Page 10 of Lessons in Life

‘What does she look like?’

‘She’s only in her early seventies, blonde hair, tall. She looks a bit like Grace Kelly, apparently.’

‘I’m surprised you know who Grace Kelly is, at your age.’ Lisa grinned.

‘I don’t really. It was Glenys, sitting over there—’ Bex indicated with an egg-smeared fork one of the residents on the far table who was laughing at something her neighbour was saying ‘—who said it. I haven’t a clue who this Grace Kelly is.’

‘Was.’Lisa smiled. ‘She’s dead now. And does she? Look like Grace Kelly, I mean? Goodness. What on earth is she doing here if she looks like Grace Kelly and is only in her early seventies?’

‘Dementia, I’m afraid. Which can strike at any age.’

‘Can it?’ Lisa recalled how she’d popped up to her bedroom only that morning but, when she got there, couldn’t for the life of her remember what she’d gone there for. That was a bit worrying. Don’t say she was a contender for early onset dementia when she was feeling so well after years of dreading an episode of the porphyria.

‘She’s still being assessed as to which wing she should really be on,’ Bex was saying. ‘Her husband wants her on the dementia wing for specialist care. If you can’t find her, Lisa, you’ll need to tell Jess.’

‘OK, no problem, I’ll pop upstairs first and see if she’s up there.’ Lisa patted the arm of Lilian, the silver-haired ninety-five-year-old who’d clutched at her sleeve all the while she’d been at her table, and moved away towards the entrance. Then she took the flight of swirly-patterned-carpeted stairs to the second floor, which had been divided into en suite bedrooms. This had been a magnificent house at one time. Built, Jess had told her, as so many of these northern mansions were, for the entitled owners of the industrial woollen mills for which West Yorkshire had become so renowned. Lisa walked quickly, stopping at each bedroom door to read the names of the residents until she finally saw the one labelled Eloise.She hesitated, not wanting to intrude on someone’s personal space, especially if they hadn’t felt like joining the others for breakfast, but eventually tapped lightly on the cream-painted door.

‘Eloise?’ she called softly, pushing open the door.

The room was empty, the bed neatly made.

4

‘Have you seen Jess?’ Lisa walked quickly down the stairs towards Jess’s office, stopping to speak to one of the carers once she saw the door ahead of her firmly closed.

‘She said we weren’t to disturb her.’ The girl, who couldn’t have been much older than Sorrel and in the process of propelling two snow-white-haired residents towards the lounge, nodded importantly. ‘Got visitors.’

‘This early?’ Lisa, glancing at her watch, realised it was later than she’d thought. ‘I can’t find Eloise, and Bex said I should tell Jess.’

‘Have you looked in the garden? Would you mind? I’ve got my hands full at the moment. It’s bingo in ten minutes and there’s always a fight to get the best seats. You can’t miss her: she’s very beautiful.’

‘I heard.’ Lisa smiled back. ‘Shall I go out the front door?’

‘That’ll just take you onto the drive. She’s more likely to be out the back. That’s where she was yesterday.’ The girl – Stephie, according to her badge – pointed a finger down the hall towards the kitchens as the two women in her care tugged impatiently at her sleeve. ‘Servants’ and tradesman’s entrance originally – leads out to the gardens. Try going up through the old orchard and vegetable gardens. It’s a bit of a hike, but she seems to like going out there for some reason.’

‘Thanks.’

The cold January air hit her as soon as she opened the back door, but came as something of a relief after the overheated, cloying atmosphere of the inside of Hudson House. Lisa let out a little involuntary ‘Oh’ of surprise when she saw just how big the grounds were. Although, on closer inspection, not overly well kept. Not well kept at all.

‘Too much damned ivy,’ Lisa muttered, her expert gardener’s eye noting the leafless stems of climbing roses struggling to survive in the ivy’s unrelenting march forwards.

Summer seemed such a long way off and Lisa sighed as she clasped her frozen hands into two fists to bring back some heat into them. She needed to crack on if this Eloise was out here. She must be freezing, especially having not eaten breakfast. But which way to go? Who’d have thought Jess’s care home was situated in the midst of such a glorious garden? Certainly, as far as she could recall, Jess had never mentioned how spectacular Hudson House’s gardens were. Or, she saw, must have been in their heyday, years ago.

Lisa took the now overgrown path through a large orchard to her right, stopping every couple of seconds to take in and admire the different types of fruit tree, before exiting through the clearing ahead of her.

‘Oh?’ Lisa acknowledged the second surprise of the garden as she continued to search for the Grace Kelly lookalike. There, to her left, was a building. Well, not really a building, she acknowledged, but some sort of summer house.

Despite its size and apparent neglect, the summer house was quite stunning, its pale classical lines giving a heads up to an obvious Grecian influence. Recalling the Classics A level Adrian Foley – himself a Cambridge graduate of the subject – had made her take alongside maths and sciences, Lisa was easily able to identify the Doric fluted columns set into white marble. Blimey, this was a bit different from the Yorkshire stone of the main house. In fact, bloody daft; incongruous even. Who the hell had wanted a replica of the White House in their Beddingfield back garden? She wouldn’t have been surprised to have seen the Stars and Stripes unfurling merrily into the grey snow-laden sky. Fascinated, Lisa hurried towards it, slipping slightly on the wet grass as she did so, forgetting for a few seconds that she was here on another mission.

She walked up a couple of white marbled steps, green, wet and exceedingly slippery with lichen, old autumn leaves and dirt that the years had accumulated there. Icy drizzle was starting to fall.

Peering through the filthy cracked windows, shivering slightly as the icy drizzle caught in her hair and neck, Lisa knew she needed to return to the main house. Eloise didn’t appear to be out here in the garden. She was just about to turn and make her way back inside, hoping that the missing woman had made her way to the dining room to salvage what, if anything, was left of breakfast, when a small movement inside the summer house made her turn her face towards it. A tall, upright and unmistakably elegant woman dressed in a brown skirt and fawn sweater was leaning against the far wall, her eyes closed, arms wrapped around herself but not, Lisa saw, in what she’d first assumed to be a protective stance. Rather, as though she were in a passionate embrace.

Eloise presumably.

Lisa made her way round to the huge double doors and let herself in but hesitated, not wanting to frighten the woman. ‘Eloise. Eloise?’ she called gently. ‘Hello, I’m Lisa. You’ve missed breakfast. Why don’t you come back inside with me now? You must be freezing out here without a coat.’ When she didn’t reply, Lisa moved towards her, gently taking her arm.

Startled, the woman moved back slightly, staring at Lisa as if woken from a deep sleep.

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