Love Always (16 page)

Chapter Seventeen

Over a week passed, but it could have been a year: time seemed to stop, wrapping them in a cocoon. The days were filled with warm weather, fresh cold seas, lazing, reading, listening to music. By night they watched each other on the terrace or over dinner, watched as they grew more tanned, more at ease, knew each other, for better and for worse. It felt as if it had always been like this, a kind of heightened reality where everything was more exciting, colours were sharper, people were more beautiful, life was there to be taken. But of course, it wasn’t really like that. Perhaps it was the summer wind, blowing off the sea and through the house, sweeping them up in its path. But none of them was un affected by it.

They left Summercove, too. Frances got them tickets to the Minack Theatre and they saw
Julius Caesar
: sitting out in the refreshing night breeze on the theatre at the edge of the sea. They ate pasties in Marazion, and Cecily and Guy walked across the glittering silver causeway to the beautiful fortress castle of St Michael’s Mount.

Some of them went surfing in Sennen Cove; one morning the others stayed behind while Guy, Louisa and Cecily went with Frances to St Ives to see her dealer and talk about the London show. As they were leaving, Frances stumbled and stepped on Frank, who was kissing Louisa goodbye; she pierced his foot with her stiletto heel, and was horrified as he sank to the ground in agony. They bought him sickly pink sticks of rock from St Ives to say sorry, the sweet candy already stuck to the striped paper bags by the time Frank returned that afternoon from the beach, hobbling and supported by Miranda and Jeremy. One evening, they went into Penzance, to see
Doctor in Distress
playing at the Savoy. Guy took photos with his old box Brownie: Cecily on the beach, standing on a rock, her bobbed hair blowing about her face like a glossy brown halo; games of cricket, the ball flying into the sea; Frances at her easel (after he’d asked permission, of course); Frank (by now recovered, no more than an angry red stigma on his foot) snoring on the lawn like a slumbering blond god, the view of the path down to the sea blinding white in the midday sun.

It would seem from the outside as if they were in a blissful, untroubled holiday bubble. It would seem, too, as if the Leightons fitted in perfectly with the household, though of course it was their very outsider status which gave the summer its frisson of excitement, of fun, of them – all of them – feeling as if they were watching themselves in a film, that it was unreal.

The longer their stay the hotter the weather became, night and day. Frank was happiest when he was outside, playing sports with Jeremy and Archie, trying to flirt with Miranda and Frances, and trying also – it would seem unsuccessfully – to seduce his girlfriend. His wandering hands became something of a feature, the fingers creeping across Louisa’s well-upholstered, neat figure, only to be pushed briskly away, much to his dis appointment. Guy, on the other hand, just seemed to get on with everyone. Everyone except Miranda.

‘He’s so damned pleased with himself,’ she said to Cecily one Friday, a week after the Leightons had arrived.

Cecily had just returned from sitting for her mother upstairs and was in a bad mood; she disliked being still for so long. She was slumped in one of the worn-out damask armchairs in the cool of the living room, flicking through a recent
Country Life
. ‘Look at this girl,’ she said, slapping the back of her hand in annoyance onto the page. ‘“Lady Melissa Bligh”. Why do they always have these photos of boring English girls with awful teeth?’ She gazed longingly at Lady Melissa’s black lace dress and swanlike neck. ‘Anyway, Guy’s not pleased with himself,’ she added after a moment.

‘Yes, he is,’ Miranda said, also flicking through a magazine. ‘He thinks he knows it all. What’s wrong and right. He’s
very
pleased with himself, if you ask me.’ She looked out through the French windows onto the lawn, where Guy was playing cricket with Frank and Jeremy, practising his bowling action. ‘I don’t like the way he acts as if he knows us all so well.’

‘That’s what I like about him, actually,’ Cecily said. ‘I feel like I’ve known him for ever.’

Miranda rolled her eyes. ‘You would say that, because I said the opposite. Of course.’

‘I mean it, honestly,’ Cecily protested. She looked awkwardly at her sister. ‘Please. Don’t let’s row again,’ she begged. ‘Last night was so awful. I said sorry for it. You know I did.’

‘All right,’ Miranda said crossly. She touched the glowing red scratch on her cheek, and Cecily too; they were almost identical. ‘We’re all right now. Let’s leave it, for heaven’s sake.’

There was a silence. The magazine slid off Cecily’s lap onto the floor; she ignored it. ‘Well, I don’t like Frank,’ she said after a while. ‘I just don’t.’

