Authors: Lucinda Riley
I take off my T-shirt and my boxers, but put my socks on. I’ve been bitten viciously on the ankles and the mozzies are not getting me tonight. I pull out the pair of 10 denier
tights that I bought today from a supermarket near the beach Mum took us to. The woman who took my money gave me strange looks, but I don’t care.
I open the packet and stretch the tights, feeling smug at my brainwave. I pull the thing they call a gusset onto my head and down over my face, and hit the pillow in triumph. I can
breathe perfectly through them because they are sheer and it means that finally, I have foiled those little buggers for good.
As an added bonus, I realise that – like the stocking-masked villains in bank-heist movies – I can also
see
through the gauzy fabric. I promptly root under my bed
for the envelope full of letters. I didn’t give them to Mum this morning because she was so busy. And now my state of mind has changed so dramatically in the past twenty-four hours that I
will look at these letters through new eyes.
I select a letter at random, insert my earphones beneath the stretchy nylon covering my head, and switch on my iPod. Then I lie back to enjoy spending time with someone whose heart
obviously once beat as fast as mine has since I set eyes on Chloë.
For a few seconds, to the sound of Coldplay, which I rarely listen to but seems to suit my new mood better than Sum 41, I close my eyes, indulge myself and picture her in my
mind.
When I finally open my eyes, I see I am not just picturing her in my mind. She is standing right there in front of me!
Crap!!
Her mouth is moving but I can’t hear what she’s saying because of the iPod. I switch it off, then realise to my horror I am bollock naked apart from my socks. I sit up
and pull the sheet around me.
‘Hi, Alex, I’m Chloë. I just came to say hello.’ She smiles at me lazily.
Come on, you dick, make your lips move!
I lick them with my tongue to give them encouragement, and manage a strangled ‘Miiii.’
She is gazing at me very strangely. I’ve no idea why.
‘You feeling better now? Headache gone?’
I nod. ‘Yeah,’ and then carry on nodding.
‘I wanted to say thanks for letting me have your room. Immy told me. You sure you’re okay in here? It’s the size of a broom cupboard.’
‘Yeah, fwine.’ I nod some more. It’s like an uncontrollable yet comforting twitch.
‘Okay, well, maybe we could catch up tomorrow, yeah?’
‘Yeah. Gweat.’
Oh crap! I can’t stop nodding! Just call my best friend Big Ears . . .
‘Night, then,’ she says.
‘Nwight.’
She’s about to shut the door when she pauses and asks, ‘You got earache or something?’
I give up and shake my head instead of nodding it.
‘Just a headache?’
Back to nodding.
‘Oh.’
She’s nodding too now as she turns to leave, but then says, ‘’Cos I was just wondering . . .’
‘Wop?’
‘Whether that’s why you’re wearing a pair of tights on your head. Night, Alex.’
Helena woke filled with unease as the dawn rose the following morning. She willed herself to go back to sleep, because the day ahead would be so long, but the unsolicited
thoughts crowding into her head made displacement activity vital. So finally she clambered out of bed, dressed in her practice clothes and let herself out onto the terrace.
The sun was rising slowly and sleepily as Helena warmed up with some
pliés
, using the balustrade as a barre, thinking how inappropriate it would be to mix sunrise colours in a
room, yet how they seemed to meld so exquisitely together in the sky. She bent forwards, brushing the stone floor of the terrace with her fingertips, straightening then bending backwards as her arm
formed a graceful arc above her head. When she was dancing, the physical movement of her body calmed her mind, enabling her to think more rationally.
This morning, she didn’t know where to start.
What
should
she think?
A few weeks ago, the thought of coming here to Pandora with her family had been a wonderful one. Since then, circumstances had led to the state of high anxiety in which she found herself this
morning. At this particular moment, it was all she could do not to run away; from her past and her present, and the ramifications of both on her future.
How she longed to unburden herself, to finally tell William and Alex, and remove the source of the pressure that lay upon her chest, day in, day out . . . but she knew that was impossible.
It would destroy everything.
So . . . she would do as she always had. And cope with the secrets alone.
She executed an
arabesque
, wondering grimly for how much longer her body would be capable of performing such fluid, easy movement. When she’d been younger, she’d had
everything in her favour to achieve her dream of becoming a ballerina; a strong yet graceful, flexible physique that rarely let her down, a musicality that allowed her instinctively to interpret
the notes,
and
the more unusual skill, which marked her out from the others: her considerable talent as an actress.
