The Debutante. Kathleen Tessaro
filled with the savoury smell of browning onion. ‘It has its charms. And what about you? Are you from London?’
‘Yes. Well,’ Cate shifted, ‘yes and no…I’ve been living in New York.’
Jo’s face lit up. ‘Oh, I love the States! The people are so friendly! If I had the chance I’d move there and never look back.’
‘It has its charms,’ Cate agreed.
‘It’s more than that.’ Cate watched as she unwrapped a fresh loaf of bread from a shopping basket on the table. ‘Have a slice of toast,’ she commanded, taking down a breadboard and a knife. ‘I mean, they haven’t got all this class malarkey going on. No one’s listening to the sound of your voice, trying to figure out which drawer they should shove you into.’
Cate took a sip of coffee. ‘Hmm.’
Mrs Williams had undoubtedly been seduced by the things all English tourists were enchanted by on their two-week holidays in Florida – the ruthless chirpiness of the American service industry; bright helpful hotel staff, smiling waiters who beg you to ‘Have a nice day’ while pouring you a second cup of coffee.
‘In New York, class matters a great deal. It’s just what defines it that’s different.’
‘Really? I went to Disney World two years ago and everyone was just wonderful. I loved it!’
‘It’s a great country,’ Cate agreed, slicing a piece of bread. It was fresh and soft. She tore a bit off and popped it in her mouth.
‘Don’t you want that toasted?’ Jo moved the vegetables off the heat.
Cate shook her head. ‘It’s delicious the way it is.’
‘My mum makes it. Puts me to shame as a cook. She came to the house as a lady’s maid when she was fifteen but when the war started they had to let everyone go. So she taught herself to cook. She has some hysterical stories. Like the time she decided to warm the silver serving dishes in the oven to keep the food hot and when she opened the door, nothing but a bunch of silver balls rolled out! Can you imagine? She only melted some of the best family silver! Bless! Of course she was only a kid at the time.’
‘And you grew up here?’
‘Yes.’
‘It must’ve been magical.’
Jo leaned back against the worktop. ‘It’s a wonderful old house. Though we grew up on the estate, not actually in Endsleigh. You’re in Irene’s room, aren’t you? It has a lovely view, don’t you think? Of course, you must see houses like this one all the time.’
‘Well, not exactly.’
‘The library is special. And plenty of people have commented on that dome. Palladian. A very early Robert Adam. Of course it was never properly finished; the restoration work was interrupted during the war.’
‘Really? I like the gold room.’
‘Gold room?’
‘Yes. The way the sunlight dances off the gilding is magical.’
‘Gilding?’ Jo snorted. ‘There’s no gilding in this house!’
‘Sorry, I mean the one in the far wing, overlooking the rose garden.’
‘The far wing?’ Jo’s expression hardened. ‘That room is locked. It’s always been locked.’
A flush of colour rose in Cate’s cheeks. ‘Mr Syms gave us some keys…they open…’ She stopped, mid-lie. Suddenly she felt about five years old.
Jo folded the tea towel and put it down. ‘Show me. Let’s see what you’re talking about.’
Cate marched reluctantly behind Jo out of the kitchen and up the main staircase. At the top of the landing, Jack came out of his room, dressed for the day ahead. Cate was conscious of still being in her dressing gown.
‘Hey!’ He looked from one to the other. ‘What’s going on? I’m Jack, by the way,’ he introduced himself, offering his hand.
‘Jo Williams,’ she said, shaking it. ‘Your friend here says she’s found something – a room.’
He looked across at Cate. ‘Really?’
‘While you were resting yesterday…I had a look around,’ she explained, half-heartedly.
‘Well, let’s see it.’ He tried to sound light, but she caught a twinge of irritation in his voice.
She began to feel irritated too. It wasn’t her fault the damn thing existed! Heading down the long hallway, she stopped in front of the last door and swung it wide. ‘Here it is.’
The morning sun was softer; it was a west-facing room and although there wasn’t the same blinding light as the previous afternoon, it was still stunning.
Eyes widening, Jo walked slowly into the centre. ‘I’ll be damned!’
All traces of defensiveness disappeared. ‘Look!’ Cate opened the French windows leading on to the terrace. ‘Isn’t it charming? Have you really never been here? Didn’t you ever wonder about it?’
Jo shook her head. ‘During the war, most of the house was shut up. They lived in just a couple of rooms, which were blacked out, to conserve energy. And afterwards, there was only the two of them – Irene and the Colonel. They never really opened the house up again properly. When you work for someone, you learn not to look too hard or question too much. Everyone has their little ways, after all.’
‘It’s beautiful,’ Jack agreed. ‘Really extraordinary.’
‘I know!’ Cate was excited. ‘But doesn’t it strike you as odd that this, this hidden, locked room, is the most lovely room in the house?’
He looked across at her. Standing in her silk dressing gown, face free of make-up, she looked fresh, younger than her years; full of unguarded enthusiasm. Was this the same woman who was so darkly knowing last night? There seemed to be two of her, or rather, at least two.
‘I don’t know,’ he said quietly, turning away. ‘Perhaps a touch of our famous English eccentricity.’
‘Look at these books. They’ve never been read. Here.’ She pulled one out and handed it to Jack. ‘Every single one of them is new.’
He leafed through it.
‘Why would anyone lock it up?’ Jo wondered.
The question hung in the warm morning air.
‘Perhaps the heating didn’t work or the roof leaked.’ Jack handed the book back to Cate. ‘It’s not uncommon for old houses to have whole wings sealed off.’
‘It’s a mystery,’ Cate insisted.
He shook his head, laughing. ‘A locked door is hardly a mystery!’
It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him about the shoebox. She even went so far as to open her mouth. But then she shut it again, quickly. It was private. Her secret discovery.
‘Perhaps you’re right,’ she agreed, letting it go. ‘Perhaps it all comes down to a leak in the roof.’
Cate headed back to her room, adrenalin pumping. The room had been locked for over a generation – not even Jo knew about it.
Something happened; something she felt certain was connected to the box.
Why else would it be locked? she thought, turning on the taps in her bath and putting in the plug. Maybe Irene planned to have a family to fill this old house but her husband was called to the war. Afterwards, when he returned, who knows? Perhaps he was injured or couldn’t bear to be touched.
Or maybe she’d fallen in love with someone else.
It was a riddle; a puzzle to be solved.
She