One Secret Summer (59 page)

‘Had to what?’ His voice had suddenly turned sharp.

‘I … I was looking for something … for some old records.’

‘Why?’

She could feel the tension emanating from him like heat. She looked away again. ‘It was just something someone said,’ she
began hesitantly.

‘Who?’

‘Josh … do you remember someone called Leonora? Leonora Simmonds?’

Josh’s eyes narrowed immediately. ‘Niela, what have you been doing? What were you looking for?’ His voice was cold.

Niela shivered, despite the midday heat. ‘She said something about a gardener … Mohammed Ben Ahmed?’

‘What about him?’

Niela hunched her shoulders. ‘Did you know about him?’ she asked finally. ‘About what happened to his daughter?’ She could
feel the hostility emanating from him like a fever. It was time to stop, but something drove her on. ‘What do
you
think?’ she asked, spreading her hands outwards in front of her. ‘D’you really think he did it? Killed his own daughter and
his grandson?’

The expression on Josh’s face was one of such pain and anger that she instinctively took a step backwards. ‘Leave it alone,
Niela,’ he said in a low, tight voice. ‘Don’t go any further with this.’

‘Wh … what d’you mean?’

‘This is none of your business,’ Josh said angrily. ‘Just leave it alone.’

‘But—’

‘Listen to me.’ Josh grabbed hold of her arm, his fingers digging painfully into her skin. ‘I’m warning you, Niela. Stay out
of this. Stay the hell out of things that don’t concern you.’

‘But this
does
concern me,’ Niela burst out, shocked at his reaction. ‘Of course it concerns me. I’m your wife!’

‘I’m warning you, Niela. Drop it, d’you hear me?’ he snarled, his fingers still tightly embedded in her arm.

She tried to shake it loose. ‘You’re hurting me,’ she protested. ‘Let go.’

‘Not until you promise me you’ll drop whatever the hell it is you’re doing. This is
my
life, Niela. Not yours.’

‘I know it’s your life! I’m just trying to help—’

‘I don’t
need
your fucking help! Did I ask you for help?’ His voice was tight with anger. ‘Just stay the hell out of my life!’ He let go
of her arm abruptly. She stumbled backwards, catching her heel on a stone and almost falling to the ground. She put out a
hand to stop herself; by the time she’d regained her balance and straightened up, Josh was already gone. She started to shout
something after him, but the rigid set of his back and shoulders told her what she already knew – he was past hearing or caring.
Her fingers went automatically to where his own had dug into her arm, rubbing the tender skin. She looked around her to see
if anyone had seen what had just passed between them. There was no one. The country lane that led to the main road was empty.
A bird flew overhead, uttering a cry – the only witness to the scene. She pulled her hair into a knot with shaking fingers.
Thank God no one else had seen them. What on earth had she just touched upon?

Josh strode up the hill towards the village, his breath coming in fast, angry spurts. He was trembling; he couldn’t stop himself.
He hadn’t intended to shout at Niela, but the sense of betrayal that swept through him as soon as she opened her mouth about
where she’d been all morning had blotted everything else out. She’d gone snooping into the past – why? What would she do with
the information she found? The resentment and fear in his throat rose up as if it would choke him. He had to get away.

He pushed open the doors to the brasserie that stood at one end of the
place
, opposite the Mairie. He walked straight to the bar and ordered a cognac. He took the glass and tipped the entire contents
down his throat. If the
proprietaire
thought there was anything unusual about it, he said nothing, simply poured him a second measure. It was one thing Josh liked
about the French –
discreet to a fault. If he’d been in London, there’d have been some sort of conversation to strike up and follow, remarks
to be made and answered, questions asked … Here, no one seemed to feel the need to pretend. If a man wanted to drink himself
to oblivion, so be it. It was his choice, his business. He picked up the glass, muttered his thanks and proceeded to drink
a little more slowly this time. He fished a packet of cigarettes out of his pocket and lit one. Another thing he liked about
France. He could smoke wherever he pleased. He took his drink and his cigarette and found himself an empty booth towards the
rear of the room. He needed to be alone, and to think.

L’Aubrevoir de Mougins
. Julia looked up at the sign, hesitant to go in. Should she … ? Dare she … ? She’d been coming up the hill towards the village,
a few hundred yards behind Josh, when she saw him stop, saw Niela coming down the lane towards him. She too stopped; she overheard
the beginning of the conversation, which made it difficult for her to continue up the path. She’d looked around for somewhere
to hide and had moved behind one of the oak trees that lined the path. After a few minutes, she’d seen him storm off up the
hill. Niela walked past her without even noticing, tears running down her face. She’d waited a good ten minutes before continuing
up the hill, not even sure what she was doing.

