Authors: Lulu Taylor
‘I know what they made you suffer,’ said Ferrera quietly. ‘Believe me, I’ve not forgotten.’
33
POPPY SPREAD OUT
the Pantone colour cards on the table in front of her and stared hard at each one.
‘Which one do you think?’ she demanded.
‘Eh?’ George looked up from the window seat where he was buried in a book. ‘What did you say?’
Poppy frowned in mock crossness. ‘I can’t believe it. We’ve been going out for only a week and you’re already ignoring me!’
‘Don’t be silly,’ he said, putting down his book and getting up. He went over and hugged her. ‘I couldn’t ignore you if I wanted to. What are you doing?’
‘I’m trying to choose a colour for our new signature fragrance. I’ve narrowed it down to this range of pinks. I want to show the others the perfect colour at our next meeting – but I ought to take three possibles at least.’ She pointed at her current favourite: a matt pink with the faintest hint of pearl and beige. ‘What do you think of this one?’
‘I’m no judge, I’m afraid,’ he said apologetically.
‘And
I don’t think I’m your target market either, so my opinion doesn’t count for much.’
‘Hmmm. You’re right. Well, I’ll take this and this and this.’ She scooped up the colours she’d chosen and filed them in her drawing pad, where she had the working sketches for the final bottle design. ‘All ready for work on Monday.’
‘So what shall we do for the rest of the day? It’s a gorgeous sunny morning. I thought we could go to the zoo …’
Poppy put her arms round his neck and kissed the tip of his nose lightly. ‘That sounds lovely but actually I have another plan. I have to go to Loxton – my parents’ house. It’s going up for sale and I have to deal with some things there. I wondered if you’d like to come with me. We could stay the night. It might be the last time I’m there.’
‘Wow. I’d love that. I feel honoured.’ George smiled at her.
‘You are. But you also have a car.’
They drove down to Loxton, taking an hour to clear London and its heavy traffic, but once they were free of it, they sailed on into the countryside and made good time to the house.
‘This is some house!’ said George as they approached the red-brick mansion. ‘Is this really all yours?’
‘For about five minutes it is. We have to sell it to clear the mortgage and the death duties. But it’s where I grew up.’
They pulled up in front of the house and went in.
It
was exactly as Poppy had last seen it. Nothing had changed. But she knew that someone had been to value the contents so the lawyers and taxmen could assess the duties payable. Goldblatt Mindenhall were still sending her serious-looking letters every few days to keep her abreast of developments.
‘Crikey!’ said George, looking at the marble floor, heavy antique French furniture and the staircase swirling away to the upstairs. ‘Who’s that?’ He was looking at the life-sized oil painting of Yolanda.
‘My mother,’ said Poppy softly. ‘The matriarch. The one who got us into this mess. I still don’t understand why she didn’t get the inheritance properly sorted out after Daddy died so we wouldn’t have to foot such a massive tax bill. It makes me think that for some reason she changed her mind about the whole legacy at the last minute. Maybe I wasn’t supposed to get Loxton originally.’ She shrugged. ‘We’ll never know, I suppose.’
‘She looks quite a character.’
‘She was.’
‘How did she make her hair stay up in that huge bouffant?’
‘Industrial quantities of hairspray. I’m not joking, she was a walking fire hazard. Now, let’s go and grab a cup of tea and then I can get to work.’
They found the housekeeper in the kitchen. She made them tea and put out slices of homemade cake.
‘I got your letter, Miss Poppy. The bed in the green bedroom is all made up.’ The housekeeper glanced
at
George, whom she had clearly not been expecting. ‘I hope I’ve got enough food in.’
‘How are things here, Alice?’ Poppy asked, sipping her tea.
Alice shook her head. ‘Quiet, miss. Most of the staff have left now. It’s just me and Tony in the lodge now and I understand we’ll need to be out once the house is on the market.’
‘Have you got somewhere else to go?’
‘Yes, yes. A new position with a lovely family in the North. They’re big in shipping, I believe. We’re planning to take a little break on the coast with my brother’s family before that, and then we start in the summer.’
‘You’ve been such a wonder here, Alice, looking after Mother right to the end.’
