutes alone?’ LJ asked quietly.

‘Of course.’

The solicitor left the room and LJ turned to Greta. ‘My dear, there’s every chance you could prove that Owen was not of sound mind when he had this will drawn up. After all, you are
Owen’s widow. If you wish to contest it, neither David nor I would stand in your way, would we, David?’

‘Of course not.’

‘No, LJ. Owen has done what is right and best for everyone. As a matter of fact, I’m relieved. Cheska and I have a new life in London. You know as well as I do that she isn’t
Owen’s child by blood and that the marriage was a failure. I think Owen has been extremely generous to us both under the circumstances. And, to be honest, I’m just glad it’s all
over.’