Secrets of the Tides (5 page)

‘I’ve something else,’ Daphne said suddenly. ‘Something you should keep for Cassandra until she’s a little older. It’s in my handbag, there.’ Daphne indicated that Helen should open the bag and Helen reached across and pulled out a tiny leather jewellery box. She carefully undid the clasp and there inside, nestled on black velvet, was an exquisite antique brooch in the shape of a butterfly. The body of the insect was made from the finest gold filigree and encrusted with tiny diamonds while the wings were formed from delicate sheets of shimmering mother-of-pearl. Helen held it up to the light, twisting and turning it so that the diamonds dazzled under the harsh hospital lights.

‘It’s beautiful.’

‘Isn’t it. It’s the first piece of jewellery Alfred ever gave me. It belonged to his grandmother. Now I’d like Cassandra to have it – my first grandchild. Will you keep it for her?’

‘Of course.’ Helen looked up at Daphne and smiled. ‘Thank you, it’s very kind.’

‘Yes, well . . .’ Daphne looked around, suddenly embarrassed. ‘Where on earth can those chaps have got to? It can’t take that long to find a coffee machine in this place, can it?’

Helen had carefully secreted the tiny jewellery box into her own bag before reaching out to reclaim her baby.

Eighteen months later, Dora had been born, and with the second arrival of the new generation of Tides came a deeper confirmation of Helen’s place within the family. Daphne and Alfred doted on their granddaughters and Helen only had to look at their faces to know she was, in part, forgiven for the ‘entrapment’ of their son. Yet twelve years on and Helen still never felt completely comfortable visiting the elegant old house. She still wandered through the rooms and hallways, unsure of her place within its walls, never truly feeling part of the Tide family, and, if she were being really honest with herself, never really feeling quite good enough for Daphne’s perfect, blue-eyed boy.

‘There it is!’ exclaimed Richard, breaking through her memories. He pointed to a sparkling wash of ocean in the distance. ‘There’s the sea, girls; and look, the sun’s coming out.’

Dora leaned forward, pushing against the back of Helen’s seat. ‘I see it!’

Helen saw it too, and even though she wasn’t particularly looking forward to the holiday, she couldn’t fail to feel her spirits lift at the sight of the spectacular emerald-green valley of fields and forest sprawling down the hillside to meet the sea. She rolled down her window and let the fresh spring air wash over her. London suddenly seemed a long, long way away.

‘Nearly there,’ said Richard, navigating the car through twisting lanes lined with hedgerows bursting with primroses and wild daffodils, his foot heavy on the accelerator. Just a few hundred yards later they were crunching their way up the long driveway towards Clifftops.

It stood there, as it had for well over a hundred years, gleaming white against the pale blue sky and wholly unchanged since Helen’s first visit. As they approached, Helen could see the arched front door had been thrown open, and in its shadow stood Daphne and Alfred, side by side, waiting patiently to greet their guests. Helen wondered how they knew; did they stand there for hours, waiting for them to appear at the end of the driveway? The thought made her smile.

Richard saw the curve of her lips and patted her hand encouragingly. ‘Your palace awaits,’ he said, addressing Cassie and Dora over his shoulder.

As soon as they pulled up beside the front steps Dora leapt out of the car and raced towards her grandparents. ‘Grandma! Granddad! We’re here!’ She hurled herself into Alfred’s waiting arms and shrieked with delight as he swung her up into the air.

‘Your father’s going to put his back out one of these days,’ muttered Helen to Richard, as she watched Alfred spin Dora about his waist. ‘She’s getting too big for that.’

‘Oh let him have his fun,’ said Richard gently.

It seemed Cassie wasn’t going to wait around either. She grabbed her bag and stomped across the gravel to greet her grandparents while Helen and Richard still struggled with seat belts and an assortment of maps and sweet wrappers.

‘Cassandra!’ exclaimed Daphne, reaching out for her eldest granddaughter and pulling her into her embrace. ‘Look at you, so tall . . . and all that lovely long blond hair, so pretty. Isn’t she pretty, Alfred?’ Daphne took a step back and peered at Cassie until she shifted and lowered her eyes, uncomfortable under such close scrutiny.

‘She certainly is,’ agreed Alfred, ‘just like Rapunzel. Hello, Cassie, my girl. How are you?’ He squeezed her tight while Dora bounced up and down beside him, giddy with excitement.

‘Daphne, Alfred,’ said Helen, greeting them each at the door, ‘it’s lovely to see you both. Happy Easter.’

