Wild Wood (26 page)

Away to the far west, the sky is burning as day subsides into night.

“Do you ever feel you’ve disappointed someone—someone important?”

“Yes. Doesn’t everyone?” Jesse thinks
disappointment
is a tame word for some of the things she’s done.

“But what if it’s your ancestors?”

Jesse says the wrong thing. “They’re dead. How can you disappoint someone who’s dead?”

Alicia turns away, her shoulders hunched. “By betraying their trust.”

“Hey.” Jesse gets up, and this time she takes Alicia’s hand. “It’s okay. It will
be
okay. Time heals all.”
And other awkward clichés.

“Time is the enemy when the past won’t lie down and die. There’s the roof, you see.”

“Okay.” Jesse tries not to look confused.

“What I mean is, it leaks, and it needs replacing. There’s just miles and miles of it, here and on the keep. Then there’s the flashing and the windows,
and
the plumbing, plus the ceilings in the upstairs rooms. That’s
before
you get to the damp in the cellars. That has to be fixed before it destroys the stone—no foundations and no damp course in the fourteenth century, so that’s become a twentieth-century problem—
and
”—Alicia stares at her elegant, happy father, her radiant mother—“well, Pa stuck his head in the sand about Hundredfield. Ma tried to get him to concentrate on what had to be done, but he thought it would all come right in the end. Always the optimist, Pa. And he’s gone. And I have to sort it out.”

Jesse thinks about the size of the castle, all the buildings. And the keep. “So, what now?”

There’s a pause. “Now?” Alicia squares her shoulders. “I think we should see what Rory’s doing. Did he talk about making béarnaise?”

“Not precisely, but he seemed keen to get dinner happening.”

“It’s his party trick, and it’s always a disaster.
Absolutely
no idea, that man, about a good sauce.”

Alicia sweeps from the bedroom, head held high.

For a moment, Jesse can see the train held in that long-fingered
hand, the skirt trailing over the boards as she goes. Fanciful nonsense.

Maybe not, if you’re the daughter of an earl.

Before she leaves the room, Jesse stares at the photographs. These are the Hundredfield family, the portraits on the walls in modern form. And Alicia’s parents, so in love and untouched by time;
the best of it.
How lucky Alicia is to know she’s their daughter.

Jesse stares at the earl—that handsome face, dark hair, dark eyes.

Her real parents—were they ever such enchanted beings?

Who do I look like? Can you tell me?

23

A
LICIA BRINGS
peas to the table in a silver bowl as Rory sharpens the carving knife. He looks at her red eyes, goes to say something. And changes gear. “Shall I?” He nods at the fillet of beef.

Alicia’s inspecting the contents of the sauceboat Rory’s put on the table. “You know, this actually looks okay.”

Rory snorts. “Learn to trust, Alicia. Enough, Jesse?”

Jesse takes the plate as she sits. “More than. Thanks so much.” The conversation is as polite as an old-fashioned play.

Alicia asks brightly, “So, what did you think of Newton Prior, Jesse?”

“I’m not sure.” It comes out awkwardly.

“Interesting answer.” Rory offers a roasted-tomato salad.

“I didn’t mean, um—the village is lovely, of course, but . . .”

“Don’t let it get cold.” Alicia offers the sauce dish.

“Carrots?” Before she can reply, Rory dumps a heap on Alicia’s plate.

“Did you meet Helen?”

Jesse swallows. And coughs. “Yes.”

“And Mack. We had lunch at the pub.” Rory’s watching them both.

Alicia says cheerfully, “That must have been nice.”

Or not.
Jesse says nothing.

“What was the
but
, by the way?” Alicia nods encouragingly.

“Silly as this sounds, I think it was the archangel. He just seemed, I don’t know, grumpy or severe. Or something. Lame, I know.”

Alicia nods. “It’s his eyes. I could always feel them on my back when we went to church, as if I’d done something wrong. Mummy understood, Daddy didn’t get it. Kid’s imagination, I suppose. I was always worried about something.” She eats, lost in the past.

