The Secrets Women Keep (7 page)

‘Look, why don’t you get out here? I’ll try the station and then meet you in the square in a couple of hours.’ He gave an impatient gesture at the man in the street,
indicating that he should wait a second, and was rewarded with a string of expressive but incomprehensible Italian expletives.

‘I’ll keep you company, Dad. I’ve seen the frescoes often enough to last a lifetime. We can have a wander and a coffee together.’ Anna climbed out with the others to take
Eve’s place in the front seat, ignoring Daniel’s insistence that he’d be all right on his own. She waved as they drove off, giving Rose and Eve a thumbs-up.

‘Trust her to find her moment.’ Rose began to cross the road, with Eve behind her.

‘Poor old Dan. Doesn’t know what’s about to hit him.’

‘Oh, I think he’ll have a fair idea.’ When she reached the pavement, Rose turned to wait. ‘After all, it’s not the first time it’s happened. This
way.’

Eve followed Rose along Via Francesco Crispi, turning into the Corso Italia and up the hill, past the shiny modern shops, diving into the shadow where she could, feeling the sun burning her skin
when she couldn’t. She hesitated in front of a couple of clothes shops – there was something about Italian style – then caught sight of herself, hot and bothered in Daniel’s
walking trousers. She’d zipped off the bottom half of the legs, turning them into the most unflattering of shorts. The belted waistband was hidden, but its bunched outline was obvious under
the slightly too tight sleeveless black T-shirt she’d plundered from Jess’s maternity wardrobe. She pulled it away from her midriff then let it spring back. In contrast, on the other
side of the glass, staring back through her reflection, were pin-thin mannequins dressed in winter grey wools and suedes, plum faux furs, high black boots. No, now was definitely not the moment for
shopping. Turning away, she saw smiling customers leaving a shop licking multicoloured ice creams that overflowed their cornets, or spooning mouthfuls from tubs. She peered into the shop’s
cool interior, where rows of gaudy ice creams called out for her to try them, but Rose was too far ahead to be stopped, pressing on through the shoppers, not wanting to be late.

Keeping her sister-in-law’s red sundress in sight, Eve followed her round a corner and up some steps to the rough stone facade of the Basilica San Francesco. By now her hair was sticking
to her forehead and the back of her neck, her back running with sweat. By contrast, Rose was looking almost as cool as when they’d started out.

‘A quick drink at that café?’ Eve suggested, picturing a glass of iced tea packed with ice and lemon, so cold that condensation ran down its sides.

‘They’re timed tickets, so we’d better not.’ Rose looked apologetic. ‘But as soon as we’re done we will. You do still want to see the frescoes?’

‘Of course. I just hadn’t imagined that it would be this hot this early.’ Eve fanned herself with the guidebook that she’d picked up on the way out of Casa Rosa.

‘That’s why we’re here now. We’ll be back home by the time it really heats up.’

Eve nodded, resigned to feeling like a wrung-out old dishrag for the day. ‘I just haven’t got used to it yet, that’s all.’

Inside the barn-like Capella Baci, there was at least immediate respite from the sun. The sound of music from somewhere outside broke the reverential hush. Knots of people whispered to one
another in front of the shadowy paintings along the walls. Incense scented the air. Eyeing the rows of chairs with longing, Eve was aware that a blister was forming on the sole of her foot. If
she’d only had her comfortable but oh-so-stylish sandals, which were still in her case. At the chancel, Rose presented their tickets to the attendant, who held back the red rope.

In the small area behind the altar, Eve gazed in awe at Piero della Francesca’s frescoes of the Legend of the True Cross. Rose had told her how magnificent they were, but she had not been
prepared for this. Rose spoke softly, explaining the cycle of paintings, but after ten minutes Eve’s concentration was wavering and she could no longer ignore her stinging foot and the crick
in her neck from looking upwards. The heat in the small space was overwhelming, thanks to the vast uplighter illuminating the walls. She opened her camera case with a loud Velcro rip that made
heads turn. A man wagged a disapproving finger at her. Rose shook her head. Eve shut the case again, even though other people were snapping away regardless. With her back against the altar wall,
she sank to a sitting position and pulled out her BlackBerry. Her attention having waned, this seemed as good a moment as any to check whether Amy had emailed her yet. She hadn’t.

‘Was I boring you?’ Rose whispered, crouching beside her. ‘I got a bit carried away.’

