One Secret Summer (26 page)

‘It’ll be fine,’ Harvey said in his typical, reassuring way. ‘I know you’ve had your misgivings before, but she does sound
rather nice.’

‘An
actress
?’ Diana couldn’t help herself.

‘Classically trained, I think. There’s a difference, my love.’

‘I hope so,’ she answered darkly.

Well, in a few minutes she’d be here. Josh was upstairs; she hoped he would make an exception and come down. Aside from the
one evening when Rafe and Aaron both came over for dinner just after his arrival, the three of them hadn’t spoken. She sighed.
They’d never got on, not even as children. It wasn’t a question she could trust herself to answer, but it pained her nonetheless.
Almost thirty years of murderous animosity between them; there would be no cure, no change. All she hoped for these days was
a semblance of civility on the odd occasion
they were all together – like tonight. Could Josh be counted upon to be polite? She hoped so. For everyone’s sake.

She took a quick look in the living room – everything was exactly as it should be. The cushions were plumped, pictures straightened,
every surface polished. The hand-knotted
gebbeh
rug with its bold geometric patterns and rich colours brought a luxurious warmth to the room. There was a chilled bottle
of champagne in the silver bucket beside the chesterfield and a tray of soft, pungent cheeses that they’d brought back from
Mougins. Any second now Harvey would come down the stairs, put something soothing and classical on the stereo and open a bottle
of red wine to breathe. She let her forefinger rest for a second on the gleaming surface of the antique console that stood
beside the door. One of the few things she’d taken from her parents’ house when her father finally died. A beautiful piece;
soothing just to look at. She heard a car pull up outside. She straightened one of the silver picture frames, brushed away
a piece of lint from her trousers and walked to the front door, a smile of welcome fixed squarely on her face.

MADDY

London, December 1996

To say that Maddy felt sick was the understatement of the century. It was only her third night in London – fourth if one counted
the plane journey over, which she didn’t. The first two nights had appeared to her as if in a dream, out of someone else’s
life. She’d been too excited on the plane to even contemplate sleep. She’d sat stiffly upright in her seat, counting the hours
until they landed. Rafe was at Heathrow, waiting anxiously for her to appear. She’d gone through Immigration, collected her
bags and then had to rush down the corridor to the nearest toilet to be sick. She’d looked at her reflection in the neon glow
of the airport toilet and nearly thrown up again. She was pale and wan and there were dark circles of exhaustion under her
eyes. She’d barely slept in the previous week. She couldn’t quite remember what he looked like; what if he saw her and was
disappointed? What if she wasn’t the way he remembered? What if … ? She’d walked out into the glare of chauffeurs and relatives
and seen him immediately, standing at the back with the biggest bunch of flowers she’d ever seen and the widest smile across
his impossibly handsome face. She almost fainted with relief. They’d gone back to his flat somewhere in the centre of town
and stayed in bed for almost the entire day. They went out that evening to a nearby restaurant and he told her he was taking
her to meet his parents. His
parents
? She’d met him just once … was he
insane
? But the circumstances were unusual; it was Christmas in a week’s time and there was no question she wouldn’t be spending
it with them … it was only polite to introduce her first. Yes, he knew it was a little sudden and he certainly didn’t want
to frighten her off, but what else could he do? In three months’ time he’d be in Basle, doing his long-awaited residency,
and it would be difficult for them to meet. ‘Besides, they’re really easygoing. They’ll love you, I promise. It’ll be nice.’
She’d listened to him with a mixture of fascination and horror. Did she even have anything suitable to wear?

Now, sitting next to him, her stomach churning, she watched the elegant London houses sweep past in a blur. They turned left
and right down one crescent after another, Maddy losing all sense of direction and time, until Rafe finally pulled up and
switched off the engine. ‘We’re here,’ he said, turning to smile at her. ‘This is it.’

Maddy looked at the house and gulped. Tall, immaculate and elegant, it was a creamy white colour with a glossy black front
door. A small garden in front, a short pebbled walkway leading to the front steps and two giant planters filled with some
exotic blood-red flowers on either side of the door. The garden
disappeared down one side of the house. It was about as far away from the farmhouse in Iowa as it was possible to be. She
looked down at her plain grey woollen skirt and tights and her heart sank. ‘Rafe,’ she said, her mouth suddenly gone dry.
‘Wh … what if they don’t like me?’