‘Least we could do,’ Alice said gruffly. ‘Your mother wasn’t easy but she was fair and we were very touched to be remembered in her will.’
‘We’re going to wander about, Alice. You mustn’t worry about cooking for us tonight – we’ll look after ourselves. The same goes for tomorrow morning.’
‘Very well. I’ll pop in and tidy up tomorrow afternoon. I believe the agents are coming?’
‘Yes, they want to take photographs before the house is emptied.’
Alice shook her head. ‘Hard to believe there’ll be no more Trevellyans at Loxton.’
‘I know. But everything has to change some time.’ Poppy looked about the kitchen, where she had spent so many hours as a girl, making toast or hot chocolate or just chatting with Alice. ‘I’m sure a new family
will
be very happy here. And you know what? I think this place deserves a change.’
They spent a happy afternoon, wandering about the house. Poppy gave George a grand tour, showing him everything from the plush ground-floor reception rooms to the dusty attics full of rubbish.
‘There must be all kinds of treasures here!’ George exclaimed, looking at the trunks, suitcases and boxes of books, knick-knacks, photographs and old toys. ‘Look at that funny little pedal car!’
‘That was mine, when I was a toddler.’ Poppy smiled. ‘Funny, it used to be much bigger than that.’ She laughed. ‘Or so it seemed to me.’
‘You’re not throwing all this stuff out, are you?’
‘What else can I do with it?’
‘Oh no, you mustn’t. You’ll regret it.’ He looked at her, his face fervent. ‘You must store it.’
Poppy put her hands on her hips and made a face. ‘But look at it all! I’ll never have the time to go through it.’
‘One day you will. Then you’ll be glad you’ve kept it.’
‘Mmm.’ She looked at the dusty boxes. ‘Maybe. Well, let’s get on and I’ll think about it.’
The afternoon passed by as they went from room to room, Poppy putting bright yellow stickers on the items to be valued and then sold by the auction house.
You’re putting stickers on everything!’ said George, watching as Poppy stuck yellow circles on pictures, lamps, china, furniture and antique books.
‘We need the cash. Anything that can go for a decent sum has to go. It’s not like we want these things. I don’t even like most of them.’
‘Do you really need the money?’ George looked disbelievingly. The effect of seeing Loxton and everything inside had obviously made him regard the family as hardly short of a shilling.
‘We really do,’ said Poppy firmly. She stood in front of her mother’s great portrait for a moment, gazing up at the idealised smooth skin, glittering eyes and great swoop of hair. Yolanda’s floor-length gown was a mist of floating chiffon, the jewels at her throat and wrist seemed almost a third bigger than their real-life models and her waist at least a third smaller.
The painted equivalent to airbrushing
, she thought. Her mother had never looked like that. She had just wanted to.
Poppy leaned forward and pressed a yellow sticker on to the frame, pushing it down hard to make sure it stuck.
There
, she thought.
Goodbye to all that. It’s time to look ahead now
.
The press did not seem to be losing interest in the Pearson story. By seven o’clock in the morning, photographers were camped outside, waiting for Tara to emerge from the house so that they could take pictures of her.
She had been on the phone to Gerald’s lawyers and to her own, trying to find out what the situation meant for them all. Gerald’s lawyer, Harold Jamieson, told her that the most likely outcome was that Gerald would return voluntarily to South Africa and turn himself in.
There
was a further development: Gerald’s company had launched a suit against him for the return of funds they claimed he’d stolen. His assets would be frozen while the case was decided.
‘You’re going to have a complicated few months,’ Harold told her. ‘How entwined are your finances with Gerald’s?’
‘Thankfully not too much. He’s never involved me in his business and I’ve never involved him in mine. Most of the properties are in single names – the Cape Town house, the Scottish estate, the New York property are all in Gerald’s name. The City flat and the bungalow in the Bahamas are mine. This house is joint property and so is the Cotswold house.’
‘Obviously any assets that can be shown to be yours will remain your own. Joint assets may need to be sold and the money divided, just as in a divorce.’
‘How handy. Two birds with one stone,’ said Tara drily.
‘Sorry?’
