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My Lies, Your Lies
I am very much looking forward to working with you.
Freda M. Donahoe
Not at all sure how she felt about this, apart from distinctly weird, Joely glanced at her mobile, saw no service in the top corner, and having to fight down a surge of annoyance at being cut off in a strange place she accepted there was little else she could do right now but retrieve the key.
It was the smell of the place that greeted her first, kind of musty with drifts of wax and wood smoke and something sweet and flowery. She looked around the spacious entry hall with its wide ornate wooden staircase rising from the centre up to a half-landing where it divided and disappeared from view. The floor was laid with an intricate mosaic of earth-coloured tiles, and the cream-coloured paint on the walls was flaking in places and darker in others where smaller paintings had taken the place of larger ones. The magnificent windows that occupied the front wall were like masterpieces in their own right with such stunning views in their frames.
She glanced at the double doors in front of her, wondering what might be on the other side, but felt uncomfortable about snooping (in case she ran into someone or was even being watched). So she followed instructions and walked the long corridor at the back of the house through to the kitchen. It was high-ceilinged and bright thanks to a set of large French doors that led out to the vine-covered patio. The floor was laid with pale flagstones, the many cupboards and units were in honey-coloured oak, there was a long refectory table at the centre of the room, and an enormous Inglenook fireplace built into the far wall with an armchair either side of it. There were other doors, presumably leading into a pantry, a utility room and maybe one of them led to the base of the tor outside. Above the one she’d entered through was a quaint row of four brass servants’ bells and since they were labelled den, front door, music room, library and bed, she suspected they might work, and was already praying hard that none of them rang while she was here alone.
Maybe she’d go to a hotel and come back in the morning?
Easier said than done with no reception on her phone.
It’s not that the place is spooky, she told her mother in her head, because it isn’t, but like any empty house it has the potential to be and given how remote it is I’d really rather not be here alone.
Silencing her misgivings – or at least storing them until she got to speak to her mother – she picked up a neatly written page from the table containing further instructions.
Dear Joely,
If you’re reading this then you’re in, so please let me welcome you to Dimmett House and I apologize again for not being here to greet you in person. Brenda has prepared the blue bedroom for you, which you’ll find at the top of the main staircase, first door you come to. There is a bathroom en suite and the French windows open onto a balcony that’s over the front porch (probably for warmer days).
The library and my writing room are in the tower, I will introduce you to them on my return.
For many years I have been vegetarian so Brenda has prepared a jackfruit, mushroom and cheese bake which we hope you will enjoy. There is enough for six, so we’ll probably be eating it until Friday. Ha ha! You will find plenty of fresh veg to accompany it and Brenda has whisked up a delicious tiramisu for dessert, one of her specialities.
I hope you’ll be warm enough, but do light the fire if you’d like to. You’ll see a generous supply of logs beside the hearth, with lots of kindling and old newspapers in the cupboard to the right. On the chair closest to the logs I have left a large envelope containing a couple of chapters that I have compiled in readiness for your arrival. I thought it might help to start our discussions. I will explain more about my plans for the memoir when I get back.
Lastly, and I know this will be important, I have put the WiFi code at the bottom of this sheet. Unfortunately, it’s more miss than hit out here, but if you don’t get a connection right away please be patient because one will come along.
I hope to be back before eleven tomorrow.
Yours truly
Freda M. Donahoe
Joely looked up from the note and took in her surroundings again. Through the French windows she spotted a rabbit bounding through the long grass and a wooden bench turned towards the sea. It looked bitterly cold out there and dismal in the sleeting rain that had begun to fall. Any thoughts of trudging back to town for the night were fading fast, for if the wind picked up, and she could see from the slant of the trees that it was already starting to, it would slice the skin off her bones before she got to the Valley of Rocks, and no way did she want to walk through there in the dark.
Spotting an electric kettle beside the Aga with an array of brightly coloured mugs hanging from the base of the cabinet above she decided to make herself a cup of tea.
