‘Evie’s had another accident. But don’t worry – she’s okay now. I’ve left her doped up with stuff from the hospital and she’s sleeping.’
Aminah looked horrified. ‘What happened? Does Mark know?’
‘He’d only just left when it happened. She’s asked me not to call him, but she’s in a lot of pain. She managed to trap her hand and she’s broken some bones.’
‘Trap her hand in what, for God’s sake?’
Cleo didn’t want to describe Evie’s accident. It filled her with horror to imagine the weights crashing down onto her fingers, but she knew Aminah wouldn’t stop asking until she had all the details.
‘She said she was doing some lat pulldowns in the gym.’ Cleo saw Aminah’s look of confusion and gave her a brief smile. ‘Don’t worry – you don’t need to know what that means. Anyway, she leaned forward to adjust the weights, while still hanging onto the bar. Her hands must have been slippery with sweat and she let go of the handle when her other hand was between the weights. A stupid accident that should never have happened. It must have been over in seconds. She’s going to be fine, though, and she doesn’t want me to call Mark.’
‘The gym.’ Aminah looked Cleo steadily in the eye. ‘Again.’
Cleo looked away, fussing with Lulu’s pushchair, stroking her niece’s silky hair.
‘I know,’ she said, keeping her eyes on the child. ‘Mark still won’t go down there – not since Mia died, as far as I know – and Evie’s probably scared he’ll have the whole place locked up if she tells him what happened to her. She’d hate that – she takes Lulu in the pool with her all the time. She says if you live that close to the sea it should be a criminal offence not to teach your children to swim.’
‘She’s got a point.’
Cleo sighed. Everything Evie said seemed sensible but she had been so accident-prone of late.
‘What’s going on in that head of yours, Cleo?’ Aminah asked. ‘Come on. I know that face.’
Cleo lifted her head and met Aminah’s eyes. ‘I don’t know what to think, and I know you’ll say I’m being ridiculous – which is why I’m hesitating about saying anything.’
The waitress brought over the order of sparkling mineral water for Cleo, still water for Lulu and a second cappuccino for Aminah and plonked them down in the middle of the table without a word. Neither of the women paid any attention to her. Aminah was staring at Cleo, waiting for her to carry on.
‘The thing is, Aminah, it’s not the first accident she’s had, is it? And it always happens within hours of Mark leaving. Like that time when she managed to pour boiling water all over herself? She said she’d sneezed as she was tipping the water from the kettle into her mug and she’d splashed herself, but I saw under the bandage and it was more than a splash.’
‘So what are you saying? That she’s attention-seeking – or that she’s just plain clumsy? If it was for attention, she’d want Mark to come home immediately, surely?’
‘I don’t know. But something’s not right.’
Aminah snorted. ‘Bloody hell, Cleo, you said that about Mia too. You didn’t like her either, and you didn’t trust her an inch.’
‘Are you surprised? She was so much older than Mark, and she thought his photography was just a hobby.’ Cleo put on an affected American accent. ‘Mark’s married to me now, so he doesn’t need to be successful. I’m successful enough for both of us and we have all the money we need – just let him have fun.’
She pulled a face at Aminah, who laughed.
‘You know, my lovely, there’s a lot to be said for just having fun. You want Mark to be famous, but is that what he wants?’
Cleo poured some water into Lulu’s sippy cup and pushed the lid on.
‘There you go, sweetie.’ Lulu was such a placid little thing. At nine months old she was already starting to look like Mark, with hair the same reddish-brown as his.
‘You’re ignoring me, Cleo,’ Aminah said softly.
‘I’ve always had to look out for Mark – you know that.’
‘Bollocks. I’ve said this before, but I’m going to say it again whether you like it or not. You treat Mark as if he’s your seven-year-old son, instead of your thirty-seven-year-old brother. I know you took care of him after your mother left, but he’s an adult now and he can make his own mistakes, if that’s what Evie is – and I honestly can’t see why you would think that. She’s okay, you know. I like her, but more to the point, Mark seems to love her, so why not do yourself a favour and relax a little. Maybe it’s your turn to be looked after and made a fuss of.’