She put out a hand; the door opened suddenly. ‘
Merde, pardon, excusez-moi …
’ A man almost fell on top of her as he came out. ‘
Excusez-moi,
’ he apologised again, straightening up. He hurried off across the square. She looked around her. The bar was dim and smoky;
there was a handful of men standing by the counter, but no Josh. She scanned the bar – she saw him, sitting alone towards
the rear of the room. She swallowed nervously. What the hell was she
doing
? She walked over, ignoring the voice in her head.

‘Hi.’ She stood in front of him. He looked up. Neither spoke for a moment. ‘I … I saw you come in,’ she said finally. ‘I just
wondered …’

‘What?’ His voice was calm.

She couldn’t stop herself. ‘Just wondered if you wanted a bit of company,’ she said, sliding uninvited into the seat opposite
him.

He shrugged. ‘Suit yourself. I’m not really in the mood to chat.’

‘Well, I don’t recall you ever being chatty,’ she said, surprising even herself. Where on earth had this breezy manner suddenly
come from? ‘I’ve spent an evening in a bar with you before, remember?’

‘Yeah. So you have.’

‘So what’re you drinking?’

‘Cognac. It’s my third.’

‘I’ll join you. Want another one?’

‘Sure. Why the hell not?’

The cognac was strong and fiery. It burned a pleasurable trail down her throat, settling and spreading its warmth throughout
her belly. She hadn’t eaten; it was almost noon and the events of the morning were beginning to feel like a dream. They sat
facing one another. Julia was trying unsuccessfully not to stare at him; at the dark brown skin of his forearm, toughened
and touched by the sun. He wore a silver bracelet – a simple, plain band – and no wedding ring, she noticed. Come to think
of it, neither did Niela. She shifted uncomfortably in her seat. Once again the image of Niela’s bare back rising and falling
slid into her head and she couldn’t shake it. She’d seen him, too … just glimpses … slivers of images she’d rather not remember.
She took another sip of her drink, wondering if and when he would deign to speak. There was some emotion burning inside him
but she didn’t dare ask herself what it might be. They went on sipping their drinks quietly, not speaking. It came to her
slowly that that in itself was communication of a kind, just not the kind she wanted.

What the hell was she doing there? Josh sat opposite Julia, watching her through half-lowered lids. The anger that had
blown up so bewilderingly inside him earlier was slowly trickling through his veins, mingling with the fiery cognac. He’d
never been much of a talker; he preferred the safety of his own thoughts. Niela had changed all that – her own silences were
stronger and more profound than his, and as a result, he’d felt himself drawn to express what he’d always kept hidden, almost
against his will. That, he thought to himself, taking another fiery sip, was what angered him the most. He’d trusted her with
something he barely trusted in himself. His anger rose and fell, like his breathing, until he couldn’t stand it any more.

‘Come,’ he said abruptly. He got up, only dimly aware of what he was doing. Julia looked up at him. He’d never thought of
her as beautiful – far too cold and aloof for that – but facing her now, watching the expression of wary confidence on her
face, he could feel his opinion change, some old form of behaviour surfacing in him, leading him on. ‘Come,’ he repeated,
draining his glass and setting it down carefully on the table. She got up without saying a word and followed suit.

He walked out into the bright sunlight, his eyes rapidly adjusting to the change. He said nothing to her, just started down
the hill away from the
place
. At the bottom, he turned left instead of right, plunging into a lane overgrown with bushes and thick weeds; she simply followed.
It was the back route to the farmhouse; the track petered out after a few minutes before opening on to the back wall of the
property. He pushed his way through the overgrowth until he found the small latch. It was stiff and rusty but it eventually
gave way. He pushed open the wooden door and stepped through. He turned to her, holding out his hand. He felt the cool pressure
of her fingers in his palm. The door to the pool house was unlocked, as always. Still holding hands, they stepped into the
cool, damp-smelling space full of old tools and pieces of abandoned furniture. There was an old sofa pushed up against one
corner of the room. He experienced a strange sense of falling backwards in time and space as he sat down on it, pulling the
woman he’d brought with him into his
embrace. He’d lost count of the number of times he’d come here as a teenager, sometimes with a girl, sometimes not. Sometimes
he’d come just to escape the house with all its under-currents and the knowledge of what had gone on, what continued to go
on. It infuriated him; why had
he
been chosen to bear witness to what Diana had done? Why couldn’t it have been Rafe or Aaron? They wouldn’t have been tormented
by it the way he was. They had each other; he had no one.