‘And to you, my dear. How was the journey? Not too much traffic on the roads, I hope?’

‘Oh not too bad. We’re here now.’ Helen smiled politely.

‘Well we’re pleased to have you all, aren’t we, Alfred?’ Daphne pulled her cardigan a little closer around her shoulders and turned to look for her son. He was staggering towards them, laden under a collection of bags and buckets and spades. ‘Goodness, Richard, dear,’ exclaimed Daphne, ‘leave all of that. There’s plenty of time to unpack. Come in, come in, I’ve made hot cross buns. You must all be gasping for a nice cup of tea.’

‘We are,’ agreed Dora, ‘we’re all
gasping
. Mum and Dad had a huge row about whether to stop. Mum wanted to pull over but Dad said we should just push on!’

Helen felt her cheeks flush red.

Richard gave a little cough. ‘It wasn’t a big row, Dora, just a little . . .
discussion
.’

It was Daphne’s turn to smile politely. ‘Well, never mind all that, let’s get you inside, shall we? Cassandra, Pandora, follow me.’

They trooped into the house, Helen hanging back to help Richard with the bags. ‘Why does she insist on calling them that? She knows the girls hate it,’ she hissed under her breath.

Richard shrugged. ‘It’s what we called them, isn’t it?’

Helen shrugged. She couldn’t argue with that.

Helen didn’t need to look around as she walked through the entrance hall towards the drawing room to know that everything would stand exactly as it had on her last visit, and the visit before that. There was the same smell of flowers and polish wafting on the air, the same worn Persian rugs spread across the flagstone floors. In the drawing room, amidst the golden dust particles shimmering in the sunshine, she spied the ancient carriage clock ticking noisily on the mantelpiece, the familiar faded wallpaper and the usual creaking wooden furniture. Clifftops was like that. Nothing ever changed.

‘Sit down!’ bustled Daphne. ‘You must be exhausted. Make yourselves comfortable while I sort the tea. I’ll just be a minute.’

Helen sat herself on one of the chintz sofas, sinking into an eclectic mix of scatter cushions, most of which Helen knew Daphne had made herself. Across the room Cassie slumped into the sunken leather chair, the one nearest the door. Richard ruffled her hair affectionately as he passed by, before seating himself on the sofa opposite Helen. Then Dora launched herself at Richard, who laughed and pulled her onto his lap. With that one simple action Helen instantly saw the growing gulf between her two daughters. Dora, at nine, was still so naive and childlike, while Cassie seemed to be growing sharper, more independent and self-aware by the day.

It was a creeping change that was stealing slowly over their girl. Cassie’s bedroom door, once insistently open for the reassuring light from the landing, was now more often than not shut tight; and only last weekend a small but forceful handwritten sign had gone up, demanding that they all now knock before entering. Helen knew it was a natural part of growing up, but it still stung when she noticed Cassie hanging back from her in the shops, walking a couple of paces behind as they shopped for groceries or new school shoes, as if embarrassed to be seen with her. Dora, on the other hand, was still a little girl, happy to hold hands and cuddle at the drop of a hat.

She supposed, when she really thought about it, the two girls had always been opposites, right from the start, and not just physically, although that was perhaps where the most obvious differences lay. Cassie’s fair hair, pale skin and ice-blue eyes resembled Richard’s side of the family. Dora was all Helen; she had her mother’s dark hair, olive skin and green seaweed eyes. Richard called her his little gypsy girl.

Cassie had burst into the world with a symphony of noise, opening her lungs with their full force and carrying on that way for quite some time. She had been a difficult baby, hard to read and always fighting sleep. Helen had worried herself silly over reflux and routines, until gradually Cassie had transformed into a bolshie little toddler and then into a tempestuous young girl. Now they were nearing puberty and Helen could see that they would soon face a whole new raft of challenges. Helen loved Cassie’s fiery spirit, but it ran her ragged at times.

Dora’s birth, though, was in stark contrast to Cassie’s – she had slipped into the world quickly and quietly – so quietly Helen had been terrified there was something wrong, until the midwife gave the baby a firm slap on the bottom and Dora had opened her little mouth to let out a gentle mewl of protest. And unlike Cassie, from the very first moment they had brought her home Dora had just fitted in. She was happy to sit in a baby bouncer and suck on her fist, her green eyes following her mother peacefully around the room until Helen remembered to change her nappy or give her a feed.

