The Shadow Sister

by Lucinda Riley

  It was an easy mistake to make.

  Yes, I thought, that is the reason. And there was no way I was going to unlock my tender heart and allow it to pour its feelings into the turbulent waters of Mouse’s emotional storm.

  But I will stay here, I thought, as I closed my eyes. For Rory.

  I’d just returned to High Weald after taking Rory to school the next morning when Mouse arrived through the door. I noticed he was wearing the same clothes I’d seen him in yesterday, as if he hadn’t gone to bed at all.

  ‘Hi.’

  ‘Hi,’ I said, as I collected the eggs and bacon from the pantry for Orlando’s breakfast. I glanced at him briefly as I walked towards the range and thought that this morning, he looked completely broken. Part of me felt he deserved it.

  ‘Did you think about what I said to you last night?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘Mouse, please, there’s been so much for me to take in over the past few days, I can’t do this now.’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Besides, this isn’t about you, or me. It’s about Rory. Your son.’

  ‘I know. Look, I’ve been thinking too. And you’re right. I can’t expect you to trust me, let alone love me, after the way I’ve behaved towards both of you. But . . . are you going to stay here?’

  ‘Yes. Rory needs stability. Also, I do have a job here at the bookshop these days.’

  ‘Well then . . .’ I watched him shift from foot to foot. ‘What I’d like to do, with your help, is to try to mend my relationship – or at least begin a relationship – with my son. There’s not a lot I can do until the sale of the bookshop goes through and the funds arrive in the account, so I thought I could use the time to be with Rory. I won’t be very good, I know, but I can get better, I’m sure of it.’

  ‘If you want to, then yes, you can.’

  ‘I want to, Star, believe me, I do.’

  ‘Well, that solves one of my problems. You could collect Rory from school, then I can help Orlando at the bookshop for longer and drive him home. There’s a lot to do there before we open.’

  ‘Great,’ he said immediately. ‘Though I’m not sure my cooking’s up to much.’

  ‘I’ll cook when I get back, but there is bath time . . .’

  ‘And story time. I know.’ He gave me a tentative smile.

  ‘Good morning, all,’ said Orlando, walking into the kitchen. He looked at both of us, sensing the tension in the air. ‘Have I blundered in here at an inopportune moment?’

  ‘Not at all,’ I said. ‘Breakfast is nearly ready. You’ll collect Rory at three thirty?’ I confirmed with Mouse, damned if I was going to offer him breakfast too.

  ‘I’ll be there. Bye now,’ he muttered and promptly left.

  Orlando cocked his head at me quizzically.

  ‘Mouse told me last night. About Rory being his son.’

  ‘Ah. Well now, that’s certainly a move forward, given that he wouldn’t acknowledge it to himself up until recently. You’ve worked a miracle, Miss Star, truly you have.’

  ‘I’ve done nothing, Orlando,’ I said as I put the plate of bacon and eggs in front him.

  ‘Then should I say that love has worked a miracle. Of course I’ve known since the first moment he first set eyes on you that—’

  ‘Enough, Orlando.’

  ‘Forgive me, but please, Miss Star, at least give him a chance to mend his ways and endear himself to you.’

  ‘I’m more interested in him endearing himself to Rory,’ I countered as I slammed a frying pan into the sink to wash it.

  ‘Do I finally see some fire rising in that belly of yours? Perhaps Mouse isn’t the only one around here who’s changed recently, due to affairs of the heart.’

  ‘Orlando . . .’

  ‘I shall say no more. Other than the fact that, when sinners repent and try to atone for their mistakes, it is our Christian duty to forgive them. I have, at least. My brother is a jolly decent man, and if it hadn’t been for Annie’s death—’

  ‘Enough!’ I turned to him with the wet frying pan in my hand, and he held his hands up in mock self-protection.

  ‘No more, I promise. My lips are sealed. It’s up to Mouse now.’

  ‘Yes,’ I agreed fervently. ‘It is.’

