The Secret by the Lake (17 page)

‘I know where it will end,’ I told him.

And after that we were all hands and legs and mouths and skin, we were hot and excited and urgent and we fitted together. And afterwards as we lay wrapped in each other’s arms, breathless and shy and full of an incredulous happiness, hardly believing that such an amazing, unlikely bliss was possible, I said to Daniel: ‘This is the best part,’ and he replied: ‘All of it is the best part.’

We did not talk any more; our bodies wanted to come together again and it was less rushed this time, more deliberate, more tender. Afterwards Daniel kissed my face and stroked my cheek with the back of his fingers. ‘I don’t believe this,’ he said. ‘I don’t believe
you
. You are absolutely perfect.’

‘That’s what I think of you too,’ I told him.

We could not stop ourselves from smiling.

‘I’m afraid your gloriousness made me completely forget my manners,’ Daniel murmured into my hair. ‘Would you like something to drink, my darling?’

‘Yes, please.’

‘Then stay right where you are. Please. Don’t move. Don’t go anywhere.’

He stumbled out of the bed. I watched through the open doorway as he went into a small kitchen. I smiled as I watched his naked back amble across the room and then the curve of his shoulders as he crouched to open the refrigerator door. Outside, the church bells were ringing, calling the villagers to mass, and although Reservoir Cottage was not far away, it was far enough for me to feel as if I had left my life and my troubles behind, in a different world, and I didn’t want to go back to it. I wanted to stay where I was.

DANIEL TOOK A
bottle from the fridge, prised the lid free on the corner of the kitchen window ledge and caught the froth that spilled out in his mouth. He came back to the bed and passed the bottle to me.

‘It’s cider,’ he said. ‘We make it ourselves. There’s a press in the old stables at Fairlawn.’

I took a swig. ‘It’s very good. Do you sell it?’

‘We give a barrel to the pub once in a while. Mostly my father drinks it. That and the apple brandy.’

I took another drink then passed the bottle back to Daniel and rested my head on his shoulder. ‘Do you have any pictures of you growing up in Fairlawn?’

‘Why?’

‘Because I want to know all about you.’

‘I’ll tell you anything you want to know.’

‘I need pictures. I bet you were a really cute little boy.’

‘I wasn’t.’

‘Show me.’

Daniel sighed in the exaggerated manner of one who is pretending to do something under duress, leaned under the bed and came back up with a photograph album. We sat together, propped up by pillows, passing the bottle between us and looking at the pictures. At the front of the album were old images of various members of the Aldridge family, the men in moustaches, the women in pale linen, and of the house under construction, before the reservoir was flooded. At that time, the land behind Fairlawn was nothing more than a shallow valley – marshland that must have been a haven for wildlife.

‘When I see a reservoir, I always imagine a drowned village beneath it,’ I told him. ‘I think of a ghostly church bell clanging beneath the water, presaging doom, and abandoned possessions floating through the rooms of submerged cottages.’

‘Nothing so romantic,’ Daniel said. ‘Most of the reservoir is not even very deep; only the area by the dam drops below forty feet. If there were a church anywhere in the lake, you’d see its spire and most likely its roof.’

‘Which I suppose would be a hazard for the fishing boats.’

‘Indeed.’

‘Who’s this, the lady in the hat?’

‘My mother.’

I looked back in time, into the face of a slender woman in brogues and a tweed skirt-suit, wearing a trilby at a jaunty angle. There was a ribbon around the crown of the hat, and a couple of feathers tucked into the ribbon. The woman’s eyes were in shadow, but her lips were dark against her skin, and her hair was so pale it seemed white in the photograph. She was holding a cigarette, in a holder, between her fingers. She looked poised and confident, a strong woman.

‘She’s very striking. Was the picture taken at Fairlawn?’

‘No, I don’t know where that was. It looks like some shooting party or other. And that’s her with my father on their wedding day at the church.’

‘Oh, it’s so glamorous! All those flowers and that’s such an exquisite dress. I wouldn’t have recognized your father. He looks so young and handsome. The moustache suits him so!’

‘He was fifteen years younger than my mother and quite the charmer in those days, by all accounts.’

‘He looks very like you.’

‘Everyone says the likeness is strong. This one here, that’s the only picture I have of the three of us together. It was taken the day after I was born.’

