The Promise (15 page)

‘I told you, it was no concern of mine. Anyway, I don’t remember.’

Chrissie let out an exasperated sigh. ‘I can always tell when you lie, Mum, or at least prevaricate. If it was love at first sight you must surely remember where the two of you met. Come on, where did you first clap eyes on this handsome man of your dreams?’

‘Oh, Chrissie, what does it matter now?’ Vanessa cried, folding a pair of woollen socks and tossing them into the suitcase.

‘I’m just interested, that’s all. I asked my grandmother the same question and she told me a most romantic and adventurous tale. It was absolutely fascinating, involving kidnap, opium dens, and yes, love at first sight, a love that was very much frowned upon by her parents. You have more in common than you might imagine.’

Vanessa’s eyes darkened and she snorted disdainfully. ‘She once told me all that romantic nonsense. I didn’t believe a word of it.’

Chrissie was instantly alert. ‘Hey, I thought you said you knew nothing about her, not even where she was born.’

A flush stained Vanessa’s cheeks. ‘I might have exaggerated somewhat. I know some basic details. But I think she makes these stories up simply to divert people so that she doesn’t have to tell the truth, whatever that is.’

‘It sounded real enough to me. Very detailed, in fact. I’m waiting, with bated breath, to hear the end of that particular story, of how she was rescued from an arranged marriage.’

Vanessa looked at her askance. ‘Arranged marriage? Don’t be ridiculous! You mustn’t believe half what she tells you. It’s all a fiction. Pure fantasy. Georgia has never been open and honest in her entire life, so why should she start now, with you?’

Chrissie wondered if perhaps her mother was experiencing some jealousy over the fact Georgia had confided so readily in her, a supposed stranger, yet refused to talk to her own daughter. If so, then she felt some sympathy for her. She decided to capitalise on the point. ‘So if mothers and daughters are supposed to be open and honest with each other, and share their thoughts and experiences, tell me yours. I repeat, when and how did you meet the gorgeous Aaran?’

Vanessa gave a sad little grimace of resignation. ‘I’ll make us some coffee.’

They sat on the rug by the gas fire that Vanessa had lit against the chill of a damp autumn day, a casserole gently simmering in the oven, Chrissie saying nothing as she cradled the comforting warmth of the coffee mug in her hand, patiently waiting for her mother to speak. For some long moments Vanessa quietly sipped her coffee as she stared into the popping blue flames, then suddenly began to talk. ‘We met at the house. It was the very first occasion I recall my mother ever fainting. I heard some commotion in the hall and came running downstairs to find Mrs Gorran and several maids all in a flap administering sal volatile and little slaps to her face. Ma was lying prostrate, quite out for the count.

‘To my shame, I was more interested in the gorgeous
male hovering at the door. He was tall with dark curly hair, pale complexion and eyes that seemed to look right to the heart of me. Oh, and he was incredibly handsome. I was struck dumb, utterly captivated from that moment on.

‘Ma quickly recovered, but it was clear that whatever news he’d brought must have been bad for her to faint like that. She’s not normally the delicate type. Later, she took him to her study and I compounded my shameful behaviour by listening at the keyhole. Not that I could hear very much as mostly they kept their voices
low-pitched
.’

‘“How dare you come here making outrageous demands and accusations?” Ma cried at one point, her voice raised to anger. “This letter sounds shockingly like blackmail to me.”’

‘Blackmail?’ Chrissie interrupted. ‘That’s rather melodramatic, isn’t it?’

‘My mother is prone to melodrama. I only repeat what I heard.’

‘What was this letter? What else did you hear?’

‘Not much, as I say, their voices would drop to a hissing whisper, which was most frustrating.’

Chrissie sipped her coffee. ‘Did you discover later what the argument was about? When you and Dad got together, I mean.’

‘Money. Isn’t it always?’ Vanessa shrugged. ‘Aaran had come to plead the cause of his poor distressed mother, who was living in penury, apparently. I assumed the two women were once friends in their youth. On that first visit I did
hear Aaran say that his mother had asked him to remind Georgia of a promise they’d each made years before. Even then, before I knew him, my heart went out to this young man, for I guessed he would have little hope of success as my mother considered it embarrassing, almost shaming, to discuss money. Her answer to his impertinence confirmed my suspicion. I’ve never forgotten it.

