Authors: Lucinda Riley
‘Oh my God . . .’ Helena whispered, half to herself.
‘For the first few weeks, it was almost as if he couldn’t bear the sight of me. He wandered round in a daze, spending most of the time locked in his studio, painting. I really
thought he was about to leave me.’ She looked at Helena. ‘I’m thirsty. Can I get some water?’
‘Yes, of course,’ Helena whispered. Jules stood up and went inside, while she sat perfectly still, shock rendering her brain too numb to think.
‘I’ve changed my mind. We’re both having a glass of wine. It’s after midday so we don’t need to feel guilty. Here. I’m sure you need one too.’ Jules put
a glass in front of Helena, took a sip from her own and sat down.
‘Thank you.’
‘Anyway, one day I went into his studio to ask him something. He wasn’t there. He’d taken himself off for one of his long walks – he’d often disappear for hours at
a time. And there on his desk were the most fabulous pencil sketches of a dancer. And they were all entitled “Helena”.’
Even though she felt sick, Helena took a large gulp of her wine.
‘I’m afraid I ripped them all to shreds. Shame, really, as his sketches of you dancing were the best thing he ever produced by a mile. He was never that talented, you know, but love
had clearly elevated him. That night I was ready for a showdown. I knew he would have found the sketches in pieces on his studio floor. To my surprise, when he came in, he took me in his arms. He
apologised for being so distant, explained he’d something he needed to work through. It was never specified, but we both knew what – and
who
– he was talking
about.’
Both women sat in silence for a while, each lost in her own memories of the same man.
‘Anyway,’ Jules continued, ‘over the next few days, we starting talking about the future. Sacha knew he had to take a full-time job, as I’d have to give up work when the
baby was born, at least for a while. And his painting wasn’t going to feed a family of mice, let alone humans. So he called a few old friends from Oxford and went for some interviews in the
City. He was eventually offered a position at a stockbroking company his father had employed for years. Rupes was born, and Sacha settled down at work and was actually doing rather well. As you can
imagine, all his natural charm and good looks worked wonders on rich old ladies with money to invest.’
Jules rolled her eyes in distaste and took a slug of wine.
‘Then, three years later, just after we’d adopted Viola, Sacha was offered the chance to move to Singapore. I desperately wanted him to take it so that we could really make a fresh
start. I loved it there, and so did he. Everything was fine – until we came back a few months later, for your wedding. I recognised you from the sketches immediately, and the look on
Sacha’s face when he saw you trotting down the aisle was priceless!’ Jules gave a grim chuckle. ‘Even if I hadn’t known, that alone would have been enough to convince me
there’d been something between you two.’
‘God, Jules, I am so, so sorry,’ Helena managed. ‘I’ve never realised you knew.’
‘No, well, why should you?’ she said abruptly. ‘From what I managed to glean at the wedding, I knew I was right. One of the guests told me you were an ex-ballet dancer and then
William said during his speech he’d met you in Vienna, because Sacha had suggested he go there to find love . . .’ Jules gave a small shudder. ‘Then I noticed Alex at the
reception afterwards, trailing behind you, like a little lost cherub . . . and I knew instantly. Even though Alex doesn’t look much like Sacha, he has his father’s eyes.’
‘Yes. He does.’ Helena looked up at this astonishing woman, sitting at her table and calmly explaining she knew everything; that she’d always known. ‘I really don’t
know what to say, Jules, other than that I’m so terribly sorry for any pain I’ve caused you. It’s no excuse, but Sacha never did tell me he was married. He said his name was
Alexander. In fact, he told me almost nothing at all about the details of his life in England.’
‘That hardly surprises me,’ Jules sniffed. ‘I’m sure he was happy to completely reinvent himself at the time, and conveniently forget that he was married.’
‘Did Sacha know it was me who was marrying William, do you think?’
‘When we got the invitation, I do remember both of us looking at your name next to William’s:
Helena
. But I’m sure he thought, just as I did, it was far too much of a
coincidence to be
you.
’
‘It was, it
is
. And if he
had
known . . . I’ve always wondered why he never tried to contact me and warn me.’
‘Well, if I’d wanted him – and you – to suffer, watching you both on your wedding day was payment enough. And then, when Sacha set eyes on Alex for the first time that
day . . . well.’ Jules shook her head and sighed. ‘I’m sure it’s been hell, especially for you, Helena. After all, I’ve always known, but William
hasn’t.’
