Page 2 of Summer at the Château
‘See you soon. Love you too.’ And the connection had died.
Pixie had mooched around for the next couple of hours. She’d opened a bottle of wine, made a cheese and cranberry sandwich (a combination she loved and Frank hated), tidied the kitchen, flicked through the TV channels, before slipping one of her favourite DVDs into the player,Midnight in Paris, and settling down to watch it.
When the door knocker banged at ten minutes past ten, Pixie’s first thought was Frank had forgotten his keys again, before remembering they’d agreed on a secret hiding place for the spare key. So who was visiting at this time of night? She had cautiously opened the door and came face to face with two policemen. She’d slammed the door shut again. Policemen on your doorstep meant bad news. News she didn’t want to hear.
‘Mrs Sampson, please open the door,’ a quiet, concerned voice had said.
Numbly, she had loosened the chain and let them in to confirm what she had known the instant she’d seen the two of them standing there. Road traffic accident on the A38 Expressway. Joy riders in a stolen car. Lost control. Frank dead at the scene. The police had stayed with her for some time before reluctantly leaving. They had offered to drive her to Gwen’s, but Pixie had refused. Gwen was too old to be visited by police officers at midnight. She told them she’d drive over in the morning and break the news and stay with her. After they’d left, Pixie had collapsed on the settee, shaking with the enormity of the tragedy.
Pixie sighed, remembering the awful days, now weeks, that followed before managing to switch her thoughts back to the current day. Gwen had suggested lunch at the pub in her village and Pixie, still lacking the energy to either cook anything or to challenge the hidden agenda she guessed was behind her mother’s invite, had agreed. This afternoon she had a three o’clock appointment with the bank manager to organise the financial side of her life from here on in. Perhaps over lunch she’d gently probe Gwen on how she felt about the two of them living together.
Right, there was a bit of a purpose to this day so she’d better get up and get on with it. Maybe after the bank this afternoon, she’d come home and make a start on sorting out Frank’s things. Maybe.
2
Ten miles away from Pixie, Gwen Ellis was eating her breakfast sitting in the gazebo-shaped shed in the corner of her garden, breathing in the fresh air and watching the never-ending convoy of tiny blue tits, blackbirds, sparrows and other birds devouring the seeds and fat balls she’d put out earlier for them. She adored this corner of her garden and often sat out here thinking about everything and nothing., even in winter when she wrapped herself in an old duvet. This spring morning though she’d simply zipped up her warm fleece and her thoughts were all about Pixie.
The last few weeks had been hard on Pixie and it would, of course, take time for her to recover, but, in the meantime, Gwen promised herself she’d do her best to help her face the rest of her life. Life was too short to stagnate; it seemed to disappear in a flash. Look at her – surely it was only five minutes ago she was thirty-nine and now suddenly she was eighty-three. The forty-odd years between had disappeared like a puff of smoke from one of the cigarettes she used to enjoy and was denied these days. Still, she’d been lucky, those years had been mainly good and she reckoned she still had a fair few left in her. There was time to set Pixie on the right path now that she was on her own. Not the she’d interfere – she could do subtle nudges as well as the next woman if she had to.
Over lunch today, she’d offer to help Pixie sort through Frank’s clothes ready to go to the charity shop. It was coming up to a month since he’d died and things like that needed to be dealt with. The longer they were in the house, the harder it would become to stop the place morphing into a shrine to his memory. Once that had been dealt with, she’d gently probe Pixie about her plans for the future. Thankfully, there had been no unexpected bequests in Frank’s will for Pixie to deal with. As his wife, she inherited everything. Gwen had heaved a huge silent sigh of relief over that. These days, so many people, knowing they would be beyond questioning, seemed to take delight in disclosing secrets from the past in their wills, which only served to hurt those left behind. Gwen was of the opinion that the majority of secrets were better taken to the grave than left to grieving relatives and she planned on taking hers with her. Not that there were any scandalous revelations to be made. The skeleton in her cupboard was a personal regret, not a major drama involving other people.