Aminah spoke the final words gently, and for a split second Cleo felt the urge to let go and allow life to take its course without feeling the compulsion to control it. She’d had her chance, though, and made her choice. But she wasn’t about to admit that to Aminah.
Her moment of introspection passed as a plate of cakes arrived at their table. She shook her head at Aminah in mock dismay.
‘What?’ Aminah said as she bit into some sort of chocolate confection that made Cleo shudder. ‘I like cake – it’s one of the joys in my life. I’m your best friend and I love you, but where does your joy come from? You spend your days trying to keep Mark motivated and working hard to maintain that admittedly fabulous shape of yours. But at what cost? Why not have a drink, eat a chip, find some guy and make wild, passionate love on the beach in broad daylight?’
Aminah grinned at Cleo, who was tempted to admit how often she wanted to do as her friend suggested. But she had always been afraid that if she let her guard down, even a fraction, everything would fall apart.
‘You’re not far off forty, Cleo. A fine age, and one to be relished. But are you happy? Because that’s all I want for you.’
Aminah reached across the table to touch Cleo’s hand, but this conversation had to be deflected.
‘Never mind me. I’m fine, honestly, and let’s face it, I’ve heard all your wonderful advice before.’ Cleo smiled to take any sting out of her words. ‘Just tell me what I should do about Evie. Do you think, given her accidents, that it’s safe for her to look after Lulu?’
‘Sorry, love. It’s not your call. If you so much as suggest to Mark that Evie’s not fit to look after their daughter because she’s had a couple of accidents in the home, you’ll drive a massive wedge between the two of you. You very nearly did that when he was married to Mia, so don’t make the same mistake again. You were quite devastated last time when he shut you out.’
Cleo was silent. Aminah was right – she hadn’t liked Mia and had tried to make Mark see that his wife was stifling both him and his talent. But Evie was different. She appeared to support Mark wholeheartedly, so why did she fall apart every time he left the house?
Cleo could feel that Aminah wasn’t one hundred per cent on her side. She and Evie had a lot in common – they both had children, and according to Aminah they shared some of the same bad habits. Cleo couldn’t help worrying that their budding friendship might gradually, over time, push her own relationship with Aminah into second place. Only the previous week she had walked past the café and glanced in to see the two of them enjoying a slice of chocolate cake, laughing together at something. She hadn’t gone in to join them. She felt she might have been intruding.
There were only three people in Cleo’s life that mattered to her now – Mark, Lulu and Aminah – and at that moment, it felt as if Evie was fast becoming the pivot around which all three of them revolved, with Cleo on the sidelines, watching but not participating.
4
As Cleo bumped Lulu’s buggy up the rough track to Mark’s house she tried to drive Aminah’s words from her thoughts. It was true that she had disliked Mia – both for her arrogance and for the fact that she made Cleo feel like a fool for being so enthusiastic about Mark’s photography. Coming from such a wealthy background, Mia had an air of entitlement about her. She treated Mark more like a recalcitrant teenager than a husband, smiling rather benignly when he spoke, and Cleo had m
ade the mistake of saying as much to her brother. It had nearly caused a rift that couldn’t be mended until, reluctantly, Cleo had apologised. But she blamed herself entirely for pushing Mark and Mia together.
Just like Evie, Mia had come to the gallery one day looking to commission a photographer – in her case to take pictures throughout the different seasons of her stunning new house with its all-glass wall overlooking the sea. Cleo had fought hard to win the job on Mark’s behalf, and for a year he had trotted up there every few weeks to spend days waiting for the weather or the lighting to be right. It had never occurred to Cleo that her brother would be interested in this thin American woman with her almost gaunt face, and she hadn’t realised they were becoming close until her brother announced that they were getting married.
And now there was Evie – different in so many ways. Why couldn’t Cleo like her more than she did? She had Evie to thank for dragging Mark out of the dark cavern into which he had slunk after Mia’s death, but she couldn’t help feeling a twinge of resentment that Evie had succeeded where she herself had so comprehensively failed.
