Sister to Sister

by Olivia Hayfield

  ‘Wow,’ said Eliza, taking off her boots.

  ‘Wine? Beer?’

  ‘Wine, please.’

  He took a bottle of red from a wine rack that doubled as a work of art, and poured them two glasses. ‘You’re quiet,’ he said, kissing her nose. ‘Don’t you like the flat?’

  ‘No, I do. It’s just . . . not cosy, I guess.’

  But her silence had nothing to do with the decor.

  How do I tell him? How will this go? Will I panic again? Surely not. It’s Rob.

  They took their drinks over to a huge white leather sofa.

  She took a sip, then shifted closer to him and leaned her head on his shoulder, tucking her feet up beside her. ‘Rob, I have something to share, and it’s not easy for me.’

  He put his arm round her. ‘What’s on your mind?’

  There was no point in skirting around the truth, using euphemisms, whatever. ‘OK, here goes. I’m a virgin.’

  He looked at her in surprise. ‘Holy fuck.’

  ‘Hm. I thought you might say something like that.’

  ‘So when you said inexperienced . . . I have to admit, that comes as something of a surprise. You’ve never exactly shunned male attention.’

  ‘I almost had a thing, with someone at Oxford. But I . . . he wasn’t really boyfriend material.’

  ‘Kit?’

  ‘What? Well – yes. But I was quite drunk when we . . . and he didn’t really want to, either. Because we’re such good mates. And we’ll be working together. It would’ve been awkward.’

  ‘But you and me are mates. And we’ll be working together.’

  ‘Good point. But you’re not a promiscuous pansexual who thinks fidelity is ridiculous.’

  He laughed. ‘My god.’

  ‘He’s . . . well. You’ve met him.’

  ‘Louche?’

  ‘Utterly. Looks to die for. Brilliantly clever. God knows what goes on in his head, though.’

  ‘But back to us?’

  ‘Yes. Look, Rob. I’m feeling insecure about my lack of experience, and I need you to understand that. Will you help me?’

  ‘You mean will I teach you sex? Lizzie Rose, that is possibly the most stupid question anyone has ever asked me.’

  She laughed, and the moment lightened.

  ‘Shall we start now?’ he said.

  He pushed her back gently, until she was lying down, and moved so he was beside her.

  They took it slow, and while one half of her appreciated his undeniable skill, the other half mourned that it had all been learned with someone else – lots of someone elses.

  He knew exactly what he was doing: how to remove clothes without anything getting tangled or caught, which bodily buttons to press, what to whisper in her ear, what to do with his fingers, his lips, his tongue, for how long. It was heavenly, it was glorious; she sighed, she moaned. His consummate skill swept her along, daring her to falter.

  Eventually he said, ‘Do you want to give it a try?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I won’t hurt you.’

  But as he manoeuvred she froze, and then, out of nowhere, panic hit. A fear so intense that for a moment, she forgot where she was, who she was with.

  ‘Stop!’

  She sat up quickly, taking deep, gulping breaths.

  What just happened?

  Just like with Kit, it had all been perfect, and then it wasn’t. Something had been triggered.

  Was there something wrong with her?

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, breathing quickly. ‘I don’t know what happened.’

  ‘Don’t worry, Lizzie.’ Rob sat up and wrapped her in a hug. ‘First-time nerves, I expect. Another lesson or two and you’ll be scaling the heights like you won’t believe.’

  She had a feeling she wouldn’t.

  The fear was real. She knew that now. It was nothing to do with Rob, or Kit. It was something inside her head.

  Later she caught a cab home and lay awake, mulling things over, reliving the moment. Perhaps Rob was right. Perhaps, after a few more goes, the panic would disappear and she’d be like a normal person, stopping over at his place, spending hot, lazy weekends in bed.

  But deep down, she doubted that would happen.

  Was it as she’d first suspected – a trust issue? Was her reluctance to get intimate something to do with her father’s treatment of women? And one woman in particular – her mother?

  Chapter 19

  Eliza

  Maria and Phil’s wedding was a small, happy-clappy affair. The Studleys and Lisles were in attendance, and as Eliza and Rob shuffled into the pew behind their parents, John turned round, clocked Eliza and Rob holding hands, and remarked, ‘Splendid!’