Cassie was the one who had lain on the supermarket floor and kicked and screamed until she got the breakfast cereal she wanted; Dora was happy so long as she had the same as her sister. Cassie was the one who pulled all the clothes out of the dressing-up box and tried them on one after the other until the room was a bombsite; Dora was the one who would pick them all up and place them neatly back so her sister didn’t get into trouble. Cassie was the one who snooped and peeked at Christmas presents; Dora would wait patiently for the Big Day, worried about spoiling the surprise. Cassie was the one who would dive straight into the deep end of the pool; while Dora would dip a tentative toe before sliding in carefully off the side. It puzzled Helen that she could have given birth to two such different and fascinating creatures, but if she knew one thing, it was that their differences were only getting more marked the older they got.

As Helen sat and studied her girls she noticed for the first time the brilliant colour of Cassie’s painted fingernails – they were the exact same letterbox red as the expensive nail varnish Helen had treated herself to at the Chanel beauty counter last week. Cassie, noticing her mother’s stare, glanced down at her fingers before looking up and smiling innocently back at her. Helen swallowed down her anger. She’d have a word later, in private. Yes, Cassie was certainly entering a difficult phase.

‘How are you girls getting on at school?’ Alfred asked, breaking the silence. ‘Your father told me you did well in your Eleven Plus, Cassie?’

Cassie nodded. ‘Yeah, I guess so.’

‘She did really well,’ said Helen. ‘The teachers think Cassie’s got a very bright future ahead of her, if she applies herself.’

Cassie dropped her head, seemingly embarrassed.

‘And Panda Bear is doing well at school too, aren’t you?’ added Richard. ‘She came third in a spelling test last week.’

‘Yes,’ said Dora. ‘I had to spell P. H. I. L. O. S. O. P. H. Y. Philosophy.’ She spelt the word out slowly. ‘I got a red star.’

‘Well done,’ cheered Alfred.

‘What clever granddaughters I have,’ said Daphne, entering the room with a tray of toasted hot cross buns wafting warm cinnamon and cloves, and a steaming teapot. ‘Don’t stand on ceremony – help yourselves.’

Cassie was the first up. She grabbed half a bun and then wandered towards the French doors. ‘OK if I go outside for a bit?’

‘No, darling,’ Helen started, ‘we’ve only just arr—’

But Daphne had already cut her off. ‘Of course, Cassandra!’ she said brightly. ‘You go right ahead. I’m sure a good dose of country air would do you the world of good. You might find Bill down in the orchard. We’ve had some terrible storms down here recently; he was talking about building a bonfire.’

Helen bristled. They hadn’t been in the house ten minutes and Daphne was already undermining her. She took a deep breath. Stay calm, she willed. It didn’t matter. Cassie was better off out of the way anyway.

‘Don’t tell me old Bill Dryden’s still managing the estate for you, Dad? He must be nearly seventy,’ Richard marvelled.

‘Not far off,’ agreed Alfred, ‘but he’s as fit as a flea, that man.’

As father and son began to talk about the challenges of managing the land around Clifftops and Cassie drifted away through the French doors, Daphne turned pointedly to Helen.

‘When did Cassandra start wearing nail varnish, Helen? Isn’t she a little young for all that nonsense?’

Helen smiled sweetly, irritated by the disapproval written all over her mother-in-law’s face. ‘Oh, it’s just a little bit of fun for the holidays. I don’t let her wear it every day.’ Why was she lying? Why didn’t she just say that it was the first time she’d ever seen Cassie with painted nails and it certainly hadn’t been her idea? Because it made her seem weak and incompetent as a mother, that’s why.

Daphne tutted. ‘Young girls these days are in such a rush to grow up. Boys, clothes, make-up . . . there’s plenty of time for all of that.’ Helen braced herself for a sermon but Daphne surprised her by suddenly changing tack. ‘So how is London, Helen? You’re all well? Keeping busy?’

‘Yes,’ nodded Helen. ‘We are.’

‘No plans to move out of the city just yet then?’

Here we go again, she thought. ‘No, Daphne,’ Helen said firmly, ‘you know our lives are in London.’

Daphne sniffed. ‘I just think you’d have a much better quality of life if you moved to the countryside.’

‘We have a great quality of life. London is a wonderful, vibrant city. It has so much to offer the girls.’

‘I’m sure it is an exciting place –
for a young couple
,’ added Daphne pointedly. ‘I just can’t help thinking a family would be better off in a more rural setting. I do worry about the girls.’