Authors: Lucinda Riley
He adores her and she adores him.
The only saving grace is that Chloë has to leave here soon to join her mother on holiday in France. I will miss her dreadfully of course, but at least she’ll be out of
harm’s way. And next time we meet, I’ll be back on home – or at least, school – territory.
And that’s another current fly – or even ant – in the ointment. When I arrived here, I had the whole of the summer before
that
school really reared its ugly
head. Suddenly, it’s August. We are no longer at the beginning of the holiday. We are on the downhill run to the end.
I heard my mother on the telephone to Cash’s the other day, ordering my name tapes. ‘Alexander R. Beaumont’.
I refuse to reveal what the ‘R’ stands for. All I can say is it’s horrendous beyond belief. As is the uniform onto which it will be attached. I have also refrained
from mentioning in this diary the actual name of the school I am to attend. All I can say is that you eat breakfast in white tie and black tails and that generations of British kings have been
educated there.
I won an academic scholarship. Let’s face it, I’d never get in on my hereditary credentials, given I only know the provenance of the ovary, rather than the sperm that
sired me.
I wonder if they know I’m illegitimate?
At least, on one level, it goes to show how times have changed. Having said that, given the history I’ve read on our royal family, me and my unknown gene pool will apparently
be in good company.
What is seriously scary is that my name is all my classmates will know of me. I will have to prove myself to a set of strangers with whom I must cohabit for the next five years,
like it or not. My touchstone, the one person who understands me, will be miles away. My bedroom at home will be empty for weeks at a time.
Fred has already asked for my goldfish when I go, Immy for my portable DVD player. They are like tiny vultures, feasting on the prospect of my departure. I’d like to think
they’ll miss me, but I know they’ll soon get used to me not being there. The family bucket of water: take out one glass (me) and it would still look quite full. Apparently, my new one
has a whole lake to itself.
And what if they’re all like Rupes? I could be dead by Halloween.
I’m starting to seriously panic now at the thought of starting at my new school in less than a month – I mean, I’m just a boy from a middle-class family
who’s never been on a grouse-shoot, and thinks ‘polo’ is a mint with a hole in it. My local school was so short on facilities that they bussed us once a week to the local
pool.
It was meant to be up to me whether I went or not. But when I won the scholarship, everyone just forgot to ask me and assumed it was what I wanted.
On the plus side, at least Chloë will be just a few miles down the road. Her school and mine have ‘dances’ together, apparently. Christ, perhaps I’d better
get practising my waltz and my American Smooth, given it’s all I can do to bend my knees up and down to ‘Crazy’ by Gnarls Barkley.
Although it breaks my heart to see her with ‘Michelle’, the thought of her being so near to me when I go away glues it back together. And out of sight is often out of
mind, so they say. That, and the fact Chloë is obviously impressed that I’ve won a scholarship there, is currently all that provides comfort for my black-tailed, lonely future . . .
I’m lying on my Broom Cupboard bed – I hasten to add that there is a spare room upstairs now, but when my mother asked me if I wanted to move back, I declined the offer.
Bizarre that I want to stay down here, but I feel comfortable. And I’m never short of anything to read.
Tonight I choose Keats’ poems and read, er, ‘Fanny’. Not a title I would personally go for myself, but the words are lovely and it’s a truism that misery
loves company. It makes me feel better to know that someone else once felt like I do.
‘Yourself – your soul – in pity give me all,
Withhold no atom’s atom or I die.’
Then I hear two sets of tentative footsteps along the corridor – one male and one female – and a tear comes to my eye.
And I know all too well the pain of unrequited love.
ιθ′
Helena stretched forward, her left leg executing an
arabesque
. She held the position for a few seconds, then pirouetted fast across the terrace and flopped into a chair,
sweating profusely.
At eight thirty, the sun was already searingly hot. As July had spun gently into August, the temperature had risen noticeably, and Pandora’s occupants had visibly relaxed and given in to a
heat-induced torpor. Even the little ones were comparatively languid, their usual frenetic activity levels tempered by the relentless sun. They had started sleeping in until past nine, and the
whole pace of the house had slowed with them.
