The Olive Tree (29 page)

Helena saw that Jules was sparkling like a young girl. The years seemed to have dropped from her face overnight. Alexis had obviously given her some of the attention she craved.

‘Right.’ Jules stood up. ‘You look shattered, Helena. I’m going to take all the kids down to the pool and give you some peace. Okay?’

‘Okay.’

In an uncharacteristic display of affection, Jules threw her arms around Helena’s shoulders. ‘And thank you for everything.’

Helena retreated to her hammock as Jules swept the children off to the pool. She needed time to think before William arrived back.

She was just dozing off when she heard footsteps on the dry leaves that covered the ground.

‘Hello, lovely.’

She felt a gentle kiss on her forehead, opened her eyes and saw Sacha.

‘What are you doing here?’ Helena shot upright. ‘William’s been worried sick about you.’

‘I just needed some time away, you know. To think. Where’s Jules and the kids?’

‘Down by the pool.’

‘Oh.’ Sacha nodded. ‘I came to say goodbye to them. I’m flying home today.’

‘Right.’

‘I have a lot of stuff to sort out in England, as you can imagine. In my head, and practically.’

‘I’m sure. Viola’s devastated.’

‘Yes, and she has every right to be. Look, I just want to say, while I’ve got the chance, that I’m sorry for . . . everything.’

‘Thanks.’ Helena climbed out of the hammock. ‘You should go and see your wife. Wait here for five minutes so I can get the kids out of the pool and into the house before they
see you. You need to talk to Jules alone.’

‘I know.’ He put his hand on her arm. ‘But just let me take a moment to say that I know my life has gone horribly wrong. I’ve been so selfish. I’ve hurt and abused
a lot of people, including you and Will. And there’s no one else to blame but myself. I can’t change the past, but maybe now I want to try and make amends.’

‘For your children, if nothing else.’ Helena faced him, arms folded.

‘Yes. I . . . Helena, before I go, there’s one thing I want to ask you. I . . . Helena, please!’

But she was already walking away.

Less than half an hour later, Jules walked back to the house and found Helena in the kitchen, feeding Viola and the little ones the home-made lemonade and cakes that Angelina
had made earlier.

‘Okay?’ Helena asked tentatively.

‘Yes. Viola? Daddy’s down by the pool,’ said Jules. ‘Would you like to go and see him?’

Her face lit up. ‘Ooh, yes! Can I leave the table, Auntie Helena?’

‘Of course.’

‘Can we?’ chorused Immy and Fred.

‘No,’ replied Helena, as Viola ran from the kitchen.

‘Glad that’s over and done with, anyway,’ said Jules brusquely when Viola had left. ‘I told him I wanted a divorce.’

‘Are you absolutely sure, Jules? Wouldn’t it be better just to let the dust settle a little?’

‘No, it wouldn’t. Mind if I have a glass of wine? It’s past six.’

‘Of course not.’

‘Anyway, he said he’d agree to whatever I wanted. At least he seemed sober, which makes a change.’ Jules giggled as she poured some wine into a glass. ‘Unlike his
almost-ex-wife.’

‘He told me he was going back to England,’ said Helena.

‘He is, and I’ve told him I’m staying here with the kids for the rest of the summer. He can organise the house and fight with the bailiffs over what we’re allowed to
keep. The horses should be worth something, and at least they’re in my name. I’ve told him to sell them and get the best price he can.’

‘Good idea.’ Helena felt a sudden admiration for Jules.

‘Rupes is refusing to see his father. He’s furious with him, Helena. Oundle was his dream. I’m going to call the Bursar first thing tomorrow morning. See if there’s
anything he can do to help.’

‘It must be worth a shot.’

‘Yes. Anyway, the divorce won’t take long, as there’s virtually nothing left to split. The money my mother left me will at least tide me and the kids over for a while and put
some kind of roof over our heads. And I think a completely fresh start is in order. I need to think about what’s best, but my life is suddenly an open book. Viola’s going to be
devastated when Sacha tells her we’re divorcing, but, in the long run,’ Jules said with a slow nod, ‘it’s probably all for the best.’

23rd July 2006

I hope, when I arrive at
that
school, they don’t ask me to write the standard ‘What boring things I did on my holiday’ essay. As mine wouldn’t
be. Boring, that is. They’d think I’d made it up. That I was a fantasist. Which, to be fair, I’ve been accused of being in the past.