While she waited for the water to boil she entered the WiFi code into her phone and within seconds she was receiving texts. Five came through straight away: the first two from Sully explaining that Mrs Donahoe wasn’t going to be at home to meet her. The third was from her mother wishing her luck and telling her to call as soon as she could. The fourth was from Callum claiming to understand how badly he was handling things, but could she please be in touch. The fifth warmed her. It was from Holly saying I know you think Dad told me to send the text last night and you’re right, he did. Joke! I did it myself because I feel bad about leaving you, but I had my reasons. If you think that’s a bit cryptic you should try living with you. Oh you do, I forgot
The clumsy attempt to ease the tension between them, while warning her not to make too much of it, caused Joely to feel a deep longing for her daughter and the closeness they used to share. It was without doubt the nicest message she’d received from her since Callum had gone, and while she wondered what had really prompted it she knew better than to ask. The wiser course would be to wait a few hours before texting back to say something like Have I been away long enough yet? It would make Holly smile in spite of herself, and if Joely could achieve that then there was a good chance they’d start to find their way out of this thorny patch they were trying to get through.
After making some tea she sat down at the table to call her mother.
‘Hi, darling, how are you? Where are you?’
‘I’m at the house,’ Joely replied. ‘Mrs Donahoe – I presume she’s a Mrs, I forgot to ask – has been called away and won’t be back until tomorrow.’
‘Really? So who was there to let you in?’
‘She left a key. I’m here alone.’
The connection failed so Joely moved about the kitchen and eventually her mother was back again. ‘Sorry, I lost you,’ she said. ‘Did you get that I’m here alone?’
‘Yes, and I said I’m not sure what to make of it. It seems an odd way to greet someone. Are you all right?’
‘I think so. There are lots of instructions on how to make myself at home, food in the fridge, a log fire to light. It’s a fabulous place, actually, or what I’ve seen of it is.’
When her mother didn’t respond she realized she’d been talking to herself for a while.
‘Are there neighbours?’ her mother suddenly asked.
‘Not unless you count the wildlife. Actually, there’s a deer in the meadow outside even as we speak, but the town, which is very small, is about a mile away.’
‘Has she kept her promise about a car?’
‘There’s a Jeep outside, but she hasn’t mentioned it in her note so I wouldn’t want to use it, even if I knew where the keys were, which I don’t. Anyway, tell me, how things are with you?’
Sighing, her mother said, ‘Busy, but not in a good way.’ She disappeared again and came back saying, ‘… so there’s no way I’ll meet my target this month.’
Joely said, ‘I don’t know why you put yourself through the stress of it when you don’t actually need to work. Dad left you pretty well off …’
‘I’d drive myself crazy if I didn’t have something to do and you know it. Did you remember to send my love to Andee, by the way?’
‘Of course, and she sends hers. Have you been in touch with Holly?’
‘Yes, she texted me this morning to ask if she could come and stay for a while.’
Joely’s heart missed a beat. ‘So things aren’t going so well in her loft?’ she said hopefully.
‘I don’t know if it’s that. Apparently Callum and Martha are going away for a couple of days and she doesn’t want to be there alone.’
Joely had to swallow as she struggled with the concept of her husband and ex-best friend on a romantic break together. For a moment she felt oddly panicked by it, as though she had to stop them, but how on earth she was supposed to do that she had no idea.
‘I shouldn’t have told you,’ her mother said ruefully.
Though Joely wished she hadn’t, she said, ‘It’s OK, I’d probably have found out anyway.’ She wouldn’t ask where they were going, there was no point doing that to herself, because if it turned out to be somewhere she and Callum had been together, or had always wanted to go she didn’t think she could bear it.
‘… are you going to do until your client gets back?’
Joely started to answer but a strange sound suddenly clanged out of nowhere and she froze in shock.
‘Joely? What is it?’
Joely turned to the servants’ bells. There was a light above one and as it rang again she stepped back as though it might spring from its base to attack her.
Realizing it was the front door, she said, ‘Someone’s here. Stay on the line while I go to find out who it is?’
‘It’s probably the postman,’ her mother assured her.
Spurred by the likelihood, Joely went back along the corridor to the front door where her bags were still parked where she’d left them. ‘Who’s there?’ she called out, putting an ear to one of the panels.