‘I’m just a bad-tempered middle-aged woman, Lulu,’ she said to the child in the pushchair, safe in the knowledge that she would neither understand nor be able to repeat anything she heard. ‘But I love your daddy so much, and all I’ve ever wanted was for him to be happy. I don’t think your mummy likes me, though.’
She sighed, knowing it was the truth. She had been living in the house with Evie for the past week, taking care of both her and Lulu. It should have brought them closer, but although Evie was polite, Cleo never felt that together they were a family. There was Cleo and Mark, or Evie and Mark – and Lulu of course. For the child’s sake if nobody else’s, she had to keep Evie close. The chances of Cleo having children of her own were getting more and more remote each year, and she needed to pour all her maternal love into Lulu.
For a moment she thought of the love she’d had, but had rejected. Turning her back on Joe was one of the hardest things she had ever done, but there were too many sacrifices to make. Not just for her, but for Joe too.
‘Let’s get you home, sweetie. It’s time for your nap,’ she said, ignoring the prickle of tears at the back of her eyes.
Reaching the long white wall of the house, Cleo headed towards the garage. A little-used door beyond two parked cars opened onto a private garden that ran along one side of the house, its far boundary overlooking the sea and giving a terrifying view over the cliff to the two lower floors of the house, built into the rock. Cleo had her own key to the front door, but Evie knew nothing about that and she didn’t feel that now was the time to reveal its existence.
For a second she remembered the day over three years ago when she had come up here, uninvited, to see Mia. She had let herself in, certain that Mia neither knew nor would approve of the fact that she had a key but wanting to precipitate an argument – an excuse to unleash her anger at the way Mia treated Mark.
Cleo took a deep breath in an effort to drive the thoughts of that day from her mind. The nightmares had all but stopped now, and it was better not to remember.
As she walked through the back door of the garage and into the garden, Cleo glanced through the long window that looked into the kitchen area of the vast living space. She could see Evie sitting at the breakfast bar, her posture slumped, her head resting on folded arms. Was she crying? Had something else happened?
She hurried to the door and pushed it open, pulling the buggy in behind her.
‘Evie, is everything okay?’ she called.
Evie lifted her head. Her eyes were red-rimmed, but dry. ‘I’m fine. Just tired.’
Cleo pushed the door closed and lifted Lulu out of the buggy.
‘Why don’t you go and lie down again?’
‘I don’t need to, honestly. If I sleep now, I won’t sleep tonight.’
‘Don’t the pills help?’ Cleo asked, shrugging the coat off a struggling Lulu.
‘A bit, but if I fall into a deep sleep I roll onto my arm, and then it hurts like hell.’
Cleo popped Lulu into her rocker chair and passed her a couple of her favourite toys. She was so good at amusing herself and loved anything that made a sound or played a tune.
‘I’ll make you a coffee,’ Evie said, sliding off the high stool.
‘Sit down. I’ll make it. I’m here to look after you both.’
‘Cleo, it’s kind of you and I appreciate your help, but I’m fine. I can manage everything but Lulu. And anyway, all I have to do is press buttons – I only need one hand for that.’
Cleo stared at Evie’s back. Even after the enforced living arrangements this week they continued to dance around each other mouthing platitudes. Evie had become more withdrawn over recent weeks and Cleo knew perfectly well why she didn’t try to get closer, to ask Evie more questions.
It was because she didn’t want to hear the answers.
5
Mark is due home at any moment, and I can feel the blood fizzing in my veins as the pressure builds inside me. Cleo is still here. She’s been here since I was hurt last week, staying overnight, taking care of Lulu. I think she’d like to take Lulu back to her house where she could lavish attention on her and pretend she is her own child. But that’s not going to happen.
We get no warning of Mark’s arrival. The walls are so thick that we can’t hear the approach of a taxi, and I jump when I hear the front door open.
There’s a thud as he puts down his bag, but I have my back to him and I don’t turn round. I’m nervous and Cleo can sense it. I don’t know what he’s going to say, or what he expects me to say, but I can’t make any mistakes. Not now.