  For the next few days, Mouse did exactly as he’d said he would. He took Rory to school each morning, then collected him afterwards. They were home a couple of hours earlier than me, having bought the food on the shopping list I wrote every morning. I would drive Orlando home from Tenterden, then I’d cook supper for the four of us, watching from the sidelines as Mouse did his best to atone for the missed years of his son’s life. After supper, he’d take him up for a bath and read him a story. Rory was still amazed by Mouse’s sudden new talent for signing.

  ‘He’s even better than you, Star. He’s a fast learner, isn’t he?’

  ‘He’s certainly determined, because he loves you,’ I said as I kissed him goodnight.

  ‘And I love him. Night, night, Star. Don’t let the bedbugs bite.’

  I walked to the door to switch off the light. All these years, I thought, Mouse had known exactly how to sign, having learned in order to communicate better with Annie. And I hoped that one day Rory would begin to know about his mother, who had loved him so fiercely that she had given her life for him.

  On Thursday, Mouse informed me that Marguerite had called while I was at the bookshop. ‘She’d like to stay in France until the beginning of December, returning for the opening of the bookshop. I told her that I’d look after Rory this weekend. You probably need to go back to London?’

  ‘I do, yes.’ I nodded in agreement. It was important Mouse and Rory spent as much time as possible together without anyone else around.

  ‘Right, then we’ll give you a lift to the station tomorrow night when you’ve finished at the bookshop.’

  ‘Thanks. Perhaps you and Rory can give Orlando a hand over the weekend? He wants to move into the flat above the shop on Sunday.’

  ‘We will. Goodnight then.’

  ‘Goodnight.’

  The following evening, as I got off the London train and sat on the bus back to Battersea, I saw the streets already adorned with Christmas decorations. And wondered vaguely where I’d be spending my Christmas. I couldn’t think of anything worse than Christmas Day in the sterile, soulless apartment, after years of the glorious Christmases we had celebrated at Atlantis, or on moonlit beaches in far-flung parts of the world.

  Christmas at High Weald would be perfect . . .

  I ordered my newly disobedient psyche to shut up. And equally refused to let it acknowledge how I had glanced at Mouse sitting patiently with Rory on his knee, signing and reading a book to him, and felt . . . yes, felt, a small wave of emotion for him. But it was far, far too soon to open up my heart and let out what I was so fearful it contained.

  When I arrived at the apartment, CeCe was enormously happy to see me, and we arranged to spend the weekend together.

  ‘I must get my hair cut this weekend too,’ she said. ‘It’s getting far too long.’

  I looked at CeCe, and remembered how, as a child, she’d once had a mane of gorgeous dark chocolate curls that had hung well past her shoulders. Then, at sixteen, she’d arrived home having had the lot chopped off, saying it was too much bother.

  ‘Don’t get it cut, Cee,’ I said, thinking how pretty she looked tonight, with the soft waves framing her lovely dark brown eyes. ‘It suits you longer.’

  ‘Okay,’ she agreed, surprising me. ‘I also need to buy some warmer clothes, but you know how I hate shopping.’

  ‘I’ll come with you. It’ll be fun.’

  So the next morning, we ventured up to Oxford Street to battle with the other Christmas shoppers. I splashed out and bought a dress to wear for Ally’s concert, and even persuaded CeCe into a pretty silk blouse to wear with a pair of tailored grey trousers and high-heeled ankle boots.

  ‘This real
ly isn’t me,’ she grumbled as she surveyed herself in the changing-room mirror.

  ‘You look lovely, Cee,’ I said truthfully, admiring her trim figure. She must have lost weight in the last few weeks, but I hadn’t noticed before now because she usually dressed in oversized sweatshirts and baggy jeans. And besides, I’d been away so much.

  On Sunday, I cooked a traditional roast lunch, took a deep breath and told her about meeting my mother.

  ‘Jesus Christ, Sia! Why on earth didn’t you tell me about any of this before?’

  I could see the hurt in her eyes. ‘I don’t know. Perhaps I had to get used to the idea myself first before I told anyone.’

  ‘I’m hardly “anyone”,’ she countered. ‘We used to tell each other everything, especially “private” stuff.’

  ‘It was so strange at first, Cee,’ I tried to explain, ‘but she seems lovely. I might go and visit her in the States. As a matter of fact, I had an email from her this morning inviting me over for Christmas and New Year.’

