The Woman from Paris(48)

“A good half hour, then,” he replied with a chuckle. “Good, that gives us a nice amount of time to enjoy a little aperitif.”





10


Margaret sat in Antoinette’s drawing room, a glass of sherry in her hand, her face as white as death. Rosamunde noticed she was trembling. She didn’t look quite herself. Joshua made conversation so that his grandmother didn’t have to. She hadn’t said a word all the way back in the car.

“They had been to Dad’s grave because Mum’s car was parked outside the church, and they’d put daffodils by Barry’s headstone,” Joshua explained.

“I suspect they’d gone up the high street to do a little window-shopping,” said Rosamunde.

“Do women ever really window-shop?” Joshua asked provocatively, hoping to rouse his grandmother out of her trance. It was unlike her to be so quiet.

“Those who don’t have the money to spend do a lot of window-shopping. I don’t think Antoinette and Phaedra will come away empty-handed, though, do you?” said Rosamunde. She glanced at Margaret and frowned. “George has enabled them to buy whatever they want.” This last comment caused Margaret’s eyes to flicker a moment, and she glanced at Rosamunde. “Are you all right, Margaret? Can we get you anything?”

“I’m cold,” Margaret replied softly. “I’m dreadfully cold.”

Joshua leapt up and put a few more logs on the fire. The flames licked them hungrily, spitting out little sparks. “That’s better,” he said, feeling the heat intensify. “They should be back soon. After all, how much shopping can they do in Fairfield?”

“More than you can imagine, I daresay,” said Rosamunde.

Roberta walked into the room with Amber in her arms. “Did you find them?” she asked.

Joshua shook his head. “No, but they’ll be back for lunch.”

Roberta sensed the tension in the room and glanced at Margaret. She noticed at once that something was wrong. It was very uncharacteristic of Basil to lie so quietly at her feet. “Hi, Margaret. Look, Amber, it’s your great-grandmother.”

“Here, let me take her,” Joshua cut in, pulling a face at his wife to alert her to his grandmother’s odd behavior. She handed over the child and sat down beside him on the sofa.

“It’s a beautiful spring day,” Roberta continued, trying not to stare at Margaret, who was now the color of putty. “Lovely. We should all go for another walk after lunch.”

“Amber’s got very rosy cheeks,” Rosamunde exclaimed. “She certainly benefits from being out in the country air, doesn’t she?”

“Not only her, I feel revived, too.”

Joshua looked at his watch. “It’s nearly lunchtime. They should be back by now.”

Suddenly, Margaret put her head in her hand. “I think I need to go and lie down,” she said feebly. “I’m not well.”

Rosamunde stood up in alarm. Margaret had never been ill the entire time she had known her. “Of course you must, Margaret. You’re just having a turn. A lie-down will make you feel so much better.” Joshua helped his grandmother to her feet. “Which room do you think, Joshua?”

“The blue room,” he replied, expecting Margaret to insist upon another, but she remained quiet and unsteady. They escorted her up the stairs while Roberta remained in the drawing room with Amber and Basil, wondering what had happened while she had been in the kitchen, feeding her daughter.

Once Margaret was settled on the bed, Rosamunde covered her with the quilt and closed the curtains. She noticed how old Margaret looked when her eyes were closed. Her face sagged like a deflated ball left abandoned on a wintry beach. Without a word Rosamunde made for the door. Just as she was about to leave, Margaret spoke. “Bring Phaedra to me when I wake up. I’m sure I’ll feel better by then.”

“Of course I will, Margaret. Now you get some rest and don’t worry about anything. It’s probably something you ate.” Margaret didn’t reply. She let go and allowed her body to drift into sleep, where there was no pain, just sunny memories of happier times.

As Rosamunde came down the stairs David, Phaedra, and Antoinette were stepping into the hall with Rufus and the Great Danes. They were animated, laughing together as if they had all shared an adventure. “Is she here?” Antoinette hissed to Harris.

“I’m afraid she took a turn, Lady Frampton,” Harris replied solemnly.

Antoinette saw her sister descending the stairs. “Where’s Margaret?”

“She’s lying on the bed in the blue room. She wasn’t feeling well,” Rosamunde replied importantly. “She came back with Joshua, and she wasn’t herself. Her hands were trembling, and her face was deathly pale. I don’t know what happened.”