‘Hi, Mark,’ Cleo calls, bouncing a beaming Lulu up and down on her knee. Lulu loves her daddy and she does a better job than anyone at raising a smile from him. Which makes it all the more terrible, really.
‘Hi, Cleo. What are you doing here?’ he asks, walking down the two steps from the entrance hall into the living room. He knows how unusual it is for Cleo and me to enjoy each other’s company when he’s not around.
He walks up behind me and leans down to kiss me. That’s when he sees my left wrist and hand encased in plaster.
‘Jesus, what’s happened, Evie?’
I’m watching Cleo as he speaks to see who she looks at – me, or Mark. I want to read her expression, but she looks away and fusses over Lulu as if she’s giving us a moment.
‘Evie?’ Mark repeats.
‘I trapped my hand. It’s fine, darling. More of a nuisance than anything else,’ I say, smiling and lifting my chin slightly so that I can see his face hovering above me, his strong, bristly chin and the black void of his nostrils. I can’t quite make out his eyes so I don’t know what he’s thinking.
His hand comes down heavily on my shoulder and grips me firmly. ‘Why didn’t either of you call me?’
Cleo raises her eyes to Mark’s then and I watch her give him an apologetic smile. ‘I wanted to call you, but Evie wouldn’t have it.’
She’s like the school snitch, but it’s what I expected. If Mark’s going to be mad at anyone, it had better be me.
The hand on my shoulder suddenly seems heavier, as if he’s resting his weight there. I shrug and sit forward, mainly to shift his grip, but I turn it into a move to stand up.
‘Come and sit down, Mark. I’ll get you a drink.’ I don’t need to ask what he would like. It will be a glass of red wine.
I can’t avoid his gaze any longer. ‘No, you sit, Evie. I want to know why nobody called me. I’d have come straight back.’
The truth is that Mark would happily find any excuse not to go away at all. He hates commissions, even when they’re worth thousands like this one. Cleo’s done a good job for him since he’s come out of purdah. His latest client lives in Paris but has a house at Cap-Ferrat and he wants Mark to take a series of photographs to form some incredible mural for one wall. He’s very demanding of Mark’s time and insists on regular visits to discuss t
hemes. The client, Alain Roussel, has made his money through a string of casinos, and he likes to parade Mark like a prize bull to impress his newly acquired acquaintances amongst the nouveau riche of France.
Cleo sees this commission as a real coup, telling Mark that he’ll have people queuing up for the latest Marcus North photographs in no time at all. Cleo’s vivid description of a future in which Mark will be feted everywhere he goes seems to get to him, and somewhere under his dismissive exterior I feel certain there is a germ of ambition. It’s not about the money – it’s about the recognition of his talent.
But each time he leaves this house I’m certain he remembers the time he left his wife here, and returned to find her dead.
I already knew about Mia before I met Mark. I knew who she was and how she died – it wasn’t a secret around here. I shouldn’t have pushed him to explain his reluctance to go into the basement that first day, but I wanted to test his reaction, to get a feel for the man, and Mia’s eyes in the photograph seemed to be goading me.
On one of the rare occasions that Mark has talked about his wife, he said he blamed himself for taking the commission that meant he had to leave her alone in the house. There was no logical reason for his concern – she had lived here alone when he first met her. He just felt strangely uncomfortable about the idea.
The commission had been arranged by Cleo but Mark hadn’t been interested in the subject. He’d felt torn, struggling with the opposing views of the two women in his life – Cleo, who urged him to fulfil his potential, and Mia, who wanted him to treat his photography as a hobby.
Of course in the end he had succumbed to Cleo’s persuasion, and he and Mia had rowed about it before he left – something he never admitted to the police because he said it was irrelevant. He had tried to call her from the airport to apologise, but she didn’t answer. At first he wasn’t concerned, but he called again when his flight landed, and when she didn’t answer for a second time he asked Cleo to pop round. She found Mia’s broken body at the bottom of the stairs on the hard stone floor.
And So It Begins Page 3
