by Adele Geras
‘Put like that – oh, well, if you like. It’d do no harm to send it, I suppose. Fancy a coffee or a drink, or shall we eat?’
‘Eat, if you don’t mind. I have to pick Tamsin up today.’
‘Follow me, then.’
They went into the kitchen, and Justin produced some M&S tarts from the oven. Gruyère and onion, with some salad in a very pretty green glass bowl and ice-cold mineral water. Very nice too. M&S food was one of the things to which Nessa was unreservedly devoted. She’d already admired the entirely silver and white kitchen. How easy it was to keep a place tidy with no kids! No Sugar Puffs or Mr Men yoghurts and no Omega-3-enriched bread in the bread-bin. Not that the pared-down, surgically gleaming space-age stuff was to her taste, even without childish things in it. And in any case, she thought, it’s worth having a cluttered kitchen if Tamsin was the reason for it. Still, it had come as a surprise to her when she realized, seeing Mickey’s kitchen in the cottage, that that was where she felt comfortable and relaxed: in a room with a dresser hung with beautiful china, an oak table, rag rugs on the slate floor and a new Aga against one wall. And, of course (Justin was quite right about this!), fresh flowers in the jug on the window sill, changing with the seasons.
‘Have you thought any more about Milthorpe House?’ she asked, taking a sip of the water. Nice heavy glasses, too, she noted.
‘Mmm,’ Justin answered, chewing rather longer than was necessary so as not to have to answer in any detail. Nessa was used to her brother. She waited till he’d finished and prompted him at once. ‘Tell me. You can’t avoid it, you know. I’ll keep nagging.’
‘Know you will …’ He loaded another forkful and conveyed it to his mouth. He smiled at her when he’d finished, and Nessa sighed. Having Justin smile at you was like being blinded by too many flashbulbs. She found herself, against her will, dazzled by his beauty.
‘I have been having some thoughts, as it happens,’ he said. ‘Don’t know if I want anyone to know anything about them yet, though. Early days, you know.’
Two could play the charm game. Nessa smiled a pretty smile of her own and leaned forward to touch Justin on the wrist. ‘It’s me, Justin,’ she said. ‘Big sister, remember? Do you remember? We were quite close when we were kids, weren’t we? I can’t imagine why we’re not any longer but I think we ought to – well – don’t start being all grown-up and distant on me now, please.’
‘I’m not. Not at all. Of course, you’ll be the first person – probably the only person – I’ll tell.’
‘You’ve got something up your sleeve, though, haven’t you? No point denying it. I can always tell when you’re fibbing.’
‘I might have. I don’t want to tell you now, though. It really is too early to announce anything. Besides, it contradicts what I told Matt and Phyl. I don’t want them to know at this stage. Or Lou either come to that. Matt’d try and stop me somehow. Not that he can. God, I’m grateful to Constance for making sure no one can pick holes in her will! But I’d rather present everyone with a fait accompli.’
‘Oh, go on, Justin! Please?’ She found her voice acquiring a sugar coating, the kind she used to use to get Gareth’s attention in the days when she’d still fancied him. ‘I won’t tell a soul,’ she added, knowing that was a lie. She would most probably share the details of this lunch with Mickey.
‘I’ve been in discussions with Eremount.’
‘Who’s Eremount?’
‘Property developers. You must have seen their hoardings. All over the south coast, those purple and green ones.’
‘Oh, them. Hideous colours. Yes, I know who you mean.’ Nessa felt a little uncomfortable. What was he about to tell her?
‘They’re interested, that’s all. Nothing’s firmed up yet.’
‘Interested?’
‘Yup. In Milthorpe House.’ Justin went to a white cupboard and took out some water biscuits. The cheeses were already on a marble cheeseboard on the work surface and he brought this to the table too and set it in front of Nessa. ‘They’re dead keen, actually.’
She gazed at the cheeses and every trace of appetite left her. What was he saying? She took a deep breath. ‘Let me get this right. You’re thinking of selling Milthorpe House?’
‘That’s right. For a ton of money – and not only that, I’d have some shares in it.’
‘In what?’