‘And you didn’t tell Sacha you thought Alex was his?’ Helena was astounded.
‘The fact that Alex was almost certainly my husband’s offspring was a shock, yes, but what would have been the point of jumping up and down and divorcing him? It was blatantly
obvious – given we first met you minutes after you’d just married Sacha’s closest friend – that I didn’t need to worry about you running off into the sunset together.
I saw then how much you and William loved each other.’
‘We did, yes, or at least . . .’ Helena checked herself. ‘I still do love him. I honestly don’t know how you’ve coped with all this, Jules. I know I couldn’t
have.’
‘Of course I’d have preferred you not to have had a raging affair with my husband when I was sitting, lonely, miserable and pregnant by myself in England, but you have to remember
that I
did
know. Knowledge is power, and it was my decision to stay with him. Being a single mother didn’t appeal, for starters. I left that one to you,’ she retorted. ‘I
wanted a father in situ for my son. And as I’ve said to you before, I loved him then. He was a flawed, needy man, but you can’t choose who you love, can you? And you, more than anyone,
should be able to understand. I presume you loved Sacha, too?’
‘Once, yes, I did.’
‘I always felt rather sorry for you, Helena, watching you having to live a lie. So, tell me – how
did
William find out?’
‘I had Fabio, my old dancing partner, staying here. Sacha was with me in a photograph Fabio showed him from Vienna.’
‘Whoops. Is he mad? I bet he is.’
‘He’s divorcing me. I got a text this morning.’
‘An understandable gut reaction,’ nodded Jules coolly. ‘And what about Alex? Horrified at the thought of Sacha being his dad?’
‘Yes. That’s why he’s run away. The police have just been here. The search has moved to England now.’
‘Alex’ll turn up. And get over the shock, and forgive you. He adores you. So, what now? With William and me out of the picture, I suppose the two erstwhile lovers can resume their
grande passion
.’
‘No, Jules, I—’
‘Helena, you’re welcome to him, really. I got with the programme, as Rupes would say, a long time ago. This divorce is the best thing I’ve ever done. In retrospect, I had no
idea how miserable that self-absorbed sod made me. If you want him, I’m sure he’s yours for the taking. He’s always believed you’re the love of his life. I see it every time
he looks at you. Although I wonder, in reality, whether Sacha knows how to love anyone but himself.’
‘I swear to you, Jules, that the last person on earth I would want to be with is Sacha. He lied to me, then vanished into thin air, leaving me high and dry in Vienna. To be blunt, I find
it difficult to even be in the same room with him. I just love William, and I want him to come back so very much . . . Sorry,’ Helena wiped the tears away harshly. ‘I have absolutely no
right to cry. You must hate me.’
‘I hated the woman in the sketches that day, yes, but how could I hate you, Helena? You’re a genuinely nice person who just happens to have an innate ability to make men fall in love
with her. But it’s hardly brought you happiness, has it? In fact, it seems to me that it’s brought nothing but chaos and misery.’
‘I . . .’ Helena’s mobile rang, and she snatched it up instantly. ‘Hello? William, have you heard? Alex has gone missing and . . . really? . . . Oh, thank God, thank
God
! Yes, I will. Can I speak to him? Okay, I understand. Just send him my love, then. Bye.’ She dropped her mobile onto the table and put her head in her hands. ‘Thank God,
thank God,’ she repeated as tears of relief choked her speech.
‘Alex has been found?’ asked Jules.
‘Yes, he’s with William in England. Oh Jules, thank God!’
Jules stood up and moved towards Helena. She put her arms around her shoulders. ‘There, there,’ she soothed. ‘Told you he’d be all right, didn’t I? He’s a
survivor, just like his dad. Talking of Sacha – I kicked him out of the house last night. He arrived uninvited from England with Rupes – drunk as a skunk, as usual, and begging me to
take him back. It really was quite satisfying to tell him to bugger off. He probably slept under a grapevine last night. God, he smelt awful, Helena.’ Jules wrinkled her nose. ‘He needs
serious help, but luckily, I’m no longer the one to persuade him to get it.’
‘No.’ Helena only half listened, inwardly hugging herself with the relief of knowing Alex was safe and well in England with William.
‘So, we’re leaving in a couple of days. I’ve found a sweet little cottage to rent near Rupes’ new school. Not quite what we’ve been used to, granted, but I’ve
already contacted the local estate agents and I’ve got a couple of job interviews lined up. Do me good to get back to work, and there’s a nice local primary school for Viola
too.’
