by Fanny Blake
‘OK. Let’s not talk about you.’ Eve put the dried pan in its place, and adopted a tone that invited gossip. ‘Anna told Charlie that there’s been an almighty row between Jess and Daniel. True or false?’
Rose tutted. Family and secrets – the two words didn’t compute in this family. One or other of them was always succumbing to the temptation of showing off whatever nugget of knowledge they had that the others didn’t. Not that she was blameless either. She had never been allowed to forget the time she’d let slip at a family dinner that Eve was pregnant with twins. How hurt her brother had been that he wasn’t the first to know. Reasonably so, Rose admitted, not for the first time.
If Eve suspected something, then it was Rose’s duty to do a bit of damage limitation before her sister-in-law’s vivid imagination and love of pot-stirring made the situation worse than it already was.
‘It’s Adam, isn’t it?’ Eve had abandoned the drying up and was perched on the edge of the table. Her face was redder than ever and circles of sweat decorated the underarms of the kaftan. ‘You don’t have to pretend. Daniel’s never made any secret of his feelings. He nearly said something at lunch. Just because Adam’s not the sort of husband that he would like for Jess. Why should he be the same age as her or have a conventional “career”?’ She air-punctuated the word. ‘After all, people have earned their living doing carpentry or woodturning or whatever he likes to call it for much longer than they have doing hotel management. And it’s not as if Jess hasn’t got a decent job. What’s the big deal?’
Rose welcomed the chance to talk about something else. ‘It’s all so stupid. Bloody men and their pride. Dan asked if Adam would do some joinery work, odd-jobbing at Trevarrick. He thought Adam needed the work, and proposed to pay him at the going rate, of course. He was trying to help,’ she protested on his behalf. ‘In return Adam called him patronising and turned the offer down, explaining why being a woodturner was quite different.’
‘Doesn’t he need the work?’ Eve picked at one of her nails where the canteloupe-coloured varnish had started to flake. ‘Dammit! I knew this manicure wouldn’t last.’
‘I would have thought so. But he’s proud and doesn’t want favours, least of all from Jess’s dad.’
Eve pulled out the chair beside her and patted the green-striped cushion. Rose removed the coffee from the hob, took out a couple of red and orange espresso cups and saucers and sat down with a sigh.
‘You shouldn’t do that. You sound about a hundred years old.’ Eve took the coffee and began to pour the thick black liquid into the cups.
‘I feel about a hundred years old.’ Rose leaned back, feeling her body start to relax at last. ‘Families! Who’d have ’em?’ She straightened up and took a sip. ‘Christ, that’s strong.’ She replaced the cup in the saucer. ‘Sorry. The trouble is, it doesn’t matter what Adam does. One, Dan doesn’t like him, doesn’t think he’s good enough for Jess – God knows why – and two, he thinks Adam ought to be out there supporting Jess and Dylan, not the other way round. On the other hand, Adam knows what he wants from life. He won’t be told what to do by anyone – least of all his father-in-law.’
‘Can you blame him? Anyway, Jess loves the hotel, always has. I can’t imagine her working anywhere else, or indeed not working at all.’
‘But Dan has this antediluvian idea that his daughters should be kept in the way . . . oh, you know.’ Rose gave up in despair. They all knew how devoted Daniel was to his daughters and how he wanted only the best for them. The best as he saw it, that was. Did the best involve their father having a mistress? she wondered with a pang. And they also knew his obstinacy, the obstinacy that Jess had inherited. ‘Anyway, the long and the short of it is that Jess stuck up for Adam, as you’d expect. She and Dan had words – understatement of the day – and she’s said that they’re not coming this year.’
‘But they must. I haven’t seen Dylan for months.’
‘I’ve got to speak to Dan, but as usual, it’s a question of finding the right moment. He’s going to have to back down. You know what Jess’s like when it comes to her family. And we all know exactly where she gets it from.’ The knot in Rose’s stomach tightened. ‘When will he realise that the girls are grown up and can lead their own lives without his interference? It’s always me who has to pick up the pieces.’ To her horror, one of the tears she had been holding back since the morning trickled down her cheek.