  Harry caught Eliza’s eye and winked, and she couldn’t help laughing. ‘You owe Dad five hundred quid, apparently, John.’

  ‘Worth every penny, my dear!’

  ‘Chrissake,’ muttered Rob.

  The contrast with Chess and Gil’s wedding was marked. Given the wealth between them, Eliza supposed Phil believed low-key was what God expected of an evangelical Christian, though to her it felt off, half-cocked.

  The pastor called Phil ‘one of the world’s chief defenders of Christian values’. ‘And chief attacker of women’s rights,’ hissed Chess.

  ‘Those who appear the most sanctified are the worst,’ whispered Eliza.

  ‘Who said that?’ whispered Rob.

  ‘Elizabeth the First.’

  Maria wore a cream-coloured suit with a small hat; there were no bridesmaids, no best man. But she was flushed with happiness, and Eliza wiped away a tear as she remembered the solemn, damaged girl who’d resented her all these years. She hoped things would go well for her now. Perhaps she’d have that child she so desperately wanted. Perhaps a child would finally make everything right.

  Harry looked bored throughout the ceremony, while Rob, Gil, Chess and Eliza reverted to their giggly teenage selves as an earnest guitar trio took to the stage to sing a heartfelt song specially composed for the occasion.

  Afterwards, at the low-key wedding reception (no dancing, no alcohol), Harry took Eliza aside. ‘Lizzie, let’s escape. I want to talk work. This reception’s so dull, we might as well.’

  They found a sofa in the hotel lobby, and Harry fetched them large drinks from the bar.

  ‘So here’s the plan,’ he said.

  ‘What have you been up to?’

  ‘Maria and Phil will be safely ensconced in the Bermuda house for the next two weeks. Hopefully Phil will be suitably distracted from work matters.’

  ‘If Maria has her way, they’ll be busy making babies.’

  Harry pulled a face. ‘So while the cats are away, I intend bringing Cecil Walsham in to meet you. Cecil will be your white knight, believe me. And as you suggested, I’ve been to see your aunt Margot. Turns out Maria didn’t give her quite the full picture. Margot thought Maria’s reforms were all about losing the sleaze, she didn’t know about the right-wing Christian agenda.’

  ‘Sneaky Maria. So you charmed Scary Big Sis?’

  ‘Impossible. But I did talk her round. We should bide our time, choose our moment carefully. Oh, and Margot’s also intending to gift some of her shares to her daughter, Mackenzie. She’s been working in Brussels, but because of Brexit, she’s decided her future lies in Scottish politics. Therefore I don’t see her wanting an active role at Rose, but I thought you should know.’

  Eliza had still never met her Scottish cousin.

  ‘OK, Dad. I’ll see the heads of department, to let them know we’re on top of things. Do you want to come with me?’

  Harry smiled. ‘You’re the boss. Use me as you think fit.’

  Harry came to the office early, to brief Eliza on Cecil. They headed to the cafe first, and staff acted as if Harry were a cross between their long-lost father and a member of the royal family (one of the popular, good-looking ones). He happily posed for selfies as they made their way over to the window.

  Eliza smiled
as she watched him. The media revelations that had so shocked Rose staff back in 2018 had clearly been forgotten. Or they’d all forgiven him, which was understandable in the face of his overwhelming charm.

  Like skittles in the path of a bowling ball.

  As they carried on, Eliza noticed him limping a little. ‘How’s the leg, Dad?’

  ‘Been playing up a bit. I blame this wretched weather. I’m looking forward to being back on Janette; we’re going to sail down the California coast to Mexico. Mark – you remember Captain Yates? – is keen to have your friend Frankie on board, by the way. Apparently they’ve been video calling.’

  ‘That’s great! Thank you.’

  ‘Look at that view,’ said Harry, as they sat down. ‘I may moan about the weather, but this is still the greatest city in the world. Nowhere to touch it. Right. Down to business. Let me tell you about Cecil . . . ’

  Harry painted a picture of the steadiest of hands, unflappable, all-seeing, all-knowing. A rock. ‘One of the keys to success is having a loyal, clever sidekick who does all the legwork for you. I had Tom Wolston. I more or less left the running of the company to him, while I did the strategic thinking. Cecil will be your Wolston.’