‘You were born at Fairlawn?’

‘I suppose I must have been. We’re all in the garden, under the chestnut tree.’

‘Your mother looks so well and so happy.’

‘She’d waited a long time for me.’

‘But you were worth waiting for.’

‘Of course.’

Daniel kissed my shoulder then he reached over and turned the page.

‘That’s my favourite picture of my mother.’

‘By the reservoir?’

‘Yes, she’s standing on the dam, between the pumping station and the spillway. She used to sit on the grass bank and look out over the water. It’s the best place for birdwatching because you can see the whole lake. I go there often myself. There’s never anyone else there.’

‘Why ever not?’

‘Because it’s the only part of the reservoir that’s dangerous. Everywhere else the ground slopes away shallowly beneath the water. There, it’s like a cliff.’

‘Is that where she drowned?’ I asked gently.

Daniel nodded. Then he took the photograph album and closed it. He leaned down and put the album back under the bed. I wondered if I had asked too many questions but he sat again, kissed me and wound my hair around his wrist.

‘I hate to do this,’ he said, ‘but I’ll have to be back at Fairlawn in time to walk with Father up to midnight mass or else he’ll come looking for me. He likes us to attend these village events together, to put on a united front. You could stay here, if you like. You could wait for me.’

I shook my head. ‘I have to get back to the cottage. I need to be there when Viviane wakes in the morning.’

‘It would be nice if you were here when I wake in the morning.’

‘Another time, maybe.’

We got out of the bed and dressed quickly and quietly; the mood had changed. Now I felt awkward and a little embarrassed being naked in front of Daniel, pulling on my underwear, reaching behind my back to fasten my bra, conscious of the way the suspender belt pinched into the flesh of my stomach. I hoped I had not been too forward. I hoped he would not regret what we had done.

I went into the small bathroom, dropped the two used johnnies into the little bin, washed my hands and face and borrowed Daniel’s comb to tidy my hair. The make-up I’d put on earlier was smudged; I looked tired and vulnerable and I felt, suddenly, lonely and hopeless. I did not want to walk up that hill alone, back to that miserable cottage, back to that narrow little bed and the empty bedroom next door to mine, to all that unhappiness. I did not want to have to be strong for Julia and Vivi, to struggle to do my best to turn what meagre food we had into something that approximated to a Christmas dinner, to spend the next day jollying the pair of them along. I did not want to think of Caroline dying in the room next door to mine.

I put the comb down and leaned on the basin and gazed at my bedraggled reflection.

Stop this
, I told myself.
Self-pity is neither attractive nor useful.

My eyes filled with tears.

I sat down on the edge of the bath and pressed my hands into my eyes.

‘Amy?’ Daniel called, after several minutes had passed. ‘Are you OK?’

‘Yes,’ I replied. ‘I’m coming.’

I didn’t look him in the eye as he helped me into my coat and I slipped on my shoes. He opened the door for me and led me outside, and now the air was stinging cold and a fog was spreading out from the lake, creeping around the lodge, insinuating white strands of dampness through the skeleton branches of the trees, hiding the ground. I rubbed my hands together to keep them warm while Daniel sat on the step and tied the laces on his boots. I was watching him and he was looking down at his feet and neither of us noticed Mr Aldridge coming through the fog, not until he was upon us. He was a big man, tall and broad, yet he had crept up quietly, soft-footed – or maybe I was just too lost in my thoughts to hear him. I started when I saw him, and then I composed myself. I would not be intimidated by the man.

‘Hello, Mr Aldridge,’ I said, to alert Daniel to his father’s presence.

Mr Aldridge came up close to me, too close, so I could smell the heat of him and he said: ‘What’s going on here? Having your own little party, are you, Daniel?’ He swayed on his feet and his words were slurred as if his tongue was too big for his mouth.

‘I asked Daniel to show me where he lived,’ I said.

‘You asked him to show you where he lived, did you? And what else did he show you, eh?’

‘Father, please.’

Mr Aldridge leaned towards me. His breath reeked of cigars and faintly of something rotten. I did not give any ground. I tried to see beyond the fleshy face, the watery eyes, I tried to see back to the good-looking, proud man I had viewed in the photograph. I reminded myself that it was grief that had turned Mr Aldridge into the pathetic bully he was now and I couldn’t hate him, I couldn’t, not when I could see Daniel so clearly in his features, not when he had the same eyes as his son, the same jawline, the same cowlick on his forehead.