‘Why don’t you go and play cricket, Cecily?’ Miranda said icily. ‘Burn off some of that energy before lunch. Little girls need to behave if they’re going to eat with the grown-ups.’

‘Well, I’m going to go and play cricket,’ Cecily said, as if her sister hadn’t spoken. She shot out through the French windows, calling, ‘Hi! Can I play?’

‘Of course,’ Jeremy said, smiling fondly at his youngest cousin as she ran up to them. ‘Do you want to be a fielder?’

‘Oh,’ said Cecily. ‘Um yes, why not?’

‘Cec,’ said Guy, handing her his bat. ‘I was about to go up and wash my hands before lunch, why don’t you take over?’

Just then, there was a scream from upstairs. ‘Oh! Oh, my God!’ There came a muffled thud. ‘Leave me
alone
, you vile, vile little shit!’

‘What’s that?’ Frank looked up in alarm. ‘That’s Louisa. Louisa? Are you all right?’

There was no answer. Frank began to run, fast, towards the house. ‘Louisa? Hello? I say, what’s happened?’

Jeremy followed him. ‘Louisa?’ he called, breaking into a sprint. ‘Hey!’

‘Archie again,’ said Cecily softly to Guy, who was looking up at the house.

‘Archie what?’ he said quickly. ‘He’s a peeping Tom,’ Cecily said flatly. ‘Come on, let’s go and see if she’s all right.’

But it was Archie who needed the attention when they reached the top of the stairs. Through the open door Frank could be seen with his arms around Louisa, comforting her while she cried. And on the landing, rocking backwards and forwards, was Archie. Blood dripped from his nose onto the green carpet, staining it black. His carefully groomed hair was messy, the quiff bobbing loose over his forehead, and his beautiful white short-sleeved shirt had blood on it.

‘What happened here?’ said Guy. He leaned down. ‘Oh, my goodness. We need Jeremy, where is he? I think you’ve broken your nose.’

Cecily ran back downstairs to fetch him, her eyes wild, staring at her brother.

‘She hit me,’Archie said. ‘Silly bitch.’ He shot Louisa a look of hatred, his hand clasped to his nose. ‘I was just walking back from the bathroom and she came out of her room and hit me. I’ve no idea why. She’s hysterical. She’s a hysterical bitch. Bitch!’ he repeated, as if that was the worst thing he could say. He wiped one hand on his jeans, smearing them with blood, and swore again. That was what was almost as shocking, seeing him so dishevelled. Archie never had a hair out of place, he never showed any emotion other than amused detachment or careful watchfulness.

Cecily reappeared with Jeremy, who grimaced. He put his finger under Archie’s chin and looked at his cousin, who had blood pouring down his face into his shirt. ‘My goodness,’ he said. ‘How did you do this?’

‘I’ll tell you how,’ said Louisa, breaking away from Frank and coming forward. ‘He spies on me, I told you, Jeremy! I was just changing out of my bathers, and I heard a noise again, and I looked towards the door. There’s a gap at the bottom, you can see shadows moving. So I pretended to be going to fetch my hairbrush off the dresser.’ She swallowed. ‘And then I opened the door and – I shoved my knee right in his face. Hard.’ She came up to Archie. ‘You disgusting, disgusting little dirty bastard,’ she spat. ‘What is it with you? What’s wrong with you, with you and your damn sister? You’re both
disgusting
!’

‘I didn’t do it!’ Archie cried, looking around for support. His gaze fell on Miranda, who had arrived and was standing at the top of the stairs, watching them. ‘Miranda, I didn’t do it. You know I wouldn’t do it.’ He looked imploringly at his sister.

Guy said quietly, ‘What were you doing there, then?’ Archie was silent. ‘Exactly,’ Louisa said triumphantly. ‘Look at you.’

Frank put his arms around her again. ‘Poor honeybun,’ he said into her hair. ‘Why don’t we get you a drink.’ He looked at Cecily. ‘Where are your parents? You’d have thought they’d have heard.’

‘Mum’s still upstairs working I think, she doesn’t really hear anything when she’s in the studio. Dad – oh, who knows. He probably didn’t notice either.’ Cecily knitted her fingers together, as if the unconcern of her parents was an embarrassment to her. She turned to Guy. ‘What shall we do?’

