by Lulu Taylor
‘We’re both f-f-fine, thanks,’ Flora said sitting down. ‘Neither of us is in any t-t-trouble.’
Her aunt looked cross. ‘So you still haven’t managed to fix that stutter. It’s terribly irritating, Flora. Can’t you stop it?’
She remembered how her aunt had tried to force her to control her speech in the past: making her stand in corners, hold ice cubes in her mouth, wear a special brace like a bridle over her tongue, having her hands slapped with canes when she couldn’t get a word out. All of it had simply made the problem worse and increased her terror of opening her mouth at all. And her aunt had never bothered to find out about what was really making Flora stutter and tremble and shrink under the gaze of others …
‘No, I can’t,’ Flora said, the words coming out quite crisply now. ‘This isn’t really a social visit, Aunt. I’ve c-c-come to ask you some things. I want you to tell me about the court case. About our mother.’
The old woman’s expression hardened. There was a long pause and then she said, ‘I see. I’ve been expecting this, but I assumed it would be Octavia who turned up on my doorstep. Ever since those articles appeared all over the press, raking up things that are best forgotten.’
‘We were never able to remember it afterwards,’ Flora said. ‘Neither Octavia nor I can remember going to court with our mother, or anything about it.’
‘Children often don’t,’ retorted her aunt, shrugging. ‘I can hardly be blamed for that.’
‘But why didn’t you tell us?’ As she said it, Flora realised that question lay at the heart of everything. Why hadn’t the girls been allowed to know anything about their own past? Didn’t they have a right to be told?
Aunt Frances frowned and pushed the book off her lap, sitting up straighter. ‘It was not in your interests to know,’ she stated. ‘What good could it have done?’ She sighed and then looked up at Flora, staring at her hard, suddenly invigorated. ‘Don’t you understand? Your blessing was to be fathered by my brother – but your curse was that mother of yours. Believe me, your lives would have been infinitely more difficult and utterly miserable if you had been left to grow up with that degenerate. It was my clear duty to my brother and to you to take you from her. There was no way she could be allowed to look after vulnerable children, not with her tendencies. The morals of an alley cat on heat!’ Frances sniffed and made a sour face. ‘I warned Arthur against her from the start. Told him she was too beautiful, too sensual. Women like that are enslaved by their own bodies. They are natural pleasure-seekers. And your mother was certainly one of those.’
‘So – the stories in the paper were true? The things that were said about her in court?’
‘About her hedonistic lifestyle? Of course they were! She dragged Arthur into her sordid world and made him just like her. The drinking, the drugs, the sex parties …’ Frances shuddered. ‘But he had already seen the error of their ways. The marriage was as good as over and he was about to escape her clutches when that accident happened. Believe me, the timing of it broke my heart. Just when he was going to get away from that evil harridan …’
Flora felt herself wince inside every time her aunt described her mother in such terms. ‘But he was on his way to see her and us, wasn’t he? When his plane crashed?’
‘Yes.’ Frances’s face was full of bitterness. ‘She demanded it. Treating him like some kind of glorified taxi! And he could never say no to her, even when he knew her for what she really was. And look what the kindness of his heart did … it killed him.’ The faded old eyes filled with tears.
‘But …’ Flora felt she must press on while her aunt was answering her questions, saying more than could ever have been expected after a lifetime of silence. The physical distance between them for the last few months had obviously broken down some kind of barrier. Flora trembled as she phrased the next question. It was the one that had been haunting her day and night, ever since she had read those pieces in the paper and seen those photographs. Its resonance had increased as she had fallen deeper in love. She had begun to wonder who she was, and how a mother could leave her children … She hesitated and then spoke. ‘What happened to our mother? Why did she leave us, and where did she go?’
Frances looked away, staring out over the lush leaves of her exotic palms and shrubs. Bright purple flowers with long yellow-tipped stamens shone against dark green leaves, providing a strange backdrop to the withered old woman. Her face hardened again and she said in a low voice, ‘Your mother left of her own accord. She recognised, at last, her own degeneracy. And when she understood that she could no longer protect her children, she surrendered you to me, as she should have done from the start.’ A look almost of glee came over her harrowed face. ‘What you don’t know, Flora, is that your mother was granted access by court order. She was permitted to visit you once a month … and she never did. Not once.’