A quick update on who is in residence at Pandora and who is not:

Sacha arrived, then left.

Dad arrived, then left with Sacha for the airport. Then arrived again.

Jules left, then arrived.

Chloë arrived.

Michel arrived with her, then left.

Dad is about to leave again.

Mum is leaving with him.

Sadie hasn’t arrived, or left.

And nor have I.

Jules is babysitting all us kids so Mum and Dad can go out to dinner together. A belated tenth wedding anniversary celebration after the fiasco of the other night, which is a very
good sign. Considering Jules and Sacha are doing the Big D, she looks as happy as a sandboy tonight.

What is a sandboy, I wonder?

And at least Chloë’s at home tonight. He with the girly name brought her back an hour ago in time for supper.

He’s a good-looking sod, old ‘Michelle’, there’s no doubt about that. I had a good look at him today as he sat at our table on the terrace, Chloë all
coy and holding his hand underneath it. He’s tall, slim and dark-skinned, with his father’s blue eyes. He looks nothing like me, and I’d be truly surprised if it does turn out
we’re half-brothers.

Not that looks mean anything in the great genetic lottery. You often see achingly beautiful children walking along the road with a parent who resembles a character from the Addams
Family.

I was so nearly there earlier today.

I’d worked up the courage to actually say the words. I had my mother cornered, and I think she was about to tell me. Then that silly cow Jules walked in, and the moment was
gone.

Rest assured, Mother dearest, it will come again. I want to return home knowing exactly who I am.

An awful thought has crossed my mind recently:

What if my mother genuinely doesn’t know?

What if, horror of horrors, I was the result of some drunken one-night stand?

Or more accurately, a one-night lie-down?

The thought appals me, but one has to ask the question as to why half of my genes seem to be a more closely guarded secret than the denouement of the final Harry Potter book . .
.

It can’t be that bad, can it?

But as usual, I suppose I’m letting my imagination run away with me. It’s only recently I’ve seriously started to obsess. And today was the first time I’ve
almost managed to ask her directly. Maybe all I need to do is to sit down with her calmly, mother to son, and ask her outright.

Yes.

Apart from that, I am happy tonight. In fact, I am ecstatic. My mortal enemy is moving out tomorrow morning. No longer will I have to lock myself into the Broom Cupboard and wait
for the first stink of aftershave to waft through the keyhole and alert me to his marauding presence. The bunny has finally dried out, as have my sheets, and if anything, he looks better for a damn
good bath. I’d forgotten he was once white.

Jules was twittering about the charms of Mr Fix-it tonight, and there has to be a possibility that if she manages to close her mouth for longer than a couple of seconds, he might,
with a blindfold on, and a couple of bags over her head, fancy her.

Okay. Now I’m really fantasising.

At least Mum swore to me she wasn’t going to run off with him, and I have to believe her. I hope she’s telling Dad the same thing tonight.

And if this thing with ‘Michelle’ doesn’t turn out to be another Chloë fad, I will have to engineer ways to make it one. But for the moment, I am happy to let
it run its course.

So everything is calmer tonight, at least. The only fly in the ointment is poor Viola, who is wandering around the house like a sad little ghost. She seems to have attached herself
to me – not surprising, given that her mum keeps telling her to ‘buck up’, only a few hours after Sacha told her that her parents were getting a divorce.

Chloë’s been sweet with her too – took her into her bedroom and they had a girl-to-girl chat. After all, she’s a child of divorce too. Viola arrived outside
my door afterwards, though at first I thought it was Chloë, from the gorgeous smell of the strong perfume she wears, which seems to permeate the entire house. Chloë had given her a little
bottle of it, and a little bracelet to cheer her up.

Viola told me tonight that I make her feel better, which was nice. I’ve done my best with cuddles and stuff, and letting her cry; so much so that I worried my bed was going to
get soggy again, just after it had dried out.

I gave her another book to read from the library, which I’ve now organised into alphabetical author order. I chose
Nicholas Nickleby
– at least it might help
Viola realise that some people have an even more horrible life than she does. Although admittedly hers is pretty awful just now.

There but for the grace of God go I, and my family.

I can only pray that tonight’s dinner is a success.

