Authors: Lucinda Riley
‘I see.’
‘You must know I care for you deeply, David, more than any other person in the world apart from Cheska, but I could never marry you. I’d worry it would all go wrong and
besides’ – Greta shook her head – ‘I don’t think I know how to love like that any more. Do you understand?’
‘I understand that you’ve been badly hurt, but
I’ve
never hurt you. I love you, Greta. You must believe that.’
‘I do, David, really I do. You’ve been wonderful to me. But it would be wrong of me to accept your proposal, because my heart is closed off – numb, I suppose. And I don’t
think that will ever change.’
‘You say your life is Cheska. One day, she’ll have her own life, too. What will you do then?’ he asked quietly.
‘Cheska will always need me,’ Greta said firmly. ‘David,’ – her voice softened – ‘I am overwhelmed by your offer. I had no idea you felt like this. And
if I
were
thinking about marriage, you’d be the only man under consideration. But I’m not. And sadly, I never will be.’
David was silent and devastated. There seemed little point in pursuing the subject further. His dreams were shattered and there would be no second chances.
‘I should have married you all those years ago when you were pregnant.’
‘No, you shouldn’t have. Don’t you see, David? We have something far better than marriage. We have friendship. I just hope it won’t disappear after tonight. It
won’t, will it?’
He reached for her hand across the table, wishing he were about to place the ring in his pocket on her finger, and smiled a small, sad smile. ‘Of course it won’t, Greta.’
A little later the two of them left the restaurant and walked back to the car in silence.
LJ thought she could hear voices upstairs. She left the library and the Marchmont estate account ledgers and tiptoed upstairs to check Cheska’s room. The bed was empty.
She knocked on the bathroom door, pushed it open and saw it was in darkness. Quickening her pace, LJ looked in Greta’s room and the other bedrooms along the corridor until she came to the
nursery. The door was closed, but she could hear high-pitched laughter inside. She opened the door slowly.
LJ caught her breath and her hand flew to her mouth.
Cheska was sitting on the floor, her back to the door. She seemed to be talking to someone as she tore the head off an old teddy bear and began to remove the stuffing. She twisted the
bear’s arm until it ripped off completely. Then she reached for the head of the bear and began to pull at the two button eyes. One came away in her hand and she poked her finger through the
hole the missing button had left and laughed. It was a chilling sound.
LJ stood there watching, horrified by the sight of such violence from a child. Eventually, she stepped into the room and walked quietly across it to stand in front of her. Cheska didn’t
seem to notice. Still trying to pull the remaining eye off the teddy’s face, she was now muttering to herself.
LJ saw the child’s glassy eyes. She looked as though she was in some kind of trance. She bent down. ‘Cheska,’ she whispered. ‘Cheska!’
The child jumped then looked up at her, and her eyes cleared. ‘Is it time for bed, Mummy?’ she asked.
‘It’s not Mummy, it’s Aunt LJ. What have you done to that poor teddy bear?’
‘I think I should like to go to bed now. I’m tired, and so is my friend. He’s going to bed, too.’ She dropped what remained of the teddy bear and reached out her arms to
LJ, who, with an effort, picked her up. Cheska’s head rested on her shoulder and her eyes closed immediately. LJ carried her along the corridor and put her into bed. The child didn’t
stir as she closed the door behind her.
LJ went back to the nursery and, with distaste, gathered up the bits of stuffing and material that had once been a well-loved children’s toy. She carried the remains down to the kitchen
and placed them in the bin.
She went to sit in the library, praying that Greta would say yes to her son’s proposal. When David had told her he was finally going to pluck up the courage to ask her, LJ had presented
him with the engagement ring Robin had given to her. It was a family heirloom and only right that the next generation of Marchmont men should give it to his intended.
Even if Greta would never be her first choice for David, there was no doubt he loved her and needed a wife. And Cheska needed not only a father, but some kind of normality brought back into her
strange, artificial world. And, after what LJ had just witnessed, perhaps some form of psychological help, too.
Later, LJ heard the front door open. David came into the library and she stood up, searching his face anxiously. He smiled at her sadly and gave a slight shrug. She went to her son and put her
arms round him.
‘I’m so sorry, dear boy.’