‘Florist,’ came the reply. ‘I have a delivery for Mrs J. Foster.’
Blinking in astonishment, Joely whispered to her mother, ‘Did you hear that?’
‘I did. You’ll have to open the door.’
Joely did as she was told and found herself confronted by a spotty youth brandishing a fulsome bunch of bright yellow daffodils.
‘No signature,’ he told her, and thrusting them into her hand he sprinted back to where he’d left his van.
‘Who on earth is sending me flowers?’ she said, unable to stop herself thinking of Callum. Obviously they wouldn’t be from him, he didn’t even know where she was, and anyway, why would he?
‘Is there a card?’ her mother asked.
Finding one Joely tugged it free, opened it and read aloud, ‘“Daffodils symbolize new beginnings, creativity and inspiration. Freda Donahoe,”’
‘Gosh, how thoughtful,’ her mother commented.
‘Mm,’ Joely responded, thinking the same, along with something else she couldn’t quite define. ‘I should go and put them in water. I’ll call again later if you’re not going out.’
‘I should be home by six. Speak to you then.’
An hour later Joely was curled up in one of the armchairs, snug and warm in front of a real fire and pleasantly full after a helping of Brenda’s delicious jackfruit bake. She’d have followed it with a spoonful of tiramisu if a rogue memory of sharing the dessert with Callum on holiday in Sicily hadn’t shunted her appetite into the deadening plains of her heartbreak.
She understood, she really did, why some people were driven to drink when trapped in all this pain, how the hurt and anguish of it all could send them out of their minds, because sometimes she could feel it happening to her. It had happened when her father died, although that had probably been worse for she really had lost her mind for a while.
She closed her eyes, knowing that the best way through it was to try not to think about it, consuming though it was, and since one of the main reasons for taking this job was to refocus her mind, she turned to the pages Freda Donahoe had left for her.
By the look of them, they’d been composed on an old-fashioned typewriter that possibly wasn’t even electric. Joely found this quaint and even admirable, though she was relieved she’d brought her laptop for she couldn’t imagine trying to create a single sentence of her own without the luxury of delete, cut and paste.
If Callum and Martha were words just think what she could do to them; certainly she wouldn’t pair them with ‘and’ in the middle. More likely she’d put them on separate pages, probably even in separate books, or she could simply dump Martha in the trash.
Sighing, she turned to the first page of Freda Donahoe’s memoir and started to read.
Half an hour later she went back to the beginning and read through both chapters again, this time asking herself what kind of input Mrs Donahoe might be hoping for from her.
‘There’s not much of it yet,’ she told Andee when she called to find out how Joely was settling in, ‘but what there is paints a pretty clear picture of a teenage girl on a mission to seduce her music teacher.’
‘And the girl is her?’
‘I think we can take that as read.’
‘Is the teacher male or female?’
‘Very definitely male. It’s possible he’s encouraging her to come on to him, that actually he’s the real manipulator of the piece, but at fifteen she’s not mature enough to understand that. It’ll be interesting to see where it goes.’
‘Or ends? I’m thinking of the tragedies you mentioned.’
Joely nodded thoughtfully, ‘An affair with an underage pupil would be a crime, consensual or not, and might indeed impact the rest of the girl’s life. Anyway, I don’t actually know yet if it does develop into an affair. It’s left with some pretty powerful chemistry doing its best, or worst, during a private piano lesson, but so far no physical contact.’
There was a smile in Andee’s voice as she said, ‘Have you googled the music teacher yet?’
‘No, but I will when I get a decent connection – although it’s possible she’s using a pseudonym.’ She started as a gust of wind suddenly rattled the French doors and howled eerily around the tower. ‘Are you having a storm over your side of the moor?’ she asked, staring out at the turbulent shadows of twilight and hoping she didn’t spot anything she’d rather not.
‘We are,’ Andee confirmed, ‘but it’s forecast to blow itself through by morning. Have you explored much of the house yet?’