She’d risen swiftly through the ranks at the Royal Ballet, her name recognised across Europe as a talent to watch. She’d been wooed by the La Scala ballet in Milan, then at
twenty-five, she’d moved with Fabio, her dance partner, to become a principal dancer at the renowned Vienna State Opera Company Ballet.
And then . . .
Helena sighed.
She had fallen in love. And everything had changed.
‘Are you all right, Helena? You look tired. Couldn’t you sleep?’
William stood behind her in the kitchen half an hour later, regarding her thoughtfully.
‘I was thinking of all the things I have to do before the Chandlers and Sadie arrive, so I thought I’d get up and do them. I’d also like to plant out the flowers we bought at
the garden centre before the sun gets too hot. I haven’t had a chance yet and I’m worried they’ll die if I leave them in their pots for much longer.’ Helena retrieved the
breakfast cereal from the cupboard and began to pile bowls onto a tray to take to the terrace.
‘Darling, I feel very guilty. Not only have I foisted Chloë on you, but Jules and Co., too.’
‘Hardly. Jules rang up and invited herself,’ Helena said.
‘I know she can be difficult, but Sacha’s having a really rough time at the moment. Things aren’t going at all well for him, business-wise.’
‘Aren’t they?’
‘No. Look, darling, I promise I’ll help out as much as I can. I thought Angelina was coming in today?’
‘She is. I want her to make supper and give the bathrooms a once-over. You know how fussy Jules is.’
William walked over to his wife and massaged her shoulders. ‘Christ, you’re tense, Helena. Do try and remember that this
is
supposed to be a holiday.’
‘I will. It’s just with everyone arriving today, there’s so much to do.’
‘I know, but there’s lots of us here too. You just have to ask us.’
‘Yes,’ she answered with a wan smile. ‘Right, I’m going upstairs to sort out towels. Could you give Immy and Fred their breakfast? Although I know Fred has already found
the sweetie cupboard, because I found a trail of wrappers on the floor.’
William nodded. ‘Of course. And if you want, I’ll take them both out for a bit to get them out of your hair. We’ll go exploring. I’d like to see a little more of the area
anyway.’
‘Thanks, darling, that would be a help.’
‘Helena?’
‘Yes?’ She paused in the doorway.
He looked at his wife, then sighed and shrugged his shoulders. ‘Nothing.’
She nodded at him and made her way upstairs.
By four that afternoon, the house was ready. Helena had even managed to hurriedly plant out the geraniums in the urns on the terrace and made a start on weeding the overgrown
flower bed by the pool, ready for the lavender to go in. She switched on the kettle, arms aching with tiredness, and while it was boiling, went to find Alex. He’d announced he still had a
migraine earlier that morning and had not emerged from his room all day. She knocked on his door, then opened it quietly, in case he was asleep. He was reading on his bed.
‘Hi, darling. How are you feeling?’
‘Okay.’
‘Should you be reading if you have a headache?’ queried Helena. ‘And why don’t you open the window? It’s incredibly stuffy in here.’
‘NO!’
‘No need to shout. I was only making a suggestion.’
‘Yup. Sorry, Mum.’
‘And if it’s to stop the mozzies, you’re just being plain ridiculous. They don’t come out until dusk.’
‘I know that.’
‘How’s the head?’
‘About seven out of ten, i.e. a bit better.’
‘Then why don’t you come and have a cup of tea with me outside?’
Alex looked at her nervously. ‘Where’s Chloë?’
‘Down by the pool.’
‘No thanks. I’ll stay here.’
Helena sighed. ‘Is there anything else wrong?’
‘No. Why should there be?’
‘Because you’ve been strange ever since Chloë arrived, that’s why. She hasn’t said anything to upset you, has she?’
‘No, Mum! Really! I’ve just got a headache, that’s all, please!’
‘All right, Alex, I’m only trying to help.’
‘God, Mum, you’re really stressy today.’
‘I’m not!’
‘You are. What’s up?’
‘Nothing. I’ll expect you out on parade when the Chandlers arrive.’
Alex nodded reluctantly. ‘Okay, see you later.’ And he buried his nose back in his book.
