Page 22 of A Family Affair
Happy Christmas.
With love always,
Eleonora.
x
Feeling the card torn from her grasp, and while Mother read the curious words inside, Clarissa moved back to the dressing table and picked up the envelope for no other reason than to touch something that Eleonora had. Feel a connection.
And while Mother placed the card to her heart and wandered over to the window where she became lost in thought, Clarissa folded the envelope and slid it into her pinafore pocket.
Clarissa didn’t think it was odd, Mother not displaying the card with the others in the drawing room. Instead she kept it inside her journal that rested by her bed. Remembering the words of the radio announcer who reminded everyone that spies could be everywhere, Clarissa thought Mother prudent to keep the card out of sight. It was, after all, from someone who worked at the war office. Mother was doing her bit, too.
Then three days before Christmas, the most terrible thing happened. Something that brought Mr Hitler and the war within touching distance. The date was written in red in Clarissa’s diary, December 22nd, 1940.
That night, German planes flew overhead, skimming through the sky above the Cheshire countryside. Their target lay only a few miles north. While terrified Clarissa covered her ears and imagined the devil in the cockpit, the Manchester Blitz had begun.
For two nights, bombs rained down on the city, killing hundreds, decimating large swathes of the city centre, homes, hospitals, factories and docklands. It was a terrible time, and many people lost their lives and their homes. The horror of it was replayed in Father’s newspaper, the terrifying images on the front page were seared into Clarissa’s memory.
As was the final scene of the reel inside Clarissa’s mind. It occurred two months into 1941.
Clarissa was reading in the library. Father took a call in his study. Then Mother was summoned by Kingsley. The quick-time sound of her heels on the tiles and the closing of the heavy mahogany door. This time Clarissa couldn’t eavesdrop from the foyer, not with one of the maids busy polishing the banister. Instead she hovered just inside the library and strained her ears to the muffled sound of voices next door.
Over an hour passed after which Mother shot from the room, handkerchief clasped to her mouth as she ran up the stairs, the sob that escaped was loud enough to cause the maid to make the sign of the cross.
A terrible dread gripped Clarissa’s heart as she slunk back inside the library, too scared to venture out and ask what was going on. This time she didn’t want to know.
When Father sought her out, and seated himself opposite while he explained, Clarissa couldn’t meet his eye. That would have made it all too real and she would have had to face facts, that Eleonora was missing, somewhere overseas, and presumed by the war office to be dead.
While Clarissa forced back the tears, Father said they all had to be brave and try to carry on, like so many other families were doing right across the world. Perhaps had Clarissa lifted her head and looked into her father’s eyes she might have seen tears. Or maybe, along with the flames of the fire and the glow of the reading lamp she may have seen something else.
The hint of a lie.
Because once she was excused, and fled to her bedroom, Clarissa went straight to her wardrobe and from her box of secret things, she pulled out the Christmas envelope. She cried alone in her room for hours, praying that if she held the paper close enough to her heart she would receive a message from Eleonora.
It was later, when no message came through, as she was placing the envelope back in the box that she took one last look at the writing on the front, taking in the wiggly lines where the stamp had been franked. And that was when she noticed it. The postmark. It hadn’t been sent from London, where Eleonora worked at the war office.
The black ink was clear and told Clarissa exactly where and when the Christmas card was posted. On the 9th of December. In Manchester.
CHAPTER17
MR TRISTAN HENDERSON JNR
What had he got himself into? That was the question whirling around in Tristan’s head ever since he’d clapped eyes on cowboy-Joe-from-Mexico, AKA Chuck Chamberlain.
The skipping song that the girls at his boarding school used to sing in the playground was lodged in his brain, an annoying earworm that he couldn’t shake out. It pinged into his head the second he spotted Chuck in the lounge of the hotel, wearing skin-tight jeans, a blue and red checked shirt, cowboy boots and on his head…
Surely, thought Tristan as he’d approached, Chuck hadn’t worn his cowboy hat on the plane – or maybe he had. Perhaps first class was used to eccentric passengers and knew how to deal with them, but Tristan really didn’t think a boutique hotel in Cheshire would.
Chuck stood out like a sore thumb amongst the plush wing-backed chairs, potted plants and dramatic drapes of the Victoriana styled lounge. What had he been thinking? Tristan knew the answer to that. He was dangling the carrot, giving Chuck a taste of how it could be if he played the game. So what if the other guests turned their noses up when they heard Chuck’s brash, southern drawl. Or if he’d ordered half the room service menu. The firm would pay and recoup the cost when they invoiced Clarissa.
Tristan smirked, ignoring the curious look from the receptionist as he hovered behind one of the marble pillars. From there he could spy on Chuck, who was engrossed in his phone, and for a millisecond, considered bailing. The thought of associating with the likes of cowboy Joe for half an hour, never mind days, resulted in an involuntary shudder.
Would Tristan have to be a chaperone for the whole time Chuck was in the UK? Possibly. Just to make sure he didn’t step out of line and most importantly,somehowingratiated himself with Clarissa. It wasn’t going to be an easy task. Certainly not dressed like that!
On the other hand, if old Clarissa took a shine to her long-lost cowboy cousin, maybe Tristan could drop the hint that Chuck could bunk up at the manor. She’d never struck him as a snob, in fact, his father always remarked that Clarissa was far too friendly with her employees and didn’t know the meaning of the word boundaries.
With this in mind, Tristan felt better already. Fixing his best ‘be nice to the client because they’re paying you a fortune’ face, he took a fortifying breath and headed towards Chuck.