‘Didn’t I say?’
‘No, Justin, you did not. You’ve got to tell me the whole thing now. It’s not fair to let me know some of it and not the rest. Go on, cough it up.’
‘God, what an elegant turn of phrase. Okay. Eremount want to buy it and turn it into a health club and spa.’
Nessa felt as though a rug had been pulled from beneath her and it was all she could do to stop herself from gasping in astonishment, but she didn’t want Justin to think he’d taken her so completely unawares. She raised an eyebrow – that amount of surprise was okay – and kept her voice level when she answered.
‘Well, that’ll please some people. But a spa?’
‘Why not? Spas are where it’s at.’
Nessa positioned a square of Brie on a cream cracker and bit into it. She thought about what Justin had just told her. Careful, she told herself. Don’t get his back up.
‘Tell me more.’ She let him witter on while she thought. She liked the idea. She could just imagine what Milthorpe House would be like, turned into a spa. It would be fantastic – a real money-spinner, she was sure of it. Suddenly, any thoughts she may have had about keeping the house in the family seemed unimportant. Justin was droning on about turnover … returns for investments … jewel of the area … fashionable … nothing but the best … etc. etc. He fell silent eventually and when she said nothing, he added, ‘What do you think?’
‘Well,’ Nessa said, helping herself from the cafetiére Justin had brought to the table. ‘I’d have to see more, of course, more detailed plans, and so forth, but it seems quite a good idea. A lot more realistic than you swanning about up there all on your own.’
‘Thank God!’ He looked relieved. ‘So you won’t say anything to anyone, will you? Promise? I don’t need the grief from Matt.’
‘Well, I will keep quiet. But it’ll cost you.’
‘Cost me? What do you mean?’
‘I want shares in the spa, too. I want you to cut me in. Thirty-five per cent, say?’
‘You’re mad! Totally bonkers. Why would I do that? Milthorpe’s mine now and so are the profits from it. You can’t stop me.’
‘Well, I can’t, of course, but I could tell Matt and you’ve just told me you don’t want him to know yet. He’ll hassle you, you know. He’ll go ballistic, actually. I also don’t think it’s very brotherly of you to want to push me away. We could be partners, Justin. You have to see that Constance’s will wasn’t fair. Don’t you see that?’
‘Well, okay, maybe, but I don’t see why I should feel sorry for you, you’re not exactly poverty-stricken, are you?’
She couldn’t really answer that. It was quite true, and every time she fretted at the unfairness of things she had to admit that she was very well off and that Constance’s money was a treat and a bonus. She felt ashamed sometimes at not being more grateful for her good fortune.
‘Of course I’m not poverty-stricken,’ she said now, ‘but I could help you. With the spa. I’ve got an awful lot of business experience, which is more than you have.’ There was something about that sentence that sounded strange to her. It was like a lot of the things she’d said to Justin during their childhood when sibling rivalry was the order of the day.
‘That’s true, I suppose,’ he said. ‘But I’m pretty sure Eremount didn’t get to be who they are by taking advice from small-business people like you, Nessa. No offence.’
‘Well, actually no, not no offence. I am offended. But I’m not going to fight with you, Justin. Why can’t we reach some other kind of arrangement? Talk to Eremount and persuade them to let me buy some shares in the spa at a favourable rat
e, or something. That wouldn’t be any skin off your nose, would it? You’d still have your precious millions.’
‘It’s early days, Nessa. The probate on the will hasn’t finally gone through. I’ll think about it. I’ll speak to my contacts at Eremount.’
‘Just one thing I forgot to ask.’ Her hand was on the doorknob and she turned to look at Justin. ‘How much are they offering for Milthorpe House?’
‘Nearly three million.’