‘Actually, no. It’s so cosy in this kitchen that I haven’t wanted to move, but I suppose I ought to go and check out the blue bedroom where she’s put me before it gets dark. I hope she doesn’t get power cuts here, that would freak me right out.’
‘Maybe you should try to find some candles or a torch in case you need them,’ Andee advised.
‘Good idea. I’ll do it now, but I swear, if she keeps them in the basement they’ll be staying there.’
Still smiling at Andee’s laugh as she rang off, Joely unravelled herself from the chair and keeping the warm fleece around her shoulders she began rummaging about for a form of emergency light in case she needed it. Fortunately she came across a torch that worked in a table drawer, and spotting an old photograph beside it she took it out and held it up to the light. It was of a small girl, probably no more than three or four, sandwiched between two boys, one not much older than her, perhaps six or seven, the other closer to eleven or twelve. She guessed from their similar shocks of blonde hair and round faces that they were related, probably brothers and sister, though there was nothing written on the back to identify them or the date of when it was taken.
Freda’s children when they were young? They might even be grandchildren.
Reflecting on how sorry she was that she and Callum hadn’t been able to have more children she put the photograph back in its place and closed the drawer. Time, she decided, to make her first foray up the stairs before it was completely dark outside.
CHAPTER SIX
When Joely woke in the morning it took her a while to remember where she was. She peered around the shadowy room taking in elegant antique furniture, a washstand in one corner with polished brass taps and a flowered porcelain bowl; a wooden armchair, her bags on the carpeted floor half unpacked and partly strewn over an indigo rug. All the time her mind was reconnecting with the blue bedroom, Freda Donahoe, a memoir, here alone …
Pushing back the sumptuous duvet with its royal blue cover and hand-crocheted throw, she swung her legs over the side of the bed, and since they didn’t quite reach the floor she stumbled as she reached for her phone on the nightstand.
No service.
Sighing, she glanced at the heavy azure curtains where chinks of daylight were brightening the edges. She listened for the sounds of a storm but heard only gulls and a distant sibilance that could be the wash of the waves.
Padding over to the window she pulled one of the curtains aside and because it had been too dark when she’d drawn them last night to get a real sense of the view, she blinked in surprise. It was truly enthralling, all the way down over the grassy meadow to the glimmer of a small sandy beach tucked into the heart of a cove. From there the cliffs, shadowed and brooding, undulated along the coast like fortified barriers to the vast expanse of sea, swelling with life and glistening benignly in the soft morning sunlight.
How could she not think of Callum when confronted with such a romantic view? She wanted him to be here with her, to drink it in, to wrap up warm and walk the coast path with her, climb the rocks and try to remember poems they knew about the sea. Callum, bizarrely, could recite whole verses of the Ancient Mariner and she just knew he’d make her listen to them all until he’d finished, all the time hotly denying it when she accused him of going wrong.
‘Tell me your favourite love poem,’ he’d challenged her once, a long time ago, while they were travelling back from a concert in Oxford.
She’d said, ‘When I’m sad and lonely, and I feel all hope is gone, I walk along our street and think of you with nothing on.’
How he’d laughed, and she wasn’t sure he’d ever believed that she hadn’t made it up. But it was a real rhyme, slightly doctored, that she’d once found in a velvet-covered volume of little-known verse.
Stepping back from the window she let the curtain fall closed and returned to the bed to check her phone again.
Still no signal, so no messages of any kind from anyone; but it was already nine thirty and Freda Donahoe was due back by eleven. She needed to be showered, dressed and ready to meet her with something intelligent to say about the chapters she’d read.
How weird it was going to seem, welcoming her host back to her own home.
When she’d finished in the blue-and-white-tiled en suite bathroom and had pulled on some jeans and a sweatshirt she ran swiftly down the stairs and straight to the corridor. Halfway along she registered the sound of voices coming from the kitchen and felt momentarily unsure of herself not wanting to barge in on anyone. However, it was probably the housekeeper and her husband, and they must surely know she was here, so they were hardly going to be surprised to see her.
As she pushed open the kitchen door with a gentle half-knock she was immediately assailed by the mouth-watering smell of hot toast and fresh coffee.