‘She said, “Promises sometimes seem perfectly simple and straightforward when people first make them, but while I have certainly done my utmost to keep mine, I do wonder if your mother will continue to honour me with the same consideration.”’

Chrissie was intrigued. ‘So what was this promise? Or rather two promises. It sounds as if they each made one. Did you ever find out?’

Vanessa shook her head. ‘Not then, nor since. I heard Aaran ask in what way his mother had not kept her word, but of course Georgia refused to explain. And Ma always avoided difficult questions about her past. Obstinate old fool that she is. Some years later, when his mother fell ill, Aaran felt it was time to go back, to be by her side in her last days.’

‘So you went to San Francisco and met her?’

Vanessa nodded. ‘Oh yes, I met her all right, and she was charming. My mother-in-law welcomed me with open arms, wanted us to stay in Frisco, with her. She adored you and wanted the next child, a son naturally, to be born in the States.’ Vanessa shrugged off her failure to conceive again with a philosophical smile.

‘I don’t remember any of that.’

‘You were very young.’

‘How long did you stay?’

‘Not long, six months maybe, until she died.’ A shadow crossed Vanessa’s face at this point in the story. ‘It was on her deathbed that she revealed the lies my mother had told. Her terrible secret.’

Riveted by this revelation, Chrissie quietly asked, ‘What lies? What terrible secret?’ Chrissie waited, itching to hear more, but nervous of pressing too hard. Vanessa seemed to have drifted off into some private world, back in San Francisco all those years ago.

At last she looked up, her eyes oddly blank. ‘That was in 1932.’

‘About the time we stopped visiting the Lakes, and you and Daddy started having those big rows?’

‘About then, yes.’

Again a long silence and Chrissie tried a different tack. ‘Did you challenge your mother with what you’d learnt?’

Vanessa gave a bitter little laugh. ‘Oh, yes, I challenged her all right. Not that she welcomed my questions or was prepared to answer them in any satisfactory manner. She denied everything, of course, but then she’d be bound to. Why had I ever imagined it would be otherwise? Yet she offered no convincing explanation, and had already accused my husband of being some sort of con man, of only wanting to marry me for my money. Aaran refused to come with me on that occasion. She never saw him again after that visit to America. Once I’d learnt just how completely ruthless she truly was, I knew there was no hope for us ever to be friends.’

‘And you never saw your mother again?’

‘Never. The damage had been done. I could never forgive her, not after learning what she’d done.’

‘And what had she done exactly?’ Chrissie again asked the question she most needed answering as quietly and unobtrusively as possible, but somehow it did not surprise her when Vanessa set down her cup with a sharp click, and got to her feet. ‘I’m sure that casserole must be ready by now. Let’s eat.’

So the story was left frustratingly unfinished, and no amount of probing on Chrissie’s part could squeeze any more information out of her.

As Chrissie prepared to leave the next morning, mother and daughter shared a warm hug, both anxious to part on good terms. Chrissie was quick to offer what reassurance she could. ‘I won’t say anything to Georgia yet, if that’s what you prefer. I’ll keep quiet about who I really am until you’ve had time to consider how we might set about healing this row. I do see that it might be more difficult than I at first anticipated, even if I don’t fully understand why.’

As she saw relief light up her mother’s eyes, Chrissie’s heart clenched with pity. She’d hardly slept a wink, worrying about this whole can of worms she’d opened. ‘I do love you, Mum, and the last thing I want is for this crusade to cause you any further anguish. There’ve been quite enough tears spilt already. I’ll keep quiet, for now, if you agree to keep off the gin for good this time. Will you try?’

Vanessa gave her a rueful smile. ‘I’ll do my best.’

‘Good girl, that’s a deal, then.’

Then she climbed into the taxi that was to take her to the station. Chrissie only had with her a small suitcase, the rest of her belongings to be sent on later. But there was no promise of a forthcoming visit from Vanessa.