  ‘You won’t go, will you?’ she said, looking horrified. ‘It’s bad enough with you away all week, let alone Christmas. We’ve never spent it apart. What would I do?’

  ‘Of course we’ll spend it together,’ I comforted her.

  ‘Good. Actually, I have something to tell you too. I’m thinking of leaving college.’

  ‘Cee! Why?’

  ‘Because I hate it. I don’t think I’m very good at being institutionalised, especially after all our years of being free spirits.’

  ‘What will you do?’

  ‘Try my hand as an artist, I s’pose.’ She shrugged. ‘Anyway, forget that. I’m so happy you’ve found your mum. And now I can tell you about—’

  I checked my watch and saw it was past three o’clock. ‘I’m so sorry, Cee, I have a train to catch. But we’ll talk when I’m next back, yes?’

  ‘Sure.’

  CeCe watched me desolately as I went upstairs. I packed in a rush and came back downstairs to find her painting in her studio.

  ‘Bye now,’ I said breezily to her as I headed for the front door. ‘I’ll let you know if I’m coming back next weekend. Have a good week.’

  ‘And you,’ came the muffled response.

  Back in Kent, I was kept busy, preparing for what Orlando called his ‘grand opening’ in two weeks’ time. He stood outside the shop, dressed in his best velvet suit, as the local paper took photographs of him to go with the interview they were running, and I felt desperately proud of him.

  Life at High Weald continued in a similar vein, and I saw that both Rory and Mouse were beginning to relax into their new routine. I did my best not to interfere if, on occasion, Mouse was short-tempered with his son, because that too was only natural. Even if Mouse had to learn what ‘natural’ was.

  As the ‘grand opening’ was taking place on a Saturday, I took the coward’s way out and texted CeCe from Tenterden, explaining I wouldn’t be home that weekend. I got a brusque reply in response.

  Fine. Call me! Woud like to talk.

  I refused to let her put me on a guilt trip. I realised that in some ways, it was like the ending of a love affair – a gentle easing, a letting go – painful, but ultimately right for both of us. And even if I left High Weald tomorrow, never to return, it was essential this happened. For I couldn’t go back to where I’d been. And nor must CeCe. I just hoped we could eventually find our way forward to a different and more natural relationship.

  Mouse had honoured my request for time to think about what he’d said to me. Every evening after he’d said goodnight to Rory, he would leave by the kitchen door, with a wave and a ‘see you tomorrow’. With Orlando now ensconced in his tiny flat above the bookshop in Tenterden, the evenings began to yawn like an open chasm before me, and I realised that I was just as much a novice at being alone as CeCe was.

  Well, I simply had to learn, and even though it was often on the tip of my tongue to ask Mouse to stay on for a beer before he left, I didn’t. Instead, I lit the fire in the drawing room and sat in front of it, reading Flora’s journals and wondering whether I could edit all these detailed years of her life into a book that people would want to read. Yet I was distracted constantly, as my thoughts flew across the lane to Home Farm. And I wondered what Mouse was thinking and doing right now . . .

  This tortured, damaged man who had professed to love me.

  The question was, did I love him?

  Possibly.

  But . . . there was also something about me that he didn’t know. And the thought of telling him – of telling anyone – was something I couldn’t contemplate.

  ‘All ready?’ Orlando asked me, looking wonderful in a newly purchased vintage Edwardian frock coat, complete with a starched collar and a maroon cravat.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Right then,’ he said as we both gave last glances around the immaculate shop and I proceeded behind him towards the door. I only hoped there would be people outside to watch him cut the red ribbon I’d placed at his insistence across the threshold earlier this morning.

  He opened the door and I saw Mouse, Rory and Marguerite, who was standing beside a petite blonde woman I didn’t recognise. Behind them were a group of fascinated passers-by, who halted with their shopping bags, astonished by the sight of Orlando in fancy dress.

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen, I’d like to announce the opening of O. Forbes Esquire – Rare Books. And now I shall pass the scissors to the manager of my shop, without whose help I would not be here. Take the scissors,’ he hissed at me, as he all but prodded me in the stomach with them.