It was as though she’d been punched in the stomach. ‘Wh-wh-what?’ Flora said breathlessly.
‘You heard me. Your mother could have come here if she’d wanted. But she never did.’ Frances smiled a nasty, tight smile.
Flora shook her head and covered her face with her hands. ‘I can’t believe it,’ she murmured. Then she looked at her aunt. ‘But she’s dead now, isn’t she? Our mother?’ She rose shakily to her feet. ‘I need you to tell me where I can find her grave. Do you know? I want to visit it before I get married.’
‘Married?’ Her aunt looked astonished, then she laughed – a short, sharp, mirthless sound. ‘I see. You girls are very fast workers. You little fool!’
‘Where is the grave?’ demanded Flora. Her aunt’s attitude had made up her mind for her. She would accept Otto’s proposal the minute he returned.
Frances looked her straight in the eye, one eyebrow raised and her mouth set in a smirk. Then she said, ‘Your mother isn’t dead, Flora. Or not as far as I know. She has always been paid a small stipend by the family trust. According to my sources, she is still drawing it, even after all this time. But I know nothing else. Don’t try to pester me with more of your questions, there is nothing left to tell you. Now, if you don’t mind, Flora, I have things I must be doing …’
34
‘I can’t believe that cow did that to you,’ proclaimed Jasmine, sipping her glass of champagne.
‘Totally,’ agreed Rosie. She looked strange, somewhat pie-eyed, but seemed to be following the conversation all right. ‘Amanda Radcliffe deserves what’s coming to her.’
‘I’ve never been so humiliated in my life,’ Octavia declared. This girly get-together had been just what she needed after the awful incident in Noble’s. She really had never experienced anything like it: she was used to going through life feeling important and treasured. Whenever she went into a shop, she was treated like royalty or a film star, cooed over and given the best of everything. The power of her credit cards and her growing profile in the press – they were still hanging about at every social occasion she went to – meant that she received VIP treatment everywhere. And she’d grown used to it exceedingly quickly, first with Gerry and now with her racy set of rich kids.
The sensation of being thrown out of a shop had been nasty, to say the least. She’d been consumed with rage as she’d called for Steve to come and collect her, and then had put out a hasty call to the girls. In a rush of sisterly solidarity, they’d hurried round to the house to support her.
‘Amanda is just jealous,’ Jasmine said. ‘She needs to realise that her day is done. She used to be top of the heap, what with Gerry taking her round to everything and presenting her as if she was some kind of star. But she’s a loser. It’s all over for her now.’ She looked over at Octavia. ‘She hasn’t got a single ounce of your star power. You need to grind her into the dust, once and for all.’
‘But how?’ Octavia frowned. Her blood was up as far as Amanda Radcliffe was concerned. She had spent her younger years plotting and scheming how to win her freedom from her captors. This was a new kind of challenge but it felt weirdly famili
ar too. Don’t mess with me, I will take you on and I will bloody well beat you … It was how she’d coped with the restrictions placed on her as she’d grown up and she was prepared to carry on thinking that way if someone made her feel persecuted – and Amanda had made her feel exactly that.
Jasmine laughed as she pulled out a cigarette and lit it. ‘I know! I’ve got it. That rackety old shop … It’s what she cares about most, isn’t it? If you want to hurt her, you should take it away from her.’
Octavia was puzzled. ‘Take it away? How?’
Jasmine shrugged as she relaxed back on the sofa, stretching her long legs out in front of her. ‘I dunno. But you’ve got money, haven’t you? What you need to do is buy it.’
‘Is it for sale?’
‘With your kind of dosh, everything’s for sale.’ Jasmine grinned at her and puffed out a stream of cool menthol smoke. ‘You should meet my brother Giles. He works in venture capital, knows all about this stuff, and he’s got friends who might be able to help.’