‘Ah, Joely, here you are. Good morning, good morning. Come along in.’
The woman who’d spoken so welcomingly was tall and willowy with mannishly cut silver hair and exquisite feminine features. It was hard to tell her age when the years had clearly been kind, but she was certainly over sixty. Her eyes were almond-shaped and blue, surrounded by small webs of faint lines that deepened when she smiled. Her mouth was large and shapely, also troubled by lines but it retained some of the sensuousness it must have exuded when she was young. ‘I hope we didn’t wake you,’ she said, coming to usher Joely further into the kitchen. ‘I’m Freda, as you’ve probably already guessed, and this is Brenda.’
‘It’s lovely to meet you,’ Joely responded to them both, her eyes widening slightly as the very large Brenda gave her a bawdy sort of wink. She was almost as broad as she was tall, with plump, veiny cheeks and curly grey hair that looked as lively as her chocolate brown eyes.
‘It’s lovely to meet you too,’ Brenda declared, as though this very moment had long been on her bucket list. ‘We’re ever so happy to have you here at Dimmett House. I hope you slept well and I see you had some of my jackfruit bake last night. Not a veggie myself, but Mrs D tells me it’s scrumptious.’
Enjoying the cosy-looking woman’s West Country burr, Joely said, ‘You’re lucky there’s any left it’s so good, but I thought I ought to share.’
Clearly appreciating her sense of humour, Brenda chuckled her way back to the Aga where she appeared to be concocting another culinary delight.
‘Do sit down,’ Freda urged, waving Joely to a place opposite her own at the table. ‘Would you like toast or crumpets? There’s plenty of both, or I’m sure Brenda can rustle up …’
‘Toast will be fine,’ Joely assured her, not wanting to put anyone to any trouble.
‘There’s wholemeal or white,’ Brenda piped up, passing over a small breadbasket full to the brim and covered by a checked napkin. ‘The jam’s homemade by yours truly – strawberry or crab apple jelly – and the butter’s fresh from Pete Miller’s farm. There’s not a lot of fruit in season, but help yourself to what’s there in the bowl. It’s all from round here, apples, pears and some lovely juicy oranges grown in Ann Granger’s magic greenhouse. That’s what we call it, because that woman can grow anything in there, probably even drugs. Coffee or tea?’
Laughing, Joely said, ‘Coffee, thank you,’ and feeling Freda Donahoe watching her as though curious to see how she was responding to Brenda’s touch of local colour, she smiled at the woman and helped herself to a half slice of wholemeal followed by a knob of butter and spoonful of crab apple jelly.
Freda said, ‘As you can see I’m back earlier than expected, and I’m sorry again that I wasn’t here to greet you. I’m glad the flowers arrived as ordered. Well done for finding a vase, and you managed to choose exactly the right one.’
Joely glanced at the daffs she’d more or less plonked in a white pitcher that she’d found in one of the cupboards. They were now on a low windowsill, beside the French doors, moved from the table where she’d left them, presumably to clear a space for breakfast.
‘Did you remember to trim the stems?’ Freda asked, eyes lowered as she spread butter over a crumpet.
Thankful that she had, Joely smiled. ‘My mother is always very strict about that. And I popped some sugar and cider vinegar into the water to make them last longer.’
Freda was clearly impressed. ‘Another little trick of your mother’s?’ she asked with a crispness that was somewhere between interest and irritation.
‘Well, I … Not hers, exactly. I—’
‘Oh, everyone knows about that,’ Brenda chirruped as she plonked a large jug of orange juice on the table. ‘Have you taken your pills yet this morning, Mrs D? Shall I fetch them for you?’
‘Thank you,’ Freda replied gratefully. To Joely she said, ‘Hypertension, I’m afraid. It runs in the family, although my husband suffered from it too, and from quite a young age. Do try the orange juice and tell me if it isn’t the best you’ve ever had.’
Obediently Joely filled a glass and after taking a generous sip she was more than ready to agree. It wasn’t only sweet and cool there was a hint of tartness to it that whipped up her taste buds with a longing for more. ‘The very best,’ she confirmed, after draining the glass.