The mere idea of so much money made Nessa feel a little lightheaded. Fleetingly, she wondered if she ought to suggest to Justin that he gave Lou a few shares in the spa as well, but the moment passed and on her way downstairs to the street, every shred of an impulse to generosity had left her. This was nothing to do with Lou. Lou was, if you came right down to it, no real relation of hers or Justin’s. They only knew her by accident, really, and though Nessa had nothing against her, she couldn’t honestly say she felt a sisterly love for her. Constance had clearly, also, known something about Lou that others didn’t, otherwise why on earth had she deliberately left her nothing at all? The copyright in those books was an insult. After all, Lou was the real grandchild. Justin and I, Nessa thought, weren’t even distantly related to Constance. Which only went to show that, contrary to what the cleverclogs of the world thought, blood wasn’t thicker than water at all. What mattered in the end was how much someone loved you. For whatever reason. And Constance hadn’t loved Lou.
As she turned into the traffic on the main road, Nessa recalled a day when she was at Milthorpe House without Justin. Why was that? She couldn’t remember the reason, but there she was. She must have been about eleven or twelve, sitting on the little stool by the window in Constance’s bedroom. For as long as Nessa had known them, John Barrington and his wife had separate rooms. Grandad’s bedroom was across the landing. It never occurred to her when she was a child that there was anything strange about this, but now, as an adult, she realized that the two people she called her grandparents can’t have loved one another very much. Or, at least by the time she met them, they’d decided that sex was not an important part of their lives. I wonder why not, she thought now, waiting at a set of traffic lights. I’ll never know, but Grandad was terminally quiet and sort of sulky and Constance loved a bit of fun. A party animal, caged in that huge house with a dull husband. Nessa felt a retrospective sympathy for her. There was always, also, an outside chance that they got their kicks from visiting one another’s rooms as though this were some kind of clandestine treat. Nessa could imagine such a scenario with the right person being a real turn-on – you got the sex without the snoring, so to speak – but somehow she didn’t think that this was how her grandparents’ marriage worked.
On this day, the one she was recalling, she was conscious for the very first time of being spoken to as though she were a grown-up. Constance was telling her things. Nessa felt privileged.
‘You’re too young for all this,’ Constance had said, but it hadn’t stopped her. Nessa had no clue about why she was preoccupied just then with her mother-in-law, but she was. Granny Rosemary, as Matt used to call her, had been dead for some time, but Constance still seemed vaguely cross with her husband’s mother.
‘She didn’t have much money, really. There was the law firm, which her husband set up – my father-in-law, you know – but that was it. Whereas I, well, I was sweeping suitors off the doormat, my father used to say. Milthorpe House and Daddy’s money – let’s just say it was a big step up for your grandfather when he married me. And the firm acquired a kind of glamour by association with our family, you know. People like lawyers to be well connected. Rosemary knew she was lucky. She couldn’t have imagined in her wildest dreams that someone like me would come along and marry John. I fell in love with him, you see. That was my mistake. You shouldn’t marry someone you’re in love with, Nessa. It clouds the judgement. You can’t make proper decisions when you’re besotted. And I was besotted, believe me. At least for a while. Well, he was so handsome. He’s lost his looks rather in later life, hasn’t he? Some people do, though not me, I’m happy to say.’
How beautifully, totally, completely self-absorbed and conceited Constance had been! Nessa smiled. Such self-love was admirable, in her opinion. She, too, believed firmly that she was always right, and her faith in her own wisdom was so overwhelming that she mostly carried everyone else along with her and they did what she said without questioning her judgement. That was certainly why Matt and Constance got on so well … he just followed instructions. Perhaps he’d even married Ellie because his mother told him to. How pathetic was that!
Nessa went back to thinking about that day in Constance’s room. That was when she learned a little about John Barrington.
‘My mother-in-law,’ Constance said, ‘wasn’t even John’s real mother. She adopted him after the war, you know. They came back here from that ghastly prison camp or whatever it was and she put him into boarding school and brainwashed him into forgetting his real mother. She was quite capable of brainwashing, believe me. A very determined woman. She became obsessed with things, you know. She used to set her mind on something and then there was no budging her. She told me once – I remember the very afternoon – that when she realized she couldn’t have a child of her own, she’d thought her life was over. Then she said, “Until John came along. That was fortunate for me.” And his real mother was supposed to be her best friend! Imagine! John’s mother was French, you know. Rosemary told me that. John’s never spoken about her. Never once. Or not to me. It doesn’t worry me, but it’s rather peculiar, if you ask me. Well, he’s an unusual man. I think,’ (she’d leaned towards Nessa at this point, shaking a finger quite near her face) ‘I think a great deal of him went into those silly books of his. Much good did they do him! There’s only a sort of shell of him left, you know, even though it’s years since he wrote anything. The books used him up, in a way. He doesn’t really speak to me any longer. Not about anything sensible. He doesn’t know how to gossip. I can’t bear that. I do miss your mother, you know. She’s a wonderful gossip. I wish she lived in this country. I expect you do, too, poor little thing. Never mind, I’m a kind of mother to you, aren’t I? To you and Justin.’
