The Secrets Women Keep

by Fanny Blake

  ‘Couldn’t you make it tomorrow instead? I’ve a feeling Simon’s got everything organised.’ She wound the handle of the spinner until its whirring filled the room.

  Eve could hear the effort it cost Rose to keep her voice light and reasonable while fighting her exasperation with her daughter’s resistance to Simon’s presence. Jess had clearly decided to award herself the role of Daniel’s flame-keeper, as if the rest of them had forgotten him. As if. She remembered the single white rose marking the spot.

  ‘Fine,’ came the tight little response. ‘I’ll take Dylan to bed.’

  ‘Why don’t you ask him?’ added Rose. But Jess had left the room, leaving her mother speaking to an empty space. Rose flung her hands in the air. ‘This holiday is going to work. I haven’t a clue how, but it will.’ She took the leaves from the spinner, bagged them in plastic and put them in the fridge. ‘There. Shower and then a drink. Think we might need it.’

  Eve wasn’t going to argue.

  In their room, Terry was hunched over his laptop. He’d already turned the small table by the window into an office. Pieces of paper covered in numerical scribbles lay spread out by the computer. He’d emptied the rest of the contents of his briefcase on to the bed: pens, paperclips, a calculator, his phone and a pack of chewing gum. Eve cleared a space for herself and lounged there, checking her emails. The only addition to her backlog was one lengthy email from May updating her on everything that had been going on at the agency that day. As a result of her assistant’s efficiency, there was nothing imperative to attend to. Most publishers and clients had learned how reliable and knowledgeable May was, and knew to direct their queries to her unless they could only be dealt with by Eve. Instead she powered up her iPad and opened the word game she was playing with one of her five regular but unknown cyber opponents. Terry took absolutely no notice.

  ‘You haven’t been here all afternoon?’ she asked after a couple of minutes. She dragged the word EPHAS into place. She had no idea what it meant, but the app accepted it and awarded her a gratifying fifty-three points. Good enough.

  He tutted at the interruption, but twisted round in his chair to reply. ‘What was left of it. Yes, I’ve been trying to sort out these e-book royalties with May. Flying Mango have sent us two cheques, which as far as I can see are for completely the wrong amount. Their contracts people must be monkeys, and getting hold of them has been almost impossible, never mind getting them to see sense.’ Distracted, he ran his hand through his hair.

  Eve registered the few silvery strands above his ears for the first time. So even he was beginning to show signs of getting on at last. ‘Can’t it wait till we get home? We’re only here for a week.’ She wasn’t at all sure that she liked being on holiday with someone so bound up in their office work – even if it was her office. She preferred Terry sprawled in the hammock, enjoying what rural Tuscany had to offer. The part of the workaholic was hers, not his, although she couldn’t deny how pleased and relieved she was that he took his role at the Rutherford Agency so seriously.

  ‘No, it can’t.’ He closed the laptop and picked up a pencil. ‘If I don’t sort it out now, no one else will until I get back home, and then I’ll have to rush it. In my old office, there were other people who could cover for me while I was away. Not any more. But once this is sorted, that should be it.’ He bent back to his task.

  How many company accountants could be found at work in baggy shorts and a T-shirt with a slogan reading Grumpy Old Git? In fact, now that he’d ditched his previous work uniform of suit and tie, his growing collection of sloganned T-shirts definitely needed culling. She might do that when they got home and his attention was elsewhere. And perhaps she might lose those heavy leather walking sandals with Velcro fastenings at the same time. She dragged her eyes from his feet and hopped off the bed to go into the bathroom. When she’d first suggested that Terry help out at the agency, she’d felt bound to double-check the accounts regularly. She was ashamed of harbouring suspicions when he promised her faithfully that he’d done with gambling. His marriage to her meant everything. But she had to be certain. Not a penny had been misplaced. He’d been true to his word. Her own gamble of giving him the job had paid off, and given him back his self-respect.

  She turned the tap and held out her hand to test the temperature of the water. Ice-cold needles rained on her arm. Dan had always insisted on the bathrooms in his homes and hotels having the best power showers available, but a cold shower was far too spartan for Eve, even during a baking Italian evening. She turned up the heat, donned the pink frilly shower cap provided by Rose, peeled off her swimsuit, and stepped in.