‘No. It’s not that. I thought I’d check whether Amy had been in touch.’

‘What’s the point in having an assistant if you can’t trust them to hold the fort without you?’ Rose stood, obviously upset by Eve’s lack of interest.

‘Don’t be like that.’ Eve shoved the BlackBerry back in her bag as she got to her feet. ‘I think they’re marvellous. Really, I do.’

‘I know I go on.’

‘I promise you I do.’ Eve winced as her blister stung. ‘I just had to sit down for a moment. Now, tell me about the last two. I want to know,’ she protested to
Rose’s look of scepticism.

Beside them a family of three English boys stood to attention as their father pointed out the artist’s use of perspective, just as Rose was explaining it to her. Eve tried to concentrate
on what she was being told but instead found herself imagining Terry and her bringing Charlie, Tom, Luke and Millie here. They’d have lasted two seconds before boredom morphed into mayhem.
But of course she’d have had to drag Terry in, in the first place. Renaissance art was not on his list of must-sees. For him, Italy was for hedonism only. He was happiest by the pool or in
the hammock, relaxing until the next meal or drink came along. And if she was honest, Eve was more than glad to follow suit most of the time.

‘Oh come on.’ Rose smiled. ‘I know when I’m beaten. Let’s go and get that coffee.’

Almost crying out loud with relief, Eve limped beside her towards the exit and into the small piazza outside, where they took a table in the shade at the café opposite.

‘Whatever you think, I love all this and having you as my guide.’ The truth. But just not in this temperature.

‘It’s fine. Really.’ Rose called the waiter over. ‘
Un te freddo e un caffe macchiato, per favore
. It was hot in there.’

After a while, she asked for the bill. ‘We’d better get going. I want to show you the one della Francesca in the cathedral before we meet the others.’

‘Don’t you ever let up!’ Eve groaned, her foot pleading for release.

‘If you’d rather not . . .’ Rose pulled her purse out of her bag and put it on the table.

‘I was only joking,’ Eve hastened to reassure her. ‘Where’s your sense of humour? This isn’t like you.’

‘Feeling a bit sensitive, I suppose. No reason.’ Rose twisted her wedding ring round and round her finger. ‘Sorry.’

‘Thinking of the others, what’s up with Dan?’ Eve couldn’t resist asking. If Rose wouldn’t talk about herself, then perhaps she would about her husband.

‘Nothing, as far as I know. Why?’ Rose counted out her euros. They chinked as they hit the saucer.

‘He’s normally so relaxed here, but this time . . . I don’t know.’ Eve watched Rose put away her purse. She could see from her friend’s closed expression that
she’d touched a nerve. Once she’d done that, she didn’t like to give up until she’d unearthed the problem. Rose didn’t always confide easily, preferring to mull over
her troubles, hoping they’d resolve themselves without having to involve anyone else. However, there had been the time when, over a couple of bottles of wine, Rose had finally told her about
Anna’s eating disorder and then her self-harming. Since then, she’d admitted that being able to talk about her worries had helped her get through that difficult period, when she and
Daniel were at odds over what to do. Afterwards, though, she’d retreated back into the shell of her marriage, where she and Daniel were most comfortable.

If there was anything disturbing the status quo, Eve wanted to be able to help fix it. Rose and Daniel’s relationship usually struck her as the perfect balance of independence from and
dependence upon each other. They never seemed to have had any doubts about their rightness for one another. They may have had the odd difference of opinion, but where was the harm in that? Having
the downs made you appreciate the ups so much more. And she should know. And despite Dan’s love of company, Eve suspected they had no real need for anyone else. Rose’s confidence in her
marriage and her unshakeable belief that it was for keeps were enviable. She had never voiced the kind of doubts about the partnership that nagged away at Eve about hers.

‘Evie. Stop fishing. There’s nothing to catch.’

Eve wasn’t convinced, but they were on their feet, arms linked as they walked up through the narrow streets to the top of the hill. Inside the main doors of the cathedral there was an air
of expectancy. People were milling about, dressed up to the nines.

‘A wedding,’ Rose said. ‘Let’s look quickly at La Magdalena and then we can come back.’

‘Look’ and ‘quickly’ – two words that Eve would never have put together when it came to Rose’s love of art. However, she followed her towards the altar.

