by Rachel Hore
The first night she lay awake between sheets scented with herbs, getting used to the creaks of the furniture again and new sounds, the groans and clangs of cooling radiators. The place felt safe, tranquil, and now she’d discovered her family links to it, she felt as though she belonged there. It was with this thought in her mind that she drifted off into a deep and dreamless sleep.
It wasn’t the next day, but the one after that Briony was sitting at her laptop, deep in the queries on her proofs, when she was dragged out of her absorption by the sound of men’s voices. They sounded distant and came and went, blown, she supposed, by the breeze, but one, she became sure, was Greg’s. The other was quieter, more measured, with rhythms that were familiar, but it was impossible to hear what either was saying. Her curiosity got the better of her, so she saved her document, grabbed her parka from its hook in the hall and let herself out into the misty afternoon.
There was no one to be seen, but when she followed the voices, she found herself at the door of the walled garden. Warily, she pushed it open and glanced inside. There, on the far side of what still looked like a building site, were two men, standing together examining a computer and discussing whatever they saw on its screen. Greg was describing a shape in the air with his finger to make some point. The face of the other man, who wore a beanie hat and a thick jacket, wasn’t visible, but then he glanced up and, with a jolt of surprise, Briony realized that it was Luke.
Her first instinct was to retreat, but it was too late, she’d been spotted.
‘Briony?’ Greg strode in his wellingtons across the muddy ground, and though she tried to keep her eyes on him she was all too aware of Luke rooted to the ground behind him and staring with surprise. ‘How are you?’ Greg leaned in to kiss her on both cheeks. His hand cupped her elbow and he drew her forwards. ‘Were you trying to avoid us?’
‘Not really, it’s just . . .’
‘Step round this bit, you’ll avoid the worst of the mud. Come and see. We’re discussing the layout of the beds.’
Up close, Luke looked at her as though he couldn’t believe his eyes. He tucked the tablet under his arm as he came forward to greet her. They slid naturally together into a hug, but quickly pulled back. ‘I didn’t know you were down this way,’ Luke mumbled.
‘I . . . forgot to say.’ Greg’s expression could only be described as sheepish. For a while they all swapped polite pleasantries.
‘How are your parents, Luke? I thought about ringing them while I was here, but . . .’ The rest of her sentence died on Briony’s lips. What would have been more natural and indeed polite in normal circumstances than to have offered to drop in on them? But circumstances were not normal and there was no point in pretending they were.
Luke nodded as though he understood. ‘They’re both fine, thank you.’ He drew the tablet out again and flicked the cover open and came closer in order to show her the plans for the garden. The daylight was grey and the screen bright, so she could see fairly easily where everything was to be planted.
‘Over here, flower beds, there, herbs, and these, yes, will be the vegetable beds.’
‘It’s like the diagram on Mrs Clare’s wall, then.’
‘That’s right, but with some extra bits from Sarah’s letters.’
‘Luke’s pricing up the plants for me,’ Greg explained, ‘and then we’ll put in an order.’
‘I won’t stop you, then. Come and have a cup of tea when you’ve finished.’ Briony felt her smile was pasted on as she looked from one to the other. She was holding them up, obviously, and left them to return to her own work. When she sat down at her desk again, she found it difficult to concentrate, half expecting the men to arrive any moment. In the end she gave up trying to work, went into the kitchen and filled the kettle and laid three mugs on a tray.
When the doorbell rang, she opened the door to find only Luke waiting on the path. He pulled off his hat, ran his hand through his mane of hair and grinned in that old Lukeish way that made her gulp.
‘What have you done with Greg?’ she asked lightly.
‘He got a call. I think he was in the middle of some deal. Anyway, said he had to go.’
She let out a long slow breath. ‘So you’d better come in.’
Inside, she couldn’t help but be aware of his presence filling the hallway, the scent of rain and earth and soap that came in with him. He hung up his coat, followed her through to the kitchen and leaned against the counter, watching, arms folded, as she made the tea and dithered about, returning the milk to the fridge before she’d even poured it.
