Chapter 31

On Monday, Helen was waiting for me in my office. I took Margaret's letter out of my notebook and placed it in front of her.

‘What do you think of this then?' I said.

She read it and looked at me. ‘This is the letter you told me about.'

I showed her the photo of Margaret in the guidebook as well as the newspaper article with her wedding photo on the website.

‘Photos as well. This love story between the lady's maid and the chauffeur in the RAF would be perfect for the exhibition. Margaret's address is in Gatley, near the church. Shall we go and see her?'

‘Do you think we should find out more first?'

‘No time like the present.'

‘Are you sure?'

‘It's a nice day. We can walk.'

We crossed the fields into Gatley and found number fifteen, Church Road, a white terraced cottage, opposite an old Norman church with a sign saying st andrew's. The door was red with a semicircle of stained glass above it.

I rapped the knocker. A woman answered the door, but she was much younger than Margaret would be, probably in her fifties.

‘Hello,' I said. ‘We're looking for Margaret Anderson.'

‘She moved out a couple of years ago,' the woman said.

‘Oh, sorry to bother you,' I said.

‘But, seeing as she's my aunt, I can tell you where she is. What's this about?'

I got the letter out of my handbag and showed it to her.

‘Ah, yes, she was upset that no one from Gatley Hall had got in touch. She did try ringing up and left messages as well, but she never heard back.'

‘I'm sorry to hear that,' I said. ‘My new job at Gatley Hall is to look into letters like this one, so if you're able to tell me where she is it would be lovely to go and see her.'

‘She's living at Hyacinth Place, a care home on the road to Dorking.'

‘Do you think we could visit her there?'

‘You'd need to call and arrange a meeting. I'd come with you, but I'm about to leave for the airport on a business trip. I'm Alice, by the way,' she said.

Helen and I introduced ourselves.

‘Nice to meet you both. Do go and see her. She'll be so pleased,' Alice said.

‘We will, as soon as we can. Thanks for telling us where she is,' I said.

The following day, I drove to Hyacinth Place with Helen. I'd called the previous afternoon and arranged a time to visit Margaret. A carer showed us into a vast lounge, and we waited at a table by the fireplace. An elderly man read a book in an armchair and two ladies played cards at a table, while another man was asleep in front of the television. It wasn't the most uplifting of places, with walls a turtle-green colour and tired-looking chairs. And the room smelt strongly of disinfectant.

Before long, the carer who'd greeted us brought Margaret into the room. She was very thin and frail with a head of white hair, and she wore a green dress. It was hard to believe that this was the same person in the photos I'd seen.

We stood up and I said, ‘I'm Claire Bell from Gatley Hall. This is my colleague, Helen.'

Her face broke out into a smile, and she lowered herself slowly into the chair opposite us. From the way she fixed her eyes on me, Margaret seemed to have her wits about her,and I hoped she'd be able to tell us what we needed to know in order to help her.

‘At last! Where have you been? I'm not getting any younger, you know.'

‘I'm sorry. I only just found your letter. Do you mind if I ask you some questions?'

‘I did ring up and try talking to someone a few times, but no one called me back.'

It didn't seem fair that Margaret had been ignored, and I wanted to make it up to her, to help with her quest. I got the letter out of my handbag and removed it from the envelope. ‘Thank you for writing to us. Is Tabitha your daughter?' I said.

Margaret shook her head. ‘Oh no. She lived with Mr and Mrs Willis.'

‘So, she was their daughter?'

‘No, they just took her in.'

‘So who was she?' I said. ‘And why do you need to find her?'

‘Tabitha had a son, later than most women would. He wasn't planned. She already had two grown-up daughters and was divorced, but she was having an affair. He was what one might call a menopause baby. When he arrived, Tabitha couldn't cope with being a mother again at a time when she'd been ready to go and do her own thing. She'd always dreamt of living in Italy and being an artist, like her mother.' Pausing, she tipped her head to one side, a faint smile on her lips, as if reliving a memory.

‘But, who is—' I said, but Helen put a hand on my arm.

‘Let Margaret say her bit,' she said.

Margaret continued. ‘She and her husband had agreed for years that they'd divorce when their daughters left home. They weren't a good fit for each other. Everything was organised, and she'd rented an apartment in Florence, signed up for an art course. She had an affair shortly before leaving and, when she found out that she was pregnant, she had to cancel her plans. When the baby was a few months old, she left him on his father's doorstep with a note. She didn't leave a forwarding address. This was in 1985.'

‘A while ago, then.'

‘I went to Florence to look for her. She was obsessed with Italy, which was understandable.'

‘Why was that then?'

At that moment, Margaret started to cough and couldn't seem to stop, so Helen went to get her a glass of water. She took a sip.

‘We couldn't find her in Florence. We went to the Italian Riviera as we were told she might be there. It's very beautiful. You must go there if you ever get the chance. We had a nice time in Nathan's caravan. It was the first time I'd been in a caravan. The first time I'd been abroad. Tom never wanted to take me, you see.'

Margaret seemed to be going off on a tangent, and I expected this was down to her age, and failing memory. I had no idea who Nathan was.

‘But it was nice to see Luca and to meet his family. His wife was very understanding, considering. Apparently, she wasn't best pleased when she found out about Tabitha.'

I had no idea who Luca was either, but this information seemed significant.

‘Who is Luca?' I said.

‘Luca? Oh he was very handsome. I fell in love with him when he saved my life. A German parachutist tried to kill me. I was quite shaken up, I can tell you. Lady Violet painted him in the gamekeeper's cottage.'

Confused by this mishmash of information, I said, ‘Did Luca live at Gatley Hall?'

‘Oh no, he lived on the farm with the Marshalls.'

‘Home Farm, linked to Gatley Hall. It's run by the Marshall family, and they supply the local butcher, Chester's, with meat,' Helen said.

‘Oh, that's interesting,' I said.

Margaret started to cough again and took another sip of water. Helen and I exchanged a glance.

‘I do apologise, dear. I've had this dreadful cold for some time. They do tend to linger when you get to my age, especially during the winter,' Margaret said.

‘Shall we come back another day?' Helen said.

‘That's a good idea. I'll make more of an effort next time. I didn't have a chance to put my lipstick on – they didn't tell me you were coming.'

‘All right, we'll arrange another visit soon,' I said. ‘Thank you, Margaret.'

The carer was standing by the door, and I approached her. ‘We'll come back another day. Margaret seems to be quite tired.'

‘She's had the cold that's been doing the rounds for a while. And her memory has been deteriorating lately. We did tell her to expect you, but she forgot and was upset because she couldn't dress up. She likes to make an effort for visitors.'

It was disappointing, but hopefully next time Margaret might be able to fill in the gaps. Until then, I'd try to find out who Luca was, and maybe Jim would know whether the gamekeeper's cottage was still there.