‘Well, at least I asked. It was all I could do.’
‘Where’s Greta?’
‘Gone to bed. She and Cheska are leaving first thing tomorrow.’
‘I wanted to have a word with Greta about something I saw Cheska do while you were out.’
‘If that child did something naughty, then good for her. It’s time she started having a will of her own,’ David countered. ‘Don’t tell Greta, Ma. She won’t
believe you anyway, and it’ll only cause tension.’
‘It wasn’t so much naughty as strange. To be honest, I think the child might be a little disturbed.’
‘As you said, Cheska just needs to be allowed to act like a normal little girl sometimes. Most children do odd things occasionally. For my sake, leave it, will you? I want Greta to come
back to Marchmont, and criticising her precious daughter will not help that happen.’
‘If you insist,’ sighed LJ.
‘Thank you, Ma.’
‘There are other women in the world, you know.’
‘Maybe. But none like Greta.’ David kissed her gently on her forehead. ‘Goodnight, Ma.’
The change in Cheska was so slow and subtle that, as she approached thirteen, Greta was unable to identify exactly when it had begun. Over the two and a half years since
Owen’s death, Greta watched her daughter gradually turn from a sunny little girl into a morose, introverted child whose smile was saved only for the camera.
Cheska distanced herself from Greta, no longer responding to cuddles and displaying little affection towards her. Sometimes, in the middle of the night, Greta would hear her talking to herself
and moaning. She would creep along the corridor and open her door. Cheska would stir slightly, turn over and become silent. On numerous occasions, Greta would ask her if everything was all right,
if there was anything she wanted to talk to Mummy about but Cheska would shake her head and say no, she was fine, it was a friend who was unhappy. Greta would ask who this friend was, and Cheska
would shrug and say nothing.
Greta remembered that she, too, had had an imaginary friend when she was younger, to help while away the lonely hours of being an only child. She decided she would just have to wait until Cheska
grew out of it. The child was healthy enough: she ate, she slept – but the sparkle had disappeared from her eyes.
No one else seemed to have noticed the change and she was only glad that Cheska’s continual frown and monosyllabic speech disappeared when she arrived on set.
Physically, Cheska was changing, too, and the sight of her burgeoning maturity had set alarm bells ringing in Greta’s head. She began to insist that Cheska wore tight, thick vests that
flattened her chest. The odd spot that appeared on her nose or chin was doused in antiseptic and covered with concealer. Chocolate and fatty foods were removed from her diet.
Although Leon had assured Greta that there was no reason why Cheska shouldn’t make the transition from child to adult star, Greta knew the longer Cheska remained capable of playing
innocent little girls, the better the public would like it.
To celebrate her daughter’s thirteenth birthday, Greta had decided to hold a party at their house. She invited the cast of Cheska’s latest film, as well as David,
Leon and Charles Day, Cheska’s principal director. She hired caterers and the party was to be photographed for
Movie Week
. A few days before, she had taken Cheska to Harrods to buy a
new satin party dress, which Greta had hung in the wardrobe alongside her extensive collection.
On the morning of her birthday, Greta roused Cheska with breakfast in bed.
‘Happy birthday, darling. Here, I’ve brought you orange juice and one of those pastries you like so much – just this once!’
‘Thank you, Mummy,’ said Cheska, sitting up.
‘Are you feeling all right, darling? You look very pale.’
‘I didn’t sleep very well last night, that’s all.’
‘Never mind, this will cheer you up.’ Greta went to the door and reached into the corridor. She returned to the bedside, brandishing a large box covered in wrapping paper, and placed
it in front of her daughter. ‘Go on, open it.’
Cheska tore at the paper and opened the box. Inside was a large doll.
‘Isn’t she beautiful? Do you recognise the face? And the clothes? I had her made especially.’
Cheska nodded without enthusiasm.
‘It’s you, as Melissa in your last film! I gave the artist a photograph of you so he could copy your features onto her face. I think he’s done a wonderful job, don’t
you?’
Cheska remained silent as she stared at the doll.
‘You do like it, don’t you?’
‘Yes, Mummy. Thank you very much,’ she replied mechanically.