A lizard scurried up the wall by the door, then stopped motionless about halfway up.
‘Hey, hey.’ Eve put her arm around Rose’s shoulders. ‘This isn’t like you. If you won’t tell me what’s really wrong now, you’ve got a few days to change your mind.’
‘About what?’ Daniel stood in the doorway, his shadow slanting into the room. ‘What trouble are you two concocting?’
‘Nothing.’ Eve moved away from Rose. ‘You’ve got such a suspicious mind, Dan. I was only asking when we were expecting Jess.’
Rose didn’t miss the almost imperceptible flicker of irritation in Daniel’s face, the one-fingered scratch behind his left ear; both sure signs he was exercising extreme self-restraint. She began to put away the pans.
‘Jess?’ he said. Perhaps Eve didn’t notice the tension in his voice. ‘Any day, I think. Rose knows all the details.’ He crossed the kitchen towards the corridor.
The anger she’d felt earlier returned. His not facing up to the situation he’d created was absurd. ‘I think she’s waiting to hear from you,’ she said pointedly to his retreating back. ‘Before she makes up her mind.’ Rose knew full well that Jess and Adam’s tickets were booked for a flight in three days’ time, but also that Jess was perfectly capable of writing off the cost if her father didn’t make peace.
‘Really?’ He sounded surprised. ‘I didn’t think she and I had anything more to say to each other.’
‘Oh, Daniel.’ Rose stopped, aware of Eve’s beady eyes watching them, alert for every nuance. She wouldn’t give her sister-in-law the satisfaction of seeing them argue, thus confirming her suspicions. Especially not when she was afraid that any loss of temper could evolve too easily into something else. But however much she might want to avoid any kind of confrontation on holiday, they would have to discuss Jess and Adam before it was too late.
‘Well, we can talk about her later. I’m off for a quick nap.’ He ended any possibility of discussion by disappearing towards their bedroom.
He rarely took a siesta so late in the day. She looked after him, infuriated, frustrated and sad.
‘Now tell me there’s nothing going on between you,’ said Eve, adjusting her top across her shoulders.
‘Eve, please.’ Rose got up to cover the cheese board with a muslin dome, brushing away a couple of persistent flies. ‘I said I’ll talk to you when I’m ready. And I will.’
‘You’re just as stubborn yourself, you know. But OK. In that case, I’m going to give in to the tyranny of the pool, and find myself a parasol. If there’s one big enough to provide the amount of shade I need.’
Rose allowed herself a brief smile. ‘Don’t be an idiot. You’re looking great.’
‘Just what I meant! But once I’ve got Jess’s old maternity cozzie on, things may change. You wait.’
The costume Jess had left behind a year ago was the only one with a cat’s whiskers’ chance of fitting Eve.
‘I’ll see you down there later. I’m going to try to catch Dan before he nods off.’
‘Bad move, sister. I’m warning you.’ Eve shook her head as she left the room.
She was probably right, thought Rose, but sorting out Jess’s visit was vital. Otherwise the moment would be gone, and she wouldn’t come at all. Once that was done, she would concentrate on how she was going to deal with that text, the words of which still resonated in her memory. Miss. Love. Come back. With a heavy heart, she walked slowly towards the dimly lit staircase that led to their room.
3
Eve angled the lounger, straightened the beach towel and
moved the parasol to give her enough shade. She glanced up towards the sound of snoring. There, slung between two olive trees, was a hammock containing the slumbering Terry, on his back, mouth open. His paperback lay on the ground beside him. Not even Harlan Coben had the page-turning power to keep him awake.
Above them the sky was an uninterrupted cornflower blue. She organised all the essentials – her suntan cream, Kindle, BlackBerry and dark glasses – on the table, then went to dip her hand in the water. She pulled it back sharply. She’d expected the temperature to be much more inviting. Then she recalled the spartan thread that ran through Daniel. Anything sporty must push you to your limit. Not for him the heated pool. She had a sudden memory of him coming into the refectory of their student halls in Edinburgh, having run round Arthur’s Seat before breakfast. In those days, running was for the few, and at that time of the day, certainly not for the student. How different things had been then. The two of them had never made the mistake of believing they were in love with one another, but their relationship had certainly been satisfyingly intense and, if she thought about it, pleasantly fulfilling during the short time it lasted. Then Will came along. Then Rose. But that was all a long time ago.