Helena wandered out onto the terrace with her tea, trying to regain some equilibrium, and gazed through the olive trees to see Chloë stretched out on her sunbed by the pool, headphones in
her ears. She really was incredibly beautiful, her long limbs already suggesting she’d inherited her father’s height. Although physically, Helena thought she resembled her mother, with
her immaculate bone structure and straight, glossy hair. Cecile, William’s ex-wife, had all the inbuilt elegance and arrogance that seemed to come hand in hand with Gallic ancestry.
There was no doubt William was drawn to challenging women. Even though he might outwardly present as straightforward, being an architect encapsulated his need for structure, but also, his
creative flair and eye for beauty. And even though he might deny it, she knew he found mediocrity just as difficult as she did.
If only William knew just
what
a challenge he’d unwittingly taken on, she thought ruefully. But he didn’t, and he hopefully never would, God willing . . .
The crunch of gravel on the drive told her the Chandlers had arrived. Taking a deep breath, Helena walked across the terrace to greet them.
‘Good God, it’s hot!’ Jules Chandler swung her legs out from behind the steering wheel. She was tall and large-boned, attractive in a rather masculine way. ‘Helena, dear,
how are you?’ Jules grasped her in a neck-lock that masqueraded as a hug.
‘I’m fine. Welcome, Jules.’ Helena smiled up at her, feeling, as always, waif-like and insubstantial beside her.
‘Thanks. Come on, kids, get out,’ she barked into the back of the car. ‘Bloody awful flight, full of people with shaved heads wearing trainers. The men wore more jewellery than
the women.’ Jules swept a hand through the mane of thick light-brown hair she always had cut short, so she could run in and out of the shower after taking her habitual early morning ride.
‘Hello, sweetie, how are you?’ The softer grasp of Sadie, her closest friend, drew Helena into a further hug.
‘I’m fine, Sadie. And you look great, for someone with a broken heart.’
‘Thank you.’ She pulled Helena closer. ‘I had a “sod you, you bastard!” Botox sesh last week,’ she whispered with a chuckle.
‘Well, it looks like it’s worked wonders.’ Helena felt enormously comforted by Sadie’s presence.
‘Hi, Auntie Helena.’ The recently acquired deep voice of Rupert, Jules’ son, took her by surprise. As did his height and athletic physique, which gave the impression of the
archetypal sportsman.
‘Goodness! You’ve grown, Rupes,’ she said as he leant his white-blond head down to kiss her.
‘I’m thirteen now, Auntie Helena. I’m meant to grow.’
And so is my son. But he is physically still a child and you are already a man
, she thought.
‘Hi, Auntie Helena.’ A pair of thin, white freckled arms wound round her neck and hugged her tight.
‘Viola, darling.’ Helena returned her hug. ‘I think you’ve grown too!’
‘No, I haven’t. I’m exactly the same size, and they still call me “Ginger” at school, but what can you do?’ Viola’s small freckled nose wrinkled and she
smiled, showing a protruding set of front teeth.
‘Well, we all know you’re strawberry blonde, and that they’re all going to be so jealous when you’re older and never need expensive highlights.’
‘Oh Auntie Helena, that’s what you always say,’ giggled Viola.
‘I say it because it’s true, isn’t it, Sadie?’
‘Absolutely,’ Sadie said firmly. ‘I would kill for your hair colour, truly, sweetie.’
‘Where’s Daddy, Viola?’ Helena asked as she peered into the car, confused.
Jules gave a snort, which sounded rather like the horses she owned. ‘You may well ask. My dear husband isn’t here, obviously.’
‘Where is he, then?’ asked Helena.
‘At this moment? Probably propping up a bar somewhere in the City of London.’
‘You mean he isn’t in Cyprus?’
‘No. Something came up with work and he cried off at the last moment. Bloody typical.’
‘Is he coming at all?’
‘Tomorrow apparently, but I wouldn’t bank on it. We don’t bank on Daddy anymore, do we, kids?’
‘Mummy, don’t be so mean! It’s not Daddy’s fault he has to work so hard.’ Viola, a pure daddy’s girl, defended her father.
Jules raised her eyebrows at Helena. ‘Anyway, I’m sure you can understand why I’m seriously pissed off.’
‘I can.’ Helena nodded faintly.
‘And where is the adorable William?’ asked Sadie.
‘Out exploring with his two adorable children,’ replied Helena.
‘You do have him well trained. I struggle to get Sacha to come to Speech Day,’ boomed Jules as she opened the boot to retrieve her luggage. ‘I’ll join you in a
minute,’ she said as the rest of the party began to follow Helena round onto the terrace.