  As she stood there, she looked down at her body. Despite the ravages of childbirth and time, she was much more comfortable with it since her affair with Will and, of course, her Pilates sessions – a new fad of hers. Yes, she’d put a bit of weight back on, and yes, her stomach did have a bit of a wobble if nudged, but the simple solution was not to nudge it. Looking downwards wasn’t the most tantalising of sights, but at least she could still see her toes. She did look after herself, bar the odd weakness here and there, and still made the most of what she had to work with. Even if Terry took her for granted, she was not going to subside quietly into a morass of middle age.

  Her body cream (or crème, to be strictly accurate) smelled of nectarine, peach and honey. Good enough to eat. Or at least lick, she reflected with a sad smile, as she slathered it on. She was now convinced that she and Terry would never revisit that level of intimacy they’d once had, although there had been a bit of an upswing in their lovemaking of late. Nothing too outré, but a definite improvement. Some of the ideas Will had shared with her were proving more than useful. Wrapped in a cotton bathrobe, she set about her face with vigour, cleansing, toning, moisturising and making up in the most subtle but effective way.

  Back in the bedroom, Terry was packing away his stuff. ‘You’ve been ages,’ he commented. Not a complaint, merely an observation.

  ‘Lots to do,’ was her answer as she picked out the cherry dress from her wardrobe and prepared to go downstairs, leaving him to get ready on his own.

  In the kitchen, Simon had taken charge. He was chopping onions when she came in. Rose was going through one of the kitchen drawers. ‘I’m sure the garlic crusher’s in here somewhere. Didn’t you put it away when you tidied up last night?’

  ‘Have you tried the dishwasher?’ Simon looked up from his task, his face glowing where the sun had caught it. ‘Or maybe I did put it in the other drawer. I can’t remember.’

  Rose laughed. ‘You’re hopeless.’ She opened the drawer above.

  How comfortable they seemed, like partners who’d been together for years. Eve felt quite excluded. A piece of piano music that she didn’t recognise rose and fell around them.

  ‘Can I do anything?’ she asked.

  ‘Pour us all a drink, why don’t you?’ said Rose. ‘You know where it is. Is your room OK, by the way? Do you need anything?’

  ‘It’s perfect in every way, as you well know.’ Eve busied herself with bottle and glasses. ‘What are you making?’

  ‘My version of chicken cacciatore.’ Simon stopped what he was doing, blinking away a few oniony tears. ‘It’s too hot to cook anything complicated.’ As if demonstrating the point, he took the tea towel tucked into his waistband and wiped his face before setting off again.

  ‘Can I have one, Eve?’ Jess came through the door and flung herself down on a chair. ‘It’s been such a long day. Dani went out like a light and Anna’s reading Dylan a story. She’s a saint.’

  Eve obliged, passing the glass across the table, wondering when Jess would stop behaving as if Simon wasn’t in the room. The tension between them was noticeable immediately and transmitted itself to the others.

  ‘Do you remember how Dad would go mad when we used his special filleting knife?’ Jess looked towards the knife in Simon’s hand.

  He stopped chopping for a moment, then carried on as if she hadn’t spo
ken, the regular sound of the blade hitting wood accompanying their conversation.

  ‘I don’t think we need to preserve the knife in aspic, do you?’ said Rose a little too sharply. She took the garlic crusher from the drawer and put it on the table with a clatter. ‘It’s not as if he ever used it much himself. Your father was far from being a cook.’ Dan’s half-hearted attempts in the kitchen were the subject of many a family joke.

  ‘But he wasn’t serious,’ qualified Eve for Simon’s benefit. ‘He’d go mad over all sorts of silly things.’ She laughed. ‘Remember that time when we were up late and he went out to have a pee in the garden and the lawn sprinklers went on and completely soaked him?’ She was pleased to see Rose and Jess both crack a smile at the memory.

  ‘And the time he mended that deckchair?’ Jess was laughing now. ‘The moment he sat in it, the whole thing collapsed. I’ll never forget his face. He was so cross it had broken again.’