Octavia felt a tremor of excitement and then shook her head. ‘No, it’s a ridiculous idea. I can’t buy a shop! What on earth would I do with it? I don’t know the first thing about shops.’
‘Maybe not. But wouldn’t it be worth it, just to see Radcliffe’s face? Why don’t you talk to Giles about it? It couldn’t hurt.’ Jasmine toyed with her leather bangles. ‘I’ll give him your number.’
‘Hey,’ Rosie interjected, ‘can we go down to your pool? You’ve got a sauna and steam room, haven’t you? Can we try them?’
‘Of course.’ Octavia smiled. ‘We can do whatever you like. As long as it doesn’t involve Amanda Radcliffe.’ She got up and led the way down to the basement pool, wondering if it were really possible simply to buy a shop like Noble’s. Could I? But more to the point, would I? Then she remembered the snarl on Amanda Radcliffe’s face as she’d ordered her off the premises. You bloody bet I would.
Flora sobbed all the way back to London.
Vicky kept a diplomatic silence, as though she understood that, right now, Flora needed to feel the pain that her aunt’s announcement had caused.
Our mother’s alive! And all this time we thought she was dead … but why hasn’t she ever seen us … why?
The thoughts circled round in her head, each orbit causing her a fresh flood of despair and a new wave of tears. I have to see Octavia. She’s the only one who can understand this.
As they pulled to a halt in front of the house, Flora leapt out of the car and raced inside. Running into the hall, she shouted, ‘Octavia? Where are you?’
There was no answer. But then, her sister might not even be in the house. In fact, if her recent movements were anything to go by, she was probably in some exclusive designer boutique, or in the arms of her boyfriend, or getting trashed in a trendy bar. Flora pulled out her phone and fired off a quick text: Where are you? I need to see you right now. Important news.
Vicky came in behind her, having parked the car. ‘Are you okay?’ she asked gently, coming up and hugging her cousin. ‘Let’s have a cup of tea and talk about this.’
Flora looked agonised. ‘I have to talk to Octavia, I have to tell her …’
‘Tell her what?’
Just then there was a babble of laughter coming up the back staircase, the one that led directly to the swimming pool on the lower-ground floor. A moment later Octavia appeared in her bathing suit and a towel, with a couple of other girls next to her. They were all laughing and buzzing with excitement.
Flora dashed forward. ‘Tavy, there you are! I have to talk to you right now!’
‘Oh, yes, how was our dear Aunt Frances?’ Octavia asked sardonically, sashaying forward as she retucked her towel around her. ‘Still the same boot-faced old battleaxe?’
Flora gazed at her, stricken. ‘I have to talk to you alone,’ she whispered.
‘Why?’ Octavia put a hand on her hip and struck an attitude, as though conscious of the eyes of the other girls on her. ‘Whatever you’ve got to say, just say it.’
Flora wrestled with herself for a moment then said in a low voice, ‘Come with me right now.’ She grabbed her sister’s arm and pulled her through another doorway into the barely used dining room, staring at her in amazement. ‘Why are you acting that way, Tavy? Don’t you know how important this is? Are you so obsessed with your friends that you don’t even care about us any more?’
Octavia narrowed her eyes. ‘You’re the one who’s obsessed! I don’t want to know about the past, why can’t you understand that? I want to let it go. There are no answers out there for us. We’ve got everything we need – all the money, everything. Let’s live for now.’
‘No, you’re wrong!’ cried Flora. ‘We don’t have everything we need – and there is an answer. Aunt Frances told me today that our mother is still alive!’
Octavia froze, her eyes suddenly frightened. Then she pulled the towel more tightly around her, shivering. ‘What?’
‘Yes – but no one knows where she is and Aunt Frances refused to say any more.’ Flora clutched both of Octavia’s arms. ‘Don’t you understand? Our mother is out there! We can find her!’
‘I don’t want to find her.’ Octavia’s face had turned stony. ‘Why would I? She may as well be dead. I told you, I don’t want to know! Just leave it, for Christ’s sake, Flora. Now, I’m going back to my friends, if you don’t mind. I don’t want any part of this morbid delving into the past. I look forward, not back.’