‘Now, eat your breakfast. I’ve got to pop out to collect a little something special for the party this afternoon. I won’t be long. Why don’t you have a bath when
you’ve finished breakfast?’
Cheska nodded. When she heard the front door close, she threw the doll to the floor, buried her face in her pillow and wept.
She’d wanted a radio so much and, despite weeks of hinting, her mother had given her a stupid doll instead, a present for a baby. And she
wasn’t
a baby any longer, but her
mother just didn’t seem to understand.
Cheska sat up and eyed the satin dress hanging on her wardrobe door.
It was a beautiful dress – for a baby.
The voice she’d first heard at Marchmont began to whisper in her head again.
Greta collected the birthday cake from Fortnum & Mason and carried it carefully to the waiting taxi. On the short drive home she went through a mental list of everything
she had to do before the guests began arriving at four o’clock.
She unlocked the front door to the apartment, went hurriedly into the kitchen and slid the birthday cake inside a cupboard, out of sight.
‘Darling! I’m home!’
There was no reply. Greta knocked on the bathroom door. It was something Cheska had started to insist on. There was nothing she hated more than Greta barging in on her naked.
‘Can I come in?’ Receiving no reply, Greta turned the handle of the door. It opened and she saw the room was empty. ‘I thought you were going to have a bath!’ she called,
walking back down the corridor and opening Cheska’s bedroom door. ‘We’ve got lots to do before the—’
She stopped in mid-sentence at the sight that met her eyes.
Her daughter was sitting on the floor, holding a pair of scissors, amidst a crumpled cascade of satin, silk and net. As Greta watched, Cheska held up the remnants of her beautiful new party
dress and carried on cutting the fine material to shreds, giggling as she did so.
‘What on earth do you think you’re doing?’ Greta marched forward to confront her daughter. ‘Give me those scissors!
Now!
’
Cheska looked up, her eyes blank.
‘Give me those scissors!’ Greta repeated, grabbing them from Cheska, who continued to stare up at her, her face expressionless.
Greta sank to the floor, her eyes full of tears. She looked towards the open door of the wardrobe and saw it was empty. Casting her eyes around the room, she took in the slashed remnants of what
had been a wonderful collection of dresses lying in a heap beside the bed.
‘Why, Cheska? Why?’ she asked, but the girl did nothing but stare back at her with the same blank look. Greta reached for her shoulders and shook her hard. ‘Answer me, damn
you!’
The physical action seemed to break Cheska out of her trance. She stared into her mother’s eyes, fear entering her own. Then she glanced around her at the ruined dresses, seeming to take
in what she had done for the first time.
‘Why?
Why!
’ Greta continued to shake her.
Cheska began to cry; terrible, choking sobs. She sank into her mother’s arms, but Greta didn’t close them around her as her daughter sobbed on her breast.
‘It was him, my friend. He told me to do it. I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I’m sorry.’ Cheska repeated the words over and over.
‘Who is
he
?’ Greta asked.
‘I can’t tell you. I promised him I wouldn’t!’
‘But Cheska, how can he be a friend if he makes you do things like this?’
But she only shook her head and moaned into Greta’s shoulder. ‘My head hurts so badly,’ she whimpered.
‘It’s all right, it’s all right. Mummy’s not cross any more. Come on now, let’s calm down and clear up this mess. We have to get you ready for your party.’
Greta rushed to the kitchen and returned with an armful of black bin-bags into which she began stuffing the pathetic remains of her daughter’s wardrobe. She’d have to ring the
dry-cleaning service to see if they could deliver one of Cheska’s other dresses for her to wear to the party.
As Greta reached for the last shredded dress and picked it up off the floor, she gasped as the head of the doll she had given Cheska for her birthday stared up at her. It had been torn from the
neck-socket and the hair had been brutally hacked away.
Greta saw an arm peeping out from under the bed. Slowly, she crawled around the floor, tears rolling down her cheeks, collecting the limbs of the dismembered doll. She packed them on top of the
ripped dresses in the bin-bags, then sank back to her knees, head in her hands.
She now knew she could ignore it no longer.
Cheska needed help badly.
‘So, what’s the verdict, doctor?’ Greta shifted nervously in her seat in the plush Harley Street surgery.