SUNDAY MORNING

Anneke is woken by light filtering through a gap in the curtains. The birds are welcoming another summer’s morning with joyous delight, undeterred by the gentle but persistent patter of rain which taps on her windowpane. At least the torrential rain of yesterday seems to be over, she thinks. Then all at once the memory of yesterday’s events engulfs her.

She looks round the room, her gaze travelling from the chintz curtains at the window, to the small easy chair with its embroidered cushions and the big, old-fashioned mahogany wardrobe in the corner. Across the bed is a blue and white patchwork quilt. Her few toiletries, a hairbrush and a framed photograph of her mother are arranged neatly on the little chest of drawers.

I’ve begun to think of this place as home, she thinks. Sharing the flat with Lottie was good for a while but this is much more me now, being surrounded by the green open spaces and enjoying the clean country air.

But why does this room still look pretty and cheerful after what’s happened? Looking round, her discarded clothes scattered about the room betray her distressed state when she came to bed the previous evening. She rubs her forehead and reaches for the glass of water beside the bed, taking a small sip. One door of the wardrobe stands open and glancing up she catches sight of her pale, drawn face and dishevelled hair staring back at her from the mirror. Sitting up, Anneke reaches into the drawer of the bedside table and takes out her precious leather-bound journal. Feeling around for her pen, she then props herself up against the pillows and begins to write:

Sunday May 8^th, 6:15: I must have fallen asleep about 4am. I feel totally exhausted, full of sadness and disbelief at what’s happened. The shock of finding dear Sheila and Treve. How awful for them to have been so sad and desperate. How I wish I could have helped in some way to prevent it.

Thank goodness for Valerie who turned up, and John who took control and helped me so much. I still cannot believe it. Their poor sons and poor Mrs Clemens too. I wonder how she feels this morning? Will the police want to interview us? And John, I know he has known them for many years. Whatever must he be thinking? What will happen to their farm?

I will get up and go to church before Mrs Clemens rises. I need to pray for Sheila and Treve. In fact, I need to pray for us all at this awful time.

When Anneke returns from church at just after 9.00am the rain has stopped but the day is overcast and chill. Mrs Clemens is still in her room and Valerie has already left, which is a shame as Anneke would have liked to thank her properly. She decides to clean the dining room, a job she has been meaning to tackle for some time. It is one of several rooms in the house that are rarely used now. In Anneke’s view, all the rooms are in need of a thorough spring clean. Before starting on this daunting task, however, she goes to see how Margaret is coping after last night’s dreadful events.

She finds Margaret focusing on her reflection as she pencils in her eyebrows, then she uses a flamboyant cosmetic brush to apply a generous dusting of powder.

‘Are you going out today, Mrs Clemens?’ asks Anneke.

Margaret looks at her in the mirror. ‘Didn’t I mention? I have a lunch date. No need to get me anything today. I’m having a roast at the Quay Hotel in town. They’ve got a new chef. I’ve heard he’s very good.’

Anneke stares at her employer for a moment. ‘Oh.’ She pauses and then says, ‘I thought there might be things to do here.’

‘Greatwood will sort everything out, he’s very capable.’ Margaret turns to face Anneke with a determined smile that does not quite reach her eyes. ‘This is an important day for Tregethlan.’

Just then, they hear the kitchen door open. ‘Ah, that must be Greatwood now. I asked him if he would come up to the house when he’d finished with the animals,’ says Margaret. ‘Let him know I’ll be down shortly, would you?’

Bewildered, Anneke goes downstairs to find John in the kitchen. She offers to make him a coffee, he nods and looks quickly away, sitting down heavily at the table. Jess comes to his heel and rests her head on his knee. Anneke brings across two mugs of coffee and sits down opposite him. They are both quiet for several minutes, each lost in their own thoughts.

Eventually she breaks the silence. ‘I’m sorry I was so hopeless last night. It was just such a shock, so terrible…’ She trails off and John studies his coffee intently, saying nothing. Anneke takes a breath and starts again. ‘Anyway, how are you feeling this morning?’

‘Me? I’m fine. The animals are sorted for now, that’s the main thing.’ He coughs and shifts in his seat. There is another pause during which John caresses Jess’s head absently then says: ‘I found this girl in the barn last night. Took her back to the boat with me.’ He sighs. ‘I can’t believe it. I’ve known old Treve for years.’

Anneke says, ‘It must have been terrible for him, watching Sheila getting weaker and weaker. She was so patient, never complained but I could see, going in every day, that she was going downhill. I never realised things were so bad.’ She stares into her coffee mug, her eyes filling. She blinks hard, feeling in her pocket for a tissue.

John grunts. ‘He said he wouldn’t let an animal suffer the way poor Sheila has. I s’pose with everything else on top, it all got too much.’ Anneke wants to ask what he means, but before she can say anything he speaks again: ‘I texted Jo while I was waiting for the ambulance to arrive. I thought she’d want to know right away. She’s been close to them all her life. He’d left me a letter and I showed it to her.’ He frowns and rubs his face. ‘P’raps I shouldn’t have done, I dunno. She just lost it, went storming off with it.’

