Authors: Lucinda Riley
‘Who was she?’ Helena whispered to herself. She turned over onto her stomach, and glanced up at the house.
Pandora knew.
Helena walked into the kitchen two hours later to find a goat’s cheese salad that Angelina had prepared for her. Adding a glass of water to her tray, she walked out onto the terrace to
eat. A good night’s sleep plus the bonus of a rare relaxing morning had slowed her heart rate, if not solved her problem.
And reading the rest of Angus’ letters, searching for clues as to whom his paramour might have been, had comforted her. No one’s life was spotless, however they chose to present
themselves to outsiders. Chance and coincidence played havoc with everyone at some stage. The feeling she’d had when younger of being blown like a leaf wherever the winds of fate took her was
probably far more common than she imagined. Angus’ letters had shown that in spite of his powerful position in charge of hundreds of men – and on occasion, their very
lives
– he had not been any more in control of his destiny than she was.
And it was a sad fact that, whoever this woman was – and from the letters, Helena was convinced she’d been married – Angus had spent his last years alone. And besides that, the
letters had obviously been returned to him, judging by the terse note that accompanied them. Perhaps, she pondered, by the woman’s husband . . .
As she ate, Helena wondered if it
had
been a mistake to come back here. Last time, Pandora had changed her life and begun a chain of events that had shaped her destiny. And subsequently
brought her to where she was now, feeling as though invisible snakes were coiling around her brain, and there was no escape, whichever path she took.
‘I should have told him years ago,’ she murmured, tears again filling her eyes. ‘I should have trusted in his love.’
Moving to the hammock, she clambered in and dozed, relishing the blissful peace. Opening her eyes at the sound of footsteps, she saw Alexis crossing the terrace towards her.
Rolling herself out of the hammock, she walked slowly towards him.
‘Hello.’
‘Hello, Helena.’
‘I’m just going to make a cup of tea. Would you like one?’ she asked, walking past him and up the steps.
‘Where is everyone?’
‘I have no idea, but they aren’t here,’ she said as they crossed the terrace and entered the house. ‘William thought I needed a break, so he took them all out for the
day.’ Helena looked at her watch. ‘It’s almost four, they should be back at any moment.’
‘He is a good man, your husband,’ Alexis said, as Helena filled the kettle and switched it on.
‘I know.’
‘Helena, I came to apologise for my grandmother. She is mad, her words meaningless.’
‘She might be, but she was also right.’ Helena turned to him and, with a sudden sigh of resignation, gave him a wan smile. ‘There have been too many secrets, Alexis. So, maybe
now it’s time I began the process and told you the truth.’ She poured the boiling water into the teapot and stirred its contents. ‘Come and sit with me on the terrace.
There’s something I need to tell you.’
Alexis stared at her in shock, his teacup suspended between the table and his mouth.
‘Helena, why did you not tell me? You know I would have been there for you.’
‘There was nothing you could have done, Alexis.’
‘I would have married you.’
‘Alexis, the truth is that I wasn’t sixteen until September of that year. You may even have been charged for having a relationship with a minor. And it would have been my fault for
lying to you, saying I was older than I really was. I told you I was seventeen, remember? I am so sorry, Alexis.’
‘Helena, whether you had told me your true age or not, I would have loved you anyway. The fact you were younger makes it worse for you, not me.’
‘Well, that summer here certainly shaped my future. Isn’t it amazing how every decision we make then affects the next one?’ Helena murmured. ‘Life is like a set of
falling dominoes; it’s all linked together. People say you can discard your past, but you can’t because it’s part of who you are and who you will become.’
‘You say that summer shaped your future. Well, it has shaped mine too. Because Helena, no woman has ever matched up to you,’ he added sadly. ‘At least I understand now why you
did not contact me when you went back to England all those years ago. I thought . . .’ Alexis’ voice was thick with emotion. ‘I thought you no longer loved me.’
‘Of course I loved you!’ Helena wrung her hands. ‘I thought I might die from the awfulness of cutting off contact with you, but I didn’t want to trap you, put you through
the pain of making the decision. I’d told you I was taking care of that kind of thing when I wasn’t, and didn’t even know how to! I was so naive. I . . . it was so unutterably
awful, I . . .’