  Although he was concentrating on what he was doing, Eve noticed a faint smile cross Simon’s face. He must have his own memories of Daniel: a different Daniel that he couldn’t share with them. Perhaps he could with Rose. Was that part of what bound them together? He went to the fridge and pulled out two chickens. As he began to divide and bone them with deft, confident movements, Eve caught Jess watching him, apparently impressed by his dexterity. Then she obviously remembered herself.

  ‘I must call Mark and see what they’re doing about replacing Chef. He’s given a week’s notice and we’re doing a big wedding next weekend. It’s a nightmare.’

  Adam had come unnoticed into the room, tiptoeing up behind Jess and placing his hands over her eyes so she jumped a mile. ‘Leave Mark to handle it, Jessie. Isn’t that why you hired him as your deputy?’

  She touched one of his hands and gazed up at him lovingly. ‘I know. But I can’t help wanting to know. Dad wouldn’t have left it to someone else to sort out. He always said that if you want a job doing well, you should do it yourself.’

  ‘But you’re not your dad,’ Adam said quietly and firmly, his thumbs massaging the back of her shoulders. ‘You’re a different boss and they all like and respect you for that.’

  ‘Well said, Adam.’ Rose passed him a bottle of Peroni. He would never be a fizzy white wine man. ‘Enjoy your week and sort it out when you get back.’

  ‘Mark always seemed extremely capable to me,’ offered Simon, immediately looking as if he regretted opening his mouth.

  Jess turned on him. ‘What the hell would you know?’

  There was complete stillness in the room as the others waited for his response and what that would provoke. Even Adam’s influence didn’t always calm Jess’s belligerent streak. But Simon drew himself up and looked her square in the face. ‘I’ve spent a fair amount of time with him during the build, so I got to know him quite well. He has a good deal of respect for you.’ He went back to his work, leaving the others hearing his unspoken though right now, I can’t for the life of me see why.

  ‘Simon’s right.’ Adam was holding her shoulders quite tight, the Peroni untouched on the table. Jess’s head twisted round to look at him in surprise. ‘Leave him to it. Talk to him in the morning, if you must. Calling him at night looks as if you don’t trust him and that you’re panicking. Concentrate on your family now.’

  The wind left her sails as quickly as it had inflated them. ‘I guess you’re right. I’m sorry.’ She put her phone down. ‘What’s Anna doing? Reading Dylan all the books we brought?’

  ‘Could you help me lay the table?’ Eve stepped in briskly, passing Jess the handful of knives and forks she’d been gathering from the table drawer. Time to rescue the mood of the evening. ‘Let’s eat under the walnut tree.’

  Jess took them and went outside, Eve following with the tray of plates that Rose had already organised. Here she was again, in the role of peacemaker. Perhaps the United Nations could find a role for her! She waited until they got far enough away from the house to be able to speak without being overheard. ‘Jess, listen to me. You’ve got to relax or you’re going to spoil everyone’s holiday, including your own.’ She could tell by the set of Jess’s shoulders that her words hadn’t been well received. Jess banged down the knives and forks and began setting them out round the table.

  ‘But why has Mum brought Simon here? Casa Rosa is hers and Dad’s place. He doesn’t belong here.’ Another knife was slammed into position.

  ‘Is that for you to say? Your mum’s alone . . .’

  For a moment she thought Jess was going to object, but her niece obviously thought better of it and lapsed into a loaded silence.

  ‘Yes, I know she’s got you and the family. But you’ve got to let her lead her life the way she chooses. You can’t control everything. That’s what Daniel used to do.’ Eve paused as she remembered. ‘You’re like him in so many ways, you know.’

  Jess pulled out a chair and sat down, picking at a knot in the wood of the table. ‘Now I feel awful.’

  ‘Don’t. Rose understands that you’ve got a lot to deal with too. But if having Simon here helps her, then let it be. Please. We all have someone else. Without him, she’s alone.’

  ‘I didn’t think I’d mind. He’s been so good over Trevarrick, and of course I’m happy that he’s designing the shop there for Adam and Mum. That’s a genius idea and will be great for both of them. Imagine Mum as a shop girl!’ Jess smiled. ‘But him actually being here . . .’ She couldn’t finish; her voice caught.

  Eve put down the last of the plates beside her niece and stopped to stroke her hair as if she was a child again. ‘It’ll work out if everyone makes the effort. It can’t be easy for him either.’