Before Anneke can respond, they hear someone struggling to open the door from the hall. Anneke jumps up to open it and Margaret comes into the room, a raincoat over one arm, the other leaning on her stick.

‘’morning Mrs C. Sad business,’ John says, standing to offer her a chair but Margaret remains in the doorway.

‘It is indeed, and it creates such disruption for us all.’ Anneke and John exchange a glance. After an awkward pause he says, ‘I need to talk to you about the farm.’

‘I trust your judgement, do what you think is necessary. I need your help today though. I have an important visitor and I want you to give him a tour of the estate.’ Margaret’s tone is brisk.

‘Today?’

‘This is important John, critical in fact. Please don’t let me down.’ Margaret is putting on her raincoat and doing up the buttons, still balancing with her stick.

John raises his eyebrows. ‘Are you off out somewhere?’

‘Yes, I shall come with you on the tour of the estate and then I am having lunch with our visitor,’ she says.

‘But with Treve gone …’ he trails off.

‘It will all have to wait I’m afraid. You know what needs to be done. You’re a competent man and you’ll just have to manage the farm until we get someone in to help you.’ Margaret purses her lips.

Anneke collects the empty coffee mugs and takes them over to the sink. Why is Margaret being like this?

‘So you’re going out to lunch?’ John says slowly.

‘Yes, I absolutely must. This meeting is crucial. It simply cannot be postponed.’

John frowns. ‘You’re planning to go ahead then, despite what’s happened?’

Margaret turns away, picking up some fallen petals from an arrangement of flowers on the dresser. She does not look up. ‘Of course,’ she says. ‘what’s happened is tragic but if anything it makes it even more vital that we press ahead.’

John makes no reply. For a moment the only sound is made by Anneke running water into the sink. The front doorbell clangs and she moves quickly to answer it, wiping her hands on her apron, relieved to escape.

The young man on the steps outside flashes her a smile as he holds out his hand. ‘Hi there! I don’t think we’ve met. Luke Davenport.’

Blushing, Anneke is sure she has seen him before: the carefully trimmed hipster beard and confident, boyish grin. Yes, she remembers serving lunch on the terrace to him and an older man, his grandfather Colonel Davenport, an old friend of Mrs Clemens. She prepared salmon en croute for them. Why is he back here on his own?

He strides past her into the hall to greet Margaret with a kiss on her proffered cheek.

‘Luke, darling, how lovely to see you again. This is John Greatwood who helps me with the estate. He’ll show you around. I’ve booked us a table for lunch at one.’

Anneke is bemused. She catches John’s arm as he follows Luke along the hall. ‘What is this all about? Why is he here?’ she whispers.

‘I’m just doing my job,’ he shrugs.

‘Right. I’ll get my boots from the car,’ says Luke.

Anneke and John wait in silence for Luke to change out of his smart shoes into green Hunters which look brand-new. He is wearing a checked shirt under his Barbour, and moleskin trousers which he tucks into the boots.

The two men leave by the front door and disappear round the side of the house to fetch the Land Rover. Anneke watches their progress through the window. Margaret is thoughtful and Anneke tries to read her expression. ‘So, you’re going out,’ she says.

There is a pause as Margaret gazes across the garden and the fields to where the farmhouse is visible in the distance through the trees. ‘Yes,’ she says, ‘I can’t change anything now.’

Anneke is disconcerted. There is more going on here than she has realised.

‘I need a scarf and something from my bedroom’, says Margaret.

Anneke follows her upstairs, glancing up at the family portraits that hang above the staircase and along the landing. In her bedroom, Margaret goes first to the side table where she unlocks a drawer and takes out a sheaf of papers. She folds them then places them in her handbag before locking the drawer again and dropping the key into the bag. She looks round at Anneke, waiting in the doorway, and says, ‘Can you help me find my cream silk scarf?’

‘It’s with the others in the dressing table. I’ve ironed them.’

Margaret softens. ‘Thank you. That was thoughtful.’ She arranges the scarf around her neck, then pulls on a pair of leather gloves and smooths them across the back of each hand.

As she is about to leave, Margaret pauses to pick up a framed photograph, gazing at it for a moment before placing it carefully back on the dressing table without a word. She is slightly flushed. A lot seems to hang on this meeting with Luke Davenport.

Margaret takes a final look at her reflection in the dressing mirror, pats her honey-blonde hair and goes downstairs to where the Land Rover is now waiting by the front door. When she has gone, Anneke turns to look at the photograph. It is a picture taken years before of a much younger Margaret with her husband Edward and their two children. Jo looks perhaps 12 and Roly her brother only 10 or so. All four are laughing, apparently carefree and happy.

Sighing, Anneke folds the faded silk nightie lying across the foot of the bed and hangs the dressing gown on the back of the bedroom door. Then, crossing to the window, she watches as the Land Rover bumps away down the rutted track towards Home Farm.

Her thoughts turn to John. How difficult it must be for him to carry on as normal. He must be in bits inside, but it shows how strong he is. Under that masculine persona there seems to be a gentle, caring person; a good friend to have in her life, perhaps.

Mrs Clemens, on the other hand, is determined to go out today, oblivious to what happened to poor Treve and Sheila. How can she be so unfeeling?

Chapter 5