* * *
Gwen was ready and waiting for Pixie when she arrived and together they walked the short distance to the village pub, The Rose and Lion. Once Gwen was settled at her favourite table, close, but not too close, to the log burner in the corner, Pixie went up to the bar to order the food and to get their drinks. Gwen looked at her pensive face as she returned with a gin and tonic for Gwen and a glass of non-alcoholic wine for herself as she was driving.
‘What’s on your mind, Pixie?’ Gwen asked gently. ‘Anything I can help with?’
Pixie shook her head. ‘Not unless you can magically bring Frank to life again and make this nightmare go away.’ She took a sip of her drink before placing it on the table. ‘The house feels so empty. I keep expecting to find him in the kitchen banging saucepans around starting to fix dinner, a large glass of red on the work surface.’ She glanced at her mother. ‘Do you remember how you felt all those years ago when…’ she hesitated, ‘when Dad left? Did you miss having him around?’
‘I remember only too well. And no, to be truthful, I didn’t miss having him around at all. It was a huge relief when he left,’ Gwen answered. ‘I had you and Gus to bring up, and as far as I was concerned, Colin leaving was one less mouth to feed.’ Gwen reached out and touched Pixie’s hand. ‘I’ve told you all this before, I love you and Gus. Giving birth to you two was the best thing I’ve ever done in my life, but I was never in love with Colin like you and Frank were with each other. That makes a big difference.’
Pixie nodded. ‘It does.’ She hesitated. ‘I was wondering, how do you feel about moving in with me?’
‘Why? You afraid of being alone?’ Gwen looked at her sharply.
Pixie let out a deep sigh. ‘No, of course not. I was thinking we could both sell up and buy a bungalow for the two of us, somewhere like Torquay or maybe Dartmouth? Be company for each other.’ She gave her mother a quick glance.
Gwen knew that the underlying, unspoken message was ‘you’re getting older, you’re going to need help soon’.
Gwen took a slow drink of her gin and tonic, gathering her thoughts at this unexpected conversation. Carefully, she replaced the glass on the table.
‘Stairs are good – not too steep or too many, I grant you – but they’re good exercise. Keep the legs moving, the heart pumping. Bungalow indeed,’ Gwen snorted, before looking at Pixie. ‘Darling, I’m certainly not ready for the quiet life,’ she shrugged, ‘and you’re twenty-four years behind me. You don’t need a bungalow or a quiet life. You need to get yourself together and live a bit. Spend some of that insurance money Frank left you. I know,’ Gwen said, her eyes lighting up. ‘You could buy a berth on that “The World” yacht and sail the Seven Seas, or, at least, the Med, for a few years. I’d join you on that venture. Probably cheaper than living on shore with everything all found,’ she mused. ‘Burial at sea is always a possibility too.’
‘Mum, what are you on about? I could no more do that than book a flight on a rocket to the moon.’
‘Now there’s a thought,’ Gwen said. ‘I quite fancy a trip there,’ and she hummed ‘Fly me to the moon’ while smiling across at Sam, widower and owner of The Rose and Lion, who was currently manning the bar.
‘Mum, behave. You’ll embarrass the poor man.’
‘Nonsense,’ Gwen said, raising her glass and acknowledging the wink Sam gave her. ‘He knows I’m only being friendly.’
‘So a bungalow is out then, but how about buying something else suitable for the two of us?’ Pixie asked.
‘I’m not sure. You’d have to promise not to cramp my style,’ Gwen answered, a twinkle in her eye.
‘Oh, you’re impossible,’ Pixie laughed.
Their food arrived at that moment and they tucked into the chef’s special of the day, a delicious home-made steak and kidney pie. As she ate her own meal, Gwen watched as Pixie pushed food around the plate rather than eating with enjoyment.