  ‘No, Orlando! It should be you.’

  ‘Please, Miss Star, you’ve been my lynchpin, whatever a “lynchpin” actually is, and I want you to cut the ribbon.’

  ‘Okay,’ I sighed.

  So, I cut the ribbon and our assembled ‘family’ applauded and cheered loudly, as did the passers-by. People crowded into the shop and a photographer arrived to take more pictures as we all drank champagne.

  ‘Star, hello.’ Marguerite kissed me on both cheeks. ‘This is Hélène, by the way. She’s the owner of the chateau, and what you might call my significant other.’ She smiled fondly at Hélène, squeezing her hand.

  ‘I am very ’appy to be ’ere,’ said Hélène in hesitant English.

  ‘Star speaks perfect French, amongst her other accomplishments,’ Marguerite informed her.

  Hélène and I chatted for a while about her chateau near Gigondas, a village in the centre of the glorious Rhône Valley, of Marguerite’s marvellous murals, and in general about how marvellous Marguerite was.

  ‘She tells me that it is you who has made it possible for us to spend some time together,’ Hélène added. ‘Thank you, Star.’

  ‘Hi,’ said a voice behind me.

  ‘Hi.’ I turned round and Mouse kissed me formally on both cheeks. Rory stood beside him.

  ‘What do you think of Orlando’s new shop?’ I asked Rory.

  ‘I painted a picture of it for him.’

  ‘And I had it framed. Isn’t it wonderful?’ Mouse said as Rory handed it up to me to admire.

  It was a watercolour of the front of the bookshop. ‘Wow, Rory, it’s fantastic,’ I signed to him. ‘He’s so talented,’ I said to Mouse.

  ‘Isn’t he?’

  I heard the genuine pride in his voice. And immediately wanted to cry.

  ‘Listen . . .’ He bent down to whisper in my ear. ‘Can I take you out tonight? I’m sure the rest of High Weald can fend for themselves for once.’

  ‘Yes,’ I said without hesitation.

  Perhaps it had been the mid-day champagne that had made me answer in the affirmative earlier, I thought grimly as I rifled through my paltry selection of clothing that evening. I had the choice between my two jumpers and a couple of pairs of jeans. Going for the blue jumper, I walked into the kitchen where the occupants of High Weald were still celebrating the opening of the bookshop.

  ‘Mouse just called to say he’d pick yo
u up from the front door in a few minutes,’ said Orlando.

  ‘Thanks,’ I said, clocking the smell of burning sausages in the frying pan and instinctively reaching to remove them from the range. There was the sound of a horn beeping from the front of the house.

  ‘Have a good time,’ Marguerite smirked, Hélène’s arm draped round her shoulder and Rory sat on her knee, contentedly eating a tube of Smarties. ‘And don’t you dare come home before dawn,’ she added. To which the entire kitchen laughed uproariously.

  Red-faced, I walked to the front hall and opened the door, feeling like the proverbial lamb to the slaughter.

  ‘Hi,’ Mouse said, kissing me on both cheeks as I got into the car. He had shaved and, for a brief moment, I felt his smooth skin against mine.

  ‘Ready to go?’ he said.

  ‘Sure. Where?’

  ‘To the local pub. Is that okay? They do great bar food.’

  The White Lion was crowded and charming, with a roaring fire in the grate and a heavily beamed ceiling. Mouse ordered a beer for himself and a glass of white wine for me, picked up a couple of menus, then led me to a table in a quiet nook to the side of the main bar.

  ‘Thanks for coming, I appreciate it,’ he said. ‘I thought we should have a chat about stuff.’

  ‘Such as?’

  ‘The fact that Marguerite wants to go and live in France with Hélène. Permanently.’

  So, this is a ‘business’ chat, not a ‘date’, I thought.

  ‘What did you say?’

  ‘I said yes, of course. Rory is my son, after all. And I’ve got to face my responsibilities. Rory will inherit the title – it passed to me when my uncle died, as they’d only had Marguerite. And ironically, I’ll inherit High Weald if Marguerite dies before me, since she’s forty-three now and unlikely to have any kids. But ultimately, it will eventually be left to Rory.’