One Secret Summer (58 page)

It took Rufus the better part of the day to return. He strode in at dinner, a bottle of wine in one hand and a joint in the
other. He’d been smoking; his eyes were slightly reddened. ‘Want a drag?’ He offered it to Diana.

‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ she said, annoyed. ‘I’m breast-feeding, remember?’

He shrugged. ‘Suit yourself.’

‘Have you eaten?’ she asked, more out of habit than anything else.

He shook his head. ‘I’m not hungry.’

Diana bit her lip. He was sulking. She knew how the rest of the evening would unfold. He would continue to sulk; she would
begin to cajole him. Eventually, with enough persuasion on her part, his mood would lift, they would drink a glass of wine
… and then he would lead her upstairs and into the large, soft bed that she and Harvey shared when they were on holiday together.
She couldn’t make love properly – it was too soon for that – but it didn’t seem to bother Rufus in the slightest. He took
and gave his pleasure in other ways, ways that he still delighted in showing her. Just thinking about it now brought on a
flush of excitement that she hated herself for but couldn’t control.

‘Have some anyway,’ she said, spooning a generous helping of the stew she’d cooked that afternoon on to a plate. He looked
at it for a mutinous second, then pulled it towards him. She breathed a sigh of relief. Once he’d started to sulk, there would
be no stopping him. He could be unbearable. She passed him the salt and pepper and he began to eat. By the time he’d finished,
the tension had almost completely gone. They drank together in more or less companionable silence in the kitchen,
the only sound the radio playing quietly in the background. Josh slept deeply, induced no doubt by the single glass of wine
she’d had and the spirit of calm that had descended on the farmhouse once again.

She’d just finished tucking the white blanket tenderly around Josh when Rufus came into the room. He was smoking another joint.
She could smell its pungent, acrid scent. ‘Oh, Rufus.’ She frowned and shook her head at him. ‘Not in here. Not in front of
the baby.’

‘Christ, Diana. Relax, will you? He’s fast asleep – can’t smell a thing. What’s the matter with you? You’re no bloody fun
any more.’

‘I just don’t think it’s good for him,’ Diana began hesitantly. She looked at Josh; Rufus was right. He was fast asleep.

‘He’ll sleep through the night. You had enough wine at dinner – it’s knocked him out. Go on, have a puff. You need to chill
out. I hate seeing you like this. It’s not like you.’

‘Oh, Rufus …’ Diana murmured weakly. He was smiling at her. That dangerous, complicit smile.

‘Go on. Be a good girl. Actually, on second thoughts … don’t. You know I don’t like good girls.’ Rufus’s smile deepened as
she took a drag. ‘That’s it. And another one. I want you to properly relax.’ He reached out a hand and caught hold of her
arm, pulling her close to him. They kissed; his tongue was a warm, wet intrusion in her mouth. She put her arms around his
neck, nuzzling her face into his shoulder. Rufus’s arm tightened around her waist and his hands slid up the still soft length
of her stomach to touch her heavy breasts. He pushed her down until they were both lying on the bed. Diana pulled him towards
her, away from Josh. She took another drag, and then another, under Rufus’s approving eye. He began to kiss her, his hands
working their magic on those parts of her he knew to be especially sensitive – the hollow at the base of her neck; the soft,
delicate skin under her breasts, now heavy with milk; the length of her forearm, turned inwards. She was shivering with a
combination of cold and desire. Her pulse quickened and her breathing changed; her senses began to swim as he traced a snake-like
pattern over her skin, down her stomach, between her legs, taking care to touch her so gently she thought she might have imagined
it. He grabbed hold of her hand and placed it firmly on his cock, sliding it up and down
until he came in great shuddering spurts, his semen leaking all over her hand. In seconds he was hard again. It was something
she’d never got used to – Rufus was truly insatiable. He rolled her over on to her back, pinning her arms above her head with
one hand. He took a deep drag on the joint with the other, then passed it to her, inserting it between her lips. She was swimming
now, her senses folding in on themselves in a combination of pot and desire. She couldn’t focus properly; whatever it was
Rufus was smoking, it was strong. Her tongue felt thick and heavy in her mouth, as if she couldn’t speak. She felt his knees
part her own, felt him push his way inside her, impatient and rough. She could feel herself responding, but it was as if she
wasn’t really there. His thrusts were deep and strong; she was pushed this way and that, her hands clawing wildly at his back.
A thick, dark fog descended on her, blunting her senses, making her limbs heavy with sleep. She caught a glimpse of his face;
his teeth were bared. She couldn’t say why, but it frightened her. She reached out to gently touch the sleeping bundle on
the other side of her. Josh. He’d slept all the way through it, thank God. It was her last conscious thought before sliding
into sleep.

