A Sky Painted Gold

by Laura Wood

  I can’t fight the laughter any more, and it erupts from me as I finally look up. His green eyes are laughing too, I think, though he is much better than me at keeping it held in.

  “Not a very flattering portrait, thank you, Louise.” He tries to sound disapproving.

  “I don’t know what you mean,” I say innocently. “Did you see something of yourself in Lord Marvell?”

  He says nothing, only treating me to another stern look.

  “How was London?” I ask.

  Something sad passes over his face now, and he raises a hand, rubbing his forehead in a gesture of weariness. “London was…” he breathes out “… exhausting.” He says it quietly, like a confession. It is unlike him to sound so … vulnerable. I still find him very hard to read, and like his sister he has yet to confide in me. At times I feel like I know him a bit better now, that he has unbent just a little towards me over the weeks, but at others it’s as if he’s still a stranger – shut off and remote.

  I lean forward. “Is something wrong?” I ask. I want to reach out and touch his hand, but I don’t.

  He looks at me, and for a second I think he is going to open up, to tell me the secret sorrow that he is carrying, but then he smiles. It is not a real smile, just a curling of the lips. “Oh, no,” he says lightly. “Just too many late nights, a lot of boring parties.”

  I nod, pretending to believe him. It is clear to me – it has been for some time – that the Cardews are hiding something. There is something dark that sometimes flickers around the edges of this golden daydream that we’re living in. Something that makes Caitlin hum like a bulb about to shatter, something taut in Robert’s eyes when he looks at her. Part of me wants them to trust me enough with whatever it is, but another cowardly part of me chooses to ignore it, to add it to the list of troubles that I am casting aside. It is, I realize, what they are doing too, carefully removing anything that doesn’t fit into the world we are making, one lit by pleasure and indulgence.

  At that moment Caitlin and Laurie step in through the open French windows, arm in arm and deep in conversation about a mutual acquaintance who has evidently been up to something scandalous.

  “Robert!” Caitlin comes to a halt, a smile splitting her face before she rushes to embrace her brother. He wraps his arms around her, and over her head he glances at Laurie. Laurie nods her head just a little. Then she notices me intercepting the look, and her smile widens to include me.

  “And Lou’s back as well,” she says. “The whole family together again.”

  “And now that you’re finally all here, shall we go and have drinks on the lawn?” Caitlin asks, tucking her hand into mine and pulling me along in her wake. I follow her into the sunshine.

  CHAPTER

  THIRTEEN

  Two days later, I am still here on the island. The day is one of the hottest so far and I am sitting out on the beach. Robert disappeared again this morning, and Caitlin is off making long, gossipy phone calls in the cool of the house. The others have been coming and going, but I am feeling lazy, weighed down by the heat. It is the kind of heat that wraps itself around you, and that shimmers in the distance, sending ripples through the air. There isn’t even a whisper of a breeze coming in from the sea, and I pull my hair away from my sticky neck. Even in my thin summer dress my body feels hot and sleepy. I am toying with the idea of throwing myself into the water, or of getting up in search of a cold drink which, on the one hand, will stop me from dying of dehydration, and on the other involves me actually moving, when I hear a voice call my name.

  I turn to see that Caitlin is skipping down the steps towards me. She stops in front of me, and the close-fitting straw hat on top of her blonde head is one that I haven’t seen before. Pale blue silk flowers adorn the brim, matching her cobweb-light dress.

  “New hat?” I ask, looking up at her. She stands in front of the sun, and the relief of the temporary shade that is cast over me is immediate. The light flares gold around her silhouette, and she scrunches up her nose in appreciation of my comment.

  “I had Robert bring it back from London,” she says. “You always notice when I’m wearing something new. It’s so nice.”

  “It’s easy.” I wince as she moves to the side and the harsh light nearly blinds me again. “You’re always wearing something new.”

  “You sound just like my brother.” Caitlin rolls her eyes and slips down beside me. “Next thing, you’ll be telling me off for my extravagant spending.”