‘Don’t be daft.’ He got out of the car and came round to her side. He gripped her hand tightly as they walked up the front
steps together. ‘How could anyone
not
like you? Hmm?’ Maddy was too nervous to reply. She racked her brain for a character –
any
character – anything to help her get through the next few hours, but nothing came to mind.

The front door opened as soon as they reached it. Standing in the doorway was a petite, dark-haired woman, her arms outstretched
in welcome. She lifted her face to be kissed by her son. Maddy bit down fiercely on the impulse to hide behind him. They followed
her into the hallway. ‘Mother.’ Rafe turned to draw Maddy in. ‘Mother, this is Maddy.’

His mother held out a hand. Maddy shook it. Her touch was so brief, Maddy wondered if she’d imagined it. ‘Hi, it’s so nice
to meet you, Mrs Keeler,’ she said enthusiastically, injecting as much warmth and friendliness into her voice as she could.
She could practically feel the woman wince. Oh dear … too friendly? Too American?

‘Gosh, it’s been years since anyone called me that! Everyone calls me Diana. Even my sons.’

‘I … oh, yes, of course …’ Maddy managed to squeak.

‘Where’s Dad?’ Rafe asked, touching the small of Maddy’s back reassuringly.

‘He’ll be up in a minute … he’s just checking on dinner. I thought we might as well eat downstairs, but we’ll have drinks
in here first. The kitchen’s a bit informal for champagne, don’t you think?’ She smiled at Maddy.

Maddy couldn’t think of anything to say in reply. She followed Rafe and his mother into the living room. It was quite simply
the loveliest room she’d ever seen. Grey-blue walls; polished wooden floorboards covered in a collection of beautifully
simple Persian rugs; an old leather chesterfield in one corner big enough to seat five; gleaming antique furniture scattered
around, and at the enormous bay window, a pair of crushed silk curtains in a dusty rose colour. A glass bowl of giant white
lilies stood on the centre table, releasing their pungent fragrance into the air. Leading off the sitting room was a dining
room dominated by a long table and eight, perhaps ten chairs clustered around. An impressive mixture of paintings and photographs
hung on the walls. There was a giant gilt-edged mirror above the mantelpiece. Maddy caught a glimpse of herself as she walked
past – wide-eyed, obviously nervous and out of her depth. She
had
to think of something, a character, and quickly, too. It came to her in a flash. Audrey Hepburn. Gamine, wide-eyed, but charming,
not gobsmacked and certainly not eaten up with nerves. Elegant, considered, feminine. She began to project herself into the
role.

Suddenly a very tall, handsome silver-haired man entered the room holding a bottle of wine by the neck. He hugged his son
affectionately and then turned to her. ‘And you must be Maddy. Is it short for something? Madeleine, perhaps?’ She shook her
head, smiling in what she hoped was a charming, demure manner and was about to say, ‘Madison’, but he bent towards her and
kissed her on both cheeks instead. ‘I hear it’s your first visit to London,’ he said, standing back and beaming down at her.

‘Er, yes, sir, it is,’ she said eagerly.

‘Oh, call me Harvey, please. I never bother with the ‘‘sir’’. Ask my wife.’

Maddy looked hesitantly at Rafe, but before she could say anything, another figure appeared in the doorway. She looked up
at him. He was dark-haired and dark-eyed, as tall as Rafe but leaner, somehow harder. The sun had ripened his skin, like fruit.
A beautiful rosy darkness rippled up his neck, spreading across his face. Beside her, she could feel Rafe stiffen. It was
as if the temperature in the room had dropped a notch. Maddy looked from the newcomer to Rafe and back again, confused. Who
was he?

‘Josh, darling, don’t just stand there. Do come in.’ Diana went towards him, laying a hand possessively on his arm.

‘Rafe.’ His eyes flickered slowly over Rafe but there was nothing in his expression that even hinted at a smile or a welcome.

‘Josh.’ Rafe’s response was equally hostile.

‘And this is Maddy, Rafe’s, er, friend. She’s visiting London,’ Harvey said quickly, making sure she wasn’t left out. The
man looked briefly at her, murmured some sort of standard greeting and then turned and disappeared.

‘Who was that?’ Maddy whispered as Diana hurried after him.