‘I thought you loved it here?’
‘I do, but let’s face it, Helena, I’d simply be running away. And I’ve got the children to think about.’
‘Yes, you do,’ Helena agreed. ‘I . . . will you tell them that Alex is actually Sacha’s son?’
‘No. I think they’ve got enough on their plates just now. And besides, it’s Sacha’s job to give them the bad news, not mine, though I’m sure he won’t.
He’s too much of a coward. So . . .’ Jules sighed. ‘It’s time to say goodbye. Thanks for your support over the summer, Helena. And maybe now the air is cleared, we can think
about being proper friends. Don’t be a stranger in England, will you?’
‘No, of course not. Though God knows where I’ll be living.’
‘Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that,’ Jules said airily as she stood up. ‘Unlike Sacha, William loves you far too much to let you go. See you soon –
ciao
.’
14th August 2006
Well.
It’s been an adventure, that’s for sure. In the past twenty-four hours I have transmogrified from an unknown, chubby thirteen-year-old boy with no distinguishing
features, into a thieving, renegade runaway. Who is on the missing list across Europe.
I wonder if Interpol were contacted. I do hope so, as it would look rather good in my future biography.
Once I’d decided I’d found a way to kill two birds with one stone, I moved fast. I knew where Mum kept my passport, and also her English debit card and a wad of Cypriot
pounds. I called the taxi company she uses and got a very nice man who spoke some English to take me to Paphos airport. On the way there, I made a big show of saying there was an emergency in
England – God bless her, I used my already-dead granny’s ailing health – and by the time we got to the airport, even I had begun to believe she only had hours left to live. And so
had he.
When we arrived, I handed him a big tip and asked him if he could help me buy a ticket on the next flight to England at the Cyprus Airways desk, as I spoke no Greek. And told him
that my dad, who was meeting me there, had just texted me to say he was delayed and I was to go ahead and buy the ticket. I’d already checked out that children over twelve can fly alone on
some airlines, but others insisted on them being accompanied by an adult.
Then fate took a hand. I’d befriended a sweet old lady standing in front of me at the queue for check in. I’d loaded her suitcase onto the weighing machine then helped
her as she fumbled with bird-like, shaking hands in the plastic wallet for her passport and ticket. And I handed them with my own passport and ticket to the check-in lady. Subsequently, we were
allocated seats together and during the long wait in departures, the two of us became firm friends. Using the same technique I’d employed at check-in, as we boarded, I handed over both our
passports, making it obvious to the lady checking them that I was caring for my companion. Whom she hopefully believed was an elderly relative of mine. Grannies – dead, dying or alive –
seemed to have come in very handy in my plan to escape back to England.
Thankfully, once we got onto the plane, my ‘borrowed granny’ fell asleep next to me immediately. Which gave me the time I needed to think as I made the journey back
home. Thoughts that had never entered my head before.
In my fervent lifelong quest to discover my real gene pool, I hadn’t seen what was right under my nose.
So, I am back in England.
I am here for me. And her.
I am about to embark on the most important conversation of my life so far.
I must save the day.
Because I love my mother.
And
My father.
κθ
William switched on the kettle to make some tea, and stared out of the kitchen window across the garden. Immy’s and Fred’s swings and climbing frame stood in a
corner, and Fred’s beloved water shooter – almost as big as he was – lay where he’d last dropped it on the grass.
Cedar House, on the outskirts of the beautiful village of Beaulieu in Hampshire, had been bought as a dilapidated wreck just before they’d married. Slowly, he and Helena had brought it
back to life. Since it was just after his divorce, and before his architecture practice really took off, they’d had to scrimp and save to transform what had been a rather austere and dark
Edwardian red-brick house into something special. Fortunately, the building wasn’t listed, so there had been free rein to make the material changes William wanted. He’d designed the
huge, airy kitchen extension so that that it fed seamlessly through the floor-to-ceiling glass windows onto the terrace and garden. He’d also opened up the dark, poky rooms by knocking
through interior walls, allowing the light to pour in. Once the structural work was finished, Helena had done a wonderful job with the decor. She had a natural flair for blending colours and
fabrics and for choosing furniture that suited the space, which she had added to over the years on antique hunts and various overseas holidays. They had succeeded in turning mere bricks and mortar
into an eclectic and welcoming home.