Authors: Fiona McIntosh
‘But why?’
‘To get me thrown off the ship too. He used the same trick, don’t you see, to get me away from your mother’s employ and under his authority. I can see that all so clearly now. So should you. It was cynical but your father was trapped, in a way; he was a patriot and he was putting his country’s needs ahead of his own. I have no doubt in my heart that he was a thoroughly good man, but spies have to be cunning, manipulative, shadowy people who live by their wits.’
‘Did he tell you he was working for the government?’
‘No. That secret I worked out alone; I discovered it by chance on that same evening of Grace’s fall. I challenged him on it, he was truthful and then of course he needed my help. He couldn’t trust anyone else to smuggle the information back to London.’
‘What have they done with the information?’
‘Who knows, Georgina? I’m not privy to that. Going by what’s happening in Europe, absolutely nothing, I suspect. Our government seems to be appeasing that man in Germany but they’ve had more than five years’ warning of his intent. There are senior people working behind the scenes who have been suspicious of him since he first came to power and what your father and his friend Joseph delivered was simply proof of their collective fears.’
‘You think we’re going to war?’
Stella nodded sadly. ‘I don’t think handing over Czechoslovakia to Germany is going to keep his hunger for power sated.’ She gave a low sigh. ‘But then, what would I, a lady who owns a tearoom, know?’
‘You call him Rafe . . . I’ve never heard that name.’
She explained.
‘I really didn’t know him at all, did I?’
‘But you do now. He so desperately wanted to be a good father to you but you were difficult to love, Georgina. You pushed him away viciously, but you need to know that he genuinely wanted to help you through your difficult period. He ran out of time.’ She watched Georgina’s eyes water. ‘I’m sorry to upset you.’
Georgina pulled a handkerchief from her sleeve and sniffed into it. ‘Don’t apologise. I deserve to confront all my terrible behaviour and it makes me feel even more generous towards my sister who is growing up through far more difficult circumstances. I must try and remain understanding of her mood swings. Nevertheless, I envy your knowing the darker, more heroic side of him.’
‘You mustn’t, because look at me . . . he’s ruined me for others!’ At Georgina’s look of pity, she grinned. ‘But that’s how I want it. I’ve loved, I know how wonderful it is and I don’t want to try and recreate it with anyone else. You’ve found it with Rex. You know what I’m talking about. Besides, he gave me all of this too,’ she said, waving her hand and more. ‘He so wanted me to follow my dream to open the tearooms and I couldn’t let him down. It was him who found this place and bought it. I only learned about its existence a week or so after returning to Britain and accepting that he died over there.’ She lifted a shoulder. ‘He had a colleague deliver a letter that explained his hopes for me. I couldn’t let him down, especially as he’d given me my future . . .’ She stopped before she said more. Was she ready to share it all?
‘Please don’t think I begrudge you any of this, Stella,’ Georgina assured, cutting into her thoughts. ‘I have more money than I’ll ever need.’
Stella had to laugh at her candour.
‘I’m glad he made amends for how our family treated you.’ Georgina looked at her watch. ‘Speaking of Rex, I can’t believe how the time has flown. I need more time with you; there’s so much more to talk about.’
She nodded, stood and Georgina followed suit. They walked slowly out of the orchard and up the garden. ‘Promise me again that you will remember me to Grace. Please tell her I would love to speak with her, or write to her . . . perhaps I could visit her at her school?’
‘Of course I shall. And maybe next time she and I can come together.’
Stella’s hopes lifted. ‘Next time? I like the sound of that. Please do persuade her to come as well. Talking together, hugging again, it will help us all heal. Where in Hampshire is home for you?’
‘A village called Sonning. Grace’s school is on the East Sussex coast. But Rex is worried that should war come, we’d be vulnerable. He’s talking about sending Grace and myself away, but . . . to where? I don’t want to live alone, raise Grace, and raise our child.’
‘Child?’
‘Um . . . I’m expecting, Stella. I thought we’d get to all of this so much earlier but then Rex said put women together and they’ll talk forever and still say it’s not enough time.’ She smiled brightly. ‘I’m just eight weeks, so I’m not telling anyone. We had to take our honeymoon late, you see, because of Mother’s passing. She lived long enough to see me married but then we couldn’t go off on a romantic holiday as she was dying. Rex was all right to wait for the honeymoon but that didn’t mean he waited on everything!’ she said, lifting a perfectly shaped eyebrow to make Stella chuckle. ‘Now we’re going to have a wonderful few weeks driving around England. He wanted to take me to Europe but I prefer to be closer to home. Morning sickness is such a killer.’
Stella nodded. ‘I know. Oh, congratulations, Georgina.’ She hugged her. ‘Listen to me now, why not come here?’
‘Pardon?’
‘If you need to leave the south, come here. This house is enormous – there are eight bedrooms up there. We use four. Look at the size of this garden: more than enough room for a school of children to play. And perhaps Rex would feel safe having you in Harrogate? Think about it. The offer’s there any time for you, for Grace . . . and for your child. Lots of help here too, and together perhaps we can help Grace heal,’ she said, taking Georgina’s hand and feeling the wonder of this new connection.
‘You were always so generous, thank you for forgiving me. But would you really want a baby around . . . I mean . . . I know you have your brother and sister, but they’re growing up. A crying baby is —’
‘I would love it. I’m not nearly as removed from infants as you imagine,’ she replied with a wry smile.
Georgina frowned, trying to catch her meaning, but she was interrupted by the sound of a young voice approaching where they were standing in the middle of the pathway. A woman emerged from the back door, chasing after a child who looked to be around four years old.
‘Oh, hello Peggy.’