  They didn’t move from where they were. Eve kept up the slow, rhythmic movement of her hand, having no idea what was going through Jess’s head but hoping she’d said enough. She understood how difficult it must be for Jess to accept that her father had had a gay lover, let alone that this charming, urbane and occasionally impetuous man had become her mother’s close friend. Nothing had prepared any of them for that. What she had said was the only thing that made sense. However, she knew only too well that sometimes it needed time for sense to percolate through into their children’s brains. Sometimes it never percolated at all, because they knew better. And sometimes, admittedly, they were right. But not this time. As the minutes ticked by, she felt Jess begin to relax. Then: ‘You’re such a wise old bird.’ Jess reached up for her hand, brought it to her mouth and kissed it.

  ‘Less of the old, thanks.’ Eve snapped at Jess’s arm and laughed. ‘Let’s get the glasses.’ The moment had passed.

  By the time they got back, the rich smell of onions, tomatoes and garlic was filling the kitchen. Terry and Anna had joined the others and were organising themselves drinks to take on to the terrace. Simon was busy preparing a large salad. Rose leaned against the table, noticeably tensing when Eve and Jess returned. The movements were slight: a rise of the shoulders, an intake of breath and a narrowing of the eyes. But Eve noticed them all. She went to the cupboard and began to get the glasses they needed, arranging them on a tray.

  ‘Can I help?’ asked Jess, going over to Simon.

  Everybody carried on doing what they were doing, but Rose’s head lifted a fraction, while Anna and Terry exchanged a brief look. Nervous, they all waited for Simon’s response.

  ‘Are you any good with rice?’ he asked, glancing up, as if nothing was out of the ordinary. ‘I can never get it quite right.’

  Eve doubted that was true. No one who could joint a chicken with such dexterity could be a beginner with anything as basic as rice. Rose’s smile confirmed her suspicions. Well, good for him, playing the game. He wanted this to work as much as everybody else.

  ‘I’m the same,’ Jess said. ‘But I’ll have a go.’ She turned and winked at Eve.

  It was as if the whole of Casa Rosa breathed a collective sigh of relief. Rose changed the music to one of Ella Fitzgerald’s songbooks. As ‘It don’t Mean a Thing’ bl
uesed out of the speakers, Anna and Terry took their drinks to the terrace, laughing. Adam followed them out with the baby alarm in one hand.

  ‘Am I too late to help?’ Rick appeared, his hair slicked back from the shower, wearing loose board shorts and a short-sleeved shirt that hid most of his tattoos. He was really quite handsome once they were tucked out of sight, although Eve couldn’t come round to the piercings.

  ‘It’s all under control, thanks,’ said Jess as she poured the rice into the weighing scales. ‘You and Anna can do the washing-up afterwards.’

  Eve pushed a glass into his hand. ‘Anna’s on the terrace with Terry and Adam. ‘Why don’t you help yourself and join them?’

  ‘It’s a deal,’ he said.

  Rose smiled at Eve and raised her glass as she followed him out. Eve picked up the tray. Who knew? Perhaps Jess was right. Perhaps things were under control after all.

  36

  By the time Rose had parked the car in one of the outlying car parks and walked up the hill to the old town of Lucignano, the heat was punishing. Despite what had been meant to be an early start, she, Eve, Simon and Terry had arrived far later than she had meant them to. They had risen late, taken their time over breakfast and waited while Simon had his early-morning swim: a reminder of Daniel’s regular exercise routine, as Eve had rather tactlessly pointed out, drawing a wounded look from Jess. Eventually they’d set off, leaving the others by the pool, with Adam making noises about mending the shelter until he was persuaded to wait until Simon got back to help him.

  Arriving at the Porta San Giusto, the four of them pushed on between the two cafés on either side of the gateway and walked through the ancient boundary wall.

  ‘This is spectacular.’ Simon was the first one to speak as the four of them paused in the shade inside the circular medieval town. To their left, the narrow via Roma bent away from them, its modest buildings, built for the poorer classes, contrasting with those in the via Matteotti that led off to their right, curving down the hill. Here the street was wide and light, the grand houses, now worn with time, built for the nobility. Between them stood a string of stalls that made up the regular Thursday food market, noisy with people and chatter.