His hands went around her waist in the all-too-familiar game. His mind was elsewhere as he slid them under her shirt, his
fingers sliding over her skin, stopping here and there, touching, teasing. She responded eagerly and quickly. Within seconds,
or so it seemed to him, she was lying underneath him. He’d grown used to the dense cloud of Niela’s hair; Julia’s was very
different. Like Rania, it fell about her shoulders in soft, slippery strands. He gathered it in his hands but he couldn’t
hold it, not the way he could bury his whole being in Niela’s. He tried to hold on to her, gripping her hips and legs, gathering
her to him, but there was a fury in him that wouldn’t cease. He was dimly aware he might be hurting her, but he didn’t care;
there was a part of him that simply wasn’t there. He pushed himself roughly into her, not knowing whether she was ready or
not. She must want it – why else would she have followed him? The cognac and the anger and the hurt swirled round and round
in his head, each chasing the other, until all he could think about was Niela’s face when he’d shouted at her that morning
and then, just before his body raced away from him and he lost it altogether, Diana’s face and his uncle’s, contorted together
in violent, angry lust … and then all of a sudden, much sooner than he would have liked, there was a tremendous surge in him
and he couldn’t think about anything at all.

Julia’s heart was racing. Her legs were trembling underneath her. Josh’s head was turned away from hers; his eyes were closed
and she could feel his whole body slacken, withdrawing from her. She couldn’t believe what had just happened. What had she
done? She tried to sit up, but Josh was still pinning her down. Her mouth was dry and her tongue felt like lead.

‘S-sorry,’ she mumbled, struggling to get out from underneath him. He shifted slightly and she was able to withdraw first
one leg, then the other. Her skirt was rucked up around her waist and her shirt was undone. Shame flooded her senses, spreading
across her face and neck like a stain. She staggered backwards clumsily, but Josh’s eyes were closed. She pulled down her
skirt, looked around for her underwear but couldn’t see anything in the dim half-light. She slipped her feet back into her
shoes and tried to smooth down her hair. She needn’t have bothered, at least not on Josh’s account. His eyes remained firmly
closed. She opened her mouth to say something, but nothing came out. Her last glimpse of him was of his semi-clothed body
lying on the old sofa as if he would never wake. She opened the door and slipped out, distress rising and falling in her chest,
like breath. What in God’s name had she just done?

JULIA

London, August 2000

It was very quiet in the bathroom. Halfway down the corridor, Julia could hear Aaron moving around the kitchen, looking for
things. He’d offered to cook dinner. It was the third time that week that she’d not been feeling well and his concern was
touching. ‘I’ll do it,’ he’d said when he came home that evening from work to find her lying, pale and wan, on the couch.
‘What d’you feel like eating?’

She’d looked up at him, unable to think clearly. Food was the last thing on her mind. ‘Anything, I’m not fussy. I’m not actually
very hungry.’

‘Right. Well, I’ll think of something. Just stay where you are.’ He’d disappeared into the kitchen. She got up slowly, her
heart in her mouth, and went along the corridor to the bathroom. She couldn’t put it off any longer.

She opened the packet she’d been carrying around all day with trembling hands and took out the instructions. 99.87% accurate,
or so the manufacturers claimed. She peeled back the rest of the wrapping and dropped it in the waste-paper basket. She sat
down on the toilet and looked up at the corner of the ceiling. There was a faint spider’s web tucked away where the housekeeper’s
brush had failed to reach. A few seconds later she withdrew the white plastic stick, but she couldn’t quite bring herself
to look at it. A minute ticked by, then another.
Come on, Julia
, she whispered to herself. She swallowed hard and forced herself to look down. Two thin blue lines stared back up at her.
Fuzzy at the edges, but unmistakably blue. Positive. Just as it said on the packet. She stared at it, aware of a slow burning
sensation
in the pit of her stomach and of the sudden build-up of tears behind her eyes. Suddenly a car horn punctured the air. Seconds
later a woman’s sharp staccato laugh floated upwards. She turned her head to the window. Outside, on a late summer’s evening,
people were going about their business, blissfully unaware of the drama unfolding several storeys above them. She wrapped
the test stick in toilet paper and stowed it carefully in her bag. She stood up and washed her hands, her mind racing. She
had to talk to someone …
any
one. She couldn’t keep the secret to herself any longer.