By the time they’d seen the small fresco – ‘Hands like a prizefighter’ was Eve’s response, which earned her a quick glare then a resigned shrug – a crowd was
hovering around the brightly lit vaulted side chapel. The guests trooped down the red carpet to the sound of organ music, stopping and chattering, finding their seats. The clamour at the cathedral
door increased as the bystanders separated to reveal the groom, a slight young man drowned in a shiny blue suit (‘Bought for him to grow into,’ whispered Rose), his hair greased into
place and a look of terror in his eyes. Beside him walked a beaming older woman (‘His mother?’ wondered Eve), who nodded greetings at those she recognised. She led him down the red
carpet to the altar, where he stood waiting.

‘Just like a lamb to the slaughter,’ whispered Eve.

‘Here comes the lucky woman.’ Rose nodded in the direction of the bride, who stepped into the cathedral on the arm of her father. Unlike her groom, the buxom young woman was like a
well-plumped white satin cushion, a picture of glowing expectation.

‘Look at her shoes,’ muttered Eve as the bride swept past. The hem of the bridal gown was lifted enough to show off a pair of towering heels that raised the bride to a full five foot
two or thereabouts. The organ music paused as a medieval-uniformed herald trumpeted her approach. When the fanfare died away, the familiar notes of Handel’s Wedding March struck up. The groom
turned, a nervous smile lighting up his face.

‘Little do they know what lies ahead.’ Eve was already heading for the door.

‘Cynic! Where’s your spirit of romance?’ Rose tore herself reluctantly away from the ceremony.

‘Lost in a reality check years ago.’ So many of those early expectations that came with her marriage to Terry had tarnished with age or rubbed away altogether. ‘Don’t
tell me yours has survived unscathed. I won’t believe you!’

Outside, despite the shade offered by the narrow old streets, it was hotter than ever. They stuck close to the tall buildings until they entered the loggia at the top of the Piazza Grande.
Passing through one busy café after another, they finally spotted Daniel staring across the sloping square where another bride and groom were posing for photos on the steps of the old
tribunal palace. Opposite him, Anna was gesticulating wildly as she made a point, minuscule roll-up in one hand, smoke pluming from her mouth. His face was as solemn as hers was excited.

When she stopped, Daniel shrugged, apparently unmoved. He looked around as Rose touched his shoulder, a small complicit smile crossing his face. The speed at which Rose removed her hand struck
Eve as unusual.

‘You’ll never guess what,’ he said. ‘Anna’s asked me to support her in her latest plan. She’s going to open a nursery.’

Eve heard Rose’s gasp, although Daniel showed no sign that he thought the idea was in any way preposterous.

‘Really?’ she said weakly.

‘Isn’t it brilliant?’ Anna rounded on them. ‘But I need some financial help to get me going.’

‘
Some
help?’ Dan interrupted. ‘You’re asking me to finance you to the tune of thousands of pounds.’

‘But Anna,’ Rose protested, alarmed. ‘Have you had enough experience of teaching?’

‘What?’ Her daughter turned on her, her face pinched with irritation. ‘What are you talking about?’

‘Opening a school means . . .’ Rose stopped as Daniel smiled broadly, Anna wound like a spring beside him, both their eyes on her.

‘She’s talking about a garden centre,’ Daniel explained. ‘Not a school, darling.’ He sounded as if he was talking to a three-year-old. ‘She wants me to back
her . . . again.’

Eve stifled a laugh. This was obviously not the moment.

‘And you won’t? I should have known.’ The ten-year-old Anna revealed herself in the pout, the crossing of her arms and the angry toss of her head.

‘Did I say that?’ Daniel finished his coffee. ‘No. What I said was that I would need to see some proper financial projections that would convince me the project was viable. I
need to meet this Rick, if he’s going to be your partner, and listen to what he has to say too.’

‘Exactly. You won’t.’ She reached into her tobacco pouch for her cigarette papers.

‘Anna, listen to me,’ insisted Daniel. ‘No one with half a business brain would lend you the money without them. I’m surprised that you thought I might. You’re
asking for a considerable investment, not a packet of sweets. Besides, what about Jess? I’d need to square things with her. No, this has to be a proper business arrangement between
us.’

‘That’s just an excuse. You’re against it on principal because I’ve had some bad luck in the past. This time I’ve got the ideas and the support. I’m older and
I’ve learned from my mistakes. It can’t go wrong. You’ll see.’ She began to roll another cigarette, her mouth set, her shoulders tense. ‘We might as well go
now.’