‘You know I would have been there with you if you had told me. But you did not. So all I can do now in retrospect is share the pain and regret the outcome,’ Alexis said gently.
‘At least you went on to marry and have two beautiful sons.’
‘Yes. My wife was a good woman, and I give thanks every day of my life for the sons she bore me. But of course, it was a compromise. I could never feel for her as I did for you.’
‘But life
is
a compromise, Alexis. That’s what you learn with maturity.’ She shrugged. ‘And we are both mature now.’
‘You don’t look a day older than you did then.’
‘That’s sweet of you, but of course I do.’
‘Have you told William of this?’ he asked her.
‘No. I’ve always been too ashamed of it, of what I did.’
‘Perhaps you
should
tell him, now you have told me. He is your husband and I can see he loves you. I’m sure he would understand.’
‘Alexis, there are
many
things I’ve never told William, secrets that I keep to protect all of us.’ Helena shuddered suddenly in the heat.
‘You can tell me anything and I would not think less of you, because the love that was then . . . is now.’
Helena looked at him, at the tears in his eyes. She shook her head helplessly. ‘No, Alexis, I’m no longer the innocent girl I was when you met me. I’ve weaved a web of deceit
and lies that’s affected everyone. I killed our child when I was sixteen. You can’t know how many times since I’ve wished to God I’d just given in to fate and come and lived
here and married you. I can never forgive myself for it, never.’
‘Helena, Helena . . .’ Alexis stood up and moved towards her. He pulled her up into his arms to comfort her. ‘Please, you must not blame yourself. You were so young and you
also chose to carry the burden alone. It was unfortunate, but these things happen. You are hardly the only woman in the world to have made the terrible decision.’
‘I don’t care about other women! Every time I look at my children, I think of the missing one. I look at the empty chair . . .’
Helena cried onto his shoulder then, her tears soaking his shirt as he stroked her hair silently, murmuring endearments in Greek.
‘Mummy! Mummy! We’re back! Are you better? Daddy says if you are, we can go out for chips and ketchup tonight in the village! I think you will be, don’t you? Hello,
Alexis.’
Helena pulled away abruptly from Alexis’ embrace, turned slowly, and saw William standing behind Immy.
‘Hello, darling,’ he said to her coldly.
‘Oooh, Mummy, you still don’t look well. Your eyes are all red. Daddy, I don’t think Mummy is better, but maybe a plate of chippies might help,’ Immy continued, oblivious
to the tension.
‘I will leave you. Goodbye, Helena. Goodbye, William.’ Alexis walked across the terrace past William, who pointedly ignored him.
‘Had a peaceful afternoon?’ he asked her, sarcasm dripping like slowly poured honey from his words.
‘Yes, thank you. Where did you go?’ she asked, desperately trying to pull herself together.
‘The beach.’
‘Which one?’
‘Coral Bay. Think I’ll go for a swim in the pool.’ He turned away from her.
‘Yes. I’m fine to look after the kids and . . . William?’
‘Yes?’
‘Thank you for giving me some time to myself.’
‘I can see you made the most of it.’
‘William?’ She walked towards him. ‘Can we talk?’
He waved her away dismissively with his hand. ‘Not now, Helena, please. Okay?’
With a sinking heart, Helena watched him disappear down the steps to the pool.
ALEX’S DIARY
20th July 2006
Oof!!!
What has happened in this house in the past twenty-four hours? I wish someone would tell me what is going on. Because something is.
Tonight at the restaurant it was Dad’s turn to look as though, rather than a French fry – or a Cyprus fry, to be more precise – he’d swallowed a snake that
was slowly eating his innards away and breathing poison through his veins. I don’t know about Mum being ill, but Dad looked seriously rough.
Mum was valiantly doing her ‘everything is absolutely fine, kids, and aren’t we having a thoroughly jolly time on holiday?’ impression, which probably fooled
everyone else, but not me.
And even though I am feeling happy due to Rupes becoming the Incredible Sulk over Chloë’s detailed and incisive description of her snog with Airport Guy last night (if
also suicidal about her snogging someone else), I can’t sweep away the feeling that something has gone seriously wrong in our household.