  ‘I remember Tom. Why did he leave?’

  Harry looked uncomfortable. ‘Your mother may have had something to do with that.’

  ‘Mum?’

  ‘Wolston played by the rules when it came to the law. Ana was pushing me on my divorce; Katie wouldn’t budge. I replaced Wolston with Cranwell, who was, let’s say, less of a rules man.’

  ‘Mum made you get rid of Tom?’

  ‘I would have done anything for her. If you ever fall for someone like I fell for Ana, try and remain objective. Or at least, sane.’

  Eliza laughed. ‘Was it that bad?’

  ‘I was a man possessed.’

  ‘Cranwell was the guy who went to the press about Mum’s death, right?’

  ‘He was out for revenge. I’d sacked him for sexual harassment. He . . . ’ Harry paused. His eyes slid away from Eliza’s and settled on the view again.

  They moved down to the Thames.

  ‘Behaviour sometimes follows a pattern, I have come to realize.’

  ‘Cranwell’s?’

  ‘Mine.’

  ‘How do you mean?’

  Harry seemed to be having trouble finding the words. His eyes met hers again, and she flinched at the look in them.

  ‘Dad?’

  ‘Cranwell assaulted Caitlyn. I’d summoned her to the office when her ex-boyfriend tried to blackmail me. The extortion attempt was nothing to do with her. I knew that, deep down, but I couldn’t forgive Caitlyn’s infidelity. I turned my back on her, left her in the hands of Cranwell and her low-life ex. That evening, she threw herself into the Thames.’

  Eliza pictured her step-mother. She’d been tiny, beautiful, full of life; had always loved playing with Eliza and Eddie. They’d adored her.

  ‘But, Dad, if anyone should have understood infidelity . . . ’

  ‘I know. But it hurt. And I did something similar with your mother – buried my head in the sand, wanting to forget about it all, while Sokolov closed in. And all in the name of money.’

  ‘You’re a good person, Dad, and you’re facing up to your mistakes. It’s just taken you a while.’

  ‘Lizzie, promise me you’ll never let yourself be manipulated by a man.’

  ‘I won’t.’

  ‘You think Rob’s OK with you being his boss?’

  ‘I’m pretty sure he enjoys it. Thinks it’s fun.’

  ‘Right. Well, it’s probably not ideal, but it’s early days. As long as you’re happy.’

  ‘I am. Very.’

  ‘Good.’ He looked at his watch. ‘We’d better wend our way, Cecil will be here any minute.’

  Pippa showed Cecil in to Eliza’s office. Harry made the introductions, and Cecil looked Eliza in the eye and firmly shook her hand. His own was cool. She guessed he was in his mid-forties; medium height, brown hair in a sensible style. Earnest, intelligent eyes assessed her; there were faint frown lines between them. Something about him said ‘dependable’.

  ‘I’m delighted to meet you, Eliza. Harry speaks highly of your capabilities. He’s filled me in on the situation here at Rose, and I hope I’ll be able to assist in a consultant capacity—’

  ‘Consultant only until Eliza’s full time,’ interrupted Harry. ‘Then, pending her approval, you will be too. Whatever it takes, Cecil, consider yourself lured.’

  ‘I see.’

  The three sat around the table, talking strategies and future directions, and it felt right. Eliza knew – this was her place, her destiny. If only they didn’t have the whole Maria and Phil business to sort out first.

  Then, all at once, it was Trinity term – she’d be leaving Oxford in a matter of weeks. The daffodils had fluttered, danced, and left; the cherry trees were frothing with blossom, and there was a waxy blue haze of new leaves on the willows along the Cherwell.

  On May Day eve, Eliza, Leigh and Frankie went over to Will and Kit’s place.

  ‘Food – I remember this!’ said Will, snapping the lids off the Chinese meal the girls had picked up.

  The goal was to stay up all night. Tomorrow they’d be making their way down to Magdalen Bridge to watch the sunrise.

  ‘I guess I can catch up on sleep in my nine o’clock lecture,’ said Frankie.

  ‘Good plan,’ said Kit, spearing a prawn wonton with a chopstick. ‘Might make it into double figures – I’m one lecture ahead of you, Will.’

  ‘No, we’re both on eight, remember?’

  ‘Eight lectures? In how long?’ said Leigh.