It seemed to her afterwards that she knew what had happened even before she’d opened her eyes. She put out a hand and touched
something. Not someone. Not a warm, sleepy baby, but something cold and hard. She began to tremble. A wave of fear ran straight
through her. She sat upright and tried to lift him, but he was heavy, much heavier than usual. And stiff. She was conscious
of the sound of her own heartbeat thudding thunderously in her ears. She must have screamed; Rufus was suddenly awake. She
couldn’t really remember what happened next. All of a sudden he was on his knees beside her, taking the lifeless bundle from
her arms.

‘Shit, shit … Jesus Christ. Shit. Diana … don’t scream. I’m going to breathe into him … hold him.’

She watched him, every nerve ending in her body tight and alive with fear, opening his own mouth very wide before laying his
face over Josh’s still one. She couldn’t speak; she couldn’t think. Head up, breathe in; head down, breathe out. Head up,
breathe in; head down, breathe out. He repeated it over and over again. Time seemed to slow down and
speed up simultaneously – she pressed her arms against her face and bent her head to the ground. She was no longer aware of
anything other than the nauseous fear coursing through her veins and the desperation on Rufus’s face. She had never, ever
seen Rufus afraid. She’d smothered Josh. She’d smothered her own child. And then the screaming inside her head began and nothing
could shut her up.

‘Drink this.’ Rufus handed her something. A glass, filled with a pale gold liquid. ‘All of it.’ His voice was terse.

She took the glass but couldn’t hold it properly. Her hands were shaking so badly she nearly dropped it. He held it to her
lips and forced the liquid down her throat. There was a wrenching upheaval inside her at the taste of the brandy, but he was
insistent. ‘R-Rufus …’ she stammered, her whole body revolting against it. ‘I c-c-can’t …’

‘Yes, you can. Finish it.’ He tipped the glass against her lips once more. She gagged, but managed to swallow it.

‘Wh-what are we going to do?’ she whispered, watching him pour her a second glass. ‘Wh-wh-what am I going to tell H-Harvey?’
Her chest was heaving small, hard breaths that became sobs. ‘Wh-what am I going to say?’

‘Nothing. Not yet. Give me some time to think. Don’t do anything. Don’t call anyone, d’you hear me?’

‘I … I ha-have to c-c-call Harvey,’ Diana ground out, her teeth chattering.

‘Don’t. I’ll be back in half an hour.’

‘D-d-don’t leave me, Rufus,’ Diana implored. ‘P-p-please don’t leave me.’

‘Diana … look at me.’ Rufus put a hand under her chin and lifted her face to meet his. His eyes were cold. ‘Don’t do anything.
Nothing, d’you hear me? This was an accident … it wasn’t your fault. It was an accident.’ He forced her chin upwards again.
‘But it could get nasty, Diana. D’you understand? If the police get involved. So I want you to finish that glass and lie down.
I’ll be back in half an hour.’

‘Wh-where is … h-he? Wh-where is J-Josh?’

‘Don’t worry about that now. Just finish that drink.’ He got to his feet. ‘I’ll be back as soon as I can.’ And then he was
gone.

Mougins, June 2000

‘Were you having a bad dream, darling?’ Harvey’s voice was a thread pulling her out of sleep.

She struggled awake to some awful interruption. ‘Wh-what time is it?’ she whispered thickly.

He pushed back the covers and pulled out his arm to look at his watch. ‘Just gone nine. I thought I heard Darcy a few minutes
ago. You were whimpering in your sleep. You haven’t done that in years. Was it a bad dream?’

Diana couldn’t speak for a few moments. Yes, it was. More terrible than anything her imagination could have produced. But
it was no dream. She had the sensation of terrible discovery, but Harvey’s hand on her arm was a warm, reassuring presence.
His breathing was the passing of time, a steady in and out, slowly bringing her back to herself. ‘Yes,’ she whispered, turning
her head away from him so that her voice was muffled by the pillow. ‘But I can’t remember it now.’