Dad seemed so wrapped up in his own woes, he didn’t even complain that Chloë was meeting Airport Guy again tonight. Or that Fred painted himself and the table with
chocolate ice cream and had a temper tantrum when he wasn’t allowed any more to daub with.
Dad drank a lot more than usual, too. For that matter, so did Mum, who hardly drinks anything normally and had three glasses without leaving any dregs at all. And then Dad got up
from the table and said he’d take Fred and Immy home to bed, and went off without a word. Leaving Mum, Sadie, the ghastly Jules, the Incredible Sulk and sweet little Viola behind.
Talking of which, I do like Viola. For a ten-and-a-half-year-old, she is extremely well read, even if a lot of the books she reads have ‘thongs’ and
‘snogging’ in the title. However, I hope I’ve managed to convince her to focus her literary hunger on
Jane Eyre
, of which there is a very nice copy in my Broom Cupboard
Library. I think it will suit her. She is a waif and stray herself.
I digress. Shortly after Dad left, the conversation became even more strained. Jules continued to talk about the house she is going to buy, with no mention of the fact her husband
even exists or that he is currently AWOL.
I’ve always rather liked Sacha. Even though he is an alcoholic and bears more than a passing resemblance to Oscar Wilde with all that entails, and everyone in both his family
(other than Viola) and mine raise their eyebrows and sigh when they make reference to him as if he were a naughty but indulged toddler, there’s no doubting he’s bright. And under that
City suit, an eccentric bursting to break free.
God help me if finance ever becomes my fate. I wouldn’t so much break the Bank of England as shatter it into a million pieces.
Anyway, back to today. Just after we’d arrived home from the beach, I was in the boot clearing out the endless soggy towels, when Mr Fix-it stomped past me looking grim.
He’d obviously been visiting Mum whilst we were all out.
A horrible thought is lurking in the recesses of my mind, but I refuse to acknowledge it. That would make it real and it just can’t be.
It just can’t.
So instead of that, I am focusing my considerable brainpower on my own problem: the successful rescue of my bunny.
The letter is finally complete. I’m taking a chance, I know, but as with all missions of this nature, there has to be some element of risk.
I read the letter back to myself and allow myself a chuckle at its cleverness. Colette meets ‘The Three Little Pigs’ meets Alex the Great.
All in French.
I’ve tested Rupes’ prowess without him knowing. He can’t count to
cinq
without getting stuck. Chloë, on the other hand, being half French, is
fluent.
She’ll
understand.
I’ve pushed a note under his door to say the letter’s ready for him to take delivery and designated the swimming pool at eight tomorrow morning for the
‘drop’. I know how these kidnap plots can go horribly wrong, so I’ve suggested he puts the bunny on the floor in front of him so I can see him, and only then will I hand over the
letter.
He will read it and the French words will mean nothing to him. So he will be happy.
Just in case of disaster, I’m hiding Immy in the olive trees and priming her to scream her sparkly flip-flops off for ‘Mummee!’ if there is one false move from my
adversary. For example, if he recaptures the bunny and makes off with the letter.
It’s cost a fortune in sweeties to bribe her, but who cares as long as it works? Then my dearest and oldest friend will have to suffer the indignity of a Safe (Dog)-House,
i.e., an old kennel which I found in the back of the shed, for the duration of Rupes’ stay.
I pull the gusset over my face and switch the light off. I close my eyes but I just can’t sleep. Adrenaline flows through me at the thought of my rescue mission tomorrow, but
also at the thought of something else.
Could it be? Oh God, please, I would even – gulp – sacrifice Bee to make it
Not
Be.
Mum cannot love
him
.
She just . . .
Cannot.
‘
There
you are. I’ve been looking all over the place for you.’
Helena turned as Sadie poked her head round the door of the study.
‘Sorry. I was just going through Angus’ desk to see if I could find anything more about this mystery woman I mentioned to you last night, who he seems to have been in love
with.’
‘Any luck?’
‘No, but there’s a locked drawer here and I can’t find the key.’
‘You’ll probably have to force it. The key could be anywhere. You must find out who she is, Helena. It’s such a romantic story.’