As she walked, she called again, sweeping the area with her torch, knowing that he could be anywhere. As she reached the edge of the common, she took a deep breath then gave three soft whistles as Andrew used to do.
In the distance, there was an answering bark and a moment later, Barney came loping into view, tail wagging and tongue hanging out.
‘Good boy,’ Ginny said, sighing with relief as she attached the leash to his collar, but as she turned back towards the house, he resisted, standing stock still, staring back the way he’d come, and whimpering softly and excitedly.
As if, she thought, he was waiting for someone. She raised the torch, aiming the beam across the scrubby grass and clumps of gorse. She said sharply, ‘Who’s there?’
But there was no reply or sign of movement, and after a moment or two, Barney came out of alert mode and turned obediently for home.
You, my girl, she told herself grimly, had better stop being over-imaginative and get down to practicalities—like where you’ll go, and how the hell you’ll earn your living.
And, as she trudged back to the house, she found herself wishing, with a kind of bitter despair, that she’d never heard the name of Andre Duchard. Or, better still, that he’d never been born.
CHAPTER TWO
WHEN GINNY GOT back to the house, she found her mother alone in the drawing room.
She said, ‘Where’s Cilla?’
‘Off to the Manor to consult Jonathan about this appalling situation.’
‘In what way—consult?’
‘How we can fight this fraudulent will, of course,’ said Rosina, the ominous throb returning to her voice. ‘Oh, I can hardly bear to think of Andrew—his deceit—his betrayal of me. Of our love.’
She shook her head. ‘To have had a son—in secret—all these years, and said nothing to me—his wife. It beggars belief. It makes me almost wish...’
She broke off abruptly. ‘Get me a brandy, Virginia. A large one. I need something to settle my nerves.’
As Ginny busied herself with the decanter on a side table, Rosina added abruptly, ‘You’re so fortunate not to suffer in this way. Cilla and I are so sensitive, but nothing ever seems to affect you.’
‘That’s not true,’ Ginny said quietly, as she brought her mother the brandy. ‘But I don’t see any mileage in fussing over things I can’t change.’
‘But if we all stand together...’
‘We could end up looking grasping and silly.’
‘You might change your tune if you were the one faced with penury.’
If only you knew, Ginny thought bitterly. Aloud, she said mildly, ‘It’s hardly that, Mother. Whole families have to manage on much less.’ She paused. ‘Why don’t we go over tomorrow and have a look at the cottage? It may not be as bad as you think.’
Rosina tossed her head. ‘You go, if you want. I refuse to set foot in the place.’ She produced a handkerchief. ‘Oh, Andrew, how could you do this to me?’
To which, presumably, no answer was expected. Ginny waited until Rosina had drunk some of her brandy, then suggested they should watch some television, figuring correctly that she would again be accused of being without feelings.
All the same, her mother allowed herself to be persuaded, and was soon deep in a drama series she enjoyed, leaving Ginny to pursue her own unhappy train of thought.
The Meadowford Café was the official name of her present place of employment, but it had never been known in the village as anything but ‘Miss Finn’s’.
The original Miss Finn had been a cook in some very exclusive households before deciding to open her own establishment in an area where she’d spent several holidays and which she’d grown to love.
A round rosy lady, her phenomenally light hand with cakes and pastry had made the business a roaring success, opening for morning coffee, serving light lunches of homemade quiches, open sandwiches and interesting salads, and closing once afternoon teas had been served.
And when she eventually retired, her place was taken and her high standards maintained by her unmarried niece, Miss Emma Finn, also pink-cheeked and on the plump side and considered locally, with kindly affection, as another born spinster.
Ginny, her school days behind her, and with respectable exam results to treasure, had considered teaching as a career, but her mother had reacted in horror, protesting that Ginny was needed at home.
‘Such an enormous house to run single-handed, and Mrs Pelham not really pulling her weight any more. And really, you owe it to Andrew.’
Eventually, Ginny had reluctantly agreed, only to find herself caught between her mother’s steely resolve and Mrs Pel’s stony resistance. After three largely unproductive months doing very little, she saw a card in Miss Finn’s window asking for part-time assistance, applied and got the job.