She threw herself into her work, the only way she knew how. She dusted, vacuumed and cleaned every room in the house, one by one, concentrating on the ones they used most and then moving on to those that were rarely, if ever used.
Chalton Manor boasted seven bedrooms on two floors, four of them with en suite, plus a separate large bathroom on the second floor and another on the ground, and although no one came to stay, it did not mean that they didn’t need cleaning. The house was ridiculously large for just two people, never mind one, but it was Peter’s home and he had no intention of moving elsewhere.
She cooked all the meals, honing her cooking skills along the way, and he jokingly complained that she was causing him to put on weight with the constant supply of pies, cakes and delicious dinners.
She did all the laundry and ironing and all the food shopping. Peter set up a new bank account in his own name, giving her a card to use and into which he transferred £500 per week from which she was to provide all the food, drink and cleaning materials she needed to run the house. Anything leftover was hers to spend as she liked.
He explained that it would not be possible to open an account using either her new or previous identity as it would not pass bank scrutiny, and they left it at that. She had never seen so much money before but had no use for it, as she already had everything she needed. When she helpfully suggested he reduce the size of the allowance, he simply smiled and changed the subject.
They went to see Emma and Michael for lunch, and Emma could not have been more pleasant and welcoming towards her. She didn’t know that Peter had had a robust conversation with Emma, in which he agreed to brief her on Alice’s background on the strict condition she did not ask any questions or raise the matter unless Alice did so first. This was enough to satisfy Emma’s curiosity, and she now looked at Alice in a new light.
For his part, Peter busied himself in his garden, tending his vegetable patch and greenhouse, deadheading the summer flowers and clipping and pruning whether it was necessary or not.
They saw few regular visitors other than postman, the window cleaner, and the men from the gardening company who mowed the acres of lawn and cut the voluminous hedges, all of whom were polite and deferential to the colonel’s pretty new housekeeper. At other times, Peter was often to be found in his study, reading from his extensive library of novels and books on military history, or, more often than not, when she brought him tea, asleep in the chair.
They took Carician out on the odd weekend when the weather was fine and laughed about thunderstorms and beans on toast and obstreperous, bombastic army officers. Above all, they enjoyed life and were kind to each other.
She had been there six weeks when one morning he was out tending his roses and she found herself in his room, cleaning and tidying, a normal part of her self-imposed regime. A pullover had been abandoned, left lying on the bed, so she folded it neatly and pulled open a drawer in the large mahogany chest by the bed to put it away.
The drawer was stuffed full of sweaters and jumpers all in a jumble, so she decided to take them all out, refold and replace them. At the bottom of the drawer, buried under the pile of sweaters, she came across a picture frame, face down. She hesitated for a moment but couldn’t resist lifting it up and turning it over.
It was a photograph. Two women, sisters maybe, but on closer inspection, one clearly older than the other. The older, taller one, possibly early forties, had long dark brown, almost black hair, high cheekbones, brown eyes and sparkling white teeth revealed by a broad, easy smile; her bronzed arms wrapped around the younger one in the foreground, her beauty classic and unassailable and her happiness complete.
The younger one was probably twenty, smaller, but in all respects other than age, just as lovely. Two stunningly beautiful women. Jess froze. She saw herself there in the picture. She may as well have been looking in a mirror.
Lisa.
She sat down on Peter’s bed, unable to tear her eyes away, unable to move, unable to comprehend. She could feel the fear and panic building from deep within and she desperately fought the urge to scream, battled an irrepressible urge to get away, to escape.
She sat for a moment, heart pounding, trying to understand, fearful that Peter may appear and find her with his most private of possessions. She hastily put the picture back where she found it, quickly folded and replaced the sweaters and left, confused and bewildered.
***
Peter noticed the change in Alice immediately. She became quiet, withdrawn, perfunctory in speech; but although he was concerned, he was not unduly worried. Everyone was entitled to a bad day. But when it persisted, he began to fear something was wrong, something was upsetting her, destabilising their otherwise idyllic lifestyle. He worried most how best to broach the subject. He needn’t have.
Alone in bed, she tried to rationalise what she had seen in that picture. Lisa and someone maybe twice her age, but at the same time, at least thirty years younger than Peter. Sisters? They could easily both be daughters, but the older of the two looked foreign. No, not sisters. Mother and daughter? More likely. Both beautiful, happy and vivacious, smiling for the camera. Smiling for Peter? She couldn’t make it fit. But then she recalled that look on his face when he first saw her, wet and bedraggled on the boat, the same expression of shock as Emma and Michael, that frock suits you very well, his insistence she stay on the boat and then at the house. The attention, the kindness, the love he had shown her; and he had not touched her once, not since that first shake of her hand.
Lisa was away, he had said, hasn’t been home for a while, he had said, and she believed him and trusted him and hated herself for doubting him.
But what of the older woman? No mention of this goddess, ever. The possibilities raged in her mind until one took hold, gained traction, and, no matter how hard she tried, would not leave her alone. Joe was a monster who terrorised and abused his family and ultimately lost them. Peter’s family, if that’s who they were, were nowhere to be seen. She tossed and turned, tormented by this recurring nightmare even though she knew in her heart it could not be true. She could not ignore it. She had to know.