Читать книгу The Secrets of Castle Du Rêve: A thrilling saga of three women’s lives tangled together in a web of secrets - Hannah Emery - Страница 13

Evelyn dropped one more pair of stockings into the case that lay open on her bed. It was quite full, but then it was very difficult to know what to pack, and so she’d thrown in quite a lot. She stood up, excitement flooding through her as she looked out of her tall bedroom window at Silenshore.

Today was the day.

Today, from her position at the end of the elegant castle, Evelyn felt like she was on the very edge of the world, in control of everything. She was eighteen now, and she had waited, year after year, for her life to jolt into action, to somehow be catapulted into Hollywood as she’d planned. She’d read in her mother’s magazines about stars like Carole Lombard, who had been spotted by film directors in the street and offered film roles that changed everything. She imagined it happening to her: a frantic packing of her mother’s best suitcase, a tangle of necklaces being thrown in along with lipsticks and perfumes and furs, a tearful goodbye as Evelyn left for a sudden new life. But it hadn’t happened yet, because Evelyn barely left the castle. There was nowhere to go in Silenshore. There was nothing to do and nobody to meet. Years ago, Evelyn might have met someone useful at one of her parents’ parties. But since the war, there weren’t as many parties as Evelyn would have liked. In fact, there were hardly any.

Poor Mary, the evacuee, had been right when she’d said the war would change everything: it had. But it hadn’t changed enough for Evelyn. She would have to do that herself. And she couldn’t wait for life to come and claim her any longer. She needed to go and claim her life.

Throwing open the huge dark oak doors of her wardrobe, Evelyn was greeted by her own scent, as a stranger might be. It smelt of spring flowers and sugar. That would change. A new life had to have a new, more mature, scent. She reached into the wardrobe and pulled out a yellow crepe dress. Yellow was the perfect colour. There was, she was sure, a pair of yellow shoes at the back of her wardrobe that she hadn’t worn since last summer. She fell down to her hands and knees, and scrambled amongst her things until she found one of the shoes. The other was further back; she could see its heel sticking out from a mound of bags. As she pulled the bags out of the way, her fingers fell onto something cool and sharp: the mirror. She yanked it from the tangle of straps, and ran her hands over the cool glass.

She’d put the mirror back in her mother’s drawer all those years ago, after the game of dares with the evacuees. She’d never had a real reason to take it again: there were certainly no more games of dares after the children had returned to their homes in London a few months after they’d arrived. But still, Evelyn hadn’t been able to stop thinking about it. It was as though, childish as it sounded when she thought about it now, the mirror wanted Evelyn to have it. She’d creep into her mother’s room to just touch it, to glance in it, to stare down at the beautiful blue sapphires that framed the glass. In the end, she’d hidden it in her own room, and if her mother had noticed it missing then she hadn’t said anything.

Her mother.

At the thought of Mrs du Rêve, Evelyn felt an immediate rush of guilt. It had been so easy for Evelyn to tell her the white lie: that she was going to stay with Mary in London for a while. Evelyn and Mary had scribbled out letter after letter to each other all through the war. Strong, brave Mary. Evelyn would have given anything for that to be true. But as bombs fell down on London like raindrops, Mary’s letters stopped. She’d written to Mary again and again but the lack of reply told her more than she needed to know. Evelyn’s mother didn’t know that Mary had stopped writing, didn’t know that Evelyn was actually rushing into London by herself, to claim the glittering life that belonged to her. Evelyn had expected Mrs du Rêve to scoff at the idea of going to stay with a common girl in the East End. But she hadn’t, which had made Evelyn feel even more guilty. But if she’d told her mother the truth, she wouldn’t have agreed to it. So there had simply been no choice.

Evelyn blinked at her reflection, then laid the mirror in her case, between the folds of a skirt. There was no way she could leave the castle without it.

The castle gardens smelt of ripe fruit and September sunshine and flowers: the perfect scent for such a glorious day. Evelyn hurried down Castle Street with her suitcase, drawn by the sea that glinted as though it was filled with jagged diamonds. She wanted to throw herself into the cool, silver waves, to plunge into the silence of the water, to rise up again and thrash her arms and legs around, and then lie on craggy rocks under the sun. Her legs propelled her further and further forwards, until she saw something that made her stop and stand still, her heart pounding, her mouth wide open to draw in huge lungfuls of salty air.

It was a shop, but it looked more like a cavern or a witch’s den full of twinkling beauty. Evelyn looked at her watch. It was ten to twelve, so if she hurried, she had time to go into the shop before the train to London arrived in fifteen minutes.

As Evelyn stepped inside, she stared around at the gems and pearls and gold and silver that spilt out from every cabinet and shelf. The man behind the counter smiled at her, his eyes tracing her young, curving figure and she blushed with the exotic pleasure of a man’s gaze. He was handsome: broad, masculine and dark, like a king of a faraway country.

The man stared at Evelyn for what seemed like a long time. Then he smiled and his whole face changed. ‘Can I help you?’ he asked.

Evelyn grinned at him. ‘I couldn’t help but come into your shop. I’ve lived in the castle all my life, but I’ve never noticed it before.’

The man smiled back. ‘I’ve just opened. Only been in Silenshore a few weeks. But it looks like we have bad timing. Have I moved here just as you’re leaving?’

Evelyn felt an unexpected prickle of disappointment about her plans. ‘Yes, I suppose we have. I’m off to London. My train’s in fifteen minutes.’

‘Oh, well, if you’re going to London then I’ll let you off. It’s one of the best places you can go to. Which part?’

Evelyn remembered the address Mary used to write from. She didn’t know many places in London, so that would have to do. ‘Bethnal Green,’ she said. ‘But I probably won’t stay there long,’ she hurried on. ‘I want to see all the different parts of the city.’

‘Have you got someone to show you round?

Evelyn looked down at a table that glinted with a rainbow of colour and fingered some green glass beads. She wanted to tell this man the truth, all about how she was going to arrive in London and try to get a job, to start all over again and take some classes in acting. But if her mother were to ask around… ‘Yes. I’m going to stay with a friend,’ she said reluctantly.

‘That’s good. Can’t have a beautiful lady like you wandering the streets of London alone.’

Something inside Evelyn bloomed at his words, as though he’d unlocked needs she hadn’t even known were there. She looked around: there were clocks everywhere, swinging pendulums and ticking hands that reminded her how close her train was getting.

‘Do you know London well?’ she asked the man, her hands lingering around the beads.

‘It’s where I’m from. I go back all the time to the auctions. I know a lot of people there. If there’s anything you want from London, I can get it for you.’