And she pushed past her sister and stormed out of the room.
35
Octavia pounded along the pavement, her earphones delivering a suitably upbeat hip-hop song to keep her moving as she followed the path of the Thames. She ran, lost in her own world, scarcely aware of the long lines of traffic passing her in both directions, or of the other runners and pedestrians sharing the footpath with her. The river, wide and grey and lined on the other side by flashy glass and steel blocks of flats, reflected her mood: sombre and low.
Last night Flora hadn’t come to her room to brush her hair and it was hurting Octavia more than she could ever have guessed. She knew that she shouldn’t have spoken the way she did or walked out on her sister, but everything was so confusing and horrible lately. It was just too much for her to cope with.
Why had Flora done it? Why had she gone back to open that can of worms? What good did it do to know that their mother was still alive? Octavia wiped away a trickle of sweat from her temple as she increased her pace and overtook some slow joggers taking their time in the centre of the pavement. Maybe Diane wasn’t alive anyway. It was quite possible their aunt didn’t know the truth herself. Vicky had told her what Flora had said in the car about a trust fund still paying out. Well, money could easily float away into a bank account somewhere and accumulate there, untouched.
It made no difference. Their mother was dead to them. They were orphans who only had each other. It was Flora who wanted to change all that, Flora who had broken their vow not to go back to Homerton, and had insisted on finding out about their mother despite Octavia’s feelings. And it was Flora who wanted to get married and go away. She was considering marrying a man who lived in Germany, for God’s sake!
It was painful to think about. Contemplating the loss of Flora, her adoring twin, her soul-mate, was like feeling a limb being torn off.
But what can I do? wondered Octavia. She doesn’t seem to need me any more. She talks to Vicky more than she talks to me.
She’d heard the buzz of voices the night before coming from behind the closed doors of Flora’s room when her friends had left and had known that Vicky was in there, deep in conversation with Flora. It had made Octavia feel sick and shaky, as though she’d been kicked out and replaced.
She realised she’d run a long way: she’d already passed Vauxhall Bridge and Tate Britain and she could see the spires of the Palace of Westminster growing clearer and more pronounced against the sky with every step she took. If she carried on like this, she’d find herself he
ading out to Greenwich. She turned round and started running back towards Chelsea.
Perhaps Octavia could persuade her sister to try and forget what Aunt Frances had said about their mother. There’s no point. No bloody point at all. I don’t believe she’s alive.
She was nearly back at the house when the music playing through her iPhone was interrupted by the ringing tone. She took it out from the case strapped to her arm and examined it. The number was not one she knew. She hesitated. Then, on impulse, she pressed it to her ear. ‘Hello?’
‘Hi, Octavia Beaufort? My name is Giles Burlington … Jasmine’s brother.’ The voice was very deep and grown up. ‘Jasmine tells me you’re interested in a business opportunity.’
Octavia remembered Jasmine mentioning her brother. She’d been as good as her word. ‘Yes, that’s right. She said you might have some advice.’
‘I could give you some advice, I suppose, but it might be more worth your while talking to a friend of mine. He’s a hotshot Aussie who’s been working in the States. He made a pile over there and now he’s here, looking for new opportunities. Why don’t I put you in touch with him?’
‘Mmm, all right,’ Octavia said. ‘What’s his name?’
‘It’s Ethan Brody. Listen, I’ll give him your number and he’ll give you a call, okay?’
‘Okay, fine. I’ll look forward to it.’
Flora sat at her window, staring out over the garden. She could hardly believe the way her world had transformed itself in just twenty-four hours. Their mother was not, as they had thought, dead. But where was she? And why had she never tried to contact her daughters? And as for Octavia’s behaviour … who had her sister become? The Octavia who had shared every moment of their odd, enclosed childhood would never have reacted like this. What had changed her? Hadn’t they both always longed to know the end of the story – what had happened to the princess after her fairy-tale wedding?