Rory says, “And did that work?”

“What?” Alicia snaps back into focus.

“Worrying.”

Chewing, she shakes her head.

“It’s a habit, that’s all. Never change anything by worrying. Trust me, I’m a doctor.” He smiles at his own joke.

Alicia says carefully, “I think that depends, Rory. It can be constructive, sometimes.”

Jesse stares at her plate with great interest.
They’re doing it again.

“Really?”

Alicia fires up, cheeks pink as her eyes. “Yes. Really.” She puts her knife and fork down deliberately. “Jesse, apropos of what we were talking about before, I’ve made up my mind. It’s time Hundredfield went to a good home. And before you say anything, Rory, the roof’s failing again.”

Rory murmurs, “This house is not a dog, Alicia.”

She says passionately, “After the war, people pulled buildings like this down or let them fall down. I will
not
let that happen to Hundredfield. I just can’t. It’s my responsibility.”

Rory’s face quirks agreeably. “Of course, there’s one easy way to solve the problem.”

Alicia makes an effort. “And that would be?”

“Let someone else’s money fix the place. Marry an heiress. Or heir, I mean. There. Simple.”

“Long time since I did the Season, Rory. No one swept me away then, and they haven’t since. Think I’m a bit of a dud in the suitor department.”

The smile is gallant, but Jesse sees the glance Alicia flicks at Rory when he’s not looking.

Jesse asks brightly, “The debutante Season? Were you actually presented at court?”

“Presentation finished at the end of the fifties, but there’s still the London Season, even if no one calls it that anymore. Balls, Ascot, Glyndebourne, charity fashion parades. Honestly, opera? All that singing and prancing about. And me, marching up and down in sequins and chiffon in someone’s idea of a ball gown. I just felt bloody ridiculous.” Alicia squirms with the memory. “Poor Ma. She tried very hard and it cost a great deal of money we didn’t have, but I’ve zero talent in the social arts; still can’t dance to save myself, and small talk?” She rolls her eyes. “London. Drove me crazy. And now, look at me. Welded to the place.”

Rory laughs. “Never your forte, Alicia, useless chat. So, what are you going to do?” He gestures at the ceiling.

“Can’t fix it, can I?” Alicia’s tone is just a bit truculent.

He leans across and grasps one of her hands. “A second opinion’s always good.”

“Oh, Rory, what’s the use?” Abruptly Alicia gets up to clear the table.

Jesse jumps up to help, scoops the plates one-handed. “My turn.”

“You’re a guest.” A minor tussle ensues. Jesse wins and heads for the sink.

Rory interrupts, “All right. What have you got to sell, apart from the land?”

Alicia stares at him. “Nothing. Most of the good stuff went
years ago—Ma’s jewels, a lot of the silver. Even some of the portraits are copies.”

“There’s the fourteenth-century armor in the hall—what about that? And the state furniture in the great rooms?”

Her face pales. “I will
not
sell what’s left of the heritage of this place just to fix a roof.”

“Well then, what’s in the attics? Or the cellars? A place like this, there could be long-lost, oh, I don’t know,
things
stashed away.” Rory pauses, then says quietly, “You cannot just turn your back and walk away.”

“Ah, but I have.”

“Six months in London? That’s not walking away. That’s thinking time. You needed it. But this is different, Licia. This is serious.”

At the sink, Jesse tries not to clatter. British restraint.
When it’s gone, it’s gone.

“It’s not tens of thousands of pounds I need, Rory, it’s millions. You know that. Anyway, why should you care what happens to Hundredfield? It’s not your home.”

“I was born here too, just like you. That’s why we both come back.”

That statement deflates Alicia. She plumps down on a chair. “Look, I’ve thought about this. I chickened out when I first talked with the National Trust.”

“You didn’t tell me you had.”

She just looks at me. “
But
if I don’t gift the estate soon, it’ll be too far gone and—”

“Hundredfield should stay in your family, Licia. It’s what your parents would have wanted.” Rory’s quite heated.