  “No!” I exclaim, surprised. “Does he really?” I’ve never heard Robert mention money before. In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever heard any of them mention money. And he’s always happy to indulge his sister – to indulge all of us, I suppose; after all, Agatha Christie novels don’t grow on trees, and he rarely fails to bring back a book he thinks that I will like when he returns from the city. It’s the sort of gesture that threw me at first, but over the last few weeks I’ve noticed that, just as Bernie told me, Robert can be surprisingly thoughtful: remembering throwaway comments, asking after Freya’s theatrics or Tom’s cricket match, anticipating what his sister or her guests might need in his absence so that Caitlin doesn’t have to worry.

  Caitlin bares her teeth in a grimace. “Such a bore,” she says, her toes burying themselves in the sand.

  We sit in companionable silence for a minute. Caitlin leans back, tipping her face towards the sunshine, and I pick up my notebook, reading through what I’ve written.

  “Are you really not going to let me read it?” Caitlin asks, and her mouth is a rosy pout.

  I shake my head. “Not a chance.”

  Caitlin huffs. “You let Robert read them! I can’t believe you let Robert read them but not me.”

  Nor can I. I shrug to cover my own confusion at this mysterious situation. “He didn’t give me much choice,” I say mildly. And that’s true enough … at least about the first chapter. After that I don’t really know how it’s happened. All I do know is that the writing is like a fine, silvery thread that connects Robert and me. It’s special and it’s private, and it feels like it could be easily broken.

  “I see,” Caitlin says. “So I have to steal it if I want to read it.”

  “But you wouldn’t do such a thing.” I elbow her lightly in the ribs, noticing again how slight she feels. “Because unlike your horrid brother you have a scrap of decency left in you.”

  “I love the way you and Robert bicker,” Caitlin responds, looking at me through half-closed eyes. “Especially when it’s obvious that the two of you are thick as thieves.”

  “We are not,” I protest, mortified that I can feel the heat rising in my cheeks. Hopefully the warm weather will cover it up. “He’s hardly ever here, for one thing, and when he is we’re always finding something to argue about.”

  Caitlin nods. “I know, and I think it’s wonderful.”

  “Do you?” I ask, confused by her response. “Why?”

  “Robert needs someone to argue with.” Caitlin grins. “Someone who doesn’t let him be so stuffy. He never used to be like that, you know … before…”

  The word before hangs in the air over us, and Caitlin draws circles in the sand with her finger.

  Before means before their father died, I know. The ellipsis that comes after that word is never expanded upon. The subject of their father seems to be off limits for both siblings, and whenever he is mentioned – which is not very often – something big and heavy fills the air. I know very little about his death. Aunt Irene – when she can stoop low enough to stop disapproving of me for five minutes – loves nothing better than to gossip about my new friends, but even she knows little outside of the fact that he died a little less than two years ago at their country house in Derbyshire. What I do know is that their decision to come to Cornwall now is somehow connected to it all, as well as to Caitlin’s health.

  “Do you have to go back to the farm today?” Caitlin wheedles, changing the subject. She always calls my house “the farm”, never refers
to it as my home. She speaks as though my trips there are visits, leaving something behind rather than returning to it.

  “Yes, I do,” I say firmly, putting my notebook aside. “I haven’t been home in almost three days. I need to make sure that Freya hasn’t burnt the house down trying to hold a seance.”

  Caitlin giggles. “Did she really do that?”

  “Almost.” I smirk. “Fortunately Pa was on hand and he put the flames out before they reached the curtains.”

  Caitlin rolls her shoulders. “I’m completely in love with your family,” she murmurs, her eyes closed.

  “You haven’t met them,” I mutter, but there’s a pang of something in my chest. Guilt, perhaps? Or homesickness? Surely not. Whenever I do go home I find everything exactly as I left it, which is somehow comforting and frustrating in equal measure.

  “But I feel like I know them so well.” Caitlin tips her head thoughtfully to one side. “I love hearing you talk about them. They’re like characters in a story, I can hardly believe they’re real.”