I didn’t hate him, but I didn’t like him, not at all. Not when he was so rude, so aggressive, not when he hit and hurt his son.

The feeling was mutual. He didn’t like me one bit either. He jabbed his finger towards me. ‘I’m warning you to stay away from my son,’ he snarled. ‘I don’t want gold-diggers like you sniffing around him.’

‘Don’t talk to Amy like that,’ Daniel said.

‘I’ll talk to her any way I want. I know that you and your employer don’t have two pennies to rub together,’ he said to me. ‘I’ve heard how you’re always setting up tabs, asking for credit. I know the child’s education is being given gratis, out of pity.’ He turned to his son. ‘Why do you think this girl’s interested in you, Danny, eh? What do you think it is? Do you really think it’s your good looks that attract her? Your charisma? Your personality?’

‘I won’t have you talking like that,’ Daniel replied calmly.

‘It’s all right, Daniel,’ I said. ‘It doesn’t bother me. I’m going now anyway.’

‘Wait,’ he said. ‘I’ll walk you back.’

‘What about mass?’ Mr Aldridge slurred. ‘It’s almost time for mass!’

‘I’ll meet you at the church,’ Daniel said. He took hold of my arm and we walked briskly back to the footpath, heading uphill, Robert Aldridge’s curses ringing in our ears. ‘I’m sorry,’ Daniel said. ‘Father’s had too much to drink and it makes him emotional. He doesn’t mean any of it. Please slow down.’

‘I don’t know why you make excuses for him.’

‘He’s not all bad. You’ve only seen the worst of him.’

‘Is there a good side to him?’

The walk uphill was steep, and even after we climbed above the fog, the air was cold in our lungs and talking was difficult. When we turned into the lane towards Reservoir Cottage, the church bells stopped ringing and the silence was overwhelming. Daniel took me in his arms. I held back for a moment and then pressed myself against him. I did not want to be separated from him.

‘You’d better go,’ I said, because the prospect of goodbye distressed me so badly that I had to have it over and done with. ‘Go to mass. Let me get back to Julia.’

Daniel tried to kiss me but I turned away. I couldn’t bear this.

‘Happy Christmas, darling Amy,’ Daniel said.

‘Please go. You’re going to be late.’

I did not watch him walk away. I never wanted to watch him leave me again.

THE PREVIOUS CHRISTMAS,
I had spent with the Laurent family in Paris. Viviane had woken early and brought her stocking into my bedroom. She had climbed into the bed beside me as she had done every year since she could climb out of the cot herself, switched on the lamp and, slowly and methodically, had taken everything out of the stocking and laid it on the coverlet. There was always a coin and an orange, always a handful of sweets, and a bauble in a box, one for every year that Viviane had been born, bought from the special shop on the Champs Elysées. Viviane always saved the bauble to open last. First she opened the little presents. That year there had been a woollen hat (hand-knitted by me), a diamanté hair clip in the shape of a butterfly, a snowglobe with two children building a snowman inside, a box of coloured pencils and a French storybook, a small jigsaw and a miniature pram for her doll’s house, together with a tiny baby doll.

We had stayed in bed together until dawn, when I washed and dressed and padded through the beautiful apartment to the tiny kitchen, where I made coffee and eggs benedict and laid out a tray for Julia and Alain’s breakfast. I took the tray into the couple’s bedroom, left it on the table by the window as directed, wished them both
Joyeux Noel
and returned to the kitchen to start preparing the vegetables for the Christmas lunch.

Friends had come over for the lunch and it had been a lavish meal that lasted from noon until dusk, but in the late afternoon I took Viviane out, just the two of us, and we went ice-skating in the Tuileries, holding hands, falling over, laughing as we skated amongst the others on the lake that afternoon in a Paris silver with cold, the pavements glowing in the pools of gold made by the streetlights. I loved that city. I had felt the blade of my skates cutting into the ice, I heard the scoring as I moved forward, the air icy against my face, and I turned to look at Viviane – and she was laughing, her cheeks rosy, her nose red and her eyes bright. The raspberry-coloured hat I’d knitted for her was pulled down low over her ears.