‘I’m sorry, Stella. We’re just home from school but he saw you from the window.’
Georgina watched Stella bend down and open her arms with a look of pure affection. ‘Rufe! I was hoping you’d be back in time.’ She shook her head at Peggy. ‘I wanted him to meet our guest.’
The little boy ran into his mother’s embrace, chattering about a painting he had done for her today.
‘Ooh, I’m sorry to have kept you waiting, darling,’ Stella said, loving the smell of shampoo she could still detect in her child’s soft dark hair, but now it was time to meet his stepsister, if that’s what Georgina was. ‘We shall go and view your painting, darling, but first, would you say hello to Georgina? She’s a very special person. Georgina, this is Rufus, my son.’
Young Rufe squinted up at Georgina. ‘Hello. Are you a friend of Mummy’s?’
‘Er . . . yes, I am,’ Georgina answered, glancing at Stella with a look of atonement. ‘Hello, Rufe,’ she breathed. ‘What a handsome little boy you are.’
He nodded with a wide grin that reminded Stella, as it always did, of Grace. ‘Mummy says I look like Daddy.’
‘I think you do too,’ Georgina admitted, and Stella heard her fighting back the emotion. ‘Just like the photos in the nursery.’
Little Rufe didn’t understand, and grabbed his nanny’s hand. ‘Come on, Peggy, I want to fetch my painting for Mummy.’
Stella threw her a look of gratitude as she moved off with her son before turning back to the stunned Georgina. ‘You see, Georgina, he gave me everything . . . not just his love, the roof over my family’s head, a business to keep me financially stable, but my whole future. I need no other man but that little one for now growing up behind Rory . . . I shall keep him safe, teach him well, ensure he’s loved by his family . . . and greater family,’ she said, squeezing Georgina’s hand again, ‘if you’ll help him to be part of your lives.’
‘Oh, Stella . . . why didn’t you tell us?’ Georgina sounded cut.
She shook her head. ‘Imagine your mother’s response. Apart from the pain it surely would have caused, she would have thought only the worst of me; that I was hoping for some sort of financial support. And you’ve just finished telling me how you felt about Grace usurping your place in the family; Grace would have hated Rufus for the same reason.’ She shrugged. ‘She may still do so, although I doubt it somehow.’ She took Georgina’s arm. ‘Please don’t be angry with me. Rufus is all I have and need of your father. He, with my beautiful brother and sister, complete me – I’m happy, independent, optimistic. That’s more than most might be able to claim.’
‘Would you have told me about Rufe?’
‘Not without your visit, no, but to be honest, I wanted to tell you the moment I hugged you hello. I’ve been desperate to share him with his other family but we’ve been talking nonstop since you arrived, finding the right moment was hard! I’m just glad he got home from school in time.’ They laughed. ‘I wouldn’t have let you go without knowing about him, or seeing a photo of him, though.’
‘So our father lives on through your son. New beginnings,’ Georgina whispered, tearily.
To new beginnings
, Stella echoed in her mind, deciding that this really was the start of a new era in her life.
They hugged, holding the embrace as Stella looked over Georgina’s shoulder to where the jackdaw perched. He blinked his near human-looking eye of silvery iris and neat pupil with what Stella took to be approval before the curious bird leaped from the fence and was gone from them.
Dance on, Rafe
, she cast to its disappearing outline, feeling that he would return to check on her and their two families coming together.
I’ll keep them all safe, I promise
.
I have an aversion to planning out stories. For the most part I set out with a single character and a dilemma, which expands to capture other people until suddenly there’s an adventure of sorts underway. That said, I thought that
The Last Dance
was to be a cosy tale of an illicit love affair in southern England but somewhere along the way it turned into an international spy story involving smuggled secrets and a brewing world war. I don’t know whom I have to thank for that but as I usually discover there is a host of people I owe a debt of thanks to for helping me to complete the storytelling journey.
So, my sincere gratitude to VisitBritain for assisting me to piece together the Kent section and for the trip to the new London Transport Museum in Covent Garden – it is a quirky, fun installation for all visitors.
In what now feels like another lifetime I was once a daily commuter between Brighton and London, but my 1979 knowledge was still too recent for my story so Brian Halford from National Rail kindly connected me with Phil Marsh from Cleek Railway Solutions. Phil passionately set about educating me with regard to the south-eastern railway network of England in early 1933. I don’t believe there was a single question I posed that Phil didn’t have an answer to; he even made it possible for me to sight the rail ticket of the exact journey in the exact month and year I needed. Thank you, Phil – you’re a gem.
The reading squad must be thanked and while they see reading early drafts as anything but a chore I am ever grateful to Pip Klimentou, Nigelle-Ann Blaser and Sonya Caddy for their feedback.
To the team at Penguin Australia that has moved beyond the publisher role to become a beloved cheering squad, my love and thanks – especially to you, Ali Watts; also to Saskia Adams, Lou Ryan, Sharlene Vinall and Rhian Davies for having my back – and my thanks also to all at Penguin Random House for your immense care and support.
I must also thank William Wordsworth for penning a poem I have loved since I learned it at school at about the same age that Grace learns it in my story.
Finally, to family – more important than anything else. Thank you for being mine. Fx
A practical resource for the aspiring novelist
‘This rare good book on how to set about writing a popular novel is compulsory reading. Fiona McIntosh is top of the pops.’
BRYCE COURTENAY,
AT HIS FINAL MASTERCLASS
Almost everybody thinks they have a book in them or dreams of seeing their name on a front cover, but not everyone knows how to go about it. Fiona McIntosh, one of Australia’s most successful commercial authors, shows you how to get started and, even more importantly, how to finish.