  I get to my feet, brushing the sand from my legs and holding out my hand to haul Caitlin up. What she says rings in my ears. It was not so long ago that I felt that way about Robert. I frown. Now, none of them fit neatly into the character moulds I had built for them in my mind. I was a fool to think that they could be pinned down like paper dolls. It’s as silly as thinking the same of Freya or Tom or Alice.

  “Tide’s out,” I say, smothering a yawn with the back of my hand. All of this late afternoon sunlight is having a soporific effect. “It’s now or never, but I’ll be back soon.”

  “Tomorrow?” Caitlin asks, and her eyes are enormous, pleading.

  I laugh. “Yes,” I say, the word singing from between my lips. “Tomorrow.”

  I wind my way back to the farm. My limbs are weary – sun-soaked and heavy. I am looking forward to the cool embrace of the farmhouse. When I finally make my way up there, the scene playing out in the front garden stops me in my tracks.

  Freya, Tom, and the triplets are having a rather slapdash game of cricket. Or, at least, they are attempting to. What really knocks the air out of my lungs is that there is someone else playing too, someone tall and dark and ordinarily much too sensible to play cricket with a group of rowdy schoolchildren.

  “Thank goodness you’re back, Lou,” Tom calls, spotting me. “The triplets are supposed to be fielding but they just keep sitting down. I think they’ve been picking daisies.” The disgust is evident in his voice. “What’s the use in having brothers if they refuse to grow up?” he grumbles.

  “What are you doing here?” I blurt out, eyeing Robert in alarm and ignoring my brother. I’ve been doing such a good job of keeping my two worlds completely separate that the sight of Robert here with my family is almost incomprehensible – as if the two can’t exist in the same space and time.

  “Well, that’s a nice welcome,” Robert replies, but I think he looks a little sheepish.

  “Sorry,” I say, and I’m still floundering, completely thrown. “I was just surprised to see you. I thought you’d gone back to London. Is everything OK?”

  “Everything’s fine.” He squints at me. “You’re very red,” he says. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m hot,” I snap, and suddenly I’m not quite sure what to do with my hands, so I fold my arms across my chest. “It is about a million degrees today. Hadn’t you noticed?” Although looking at him now, I realize the answer is probably not. He is wearing light trousers and a white shirt. He looks smooth and clean. I, on the other hand, am red, frizzy and covered in ink stains.

  “I had to go to the mainland to sign some papers and when I bumped into your father in the village I thought I should introduce myself,” Robert is saying. “We got talking and he invited me to tea.”

  I stand for a moment, processing this. Then I hear the familiar rumble of Gerald approaching. Looking over my shoulder, I see Pa come to a stop behind me.

  “Well, Robert,” Pa calls, jumping lightly from the car, “I told you they’d take care of you. It seems you’ve settled in.”

  “Robert is an excellent fielder.” Tom nods, pushing back the too-big rim of a panama hat which I now recognize as one of Robert’s.

  “And he says we can go and visit his library, Pa!” Freya, resplendent in a headdress full of carefully stitched snakes, hangs on Pa’s arm and looks up at him with starry eyes.

  “That’s very kind of him.” Pa smiles down into Freya’s pink face and then over at Robert.

  “It’s my pleasure.” Robert grins, and I realize with a start that with his dark curls dishevelled, his cheeks slightly pink from running around, and his eyes bright, he looks much younger than usual. He is standing differently too; he seems less coiled up, more loose-limbed and relaxed. I am finding it difficult to meet his eye, and I can feel my already overheated face heating up even further. It’s just too strange seeing him here. I never thought of him as fitting into my real life; he was too remote, too neat and tidy, yet now he looks … happy. I thought it would feel like an intrusion, having him here, but it doesn’t. And, I suppose, on the other side of that, I wanted to keep the Cardews to myself. With them I get to be someone new, someone who doesn’t exist only in the context of my family, of where I’m from.

  “Will you stay for dinner, Robert?” Midge calls out through the window. And now I do look at him, my eyebrows shooting up. He smiles, and I think his expression is rueful, as though he knows that I’m surprised he’s made himself so at home. He has been busy, I think; in fact, he seems to be on very friendly terms with the whole family.