‘I hadn’t known you were coming down,’ he said again. ‘I’m sorry if I seemed a bit stunned.’
‘I hadn’t known you’d be here.’ That was, on the face of it, true, but she felt her cheeks pink up because there had always been the likelihood. ‘How often have you needed to visit the garden?’
‘It’s seemed like every weekend lately, but actually it’s not. Greg said he would be about today and that it would be a good time to meet.’
She nodded, secretly thinking, Thank you, Greg, as she gave him his tea and they went through to the living room, where she moved some books from the sofa so he could sit down. He did so carefully, as though aware of all his movements.
‘I don’t think I’ve seen you since . . .’ He broke off.
‘Yeah,’ she said, remembering that awful night where she’d encountered him on the street outside Aruna’s flat, picking up his sodden washbag.
‘So how are you?’ He looked up, giving her a lopsided smile.
‘Yes, not bad.’ She felt like crying inside, their words were so stilted. ‘I came down to do some work. It’s funny, though, I feel sort of attached to here, like I belong. Does that sound crazy?’
‘Completely mad,’ he said and they both laughed and the atmosphere lightened.
‘There’s an awful lot to tell you, if you’ve got the time. About Paul and Sarah, I mean, and Harry Andrews.’
‘I have the time. But Greg let slip some of it. He says you and he are cousins or something? He’s trying to view you in a new light. Sounds weird.’
She nodded, sure now that Greg was stepping back, allowing Luke to have his chance.
‘He knows about Aruna, too,’ Luke went on. ‘He must have done the whole time.’
‘Because she was asking questions?’
‘I got it all out of her. About the man she’d met in the flash car outside the villa, who told her about the British soldiers who’d murdered Antonio. She started to make her own investigations and approached Greg behind your back. I still don’t know why.’
‘I think I do,’ Briony whispered. ‘She can be like that sometimes. I don’t know if it’s jealousy, but she can play these power games.’
She thought about all the times that Aruna had interfered in her life. The awful TV show . . . She also didn’t want to discuss any of this with Luke. That seemed a low thing to do.
‘She loved you though, Luke. Still does, by all accounts.’ She felt she had to say this, to be fair to Aruna.
Luke said nothing, but sat with both hands cradling his mug staring down into his tea. ‘It’s over,’ he muttered finally, ‘and she knows it.’
‘Luke, Aruna blames me, but I don’t know why.’
‘Don’t you?’ he said, staring up at her, his eyes narrowed, his expression serious. ‘You really don’t know?’
‘What?’ Her voice was faint.
‘You haven’t “done” anything, but Aruna sensed the truth anyway.’
‘That . . . things weren’t right between you?’
He sighed, placed his mug on the table and sat back in his seat. ‘Are you being deliberately obtuse?’
She flinched at his tone of frustration, then was angry. ‘Stop talking in riddles. Luke, listen, I first thought things couldn’t be right between the two of you when you came here on your own that day. There was something . . . different about your behaviour. I thought, well, that you were being flaky and that sor
t of thing really hacks me off.’
‘And that’s not me, Briony. I’m not like that. It’s just I’d started to realize properly . . .’ He was sitting up straight now, and his look was fiery, the red lights in his toffee-coloured hair glinting. ‘I don’t know how to say this. I’ll only get it wrong.’
The room was full of a charged energy. Slowly, Briony put her tea down, rose and went to sit beside him on the sofa. It felt like the bravest thing she had ever done. ‘Tell me,’ she whispered. ‘I’m listening.’
He smiled, his eyes brightening with amusement. Very gently he reached out and took her hand. ‘Close your eyes, then, and I’ll tell you.’ She did as he bid.
‘The day it happened, when the three of us first met, I was, if you remember, pressure washing a patio I’d been mending. Horribly wet and noisy it was. Suddenly someone taps me on the shoulder, making me jump, and I turn to see this pretty cool chick who’s babbling on at me about a lost cat.’
‘I was not babbling.’