  ‘Since ever,’ said Will.

  Eliza shook her head. What would it be like to be so good at English that you could skip lectures and tutorials, do next to no revision, spend your final term in the pursuit of pleasure, and somehow still get a first? Because she knew that would happen.

  After their meal they sat on cushions on the floor, drinking bottle after bottle of wine, the conversation rambling through politics, future plans, favourite childhood TV programmes, the meaning of life . . . at which point Frankie fell asleep with her head on Leigh’s shoulder.

  Kit fetched his guitar and sang to them, his head tipped forward, his long hair hiding his eyes. His beautiful, soulful voice spoke straight to Eliza’s heart. She recognized the old seventies number ‘Woodstock’, and sang softly along: ‘And I feel just like a cog, in something turning . . . ’

  Then she couldn’t sing any more.

  ‘Eliza, are you crying?’ said Will.

  ‘How could anyone not?’

  Kit looked up.

  ‘Come here, sweetness,’ Will said.

  She shuffled over and curled up in his arms.

  ‘Why so sad?’

  ‘Because all this will end soon. What lies ahead, after Oxford . . . sometimes it feels like too much. The responsibility, Dad’s expectations; the fight with Maria.’

  ‘You’ll have us,’ said Will. ‘All for one, and all that.’

  As Kit finished the melancholy song, she fell asleep.

  At five o’clock, Eliza was gently shaken awake by Leigh. ‘Time to go – drink this,’ she said.

  Eliza sipped the hot coffee, trying to work out whether she was drunk or hungover. Somewhere between.

  The five set off through the dark streets, rubbing their arms against the chilly air, joining the crowds heading to Magdalen Bridge.

  As dawn broke on May morning, and the gothic spires were silhouetted against a pale-blue sky, the sound of the young choristers singing ‘Hymnus Eucharisticus’ rang out from the top of the Great Tower and the crowd fell silent.

  Standing behind her, Kit slipped his arms around Eliza’s waist and she leaned back against him. Once again, she felt the presence of all those who’d come here before her, listening to the sweet voices of the choir celebrating spring.

  Our endless numbered days.

  P
eople were recording the singing, their phones glowing bright in the half-light. But Eliza wouldn’t need help remembering this.

  Then the bells pealed and they set off back along the High, where morris dancing and other strange forms of revelry were already in full swing.

  ‘Pagan worship does it for me,’ said Kit, as a green-horned goat loped past, followed by a walking tree.

  As they ate enormous breakfasts at the Turf, Will said, ‘So, Eliza. Your Rob’s up next weekend. Will we love him or hate him?’

  ‘I’m so excited to meet him!’ said Frankie.

  ‘You’ll love him, everyone does,’ said Eliza. ‘He’s not into theatre or poetry, Will, but he loves a good movie.’

  ‘I’ll reserve my judgement,’ said Will. ‘Our standards on your behalf are beyond stratospheric.’

  ‘You three need to get on. Trust me.’

  ‘Why?’ said Kit.

  ‘Because I have plans for him. You could be working together soon.’

  ‘Does it for me,’ said Kit.

  Eliza gave him a look. ‘No. Mine.’

  ‘Him, or me?’

  She grinned. ‘Both.’ Taking him by surprise, she kissed him on the lips.

  ‘Oh my god, you two,’ said Leigh.

  Later, Will, Kit and Eliza went to a lecture on Elizabethan and Jacobean popular theatre, where they slept on the back row until it was time for their tutorial.

  ‘Eliza, there’s a fuck-off car outside,’ said Frankie. ‘I’m guessing it’s Rob’s.’

  It was Friday evening a week later, and the girls had already finished their first bottle of end-of-the-week wine.

  Eliza joined her friends at the window and saw Rob getting out of his silver Porsche, sunglasses on, swinging his Paul Smith jacket over his shoulder. He grabbed a bunch of flowers and a bag from the passenger seat, pressed his key remote, and headed up the path.

  ‘Oh my god,’ breathed Leigh. ‘That’s indecently hot.’

  ‘Holy shit,’ said Frankie. ‘Fan me, someone.’

  ‘Shut up, you two,’ said Eliza, smiling. ‘It’s just a boy.’

  But as she watched Rob approach, she acknowledged their expletives were justified.