Despite her mother’s obstinacy in insisting she didn’t reveal the truth about who she really was, Chrissie felt she’d learnt a great deal of new information which was both exciting and intriguing. But these discussions also inspired a whole new raft of questions. It appeared Aaran had come to Rosegill Hall asking for money and Georgia had refused to help his mother, an old friend, despite having previously promised to do so. Had the other girl made a similar promise? If so, what had caused this distrust to spring up between them, and in what way was it connected with the family feud?

And what was this secret best left untold?

This entire campaign, if you could call it that, had been started in order to heal a family breach. But far from mending the fractured relationship, the mystery seemed to be deepening. One which could well be difficult to solve,
and didn’t she have enough to contend with right now?

Settling into the flat, Chrissie discovered, was going to take all her energy, and far more work than she’d appreciated. It really was in a dreadful state. Every room would need to have the wallpaper stripped, the walls coated in size and repapered. And since money was tight, it was a job she would largely have to do herself. Chrissie told herself she was a capable, practical person, and if she was careful with her savings it didn’t matter if it took all winter. Which would also give her plenty of time to source and buy stock before the spring. Thankfully, the busy holiday season was almost over, and Georgia had agreed she could stay on at the loft as long as she wished.

Even so, Chrissie was feeling slightly overwhelmed by the whole enterprise, wondering what she’d let herself in for.

She was thrilled to be back in Windermere, of course, and there was surely no better place to be than the Lakes in September. Clear sunny days, children picking blackberries, the stags clashing their antlers in their challenge to attract available females. Best of all were the glowing colours of the woodlands: saffron, crimson and gold. Quite breathtaking.

And judging by the proliferation of notices in the post office and corner shop, there was much to look forward to: the excitement of the local Sheepdog Trials, a Flower Show, Best Puppy Competition, Cumberland wrestling, and the Women’s Institute famous cake contest. So many events Chrissie thought it was as if everyone wished to prove that they’d finally put austerity and the travails of
war behind them, even though they still had to queue, and rationing remained very much in place.

But there was a lot to plan, a great deal to worry about.

A few days after her return, as Chrissie was walking around Cockshott Point, filling her lungs with clean air as sweet and crisp as wine, she rounded a bend by an ancient ash tree and Ben came strolling along the path towards her.

And suddenly all was right with the world.

The two of them stood transfixed for a long moment, smiling shyly at each other. ‘I can’t believe you’re actually here,’ he said. ‘I was quite convinced you’d never come back.’

‘I did say that I would.’

‘But you might easily have changed your mind, and the way I behaved – not telling you I had a daughter – well, it wouldn’t have surprised me if you’d decided to stay in London after all.’ Hands in pockets, Ben shuffled his feet, glaring furiously down at his own boots, as if they were the ones at fault.

Chrissie gave a soft chuckle. ‘How is Karen?’

His head jerked up and Ben let out a small sigh of exasperation. ‘As impossible as ever, and not in the least bit remorseful. That’s kids for you.’

‘And what about her mother? Has she moved back, as threatened?’

A flush crept up his neck. ‘I assure you, Chrissie, Sal and I are history.’

‘That’s not what I asked.’

‘All right, yes, she’s back in Windermere, but not with me. We’re no longer a couple, no matter how much Karen might like us to be. She’s staying with a friend. We have the decree nisi. It’s over.’

Chrissie wasn’t entirely sure she could believe that. She wanted to, very badly, but if a couple had been together long enough to produce a nine-year-old daughter, could it ever be over between them? Karen obviously thought there was still hope, had perhaps persuaded her mother to return. A physical presence in the town was surely much more difficult for him to ignore. She decided to err on the side of caution and maintain a cool distance. ‘Young daughters certainly know how to apply the thumbscrews on their father to get what they want.’

Had she? Chrissie remembered climbing up on to her daddy’s knee, kissing his rough chin and pleading for an ice cream or some other treat. She’d thought she was the apple of his eye, his adored child. But that hadn’t stopped him from walking away.

‘Thumbscrews won’t work in my case. Sal is only here on a short visit, and I fully intend to avoid her like the plague.’

Chrissie’s tone remained steadfastly chilly. ‘Easier said than done. It’s a small town. Must be hard to miss folk trekking up and down Crag Brow. Or you might spot her feeding the ducks or walking by the lake.’