‘OK, asking me, then. I turn off the water and we have a chat about this mog, and all the time I’m thinking how nice she looks, and it’s touching how upset she is for her friend, and I’m glad that it’s so easy to help her because I’d been hearing meowing from the place next door all afternoon.’
‘Poor old Purrkins, he must have been terrified getting stuck like that,’ Briony said, relishing the sense of warmth creeping up inside her.
‘And I made some appalling joke about cats’ nine lives and you laughed and you have such a great laugh, Briony, have I ever told you that?’
She shook her head. Luke’s grip tightened on her hand, she felt his warm breath on her cheek.
‘But the next thing that happens is that another cool chick arrives, this petite little thing, and she is really upset about her cat and she definitely does babble away. And when I shimmy over the fence and push the cat flap so the mog can get out, she’s so grateful, almost crying with relief, and she hugs me and invites me over to supper.’
‘I remember,’ Briony gave a grim sigh.
‘But wait. When I get back over the fence, there is the first chick and it’s like the light has gone out inside her. She’s all frosty, just thanks me in this polite voice and gives me a polite smile. Then the second chick, who’s invited me over, asks you, too, but it’s like she’s tossed you some ball invisible to the likes of me and you catch it and say, no, you’re busy that evening and smile warmly at your friend. Then you give me a nod and off you go.’
‘That is really how you saw it?’
‘Oh yes.’
‘I just thought you were bowled over by Aruna, just as so many men are, so I left you both to it. No one wants the plain friend hanging about.’
‘Plain? Plain? That’s how you see yourself?’ Luke took Briony’s face in his hands and looked at her with exasperation. ‘The trouble with you is that you don’t believe in yourself.’
‘I do,’ she tried to say, but they were already kissing.
‘Oh my god, you’re beautiful,’ he stopped to say, then they kissed again and Briony found herself melting into him with an astonishing sense of letting everything go. A terrific burden had been lifted from her.
‘So are you,’ she whispered when they drew apart, and she felt the prickle of tears in her eyes.
They lay down together on the sofa, face to face, and he pulled the comb out of its knot and stroked her hair, soothing her. ‘I first began to feel doubts when we were in Tuana,’ he said, ‘and was rather ashamed of myself. After all, I was fond of Aruna, and she was great. It was all great, but there was still you. The truth didn’t properly hit me until we came down here in the summer. Aruna was being grumpy about something and my mother dropped one or two telling comments. It just made me think.’
‘My darling friend called me a witch, I seem to remember.’
‘In your gingerbread cottage. Yes, you’re very witchy. You’ve certainly put a spell on me.’ Once again he stopped to kiss her.
‘I don’t know what to do about Aruna,’ Briony whispered. ‘We can never be friends again. Not like we were, anyway.’
‘No. It would be difficult.’ They were silent for a moment, each lost in thought. ‘But let’s forget Aruna for a bit.’
‘But I feel so guilty.’
‘Don’t. Think about the ways in which she’s hurt you.’
‘She wouldn’t have meant to.’
‘You’re a good-hearted woman.’
‘No, I’m not, I just hate falling out with people. Luke?’
‘Still here.’
‘Have you got to go anywhere this evening? I mean, will you stay here with me?’
‘That’s the best offer I’ve had all day,’ he said, and they laughed and held each other close.
Forty-seven
Tuana lay sleepy under the afternoon sun as Briony and Luke strolled hand in hand through the main square, he with his jacket draped over his shoulder, she in the stylish pale green dress he’d picked out for her in a Naples boutique and a soft straw hat that framed her face. Here was the pavement café with its scattered tables and chairs where she and Aruna had rested, even the same waiter, clearing the table where they’d sat. It was odd coming back, for the memories were mixed ones. Luke hadn’t wanted to, but Briony had persuaded him. She still ached for Aruna, but needed to see the town with her new knowledge of what had happened here, to think about it all and what it had meant for her family. To gain some kind of peace about it.
‘I really don’t remember going in here,’ Luke murmured, as she mounted the steps to the church.
‘You must have done.’
