tour? There’s nothing for me to do here while the food’s cooking.’
‘Please,’ she said, and stood up.
Louise paused in the vestibule and stood before the family portrait, at which she had glanced on her way in. ‘That’s my family, isn’t it?’ she said.
‘Yes. Your grandmother and grandfather, and your father.’
Louise nodded. We continued with the tour. The kitchen, living and dining rooms she had already seen, so all there was left, apart from cupboards, was my TV room. She enthused over the large screen, scanned a few of the DVD titles and said, ‘Do you play them just for the music, or do you like the movies?’
‘What a funny question,’ I said, though on reflection it wasn’t, really. ‘Like anyone else, I watch the films, but maybe I’m a bit more aware of the music.’
‘Have you ever gone to see a movie only for the music?’
‘ Star Wars,’ I said. ‘I’m not a big science-fiction fan, but everybody was talking about it.’
I wasn’t going to show her the empty cellar, so we went upstairs next. When we got to the guest bedroom at the front, over the gallery from mine, she stood and said, almost to herself, ‘This is where it happened.’
I didn’t know whether this was true or not, so I said nothing. If it was true, then it meant I was sleeping in what had been Grace’s bedroom as well as working in her sewing room, and that the room where I thought I had seen a woman’s – Grace’s – figure reflected in the wardrobe mirror had been Ernest’s room, the room where he had died.
We moved on. Louise seemed awed most of all by the sewing room, sitting for a moment in the small armchair. Then she sat at the escritoire. Her hand disappeared underneath it and felt around. A few seconds later, a small hidden drawer sprung open on the bottom left. It was empty.
‘How did you know about that?’ I asked. I had searched for ages and found nothing.
‘Granny Felicity told Dad about it.’
Louise pulled out an Everyman edition of Shelley’s poetry and turned to Grace’s name written neatly on the first page: Grace Elizabeth Hartnell, 1928. Then she examined the oil painting of the lime kiln beside which she had stood to observe the house. The signature ‘S. Porter’ was just about visible once you knew where to look for it. She found it, ran her fingers over it, then stood back and took the whole thing in. ‘Her lover,’ she whispered.
‘He’s still alive,’ I said. ‘I’ve met him.’
She raised an eyebrow. ‘I know his work. I’m a painter myself. Not terribly good, but I dabble.’
‘We’d better go down and check on the food,’ I said. ‘There’s nothing else up here, and the attic’s empty.’
Louise followed me out of the door, with one backward glance at the painting, along the corridor and down the stairs. ‘Thank you,’ she said when we went back into the kitchen.
After a few moments, dinner was ready. I thought the kitchen might be a more relaxed and informal setting than the large dining area, so I set a couple of places at the pine table. I put some coffee on for later and served up the food, then dimmed the lights.
‘What kind of music do you like?’ I asked.
‘I don’t know. All sorts, really. I don’t listen to anything much. I liked what you were playing before. And I like violins. Anything with a violin. And cellos. They sound so melancholy.’
I poured myself a glass of wine, put the iPod in the kitchen dock and turned to Sol Gabetta’s recording of the Elgar cello concerto – you couldn’t get much more melancholy than that – and we settled down to eat.
‘That was delicious,’ said Louise as she rested her knife and fork on the empty plate.
‘Thank you. I’m sorry, but there’s no pudding.’
‘That’s all right. I’m quite full enough. I don’t eat very much as a rule. Can we sit in the other room by the fire again?’
‘Of course.’ I put the dinner things in the dishwasher and poured us both a cup of coffee, then we went through to the living room. It was pitch black outside. I threw a few more logs on the fire and closed the curtains before sitting down.
The Elgar had finished, and Louise didn’t seem to care one way or another about having anything in the background, so I didn’t put on any more music. She settled into the armchair and crossed her legs under her. It was a still evening, and the deep silence enveloped and permeated Kilnsgate House. It pushed against my ears like noise-cancelling headphones. All we could hear was the soughing of ashes and knotty logs crackling in the fireplace, the scraping of blown leaves against the flagged patio out the back. After a long pause, during which Louise stared into the flames, which reflected in her dark eyes, she looked up at me and said, ‘This is all very new to me, you know. Meeting people, having dinner and all like real folks do. It’s not easy.’
‘I don’t suppose it is,’ I said. ‘You haven’t had an easy life.’
She shot me a defensive glance. ‘My father was kind to me.’
‘I’m sure he was.’
‘He never talked about it, you know, about his background, his mother, where he came from, about his family over here. Not until the very end.’
‘I’d heard,’ I said. ‘Do you want to tell me about it?’
‘I didn’t. Not at first. They told me you were interested, asking questions. That was why I just stood outside and watched. But I wanted to come in. I wanted to see the inside, where she lived, where it happened. I think maybe I can talk to you about it now, if you’re willing to bear with me and listen.’
‘I’m willing. You know I’m interested.’
‘You can have another glass of wine if you want. It doesn’t bother me.’ She smiled for the first time. ‘You might need one.’
I held up my cup of coffee. ‘I’m fine with this for the moment.’
She nodded. ‘Then I’ll begin.’
15
Extract from the journal of Grace Elizabeth Fox (ed. Louise King), August, 1940. Cape Town
Friday, 16th August, 1940 What a thrill it was to set foot on African soil at last! The first thing we saw on the quayside was a row of shiny, expensive cars, all sent by British firms operating in South Africa. They were at our disposal, we were told. The business community here wants to show true South African hospitality to the fighting men, and to us sisters, too, of course! A group of us piled giggling into one large car, which happened to be a spacious and elegant Bentley, the kind that Ernest would just love to own. Our driver Julian was a representative of a diamond mine, but sadly, he had brought no gifts of diamonds for us. Kathleen and Doris were with me, along with Stephen and two of his fellow officers, but we lost Brenda somewhere along the way. No doubt she was in another car and being well taken care of, too. Stephen brought his Leica camera and wanted to keep stopping to take photographs. Julian wanted to show us the Cape Peninsula first, and then he said we could go wherever we wished. He drove overland to the coast and followed the road down, hugging the hills on one side and overlooking the rocky and sandy coastline below. We passed through Simon’s Town and saw some Navy corvettes and destroyers at anchor there, then we carried on until the road became too rough to drive any farther. We all piled out of the car, and the wind almost took our breath away. Stephen snapped away with his camera, taking a picture of me standing on a rock, trying to hold my hair out of my eyes. The sea below was a beautiful shade of blue, and waves pounded against the rocks, making a deep booming sound and showers of brilliant white foam. Farther out, little whitecaps flitted across the surface. Julian gave us some time to explore the immediate area, and we all wandered hither and thither, seeking good vantage points. I found myself in the shelter of some rocks, and suddenly I was alone, everything quiet and still. Before I knew it, Stephen was standing beside me. Gently, he took me in his arms and kissed me. At least he tried to. I pulled back. I could not do it. So much of me wanted to, and I still wonder as I write now with a trembling hand if that makes me a bad person. Ernest need never have known, I tell myself, but it does no good. I could not give myself to Stephen. He was disappointed, but he is gentleman enough to understand. We heard a noise and noticed a group of baboons on the rocks above us. They were looking down at us in quite a threatening way. Julian had warned us that they can be dangerous, so we backed away, out of our little hollow. They seemed not to care, and they turned their backs on us and made a rude gesture. Stephen and I
