plans for this afternoon.’ He shrugged apologetically at Frannie. ‘I have to do a few things. Would you like to lounge around the pool? Have a swim? The water’s very warm.’
‘Can I show Frannie round the grounds?’
Oliver signalled Frannie with his eyes that she did not have to.
She winked, then smiled at Edward. ‘Thank you, I’d love that.’
‘Can I show Frannie the aeroplane, Daddy?’
‘I have to go down and turn the engine over; I might catch up with you.’
‘Is your name really Frannie?’ Edward said.
‘Yes.’
He held out his hand for hers and for a moment she thought he was going to shake it. Instead he held it firmly, pulling her very slightly towards him, as if there was an urgent message he needed to communicate. Then slowly, without slackening his grip, he led her towards the door.
She glanced at Oliver and noticed a strange look of apprehension on his face as he watched his son. The shadow that crossed his eyes was one of fear. She turned to Edward but all she could see was the trusting face of a small boy who has found a new friend.
C HAPTER E IGHT
Frannie and Edward, closely followed by Captain Kirk, ambled past the Range Rover and along the front of the house. A bird chirruped with a ping that sounded like a spoon against china and as Frannie breathed in the scents of the air and felt the afternoon sun on her face, the horror of an hour ago receded a little in her mind; but not the unease. She still wondered why Oliver had kept quiet about his title; quiet about Meston Hall; wondered if it had anything to do with his wife’s death, for instance. And was there anything else he was keeping quiet about?
She avoided looking at the gravel in case she saw the stain of blood and stared up at the façade, picking out details of its decaying state: a chunk missing from the coping-stone of the parapet; a cracked window; a bird’s nest under the eaves; wasps going in and out of a hole in the roof.
An elderly man with a shiny camera case and a woman in a straw hat were going in through the front door and Frannie caught a glimpse of a marble floor and white columns. Edward pointed across the valley. ‘The English Channel’s the other side of those hills. Brighton’s over there to the right – you can see the glow of the lights on a clear night.’
‘Do you like living here?’ Frannie asked.
‘Yes, quite.’
‘Only
quite
?’
‘I like some things,’ he said, more brightly.
‘Have you got many friends here?’
‘Yes, I suppose so.’ He seemed about to say something else, then changed his mind.
They walked past the end of the house and up the private road towards the junction bounded by hedges.
‘Is Frannie short for something?’
‘My full name’s Francesca.’
‘Is that Italian?’
‘Yes.’
‘Does that mean you’re a Catholic?’
‘I am a Catholic, yes.’ She was surprised by the question. ‘What are you?’
Edward was silent for some moments, then he pushed his hands into his pockets and stared down. ‘We have our own chapel.’
‘Can I see it?’
‘There’s not much to see.’
‘I’d be interested.’
He pointed in front of them. ‘It’s through there, but it’s not worth going in.’
‘Couldn’t I have a quick peep inside?’
‘Why?’
There was something oddly strained about his voice and she almost wished she hadn’t pursued the idea. ‘I’m very interested in churches,’ she said.
‘All right.’
They waited for a car full of visitors to pass, then crossed, went through an opening in the hedge and the chapel was in front of them. It was small and narrow, rising out of a riot of weeds and in the same poor state of repair as everything else. A well-trodden cinder path went up to the door, through a tiny graveyard peppered with old tombstones.
The interior felt more cared for. Marble and alabaster tombs were spaced along the sides and there were plaques on the floor. Frannie read one of them.
Lord Thomas Bouverie Henry
‘Can I show Frannie round the grounds?’
Oliver signalled Frannie with his eyes that she did not have to.
She winked, then smiled at Edward. ‘Thank you, I’d love that.’
‘Can I show Frannie the aeroplane, Daddy?’
‘I have to go down and turn the engine over; I might catch up with you.’
‘Is your name really Frannie?’ Edward said.
‘Yes.’
He held out his hand for hers and for a moment she thought he was going to shake it. Instead he held it firmly, pulling her very slightly towards him, as if there was an urgent message he needed to communicate. Then slowly, without slackening his grip, he led her towards the door.
She glanced at Oliver and noticed a strange look of apprehension on his face as he watched his son. The shadow that crossed his eyes was one of fear. She turned to Edward but all she could see was the trusting face of a small boy who has found a new friend.
C HAPTER E IGHT
Frannie and Edward, closely followed by Captain Kirk, ambled past the Range Rover and along the front of the house. A bird chirruped with a ping that sounded like a spoon against china and as Frannie breathed in the scents of the air and felt the afternoon sun on her face, the horror of an hour ago receded a little in her mind; but not the unease. She still wondered why Oliver had kept quiet about his title; quiet about Meston Hall; wondered if it had anything to do with his wife’s death, for instance. And was there anything else he was keeping quiet about?
She avoided looking at the gravel in case she saw the stain of blood and stared up at the façade, picking out details of its decaying state: a chunk missing from the coping-stone of the parapet; a cracked window; a bird’s nest under the eaves; wasps going in and out of a hole in the roof.
An elderly man with a shiny camera case and a woman in a straw hat were going in through the front door and Frannie caught a glimpse of a marble floor and white columns. Edward pointed across the valley. ‘The English Channel’s the other side of those hills. Brighton’s over there to the right – you can see the glow of the lights on a clear night.’
‘Do you like living here?’ Frannie asked.
‘Yes, quite.’
‘Only
quite
?’
‘I like some things,’ he said, more brightly.
‘Have you got many friends here?’
‘Yes, I suppose so.’ He seemed about to say something else, then changed his mind.
They walked past the end of the house and up the private road towards the junction bounded by hedges.
‘Is Frannie short for something?’
‘My full name’s Francesca.’
‘Is that Italian?’
‘Yes.’
‘Does that mean you’re a Catholic?’
‘I am a Catholic, yes.’ She was surprised by the question. ‘What are you?’
Edward was silent for some moments, then he pushed his hands into his pockets and stared down. ‘We have our own chapel.’
‘Can I see it?’
‘There’s not much to see.’
‘I’d be interested.’
He pointed in front of them. ‘It’s through there, but it’s not worth going in.’
‘Couldn’t I have a quick peep inside?’
‘Why?’
There was something oddly strained about his voice and she almost wished she hadn’t pursued the idea. ‘I’m very interested in churches,’ she said.
‘All right.’
They waited for a car full of visitors to pass, then crossed, went through an opening in the hedge and the chapel was in front of them. It was small and narrow, rising out of a riot of weeds and in the same poor state of repair as everything else. A well-trodden cinder path went up to the door, through a tiny graveyard peppered with old tombstones.
The interior felt more cared for. Marble and alabaster tombs were spaced along the sides and there were plaques on the floor. Frannie read one of them.
Lord Thomas Bouverie Henry
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