‘Poor love. It must’ve been all the wine. And the stress. The whole thing went beautifully, darling. Thank you.’ He leaned
across and planted a kiss on her forehead. ‘Now, what about a cup of coffee? Shall I bring you one? In one of those bowls
that you like?’

She nodded, not trusting herself to speak just yet. He kissed the top of her head and got out of bed. She watched him slip
on his dressing gown. He was in his fifties, and nothing about him had changed in forty years. His hair was grey now, of course,
and there were deep lines in his face made deeper by the reading he did every night, a frown of concentration between the
brows that would never disappear. But his waist measurement – like hers – hadn’t gone up by so much as an inch. She knew because
she measured the elastic in his favourite pyjamas every year. He opened the door and closed it gently behind him. She was
alone again. She clenched and unclenched her fists under the covers. It was Rufus. It was his presence that had done it. She
hadn’t been
this upset in years. She shook her head, trying to clear it. Their holiday still had a few more days to run … she couldn’t
risk another night like the last. Thank God he was leaving. It was the first time she’d been back in Mougins with him since
it happened. The first and last time. She couldn’t go through another night like last night. She simply didn’t have the strength.

It was cool and quiet inside the hall of the Mairie. Niela walked over to the clerk’s desk, her footsteps echoing loudly across
the tiles. The clerk looked up as she approached. ‘
Oui?
’ she asked pleasantly enough. ‘
Vous cherchez?
’ It took Niela a few minutes to explain her request. ‘Ah, you’ll need public records. When did you say it happened?’

‘The summer of 1969, I think,’ Niela said. ‘In July, possibly August.’

‘Those records would be kept in the archives. They’ll be on microfiche, I should imagine. There’s a small charge for using
the facilities here, but if you’re looking for the newspaper reports, which are usually more detailed, you’ll have to go into
Cannes, I’m afraid. We don’t keep those cuttings here. If it was a very big case, it would probably have been covered by the
nationals.’

Niela hesitated. ‘I don’t actually know if it was a case or not. I
think
someone was arrested … the gardener. Apparently he worked for a few of the English families who lived here at the time.’

The woman frowned. ‘Oh, you’re talking about the Ben Ahmed case. Mohammed Ben Ahmed. I was a teenager when it happened. Yes,
there
was
a case. The records will be in the archives. Who did you say you were?’

‘I … I’m a journalist,’ Niela lied. ‘I’m doing an article on honour killings and someone mentioned the case. I thought I’d
just come up and see what I could find.’

‘Oh. Well, it’s such a long time ago. I don’t really remember the details, except that it never came to court. He vanished,
just like his daughter and the child. Anyhow, the archives are down those stairs over there.’ She pointed to the archway at
the end of the corridor. ‘It’s a six-euro fee for three hours … no, you can pay the woman downstairs. She’ll give you a receipt.
Good luck. I hope you find what you’re looking for.’

Ten minutes later, she was seated behind a microfiche screen with a little box of transparent slides, all neatly identified
and stacked in chronological order. The friendly clerk showed her how to operate the machine, gave her a receipt and left
her to it.

Niela carefully slid the first plastic sheet on to the metal plate. Her heart was racing. She looked at the monitor and began
to read. She sat there, hardly moving except to slide on one film after another, for the better part of three hours. When
she was finished, she picked up her bag, walked back up the stairs and out into the sunlight, her vision blinded by tears.

She had gone almost halfway down the hill when she noticed a familiar figure coming towards her. It was Josh. He stopped as
they drew level. She was still crying but there was nothing she could do. It was too late; he’d seen her.

‘What’s the matter?’ he asked, looking at her face with a frown of concern. ‘What happened?’

‘N … nothing,’ Niela stammered.

‘You’re crying. What’s wrong?’

Niela looked away from him. She wasn’t sure how to even begin. The silence between them deepened. She was conscious of his
eyes searching her face. ‘I … I was in the Mairie,’ she said finally. ‘In the archives.’

She could feel Josh stiffen. ‘What d’you mean? What were you doing there?’

Niela hesitated. ‘I … I just felt I had to.’