Reproaching herself for being so feeble, she walked to the end of the pool, relishing the sun on her pale skin, feeling the modesty frill on the maternity costume tickle the tops of her thighs. She paused for a moment, then swung her arms in front of her and pushed off with her toes. The dive was executed perfectly. As she entered the water, the first shock of the cold paralysed the nerve endings the length of her body. By the time she was halfway down the pool, that sudden numbness had begun to wear off. She surfaced with a gasp, treading water as she took in her surroundings: the olive grove below the pool, the sloping stretch of garden between her and the old farmhouse itself. They’d all thought Rose and Dan were crazy when they’d bought such a wreck of a place. But the pair of them had lavished such care and attention on it over the years that it had become a haven for all of them.
She concentrated on pushing herself through the water. Dan had given her her first lesson in crawl in the sea off Musselburgh that summer after she’d confessed that the only stroke she’d mastered at school was a stately, head-held-out-of-the-water breaststroke. In those days she hadn’t been put off by the cold. He’d laughed and showed her how to propel herself through the water, to time her breathing, to turn her head every third stroke, to use her arms and kick. After a few lengths, she slowed down and rolled on to her back, keeping herself afloat with gentle movements of her arms and feet. The vast blue bowl above her was marked by the vapour trail from an aircraft, high, high up, moving like a rigid faraway bird.
She shut her eyes, tried to empty her mind, to concentrate on the heat on her face, the sensation of weightlessness. But it was useless. One by one her children – though strictly speaking they were too old to be called that – came marching into her mind, besieging her with one trivial kind of worry or another. She didn’t want to have to think about the squalid flat where the twins were living, whether they were ever going to earn enough to cover their living expenses, whether it was going to work out at Gresham Hall for Charlie or whether Millie would get her meaningless degree and what she would do with it if she did. Beyond that, there was her own future. The small literary agency for children’s authors and illustrators that she’d dared to set up years ago was facing a tough time in the current economic climate.
She kept her eyes shut against the sun, aware of dogs barking in the distance, the buzz of an insect flying by her face. Weightless, suspended, alone.
Eyes closed, she ran through her client list. As far as she was concerned, there wasn’t a dud among them, not really. She had left the large London literary agency where she’d trained when she was pregnant with Charlie and they’d moved to a village outside Cambridge. Not long after his birth, she had started her own business, not taking on more clients than she could responsibly handle, running it from the kitchen table. As the children got older, she had rented an office and slowly expanded her client list, until three years ago she had taken on Amy Fraser as her assistant. Only three months ago she had rewarded Amy’s dedication by agreeing she should become an agent in her own right.
Amy Fraser: well educated, well tailored, well spoken, well versed in the business of the agency. What the hell was she playing at? She had failed to return any of Eve’s emails since she had left the office the previous Friday. Eve couldn’t fault Amy’s dedication to her work, yet sometimes she suspected the young woman had another agenda that she wasn’t sharing.
The sound of a splash made her start. Her eyes flew open just as a wave of water washed over her, unbalancing her. As she surfaced, coughing as she righted herself, she heard laughter. Wiping her eyes, she saw Terry on the edge of the pool.
‘Couldn’t resist. You looked so peaceful.’
‘Most people would see that as a reason to leave me alone.’ Just a few strokes to the end, where she walked up the steps and shook out her hair. ‘Only you would think that was funny.’
‘I’m sorry, but all that splashing woke me up.’ As he walked towards her, she couldn’t help thinking, not for the first time, that the way his hair grew forward and the prominent set of his ears made it look as if the breeze was blowing him in her direction, as if they were destined for each other. The sun bounced off either side of his temples where his hairline had receded beyond the point of disguise. He ran his fingers down her spine. ‘Relax. We’re on holiday.’