‘My brother,’ Rafe said shortly, picking up the champagne and expertly easing off the cork. ‘Not the lawyer. The other one.
Now, what’ll you have? Champagne?’

‘Jolly good idea,’ Harvey said, carrying over glasses. He waited until Rafe had poured the champagne and lifted his glass
to hers. ‘Welcome to London, my dear. I hope you enjoy your visit and that you’ll be back.’

‘Cheers.’ Rafe lifted his glass and Maddy quickly did the same. His
other
brother? Why hadn’t he mentioned there were three of them? There was clearly no love lost between them; she’d rarely seen
such unbridled animosity, despite the fact that he’d only been in the room for a few minutes. She was an only child; she had
no experience of sibling rivalry. She looked at Rafe uncertainly. His face had relaxed back into its habitual gentle expression.
Had she imagined the hardness that came into his eyes when his brother entered the room?

Harvey led the way down to the kitchen. Diana was already at the counter, bringing bowls of deliciously fragrant food to the
long, beautifully dressed table. Of the younger brother there was no sign. He did not appear again.

JOSH

London/Djibouti, December 1996

Josh climbed the stairs to his room, two at a time. He had no desire to join them. He’d forgotten Rafe was coming to dinner.
With some girl he’d picked up in New York the previous week or month, he couldn’t remember what Diana had said. He’d been
reading in his room at the top of the house when they arrived. He must have fallen asleep; the book lay discarded amongst
the covers. Their voices in the hallway had woken him up. In the first few seconds of conscious thought he’d struggled to
work out where he was. London. At home in his parents’ house. He’d pushed aside the duvet impatiently and looked at his wristwatch
in disbelief. It was nearly seven thirty. He’d slept for more than six hours straight. He swung his legs out of bed and stood
up, narrowly missing the light that swung above his bed. He opened the door and walked downstairs. There were voices coming
from below. He walked into the living room. Diana was standing next to someone. A woman. Flame-haired. Pale porcelain skin
and hazel-green eyes. A light dusting of freckles across the bridge of the nose. Dark lipstick on a wide, full mouth. His
mind took in the details automatically. Not beautiful, exactly, but striking. She’d looked up at him as he came down the last
few steps. Her face was confused and open at the same time, her thoughts already breaking up as he looked at her, like a sky
of merging and melting clouds.

The enforced break went by quicker than he’d expected. Exactly two weeks after he’d arrived, he left London the way he’d come,
quietly and alone. He lay in bed for a few minutes on the morning of his departure, listening to the sound of the birds in
the garden below – birds whose names he’d forgotten but whose excited twitter was still familiar. He had an early flight to
Frankfurt, a
three-hour delay and then a midday flight to Addis, where a driver would be on hand to meet him. It would take them almost
the whole day to drive from Addis to Djibouti, but Bo wasn’t putting on a plane especially for him and there were no charter
flights available. He’d had his fill of London – he’d met up with the few friends he kept in touch with; seen all the films
and shows he’d missed and eaten his fill of restaurant food. He longed now for the solitude of the desert and the satisfaction
of getting the job done.

Harvey was in the kitchen when he descended. He looked up as Josh came through the doorway. ‘You’re up early,’ he remarked,
looking at his watch.

‘Flight’s at eight thirty. I’ll head out in about twenty minutes,’ Josh said, reaching for the coffee pot.

‘I’ll give you a lift to the station.’ There was a second’s delicate pause. ‘Are you happy out there, son?’

Behind the question, Josh felt the weight of an unknown answer. As always, they seemed to be seeking something from him that
he wasn’t sure he knew how to give. He shrugged. ‘It’s fine.
I’m
fine. You can tell her that.’

‘I’m not asking on her behalf,’ Harvey said mildly.

‘I’m fine, Dad.’

‘If you say so, son.’ Harvey got up from the table. ‘Ten minutes? I’ve got an early start today – young girl with a cranial
fracture. I’m looking forward to it. You’re all packed?’

‘Yeah. Just the one bag.’ He smiled to himself. It was a typical Harvey comment. He’d never known anyone with such an obvious
love of the work that was his job and yet also his life. Could he say the same about himself ? Perhaps … but for different
reasons. He looked out across the stone floor to the garden beyond the sliding doors. It was alive with damp, mossy winter
growth. Everything was green. In a few days’ time there would be none. Just the sandy, neutral tones of the desert and the
silence that was louder than sound.