‘Why are you asking
him
?’ Miranda said scornfully. Guy looked at Jeremy and raised his eyebrows questioningly.

‘I’m going to take you into the bathroom downstairs and get you cleaned up,’ Jeremy said calmly to Archie. ‘And then let’s have a chat.’

‘I’m going to tell your parents,’ Louisa said. Her expression was vicious, ugly. ‘I’ve had enough. This whole holiday, the two of you . . . if it’s not your sister like a dog in heat, it’s you.’

‘What do you mean by that?’ Archie said. ‘I mean, this house is . . . Oh, God, I don’t know!’ Louisa threw her hands up in the air, almost in despair. ‘I hate it! The two of you together, you peering and spying, and Miranda, getting up to God knows what at night-time, I’ve heard her, I know what’s going on . . .’ She trailed off. ‘You should both be locked up, what is it with you two? Is it something in your blood? The
other
side of the family, I mean.’

There was an awful silence. ‘I wouldn’t say anything more if I were you, Louisa,’ Miranda said, facing her cousin, her hands on her hips. ‘It’s not your house, it’s ours. You’re lucky to be here.’

‘Don’t speak to me like that.’

‘I’ll speak to you how I like.’ Miranda was shaking, her voice low, bursting with venom. ‘You’ll be sorry, Louisa. I tell you. Don’t – don’t cross me.’

There was a silence, and they were all still, frozen to the spot, staring at each other, as if seeing each other for the first time.

Louisa broke the spell. ‘I’ve had enough of this,’ she said in a shaky voice, and turned back into her bedroom, Frank holding her hand. ‘Of all of this.’ She shut the door, leaving the others on the other side of it, Archie still bleeding, Miranda gazing almost in astonishment at the closed door, and the other three standing there, unsure of what to do next.

The atmosphere was charged with tension, bursting out everywhere, as if it had finally found a release valve.

‘Let’s go,’ Jeremy said uncomfortably, handing Archie another tissue, and their strange procession trooped downstairs. ‘I think we should find—’

‘Hello?’ A thin, rather querulous voice came from the sitting room, and as they got downstairs a figure appeared in the hallway. ‘Hello? Is anyone there?’

‘Oh, my God,‘ Jeremy whispered. ‘Jeremy? Is that you? My goodness, what on earth has been going on?’

‘Mother?’ Jeremy said, emerging into the hallway. ‘We weren’t expecting you till tea-time!’ He strode forward, a smile on his face.

Pamela James, Frances’s sister, was standing in the hall, holding a pair of immaculate white gloves. She offered her cheek to her son. ‘We left earlier, to avoid the traffic. Hello, dear,’ she said. ‘Daddy’s just parking the car. Where is Frances? No use asking for Arvind, I suppose.’

She was like a figure from another world, in a deep fuchsia tweed suit and sensible black patent court shoes, her handbag tucked into the crook of her elbow. Her calm, rather distant gaze took in Cecily, Guy and Archie, a handkerchief pressed to his nose. ‘Again. Can someone explain what has been going on?’

Jeremy took charge. He said, ‘Archie walked into a door. I’m just going to get him cleaned up now, Mother. Cecily, why don’t you go and find Franty – Aunt Frances, I mean?’ Cecily nodded and ran towards the back staircase to her parents’ room.

‘Well, it’s good to be here, even if no one seems prepared for our arrival,’ Pamela said, putting her gloves down on the table and looking around, while Archie, Jeremy and Miranda stood transfixed in the corridor. ‘It was a very long drive and I’m rather tired. Is lunch soon, do you know?’

‘I think so –‘ Jeremy said, and just then, much to their relief, Frances appeared. ‘Hello, hello,’ she said, rushing towards her sister, pushing her hair back up into her head-scarf. ‘Pamela, darling, how wonderful to see you. We weren’t expecting you till tea! You have made good time!’

‘Thank you,’ Pamela said. ‘Yes, we set out early. I hope this doesn’t throw your plans off.’ She pronounced it ‘orf’. ‘I did say we might be here for lunch.’

Frances waved her hands. ‘No, of course not! It’s wonderful to have you here.’ She linked her sister’s arm through hers and they stood there, both tall and similar in looks, but utterly different people: Frances barefoot in cropped trousers and a billowing smock, a patterned scarf tying back her hair, glowing with sun and a smudge of paint on her shirt and her long slim neck: and Pamela, perfectly dressed, not a hair out of place even after a six-hour drive.