‘Gerald and I have separated. I’m sure he’s told you. I’ll be seeking a divorce in due course.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that, Tara,’ said Harold soberly. ‘Are you sure? This is going to put an enormous strain on Gerald. A criminal trial at the same time as losing his wife and family …’
‘He really should have thought of that, Harold, before he decided to raid the company piggy bank, shouldn’t he? It’s a bit late to start saying how sorry he is. I suspect he’s only very, very sorry he got found out.’
‘I see. Well, have your solicitors send me the appropriate correspondence in due course.’
‘Thanks, Harold. I will.’
It was a Saturday and she was determined to enjoy it. No work today, she decided. She would take the children out. They would go to the park with their bikes, play at the playground and have an ice cream in the sunshine. Then somewhere nice for lunch and in the afternoon, perhaps she’d see about taking them to the pictures, or rowing on the Serpentine, or skating in Hyde Park. There were so many lovely things to do. She pushed the thought of Gerald out of her mind.
They had to face the press when they came out of the house but with John making a path for them and the children holding tightly on to Tara’s hands, they got past them without much trouble. The presence of the children seemed to make the journalists hold back a little.
They would usually have walked to the park but to shake off the press, John drove them there in a circuitous way. Then they were free to enjoy the spring sunshine. The children ran off, delighted, to the playground while John unloaded the bikes from the boot.
‘Have a great day, ma’am,’ John said sincerely.
‘Thanks, we will.’
And they did. Imogen had just learned to ride her bike with the stabilisers on but she was still a bit wobbly and tried to keep up with Edward, who whizzed away on his little two-wheeler, proud that he could ride it
without
help. Tara walked along behind them both, enjoying the sound of their piping voices and merry laughs.
‘Come on, Mummy!’ shouted Edward. ‘Try and be faster!’
‘Mummy, Mummy,’ cried Imo, ‘I can’t see!’ Her helmet had slipped forward over her eyes and she was pedalling slowly towards the edge of the path and a large rhododendron bush. Tara darted over and rescued her, laughing as Imo’s big blue eyes were revealed from under the helmet.
‘I got lost,’ she explained.
‘Don’t worry, darling, I found you,’ Tara said, dropping a kiss on her head.
This is good
, she thought, as Imo pedalled off again, her tongue poking out with the effort of making the bicycle go the way she wanted.
We need more of this. Hell
, I
need more of this. They’re not babies any more. They’re growing up so fast. I can’t miss all of it. I just can’t
.
That night, when the children were in bed, exhausted after a wonderful day full of treats, Tara sat down at her computer and began to search through property websites.
34
‘GOODNESS, LOOK AT
this! It’s not what I expected.’
‘What did you expect?’ enquired Claudine. She and Jemima were standing in the door of her office.
Jemima frowned. ‘I suppose I imagined a sterile laboratory and you sitting there in a white coat, mixing potions from glass bottles.’
‘I have some essences.’ Claudine gestured to a row of small phials on her desk.
‘Yes, but – apart from that, it looks just like an ordinary office. The desk, the books, the computer …’
‘The computer is now our most essential piece of equipment,’ said Claudine solemnly. ‘I use it to create my formulae. Then I email it to the lab down the hall, the technicians mix me a sample of what I’ve created and send it to me to smell. Then I’ll make some changes to the formula and start again.’
‘But where do you keep the smells?’ asked Jemima, surprised. ‘How do you know what to put in?’
Claudine smiled and tapped her head. ‘In here. I
know
a great, great deal about scent, about what molecule smells like what and what its properties are – how it reacts, how long the smell will persist, what will degrade or damage it. I spent years at the Givaudan school analysing scents, learning them off by heart. I know in my sleep how to create the basic recipes for scents. I can mix you the smell of chocolate with two molecules. At school, I learned to construct new smells. “Create me a violet frozen in ice!” our tutor would say. Or he wanted the smell of a coffee drunk on a summer’s morning in the place de la Bastille. Or the scent of grey clouds massing over a mountain. Building is part of it, breaking down another. He would ask us to find the constituent parts of a strange scent we had never smelt before. It was like learning a language, the vocabulary, the grammar, the rules … That is why I know what to put in my formulae.’
‘Amazing,’ breathed Jemima. ‘What an incredible skill.’
‘Yes,’ agreed Claudine. ‘Incredible.’
‘And have you come up with something for us today?’