Page 10 of A Family Affair
Somewhere in between fact and faded memories, Clarissa feared there was a truth. Swirling in a grey mist, was a murky family myth. Protected by stiff – or stitched-up – lips. Fuelled by a class system and a belligerence honed by a generation. All in the guise of post-war stoicism.
What if her parents had done something really bad, and then buried their secret forever? It was driving her quite literally mad.
CHAPTER8
The slam of the front door, the shrill ring of the phone in the grand foyer, followed by the clip-clopping of Jennifer’s ‘nice town shoes’, as she called them, applied the brakes to Clarissa’s train of thought.
Inclining her head in order to hear better, she listened to the one-sided mumblings of a conversation. Clarissa owned a mobile phone but rarely used it. Her friends, those who were still relatively able bodied, were like her. Talkers not texters. If they wanted to chat, they rang her mobile or called in for tea unannounced.
You didn’t need an appointment to be a friend. You just were. Anyone else used the landline number which told Clarissa that it was either the land agent, the solicitor or one of those annoying people selling annoying things. Jennifer would see to it.
Not that Clarissa didn’t mind dealing personally with the staff who came and went. The nice ladies who came in the little white van that had pink bubbles painted on the side were a hoot. They always brought a bit of life to the house, with their chatter and humming and hoovering. She took tea with them once they’d finished their twice-weekly cleaning and made sure they had a bit extra in their wages at Christmas, and a hamper from the farm shop, too.
Matheson, the land agent and general estate manager, was very diligent, and she looked forward to their monthly meetings where he kept her abreast of estate matters. The tenant farmers and cottage dwellers weren’t any trouble and he and his team managed the swathe of acres around the house very nicely. Tidy hedges and well-maintained stone walls gave her an immense sense of pride, and she admired the craftmanship of those who tended them.
Clarissa suspected that Matheson came just to keep up with tradition, or out of respect. Or maybe he was indulging a batty old lady who lived in the big house, and in the past. It was very kind, though, and much appreciated.
What a contrary Mary you are, Clarissa Chamberlain.
It was true. She was. One minute she railed against the injustices meted out by her parents, and the next, she was lost in times gone by, hankering after her carefree childhood.
She was often absorbed by the images of her teenage self: lithe and lovely, courted by the sons of the Cheshire elite, because that was what you did back then, what was expected. She knew no different. Not until she went away to Switzerland, where her life changed forever in the time it took to take the ski lift to the top of the run, and down again, racing to the bottom with the love of her life by her side.
And then the light always faded and the shine of being a Chamberlain wore off.
The door of the drawing room opening restored brightness to Clarissa’s day as Jennifer breezed in, her face aglow with excitement.
‘Oh, Clarissa, you’ll never guess.’
Clarissa played along. ‘I probably won’t unless you tell me, so sit. Spill the beans. I could do with some excitement.’
Jennifer sat, unwinding her scarf and unbuttoning her coat as she spoke. ‘Well, it was your solicitor, the old Mr Henderson, nothim, the young one.’ Jennifer, for no other reason than his eyes were too close together and he wore far too much aftershave, had never taken to Tristan Jnr,‘the young one’. Anyway, he wanted to speak to you, but I said I’d pass on a message.’
‘And the message was?’ It sometimes took a while with Jennifer.
Jennifer swirled her scarf into a coil as she spoke. ‘Well the old grump wasn’t going to tell me at first. Said it was a matter for you. So I reminded him that Iamyour personal confidante and that you were having a nap.’
‘I was wide awake!’
A roll of the eyes. ‘Well I didn’t know that; and anyway, did you really want to get up from your cosy warm chair to talk to grumpy pants? Could’ve been something totally boring for all I knew.’
‘Well, no. You have a point, so continue.’
Jennifer leant forward and gave a little clap before opening the tin and spilling the beans. ‘Well first off, your long-lost relative, the one the young Mr Henderson tracked down, is coming over to meet you. How exciting!’
Jennifer’s expectant face left Clarissa wanting, so she pretended. With her dear aide it was often easier.
‘Well, it will be interesting, I’m sure. And when does he arrive? Please tell me he’s not expecting to stay here you know I’m not fond of stran–’
When Jennifer held up her hand, Clarissa came up for air.
‘No, apparently Tristan has made the arrangements and will be in touch in due course to facilitate a meeting. I do wish solicitors would speak like normal people, don’t you?’
On hearing this, Clarissa relaxed slightly and her shoulders slackened. ‘Very good. I shall wait to hear what he has to say, hopefully in normal-person-speak. And as for the other news?’ She winked at Jennifer who was raring to go again.
‘Well, it seems that a local news programme want to do a piece, all about Chamberlain Manor and other grand homes in Cheshire. Turns out some rich chap – old money according to Mr Henderson – invited the PM to stay at his pile over in the Peaks. It’s sparked a bit of interest in the press. There’s rumours about the old school tie network doing dodgy deals and planning new transport links, so the local countryside protection league aren’t happy. He says you need to call him back first thing.’
Clarissa hadn’t expected that. And was there even such a thing as the local countryside protection league? Possibly not. And why had they rung the solicitors and not her directly? A question for Jennifer that was answered simply.
