file.’
‘And what was in it?’
‘Oh, it was terribly sad. There was a little notebook that I could hardly read with some names and amounts of money beside them, a few leaflets and postcards for The Silver Serenaders and The Alexandrians and a letter from Peter Prince that must have arrived after he died.’
‘Oh? May I see them?’
‘Of course. Do you want to come here, or shall I come to you?’
‘How would you get here?’ asked Fran, thinking that although it should be up to Bella to come to her, it wouldn’t be the most practical solution.
‘Is there a bus?’
‘Only into Canterbury, then you have to come out again. I’ll tell you what, I’ll ask Libby if I can borrow her car, and come to you. I’ll have to ring you and let you know when, because we’re going Christmas shopping today.’
‘Oh, all right, but I have to go home tomorrow. George from the pub is coming in this afternoon to fit a cat flap for me, and the lady next door will carry on feeding Balzac. I hope he learns to use it.’
‘All right,’ said Fran, ‘I’ll see if I can come later on today. Otherwise it will have to wait until you come down again.’
‘Or I could give you the keys,’ suggested Bella. ‘If you wanted, of course. I thought you mind find … well, you might–’
‘I think it’s an excellent idea,’ said Fran. ‘As long as you don’t mind me fossicking around on my own. How will you get the keys to me?’
‘I could leave them at the pub? George and his wife were really fond of Aunt Maria, and they seem to want to take care of me, now.’ Fran heard a sigh. ‘It’s quite a novelty, someone wanting to look after me.’
Another black mark for the unknown Andrew, thought Fran.
‘Good idea,’ said Fran, ‘but I’ll still try and get over today. Are you ringing from your mobile?’
Having agreed to ring Bella if she managed to find a way of getting to Heronsbourne, Fran switched off the phone and sat down to think. Her eyes went to the photograph propped up on the table.
March Cottage had been a surprise. There was a certain warmth about it, although, as she had said at the time, the upstairs felt as if it had been disinfected. But the outbuilding had been different. Not in itself, but in its contents. Fran had felt all sorts of things swirling around her, so much of it that it was difficult to sort out. She knew without a doubt that the woman in the photograph was Dorinda, she also knew that it hadn’t been taken in Nethergate or Heronsbourne. From what Bella had told them of Maria’s letter, Dorinda would have been in her late twenties in 1914, so in the photograph she must have been in her late thirties or early forties, judging by the clothes. Where would she have been then? Travelling in South Africa, while Maria and Bertram stayed at home?
Fran stood up with an exclamation of frustration. She could get nothing. The only thing she was going to be able to do was to immerse herself in the contents of that outbuilding.
She phoned Guy and explained the situation.
‘I’m really looking forward to spending some time in there, but getting there and back is going to be a problem. I need to get a car. But I’m wary of buying one on my own. I’ve never done that before.’
‘What – never bought a car?’ Guy sounded flabbergasted.
‘No. When I was married my husband always bought them, and since I’ve been on my own I haven’t been able to afford one. And as far as I can work out from female friends, car salesmen see women coming.’
‘That’s rather sexist,’ laughed Guy.
‘But true,’ said Fran. ‘Especially when it’s a woman of my age.’
‘So what you’re asking is for me to come with you?’
‘Would you mind? I can ask all the right questions myself, but I’ll be paying cash – blimey, cash! – and I gather you can haggle a bit. I wouldn’t be good at that.’
‘Of course I’ll come with you. When?’
‘Not today. Libby and I are going Christmas shopping.
‘And what was in it?’
‘Oh, it was terribly sad. There was a little notebook that I could hardly read with some names and amounts of money beside them, a few leaflets and postcards for The Silver Serenaders and The Alexandrians and a letter from Peter Prince that must have arrived after he died.’
‘Oh? May I see them?’
‘Of course. Do you want to come here, or shall I come to you?’
‘How would you get here?’ asked Fran, thinking that although it should be up to Bella to come to her, it wouldn’t be the most practical solution.
‘Is there a bus?’
‘Only into Canterbury, then you have to come out again. I’ll tell you what, I’ll ask Libby if I can borrow her car, and come to you. I’ll have to ring you and let you know when, because we’re going Christmas shopping today.’
‘Oh, all right, but I have to go home tomorrow. George from the pub is coming in this afternoon to fit a cat flap for me, and the lady next door will carry on feeding Balzac. I hope he learns to use it.’
‘All right,’ said Fran, ‘I’ll see if I can come later on today. Otherwise it will have to wait until you come down again.’
‘Or I could give you the keys,’ suggested Bella. ‘If you wanted, of course. I thought you mind find … well, you might–’
‘I think it’s an excellent idea,’ said Fran. ‘As long as you don’t mind me fossicking around on my own. How will you get the keys to me?’
‘I could leave them at the pub? George and his wife were really fond of Aunt Maria, and they seem to want to take care of me, now.’ Fran heard a sigh. ‘It’s quite a novelty, someone wanting to look after me.’
Another black mark for the unknown Andrew, thought Fran.
‘Good idea,’ said Fran, ‘but I’ll still try and get over today. Are you ringing from your mobile?’
Having agreed to ring Bella if she managed to find a way of getting to Heronsbourne, Fran switched off the phone and sat down to think. Her eyes went to the photograph propped up on the table.
March Cottage had been a surprise. There was a certain warmth about it, although, as she had said at the time, the upstairs felt as if it had been disinfected. But the outbuilding had been different. Not in itself, but in its contents. Fran had felt all sorts of things swirling around her, so much of it that it was difficult to sort out. She knew without a doubt that the woman in the photograph was Dorinda, she also knew that it hadn’t been taken in Nethergate or Heronsbourne. From what Bella had told them of Maria’s letter, Dorinda would have been in her late twenties in 1914, so in the photograph she must have been in her late thirties or early forties, judging by the clothes. Where would she have been then? Travelling in South Africa, while Maria and Bertram stayed at home?
Fran stood up with an exclamation of frustration. She could get nothing. The only thing she was going to be able to do was to immerse herself in the contents of that outbuilding.
She phoned Guy and explained the situation.
‘I’m really looking forward to spending some time in there, but getting there and back is going to be a problem. I need to get a car. But I’m wary of buying one on my own. I’ve never done that before.’
‘What – never bought a car?’ Guy sounded flabbergasted.
‘No. When I was married my husband always bought them, and since I’ve been on my own I haven’t been able to afford one. And as far as I can work out from female friends, car salesmen see women coming.’
‘That’s rather sexist,’ laughed Guy.
‘But true,’ said Fran. ‘Especially when it’s a woman of my age.’
‘So what you’re asking is for me to come with you?’
‘Would you mind? I can ask all the right questions myself, but I’ll be paying cash – blimey, cash! – and I gather you can haggle a bit. I wouldn’t be good at that.’
‘Of course I’ll come with you. When?’
‘Not today. Libby and I are going Christmas shopping.
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