‘No, I suppose you haven’t.’
Mouse lapsed into silence and I closed my eyes, feeling suddenly and ridiculously tearful. This man knew nothing of my father, and his probing had been entirely devoid of empathy. I felt a squeeze on my hand, gone as fast as it had arrived as Orlando withdrew his own hand swiftly, throwing me a sympathetic glance.
‘I’m sure Orlando has told you that I’ve been trying to research the family history,’ Mouse said to me. ‘There’s always been a lot of confusion about the various . . . factions, and I thought I should look into it once and for all. And, of course, I’ve come across Flora MacNichol.’ I noticed the derogatory timbre of his voice as he spoke her name.
‘Who was she?’
‘The sister of our great-grandmother, Aurelia,’ said Orlando, but again there was a bleak silence from my right. Then, eventually, a deep sigh.
‘That isn’t quite the whole story, as you know, Orlando, but it’s not for now,’ said Mouse.
‘Do excuse me, Miss Star, I have been commandeered to help Marguerite clear the plates,’ said Orlando, getting to his feet.
‘I can help too,’ I said, standing up with him.
‘No.’ He gently pushed me back into my chair. ‘You cooked our exquisite lunch, and under no circumstances are you allowed to be kitchen skivvy as well.’
As he left my side, I decided that scrubbing every toilet in this huge house would be more enjoyable than sitting next to the man called Mouse. My imagination had already downgraded him to a large sewer rat.
‘Have you any idea what the connection is between your father and Flora MacNichol?’
The Sewer Rat was speaking again. I would reply. Politely. ‘None. I don’t think there was one. My father left all us sisters with clues to our own heritage, not his. Therefore whatever connection exists is likely to be between me and her.’
‘You mean that you might be another cuckoo in the High Weald nest? Well, let me tell you, there have been a few in the Vaughan/Forbes history.’
He grabbed his wine glass and drained it, and I wondered what had happened in his life to make him so angry. I ignored his insinuation and refused to give him the pleasure of seeing it had upset me. Using my well-honed technique of countering silence with silence, I sat with my hands folded in my lap. I knew I could win any battle he cared to wage on that front. And eventually, he spoke.
‘I suppose I must apologise for the second time in our short-lived relationship. I’m sure you’re not a gold-digger, just following your dead father’s trail. Orlando also mentioned he left you something else by way of a clue?’
Before I had a chance to reply, a large cake awash with candles appeared through the dining room door in Orlando’s hands and the table struck up the refrain of ‘Happy Birthday’. Photos were taken of Marguerite and Orlando smiling over Rory’s shoulders. I chanced a glance at the Sewer Rat and read what I initially thought was a morose expression and then, looking into his eyes as he watched Rory, realised they were full of sadness.
After we had eaten the fudgey chocolate cake Orlando had brought in the hamper all the way from London, and drunk coffee in a sitting room that, just to add to my house envy, sported two enormous oak bookshelves on either side of the wide chimney breast, Orlando stood up.
‘Time to depart, Miss Star. We are due to catch the five o’clock train. Marguerite’ – he walked over to her and kissed her on both cheeks – ‘a delight as always. Shall I call a taxi?’
‘I’ll take you,’ came a voice from the armchair opposite.
‘Thank you, old chap,’ Orlando said to his brother.
Marguerite pulled herself to standing and I saw the exhaustion in her eyes as she turned to me. ‘Star, please promise you’ll come again to visit soon and allow me to make you lunch?’
‘I’d love to,’ I replied honestly. ‘Thank you for having me.’
Rory appeared beside us, his hands opening and closing excitedly, and I realised that he was signing my name over and over again. ‘Come back soon,’ he added in his odd little voice and then wrapped his small arms around my waist.
‘Bye, Rory,’ I replied as he released his arms and I looked over his head to see the Sewer Rat staring at us.
‘Thank you for that incredible cake,’ I heard Marguerite say to Orlando. ‘It was worth lugging that ridiculous picnic hamper here after all.’
We duly followed the Sewer Rat outside to a Land Rover as battered and ancient as his cousin’s Fiat.
‘Climb in the front, Miss Star. You have far more to talk to Mouse about than I do. It becomes so dull when one knows everything one needs to about a person,’ Orlando said as he stepped into the back with his hamper.
‘He doesn’t know me,’ the Sewer Rat growled under his breath, as he got in beside me and started the engine. ‘Even if he thinks he does.’
I didn’t comment, not wanting to get into a war between the two brothers, and we drove away from High Weald in a thick silence that continued for the rest of the journey. I distracted myself by looking out of the window at the gentle autumn sunset bathing the trees with an amber glow, which was slowly turning to twilight. And thought how much I didn’t want to return to London.
‘Thank you kindly, Mouse,’ Orlando said as we arrived back on the station forecourt and we stepped out.
‘Do you have a mobile number?’ came the Sewer Rat’s voice out of the gloom.
‘Yes.’
‘Put it in here.’ He handed me his mobile.
He saw my momentary hesitation.
‘I’ll apologise for the third time today, and I promise that if you give me your number, I will contact you about Flora MacNichol.’
‘Thank you.’ I promptly typed my number in, thinking it was almost certainly a show of good manners and that I’d never hear from him again. I handed his mobile back to him. ‘Goodbye.’
On the train on the way back to London, Orlando fell asleep immediately. I closed my eyes too, reliving the events of the day and thinking about Orlando’s unusual and interesting relatives.
And High Weald . . .
If nothing else, today I’d found the house in which I could happily live forever.
8
‘You were rather a hit with my errant family,’ Orlando said as he arrived at the bookshop the next morning with his three o’clock cake.
‘Not with your brother, though.’
‘Oh, take no notice of Mouse. He’s always suspicious of anyone he can’t find fault with. One never knows what lies behind another’s reaction until, well, one does,’ Orlando equivocated. ‘And as for your majestic luncheon, I am considering sacking the foil tins and having your good self provide the catering for our little establishment. Although I doubt you’d feel that the cooking facilities upstairs would cut your professional mustard.’ He gazed at me thoughtfully. ‘Are there any other hidden talents you are keeping from me?’