Instead of responding, she concentrated on re-angling the parasol against the sun, before arranging herself on the lounger.
‘Mmm. God, I’m exhausted.’ She took a long, deep breath as she felt the sun warming her limbs, and an overwhelming desire to sleep took her over.
He sat on the next lounger before helping himself to the pricey sun cream that she’d bought for herself in the departure lounge. She watched him with one eye, cross that he wasn’t using the Nivea they’d bought for him.
‘I’m not surprised,’ he said, slathering the stuff on to his ashen calves.
Immediately she was on the alert. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘As if you didn’t know.’ He lay back with an audible oomph of satisfaction, hands behind his head, legs splayed.
Budgie smugglers not a good look on an older man, she couldn’t help remarking. On Tom Daley they were one thing, but add a few years . . . She’d meant to buy Terry some more discreet trunks for holidaying in company, but what with one thing and another, they’d been forgotten.
‘Do you have to drink so much? It was only lunchtime, for God’s sake.’ His voice was low, as if someone might overhear.
‘Is that why you’ve come over? Just to tell me that?’ Eve propped herself up as she recalled their lunch. The wine had been the ideal accompaniment to the meal. Light and dry and white, chosen with typical care by Daniel. Perhaps I did have one glass too many, she thought, remembering with slight embarrassment the way she had continued to help herself long after the others had slowed down and how inappropriately loud her laugh had been at one of Daniel’s jokes. She knew Terry had been watching her, had been aware of the occasional pressure of his foot under the table, but if anything, that had only encouraged her. A sort of reckless defiance had taken her over, even if it was ‘only lunchtime’.
‘It’s not good for you and I don’t want you making a fool of yourself.’
‘Why not?’ Eve protested. ‘It’s only your sister and her husband, both old friends of mine who know me better than . . . anyone.’ She stopped herself in time from saying ‘than you’. That would be too hurtful. But it was true.
‘Maybe, but you should take it easy all the same. Give your liver a breather.’ He laid his hand on hers to reassure her that he was only thinking of her own good.
She snatched her hand away. ‘If my liver needed help, I’d know about it. Drink oils the wheels sometimes, that’s all. And anyway, I enjoy it.’ She was uncomfo
rtably aware that this was beginning to sound like the self-justifying rant of an alcoholic. ‘You may not, but other people do know the difference between being a drunk and having fun.’ There. She waited for his reply.
But Terry was already on his feet, heading back to the hammock. She punched the cushion. He could be so maddening sometimes. Making his point was always enough. Her thoughts on the subject were irrelevant. The pleasant drowsiness brought on by the combination of sun, exercise, good food and drink had all but evaporated in her irritation. She watched his familiar bouncing gait, his slim physique. She reached for the sun cream and began massaging it into her cleavage. As she did, she was reminded once again of the cruel truth that while her body showed the evidence of time and the rigours of childbirth, his had remained comparatively untouched by the passing years. Even so, the Speedos were still a mistake, bought as a joke when they’d gone together to the South of France a couple of years ago. But if he was the same as ever, why didn’t she find him as attractive as she once had? Pondering the matter, she picked up her BlackBerry and checked her emails. Still nothing from Amy.
She brought up Amy’s address and quickly typed:
Any problems? Eve
She hesitated. That rather suggested she expected there might be, which was unfair. If you didn’t count the weekend, she’d only been out of the office for less than a day. Perhaps she was being too abrupt. She added an x after her name – the kiss that took the sting out of any email. Then she deleted it for not being sufficiently businesslike and added:
Do get back to me re Rufus’s contract. And have you had time to look at the new Alasdair King illustrations yet?
She reread the message. Too authoritarian? But what if it was? It was important to establish which of them was in charge and what was still expected of Amy, whatever her job title. All the same . . . She reinstated the x, then sent the email without more ado and moved on to the most pressing incoming messages, reading a few of them, replying, then stopping. There was nothing more here that couldn’t wait a couple of hours for an answer. She slid the phone into the shade beneath the lounger, closed her eyes and abandoned herself to the moment.