He gave her his winning grin. ‘I don’t go in much for duck feeding. Anyway, I’ve been too busy to get out and about much. Got a lot of work on at present.’

‘I’m pleased to hear it, and I’m sure your mother will
keep me informed of what’s going on.’ Despite her best efforts, her mouth twitched.

‘I dare say she will,’ he dryly remarked. ‘Mam has taken quite a shine to you, but then so has her son.’

A silence fell, as if some agreement had been reached, an acknowledgement of difficulties but a refusal to be cowed by them. They were by now sitting on a fallen beech tree, Ben looking quite relaxed, his hands hanging loose between spread knees. Studying him from beneath her lashes, Chrissie couldn’t help noticing how a whorl of fuzzy hair grew along the backs of them. His arms were strong and muscled, the sleeves rolled up, a white line of an old scar just above one wrist. Nor could she fail to take in the breadth of his shoulders, or note how the width of his chest tapered to narrow hips, and strong thighs. He was, without doubt, a fine-looking man.

Deliberately she turned her attention to the view, to passengers alighting from the ferry, perhaps to enjoy the long walk through the woods over to Claife Heights or Esthwaite Water.

Following the direction of her gaze, Ben gave a vague wave of a hand. ‘Near Sawrey, over there, is where Beatrix Potter lived, or Mrs Heelis as she was known locally, at Hill Top. She bequeathed the house to the National Trust after she died a few years back, plus various farms and a great deal of the land around here, so that everyone can continue to enjoy it in perpetuity.’

‘How wonderful. I’m glad she did, as it is so beautiful,’ Chrissie softly agreed. ‘I could stay here for ever and never grow tired of looking at this view.’

He looked at her. ‘I hope you will, stay here for ever, I mean. It would be good for you. Good for me too.’

Ben Gorran seemed to be a gentle man, caring and considerate, appreciative of her vulnerability in only just coming to terms with her grief, and clearly a caring father. But there was a strength in him too, both physically and in the promise of passion she’d tasted in that single stunning kiss. But then they’d both been upset by events that night, and it was certainly an exciting way to end a row. Now he appeared to be his normal, courteous, chivalrous self, perhaps waiting for her to give him permission to let loose that passion again. She wondered how it would feel if she did.

Very softly, she said, ‘You must understand that I have no wish to start a relationship or romance, whatever you choose to call this thing that is growing between us – not with a man on the rebound.’

He turned to her then, all eager reassurance. ‘That’s not how it is at all. You must believe that. You must know how I feel about you, Chrissie.’

She looked at him, at the genuine sincerity in his eyes, and felt her insides melt with affection. He was a fine man, a good man. Why would she not trust him? Maybe she had these doubts because she was too used to Peter pestering her and attempting to take over her life. On a sudden impulse she decided to put the ex-wife from her mind and take Ben at his word. She would believe him when he said it was over between them. At least she could offer him friendship. No more than that. For now. Pushing back her hair, she rewarded his patience with a smile, warmer this time. ‘Er, this workload you’ve got on
at the moment, does that preclude you from taking on any more jobs?’

He was instantly alert. ‘Why, do you want something doing?’

‘I need some fitted cupboards in the kitchen area of the flat, and bookshelves putting up in the shop.’

‘I’m sure I could manage that,’ he said, a grin stretching from ear to ear. He glanced at his watch. ‘I have to pick Karen up from school shortly, but I could come and measure up once I’ve done that, if you like.’

‘OK, thanks. I’d appreciate that.’

They walked back together, chatting easily, Chrissie answering a few polite enquiries about London – the packing of her belongings which were to follow when she’d organised a room in which to store them. She was curious to know what he would think of the shop, and the flat above.

‘I’ll be ten minutes,’ he promised her. ‘I just have to drive up the hill and back.’

It took him thirty, but the delay didn’t trouble Chrissie one bit. The extra time allowed her to freshen her lipstick and tidy her hair, put the kettle on for coffee, although there was nothing she could do to improve the look of the place.

‘It’s very small,’ Chrissie warned, as she let him in, ‘but then I intend to stock it only with words. Come to think of it, that’s what I shall call it. “Words”.’