  “Yes, do!” Tom exclaims, rather proving my point. “I can show you that model car I was telling you about.” The whole thing is making my head swirl. Seeing Robert Cardew here, it’s like … I don’t know … like seeing a tiger on the farm.

  “I wish I could,” Robert says, and to my surprise his voice seems full of genuine regret, “but we have guests for dinner this evening and my sister will be wondering where I am.” He looks out at the sea. “The tide’s out, so I should head home.”

  “Perhaps you could come over for Lou’s birthday next week?” Freya says hopefully, and I shoot her a look that I hope communicates that she should shut up. “What?” she hisses. “He is your friend, isn’t he?”

  Robert’s eyes meet mine, and I shift uncomfortably. Is Robert Cardew my friend? The word doesn’t fit right; it’s too polite, too bland. It’s too much and too little all at once. In some ways I feel as though I know almost nothing about him. We bicker and we tease each other, but underneath that there is an understanding, something small and precious that I can’t quite define.

  “That would be very nice,” Robert says finally. “But now I had better be going. Thank you so much for a lovely afternoon, and such wonderful food, Mrs Trevelyan.” He lifts his hat from Tom’s head and places it back on his own.

  Midge has appeared in the doorway now. “Don’t forget this!” she exclaims, holding out a jar of ginger jam for him to take home. My eyes widen at this, the ultimate gesture of acceptance from Midge.

  Robert takes the jar from her and thanks her warmly. “Everyone will be fighting over it at breakfast tomorrow.”

  “Come back again soon,” Midge says, squeezing his hand.

  I can’t take it all in. Robert, here with my family. I am sure my mouth is hanging open, but I just don’t seem to be able to get my head around this collision of my two very separate worlds. “I’ll walk you down to the causeway.” I hear my own voice before I know what I’m saying. “If you like?” I finish awkwardly, scratching my elbow.

  “Yes,” Robert replies. “I would like that.”

  He says another goodbye to everyone, and we wander back the way I have just come, along the path towards the village.

  “I hope you don’t mind that I’m here?” he asks.

  “No, of course not,” I say quickly. “It’s just a bit strange. Seeing you, in my world, I mean.”

  “Is it so
different, this world?” Robert asks, and his face is difficult to read.

  “In some ways, no, but in others, yes.” I shrug. There’s another pause. “We have many customs that may seem foreign to outsiders,” I add, attempting to lighten the mood.

  “Oh, really?” He raises an eyebrow. “Like what?”

  “Well, for example, here in my world,” I say, gesturing around us, “it is traditional for you to address the women of the house as ‘Your Magnificence’.”

  “I see,” he says seriously, but a smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “Anything else? I wouldn’t want to embarrass myself in front of your mother.”

  “Queen High Magnifico,” I correct him.

  “Indeed,” he says, bowing slightly at the waist. “Our most illustrious ruler.”

  We are walking side by side, and our arms are so close together that occasionally I feel the light brush of his shirtsleeve against my skin.

  “Of course it’s expected that you bring gifts for the second daughter of the house,” I say, looking up at him from underneath my eyelashes. “Nothing too extravagant, you understand … diamonds, rubies, motorcars and suchlike. Trifles, really.”

  Robert puts a hand on his chest. “Unfortunately I left my diamond-encrusted motorcar at home this time. Will I be welcome back?”

  “Oh, I should think so,” I say. “Although there’s every chance you’ll be fed to hungry triplets,” I add.

  “Sounds terrifying,” Robert murmurs. And then we both laugh.

  I have to admit that Robert’s laugh is wonderful. It’s warm and rich, and all the more rewarding for being so hard-won. I have noticed that I seem to be able to make him laugh more than anyone else, and that is a prize that gives me a sense of deep and lasting satisfaction.

  “So.” Robert speaks, after a moment of silence. “Your birthday? You kept that quiet.”

  I groan. “Only because I don’t want anyone to make a fuss.”

  “But you only get one eighteenth birthday,” Robert says. “You should make a fuss. And, anyway, you won’t have any choice in the matter once Caitlin finds out.”