ιη′

‘Night, darling, see you in the morning.’ Helena kissed Fred on the forehead and moved across to Immy’s bed.

‘Where are you going?’ Her daughter eyed her suspiciously. ‘You’ve got lipstick on.’

‘Out with Daddy.’

‘Can I come?’

‘No. It’s just Daddy and me. Chloë’s here, and Alex, and Jules.’

‘Don’t like Jules. She smells,’ said Fred.

‘Okay, you two, shush now.’ Helena walked to the door and switched the light off. ‘Sweet dreams.’ Collecting her handbag from the bedroom, she heard her mobile ringing
inside it.

She dug around and actually managed to catch the caller before he or she rang off.

‘Hello?’

‘Helena!
Mia cara!
How are you?!’

It was a voice from the past, but so recognisable she’d have known it anywhere.

‘Fabio!’ Helena’s face broke into an excited smile. ‘My goodness! How wonderful to hear from you!’

‘It is a surprise, yes?’

‘Just a little! It must be, I don’t know . . . over ten years?’

‘I think it is at least that.’

‘Where have you been?
How
have you been? And how on earth did you get my number?’

‘It is a long story,
cara
, which you know I will enjoy telling you.’

Helena heard William calling her from downstairs. ‘Fabio, I’d love to chat all night, but we’re about to go out for dinner. Can I take your number and call you back? Where are
you? Still in New York?’

‘No, I am back in Milan these days, but travelling on and off with the La Scala ballet company. And you are in England?’

‘Well, mostly, but I’m actually in Cyprus at the moment. My godfather died and left me his house, so I’m here with my family for the summer.’

‘But I am coming to Limassol in three weeks’ time! Remember how we danced together on a hot summer’s night in the wonderful amphitheatre? It must be fifteen years ago
now.’

‘How could I forget?’ Helena’s eyes glinted with emotion at the memory. ‘Actually, we’re not that far from Limassol and Fabio, I’d adore to see
you.’

‘And I you,
mia cara
. It has been too long.’

‘Yes, it has.’

‘Then I will see if I can arrive in Cyprus earlier than I had planned and impose myself upon your hospitality for a day or two,’ he announced.

‘Wonderful. Is this the best number to call you on?’

‘
Si
, it is my mobile number, you can reach me on it day or night. So, my Helena, we will speak tomorrow and arrange everything.
Ciao
.’

‘
Ciao
, Fabio.’

Helena sat for a moment, her mobile in the palm of her hands, remembering.

‘Who was that, Mum?’ Alex was standing at the door.

‘That, darling, was my old dancing partner, whom I haven’t spoken to for at least ten years. And I’m so very pleased to hear from him.’ She smiled and kissed Alex on the
top of his head. ‘Now, I must go. Dad’s waiting for me downstairs.’

As William drove the car up the hill, Helena sat next to him, his close proximity and the fact they were finally alone making her stomach flutter with nerves.

‘Okay, where to? I’d prefer not to go to Persephone’s Taverna, if you don’t mind,’ he said.

‘Well, there’s always Peyia, it’s a nice enough town a few miles away towards the coast. Not as pretty as Kathikas, but I do remember a little taverna just outside it. Angus
took me there once. It used to be famous for its amazing view.’

‘Sounds good to me. We can drive to Peyia and ask for directions.’

After a few wrong turns, they arrived in Peyia, which was bursting at the seams with residents and tourists. William pulled over and went to quiz a local shop owner about the restaurant Helena
had mentioned.

‘We’re in luck, the shopkeeper knew exactly the place you’re talking about, and even drew me a map,’ said William as he got back into the car, brandishing a scrap of
paper.

Eventually they arrived at the taverna and, at the top of a flight of steps, emerged onto a curved stone terrace, the candlelit tables sheltered by a vast wooden pergola abundantly covered in
old vines. The terrace was busy with diners, but they managed to get a table beside the low wall that edged the terrace, with a stunning sunset view towards the coast.

‘Well, this makes a change,’ he said, ordering a carafe of the local red wine. ‘Hello, Helena. My name’s William. Good to meet you again.’ He put his hand across
the table to her and she shook it politely.

‘You’re right. It does seem a long time since we did this.’

‘One way and another, this holiday hasn’t quite turned out the way we expected, has it?’