She flares back, “No, it’s not. Dad was going to sell half of the land because he couldn’t see a way out, and neither can I, now. Half won’t do it, either. I should have listened years ago, I should have paid attention.” Sudden silence.

This means something, Jesse can feel it.

Alicia hesitates, then says more reasonably, “Look, the trust has to be convinced the house can be self-supporting before they’ll take it on. We’ve never properly opened Hundredfield to the public, but that’s the only hope now, and it absolutely will never happen if that roof goes.” Without rancor she adds, “And it’s not for you to tell me what my parents would or would not have liked for Hundredfield, Rory.”

In the deeper quiet that follows, Jesse’s not sure what to do. She hesitates. And turns a tap on to fill a kettle.

“Jesse, I am so sorry!” Alicia hurries from the table. “Really, what unforgivable bad manners.”

Jesse puts a hand on Alicia’s arm. “I’d say you’re going through utter, utter shit right now. Can’t pretend it isn’t happening.”

The plain speaking robs Alicia of words.

Jesse turns the tap off. “I’ll put this on the stove for tea, but I might just take myself off to bed, if that’s all right? You said you wanted to get started tomorrow, Rory. Straight after breakfast?” She doesn’t give either of them time to reply. “Good night.”

Her last sight, as she closes the door to the kitchen, is of Rory. He’s standing beside Alicia, an arm around her shoulders.

Shivering, Jesse stands on the mat in the bathroom and looks at herself in the mirror.

Behind, steam rises as the tub fills. She doesn’t want to have a bath, but getting into bed clean after all the dramas of today will make her feel better. She needs to sluice the tension—so many tensions—away. Yawning hugely, she starts to clean her teeth, remembering a semiserious boyfriend from a few years ago.

Geoff was such a romantic. He liked to surprise her with candles when she came home from work. She’d enjoyed those candlelit baths, the petals scattered on the bed, and they’d lived together happily enough for a year, even if her parents had been upset; cohabiting before marriage was a shameful thing to them.

Jesse wonders now if her birth mother’s being unmarried had been an influence. Perhaps they thought she’d head in the same direction? In the end, she’d asked Geoff to move out, but that had been for her own good reasons.

Jesse breathes on the mottled glass, draws a heart with a fingertip, and writes
J + G 4 eva.

Her hand drops.
Be honest.
Scented candles had not been enough. And Geoff had been one of the good ones.

Why does she always want more? Maybe this mirror—so strangely mottled—is some kind of symbol. An actual demonstration that she doesn’t recognize herself anymore—doesn’t, really, know who she is.

And that’s the truth.

Can you really see yourself as others see you? This face—what does it actually say?

Jesse turns side-on, looks at herself over one shoulder. She’s been told she’s pretty quite often. Geoff even said she was beautiful. Actually, he repeated it so many times, it began to annoy her. She doesn’t think she’s beautiful. What does the word actually mean?

She peers more closely at her image, feature by feature. Something about the nose she’s never liked—too strong, and it’s got a bump. Her chin as well; there’s a bit of a cleft. How could that be beautiful? To be fair, her skin has always been an asset—though Alicia’s is finer, more creamy somehow—and her eyes. Jesse’s never minded when people comment about their color. Geoff said her eyes were like an Australian sky when a storm’s on its way. She liked that.

Australia.

Abruptly, tears well and overflow. Her heart hurts.

Sniffing, Jesse stands back. And sees the silver candle sconces. They’re fixed to the wall on each side of the looking glass, and the candles are part used. Someone else has stood here and lit those wax tapers. No way of telling when, or who. Or why. Alicia?

Jesse shakes her head. Alicia’s not the romantic type.

But she is.

Jesse looks around for matches, finds a box in a little lidded pot. Once lit, the mirror and the holders complement each other; it’s surely intentional that this riot of glimmering roses and twining leaves was made to frame the surprised viewer in a silver garland. The effect is magical, as if Jesse’s some sort of nature spirit half discovered in dappled light.