This was how Helena had imagined their time at Pandora would be: days were spent by the pool or on the beach, broken by lunch, then a siesta for all. William had metaphorically shrugged off his
jacket and tie, spent time with his family and begun to relax. Since the night she’d told him about her lost baby, they had become closer too, both physically and mentally. And Helena knew
she had never felt more contented – or loved – than in the past few days. Having seemingly wreaked havoc initially, Pandora was now weaving her magic spell on all its inhabitants.
The long, hot evenings were spent on the terrace
en famille
, or with added guests. Michel, Chloë’s boyfriend, had become an almost permanent fixture at the house, both Helena
and William deciding it was far better to welcome him and keep some semblance of control over Chloë, rather than isolating them both. As Helena pointed out, parental opposition and the thrill
of the forbidden provided a potent mix.
And if William struggled with the thought of his daughter being romanced by the son of the man who had once been involved with his wife in very similar circumstances, he did a good job of
controlling it.
Alexis had been round again for supper, this time at William’s invitation. The tension that had existed before seemed to have dissipated and Helena felt the two men had developed a
genuine, if guarded, liking for each other. Sadie and Andreas, her amorous young carpenter, had also joined them occasionally in the evenings. Even though Andreas’ conversation had been
almost non-existent due to his limited English, they seemed blissfully happy. As Sadie said, they communicated in the place where it mattered. Even Helena had to admit that ‘Adonis’, as
the two of them had jokingly but aptly nicknamed him,
was
gorgeous.
‘I will live for today and pay the price tomorrow,’ Sadie had said with a shrug when Helena had asked where the relationship was heading. ‘Even if I knew, I wouldn’t be
able to tell him,’ she’d chuckled. ‘And that suits me just fine.’
They’d not seen much of Jules since she and the children had left Pandora to take up temporary residence in Alexis’ villa. But Viola, who turned up regularly on the bicycle Helena
had suggested she borrow, said her mother seemed okay. She made a mental note to call Jules today. She didn’t want her to feel abandoned, but equally, neither was she keen on encouraging
anything that might disrupt the currently peaceful atmosphere at Pandora.
Having recovered her breath from her exertions, she got to her feet and strolled along the shady length of the terrace, stopping at regular intervals to admire and deadhead the flowers
she’d planted in the weathered stone urns that had stood there since Angus’ day. As she picked off the odd wilted bloom and automatically tested the soil for moisture with her
fingertips, she was pleased to note that everything was thriving. Pink and white geraniums, twice the size of any she’d grown back home in their garden in Hampshire, jostled for attention
alongside fragrant gardenias and gorgeous red hibiscus.
As she reached the end of the terrace, she leant on the balustrade and surveyed the rest of the gardens as they fell away towards the olive groves. With help from Anatole, a relative of
Angelina’s from the village, she’d begun to populate the beds with oleander, lavender and solano that would, with luck, survive year after year in the fierce heat. As she drank in the
view, a butterfly drifted past, a shimmer of yellow against the backdrop of dazzling azure sky; the silence was only interrupted by the gentle background chorus of cicadas.
Helena wandered back across the terrace and into the kitchen. In retrospect, she now realised William had been right; that the build-up to this holiday, with all its complexities, had been
extremely stressful. Apart from anything else, she had not known before she arrived how she might feel if she saw Alexis again – and if she did, what she would tell him about her
disappearance all those years ago after the summer they’d spent together. Now, she had to believe the eye of the storm had passed and if anything, blown away a few cobwebs, leaving the main
structure intact.
The rest of the messy jigsaw puzzle, created both by fate and her own clumsy hands . . . well, who knew?
She would live for today. And today was beautiful.
‘Morning, darling.’ William appeared and kissed her on her bare shoulder as she filled the kettle. ‘What’s on the agenda today?’
‘Nothing too stressful. I must ask Angelina to get the guest room ready for Fabio, he’ll be arriving in a couple of days.’
‘Well, I’m sure you’re looking forward to seeing him, but I have to admit, it’s been lovely being just us.’ He put his arms round her waist and kissed her neck.
‘Yes, it has, but you’re right: I feel like an over-excited child. It’s been so long.’ Helena broke away from him to reach for the cereal bowls. ‘Don’t forget
that you need to drag Chloë away from Michel for a few hours and take her out to lunch before she leaves. You should have a good father–daughter bonding session while you can.’
‘I’ll do my best, but convincing her to have lunch with her ancient dad, compared to the youthful charms of Michel, will be a toughie.’