I knew even then, Nessa thought, that Constance wanted me to say something along the lines of yes, you’re just as good as our real mother and much better than Phyl and I didn’t. In those days, I was more conscious of having to be good and what I was supposed to say and do and I knew Matt would be upset if I slagged off his new wife. I wanted an easy life.
Was she going to be in time to pick Tamsin up? She’d left it a bit late, but she probably would make it. If not, she could ring one of the other mothers and leave Tamsin with them till she got there. Her mind went back to Milthorpe House. What would she feel if it became a spa? Could she pretend that she was attached to it as a childhood home? Not really. She’d loved Constance. She liked going there, but if Constance wasn’t around, would she really prefer to live there than in her own home? The answer to that was probably no. Now that she’d had time to adjust to Justin’s news, she found herself rather more annoyed than she was at first. Okay, there was no real reason why her brother should share his wealth, but there was so much of it that surely he ought to have given some thought to his sister? No, of course he wouldn’t. Why on earth should he? There was nothing in her financial position which might have persuaded him she needed help. And I wouldn’t give him any money if our situations were reversed, she admitted to herself. Briefly, she thought of Lou – living on a pittance, apparently. Would Justin think of offering her any shares? Doubtful, as she didn’t have anything to spare to buy into this kind of financial lottery. Besides, Justin and Lou never saw one another. She’d practically disappeared out of his life when Justin had moved out of Matt and Phyl’s house.
‘Damn and blast Constance!’ she muttered to herself, as a sudden wave of anger overcame her. And shame that she was being a bit unfair. Just plain envious. After all, she’d been well pr
ovided for, but the idea of Justin in possession of three million pounds – it was too much. A spa in Milthorpe House. How would Matt and Phyl react if they knew? Mostly they’d be pissed off that none of the money, not one penny as far as they could see, would be ending up in the bank account of the number one daughter, Lou.
*
Harry would be arriving in ten minutes or so, and Lou was as ready as she was ever going to be, as well as completely exhausted. It had been over a year since she’d spent more than ten minutes deciding what to wear. Since Poppy’s birth, all she strove for every day was something clean. It didn’t even have to be properly ironed. Everything would get Poppyfied: spittled on, food-spattered, sometimes even vomited over. She hadn’t even had to think about her clothes for Constance’s funeral, because there wasn’t a choice to be made. She had one decent suit and she’d worn it, thanking her lucky stars that it was black. She’d also put on make-up that day, but since then she’d lived in jeans and a selection of T-shirts and sweatshirts.
This date with Harry was a bit of a problem. If she dressed up too much, she’d be signalling that this was ‘a date’. So, easy on the lip-gloss, no red nails suddenly after weeks and weeks of colourless varnish, and probably no dresses of a ‘take me out to a smart bar’ variety. As she didn’t own such a garment anyway, it was lucky that she didn’t want to wear it. By the time every single item in her wardrobe was lying across her bed, she was out of breath and time was short. In the end, she opted for a dark red skirt with a swirly hem, a nice leather belt and a blouse that didn’t have that much going for it apart from the fact that it was new and clean. If you were being kind, you could call it classic. Otherwise, boring just about summed it up. Shoes were okay. She’d bought a pair of fabulous black suede boots in a sale last Christmas and they were still the smartest thing in her wardrobe. Or were the heels too high? For a panicked second, she wondered whether she should change into flats, but then there wasn’t time and in the end she was glad of the way the boots made her look – far more in control than she felt.
