‘I will. If you’ll excuse me, I’d better serve some of the other guests.’
They were watching him go over to where Evelyn and Kit were chatting with Ralph and Annelise when the boy’s mother appeared. Her hair nicely coiffed and wearing a navy blueslim-fitting,above-the-knee dress of fine wool with a matching cardigan draped over her shoulders, she looked elegant and poised. Remembering the dowdy shapeless dress she had worn to the party at Meadow Lodge back in October, and how awkward she had been that night, Florence was amazed at the change in her.
‘I’m so pleased you both came,’ she said graciously, looking and sounding like the perfect hostess.
‘It was very kind of you to invite us,’ said Florence. ‘Happy Birthday to you.’
‘Thank you. I hope people won’t think it very odd having a party like this when Arthur is ... well ... given the situation, but Ralph wouldn’t hear of not celebrating my birthday in style. I only agreed on the basis that everyone from the village was invited so I could thank them for their kindness these last few weeks.’
‘Which was very thoughtful of you,’ said Florence, thinking that Julia wasn’t so much changed as completely transformed. ‘We’ve just been chatting to your son,’ she then said. ‘What a charming and polite boy he is. You must be so proud of him.’
Julia smiled, her eyes searching for Charles in the crowd of guests. ‘He insisted he helped,’ she said, ‘even though we have plenty of waitresses the agency sent us.’
‘Is that where you found Mrs Grundy, your new cook? Charles mentioned her to us.’
‘Yes, she’s marvellous, and with any luck the agency will find a new housekeeper for me as well.’ Julia gave a short unexpected laugh. ‘A woman who doesn’t have designs on being mistress of Melstead Hall, or one who enjoys concocting horrid letters.’
Surprised that Julia could joke in such a manner, Florence said, ‘A number of us in the village owe you a debt of gratitude for discovering what Miss Casey was up to.’
‘I didn’t do anything particularly clever, I merely stumbled across the evidence quite by accident.’
‘However you did it, we’re all very glad you did, Mrs Devereux,’ joined in Billy.
‘Do please call me Julia. I hate everyone being so formal with me.’
‘That was more or less what I said to Charles,’ said Florence. ‘I hope you don’t mind.’
‘Not at all. I’m just so happy that he now has the opportunity to get to know people here properly. This has always been his home, but until now it hasn’t really felt that way for him. Which probably sounds peculiar, but that’s the truth of the matter. Arthur didn’t like for us to ... ’ she hesitated and fiddled with the string of pearls around her neck. ‘He didn’t like to share us with anyone else.’
‘How is Mr Devereux?’ asked Florence, noting that Julia had referred to him in the past tense.
‘Not good, I’m afraid. Ralph and I have been told to prepare for the worst, that the end is sooner rather than later. His heart is just so very weak.’
What heart?Florence was tempted to ask. Instead she asked how much longer Ralph would be staying.
‘He’ll be here for a few more weeks, which will be a great help to me ... particularly,’ she lowered her voice, ‘if there’s a funeral to arrange.’
‘Yes,’ said Florence. ‘I can see that would be a help to you.’
‘Charles and I shall miss him when he does go back to London, we’ve grown very fond of Ralph. But he’s found himself a job with a firm of stockbrokers. Now if you’ll excuse me, I ought to chat with my other guests. Do have plenty to eat and drink, won’t you?’
Florence watched Julia go over to chat with Max and Isabella, who had arrived yesterday at Island House for the weekend. Unfortunately, due to the awful weather, the play Isabella had been performing in had closed after a dramatic drop in audience numbers. Isabella didn’t seem at all bothered, she was too busy being in love, Florence supposed.
‘She’s become quite the mistress of Melstead Hall, hasn’t she?’ remarked Billy.
Switching her thoughts back to Julia, Florence agreed. ‘After what she had to put up with from that monster of a husband, I say good luck to her.’
Romily had told Florence in confidence all that she knew that had been going on here, but it was already common knowledge that Julia had been treated appallingly by Arthur Devereux. There was gossip too that he had run his own sister over and that he’d been carrying on with Miss Casey.
Seeing Stanley standing in the bay window on his own, his hands pushed deep into his trouser pockets as he stared out at the garden, Florence thought how glum he looked. Leaving Billy to chat with Reggie Potters from Holmewood Farm, she went over to Stanley.
‘Penny for your thoughts,’ she said.
‘You know me,’ he said despondently, ‘I’m not a great one for parties, and this one feels plain weird, don’t you think?’
‘I think it’s Julia’s way of telling the village that Arthur is as good as dead and she’s now carving out a new life for herself.’
‘I know the feeling,’ he said.