‘Oh, and I’ve been meaning to ask you whether you could have a look at that drawer I told you about in Angus’ desk? I don’t want to ruin it by breaking the lock, but
I’m desperate to know what’s inside.’
‘Let me take the kids for a morning swim, then I’ll see what I can do.’
Helena checked her watch. ‘It’s almost ten o’clock! I never thought I’d hear myself say this, but could you go and wake up Immy and Fred or we won’t get them into
bed before midnight this evening.’
Helena hummed as William left and she pottered round the kitchen. Glancing out of the window, she saw the oddest sight. Cycling down the hill was Rupes, precariously balanced on Viola’s
small borrowed bicycle.
He drew to an ungainly halt beside the back door, and walked towards the house.
‘Come on in, it’s open,’ called Helena.
Rupes appeared, his face red and his T-shirt drenched with sweat.
‘Hello Rupes. You look boiled, do you want some water?’
‘Yes please, Helena. Christ, it’s hot! I’ll be glad to get back to Blighty. The air conditioning in the villa’s on the blink and I can’t sleep.’
‘The newspaper said yesterday it’s the hottest summer here for almost a hundred years.’ Helena went to the fridge, poured a large glass of water and handed it to him.
‘How’s your mum?’
‘She’s okay.’ Rupert gulped back the water in three swallows. ‘Better than she was, anyway. Mind you, she couldn’t have been much worse, could she?’
‘No. Well, it’s nice to see you anyway.’
‘Yeah. I’ve come with a message. Two things: Mum wants to ask you all over for dinner tonight, if you aren’t busy.’
‘Oh, that’s nice of her. I was just about to call and ask her the same. I’ll have to check with Angelina about babysitting, as it will be too late for Immy and Fred, but the
rest of us would love to.’
‘And also . . . er . . . is Alex around?’
‘Somewhere, I should think. Shall I call him for you?’
‘Thanks.’
Helena walked into the hall. ‘Alex? Someone here to see you, darling.’
‘Coming,’ groaned a sleepy voice.
‘He’ll be along in a second. I’m afraid we’ve all started lying in quite late,’ Helena apologised. ‘How’s Viola? She didn’t come to see us
yesterday.’
‘She’s okay. Missing our father, and the heat’s getting to her, too.’
‘It would, with her colouring.’ Helena was struggling for conversation and was glad when Alex appeared. She watched his face fall as he saw who the visitor was.
‘Hi, Rupes,’ he grunted.
‘Hi, Alex.’
‘What can I do for you?’
‘Well, umm, the thing is . . .’
‘I’ll leave you to it, shall I?’ Helena said quickly, realising she wasn’t wanted. ‘See you tonight, Rupes. Eight-ish?’
‘Yeah, sure.’
‘Well,’ Rupes cleared his throat when Helena had left the kitchen. ‘You, er, know . . . what’s happened to our family?’
‘Yes.’
‘The problem is, my parents can’t afford to send me to Oundle now, even with my sports scholarship. It’s only twenty per cent of the fees, you see.’
‘I do see,’ Alex agreed.
‘Mum got in touch with the Bursar to explain, and he’s said they might consider giving me a full financial bursary, means-tested of course. They still want me for the rugby, you see.
I’m trialling for the England under-18s team in a few weeks.’
‘That’s good news, isn’t it?’
‘Sort of, yeah.’
‘So?’
‘Well . . . my Common Entrance exam score wasn’t that great. To be honest, I didn’t really work that hard, because I knew they wanted me for the sport. But to get the bursary,
they want me to sit their own academic exam in a week’s time.’
‘Oh,’ said Alex. ‘Right.’
‘The thing is, if I don’t pass, I’ll be off to a local comprehensive somewhere.’ Rupes hung his head.
‘Okay, I get it. But where do I fit in?’
‘Where do you think?’ Rupes waved his hands in agitation. ‘We all know you’ve got a brain the size of Russia.’
‘Russia’s actually far smaller than it used to be these days, but thanks anyway.’
‘Alex.’ Rupes put his palms flat on the table. ‘I’ve got to pass this exam, but I’m crap at English, worse at French and just about passable at maths and science. I
need some extra coaching in the humanities. Will you . . .’ He cleared his throat. ‘Will you help me pass?’