He nodded. ‘I like that.’

‘Indeed.’ Then over his shoulder her gaze locked with
Karen’s. The girl had been left sitting in Ben’s van parked at the door and was glaring right at her. ‘Oh, do bring your daughter in. Maybe I’ve got some lemonade somewhere.’

‘No, she’s fine,’ he said, pulling out a notebook and a stub of pencil. ‘She’s used to hanging around waiting for me when I’m working. She’ll do her homework, or something. Now, what is it you want, exactly?’

Chrissie frowned slightly, but said no more, just left the door ajar so it didn’t look as if she were closing it in the girl’s face. She began to outline where she wanted shelves fitting, along each wall to just above eye level, leaving space for a table in the centre which she could use both as a counter and sales area for large books.

Ben at once pulled out a roll of tape and started to measure up. His reaction to the little shop was all she could have hoped for, warm with approval. ‘I can see it has great potential, and an excellent position being so close to the main street. Bowness is very popular with tourists. I’m sure you can make it into a great little shop. What’s the flat like?’

She gave a wry smile. ‘Needs work.’

‘I’m your man.’ And as he clumped up the stairs behind her in his big boots, a part of her rather wished that he was.

Maintaining a cool distance she said, ‘There’s just the one room on this floor which I intend to use as a living room with kitchen area at the back, furthest from the windows overlooking the street.’

‘Complete with beams and a sloping floor, I see.’

‘I like a bit of character to a place,’ she agreed, smiling.

‘So do I. Not much into the smart modern look myself.’ His gaze was teasing and all-encompassing, and Chrissie wondered if he was also referring to her check shirt and baggy blue coveralls which she’d had for years. Oh dear, she needed only a turban to reinforce the Rosie the Riveter look.

As Chrissie explained what she wanted he quickly sketched a plan of the cupboards he could build for her. She held the tape measure while Ben added measurements to the drawing, listened carefully to his advice and suggestions, agreeing with some but rejecting others, which didn’t seem to trouble him. He was easy to talk to, seemed to quickly pick up on what she had in mind, and time sped by as they became engrossed in the task in hand.

‘How are you with wardrobes?’ she asked at length, when the kitchen plan was fully mapped out. ‘I don’t have anywhere to store my clothes and wondered if you could fit in a cupboard-cum-wardrobe in the bedroom. Can I show you?’

‘Lead the way.’

The main bedroom on the second floor was empty save for a small Victorian iron fireplace, somewhat rusty but nothing a good scrub and coat of black enamel paint couldn’t put right. Between this and the window was a gap. ‘I wondered if you could put doors on this alcove to form a wardrobe? The floor slopes even more here – would that present difficulties?’

‘Nope, I can take the slope into account as I make the toeboard.’ Pulling out his notebook again Ben licked the pencil, but as he started to draw his usual quick plan,
the lead broke and the pencil flew from his hand. For some reason they both dived for it in the same instant; Chrissie caught her toe in a large crack in the floorboards, and in trying to save her, Ben skidded on the slope which suddenly seemed as treacherous as a ski run. They both fell in a tangled heap of arms and legs, Ben sprawled on top of her, knocking all the breath from her body. They laughed, a mixture of embarrassment and amusement. But then, perhaps remembering an earlier encounter at equally close quarters, the laughter quickly faded, and when his mouth came down on to hers Chrissie made no protest whatsoever.

‘I thought this would be what you two would be up to, and not carpentry at all. Just wait till I tell Mum. She’s already got the dinner on, did you know that, Dad?’

Ben groaned as he quickly leapt to his feet. Chrissie just wanted the sloping floorboards to open up and swallow her.

‘It’s not how it sounds. Sal offered to cook me a meal tonight, that’s all.’

‘Something you failed to mention when we were talking earlier.’

‘I thought you might jump to the wrong conclusion.’

‘Now I wonder why I might do that?’ Chrissie dryly commented.

They were standing at the front door, the girl was back in the van, still sulking, and Chrissie was keeping her eyes anywhere but on that bleak condemning gaze. Ben didn’t seem to notice, far too anxious to prove his own innocence.