He shook his head. ‘I was at the dentist when you went, remember? And the other times we came it was to shop.’
She pushed open the wooden door and they entered the cool gloom, their footsteps echoing in the high-ceilinged space. Soft flames from a rack of votive candles drew her to the altar. ‘There it is,’ she whispered, and pointed with her sunglasses to the oval plaque on the wall next to the altar rail.
‘Antonio,’ Luke read aloud and his rich voice bounced from wall to wall until they heard the whole place whisper the name, Antonio, Tonio, onio.
‘Sorry,’ Luke said more quietly, and Briony, selecting a narrow candle from the box beneath the votive, shot him a smile. ‘Do you think that does any good?’ he asked, watching her place it in a holder and light it.
‘It’s symbolic. It was my relatives who were responsible for the boy’s death. I can’t imagine there’s anyone left alive to say sorry to.’
‘Maybe you’re right.’ He didn’t appear sure, but at least he was trying to understand. She reached out and briefly squeezed his arm.
They left the church to its memories and its dreams and stepped out into the sunshine again. Briony unfolded a tourist map. ‘The town hall’s down this way,’ she said and set off down one of the narrow streets that meandered off the square, Luke obediently in tow. They found it, but there wasn’t much to see, it being a rather plain edifice with a round arched double doorway that was locked, so they continued on until they came to where more recent properties had caused the town to creep out across the hillside. Briony shaded her eyes against the sun and looked around for a building that might have been the barn where the town’s wartime rations had been stored, but wherever it had been it must have gone. Instead her gaze swept the valley and up to where the shoulder of the mountain rose steeply above the town. It should be there somewhere, yes, that was it.
‘Hey.’ She nudged Luke and pointed to an ochre blob among the dark mass of trees, waiting until he saw it.
‘The Villa Teresa! Still there!’
‘Hope so. Shall we go and see it? We’ve got time before we’re due at Mariella’s.’
Luke leaned in and kissed her. ‘Your call, my love.’
The road out of the town was one they hadn’t taken before, winding up the hillside, at times so narrow that Briony, who was driving, held her breath that something wouldn’t be
heading down the other way. Occasionally there were turnings off, sometimes signposted, sometimes not, but she followed her instincts and carried on. Eventually, just as they were cresting a hill, dark trees on either side of the road, she paused at where a gravelly lane led off downhill. On an ancient broken sign she made out the word ‘Teresa’.
‘Go for it,’ Luke said beside her and she turned the wheel. The trees thinned out and she tried to avert her eyes from the spectacular view of the valley in order to negotiate the sharp bends in the road. Eventually, they arrived at the point where a year before she’d reached after climbing the hillside in search of the villa. She and Luke exchanged glances, anticipation mounting. She drove on slowly, noticing every detail of the way. There was where Aruna sank down in pain at the side of the track and Luke stuck a plaster on her foot. There was the brief glimpse of Tuana before the bulk of the escarpment swallowed it again. Here was the corner beyond which she’d see the locked wrought-iron gates of the villa. She rounded it and stopped the car abruptly.
‘Luke! What’s going on?’ Before them the old gates stood wide. The turning circle was ploughed by deep wheel marks. Further marks scored the drive.
‘No idea.’ Luke lowered a window to admit a blast of hot air. ‘I can’t hear anything. Shall we go and look?’
They walked furtively up the drive towards the villa through a garden as rampant as ever, to be astonished by the sight of metal poles reaching up above the greenery. The sound of tinny music reached them, and male laughter. ‘What on earth?’ she hissed to Luke. But then they passed the barrier of trees and stopped in astonishment at the scene before them.
Three burly workmen were sitting on boxes around a makeshift table playing cards. The scene was so much like the old war footage of the soldiers nicknamed the Three Stooges that for a moment Briony was confused. But a very modern sports car was parked to one side, and the house beyond could hardly be seen for scaffolding and sheets of plastic, but here and there she could glimpse the signs of repair: new rafters, part of a metal joist.
‘Who’s doing this?’ she gasped.
