Weeks in Naviras (9 page)

Lottie shot me a quick look before turning to the new arrivals. ‘Ah, the siren has emerged from her pool of tranquility! We were just discussing what I would be cooking you all for supper. Does anyone not eat shellfish? No?’

It’s the last cogent memory I have of that first night in Naviras. The stag party came downstairs in dribs and drabs, Lottie teasing Harry who was indeed to blame for the complaints book debacle. I wouldn’t see much of him after that night, James had meant it when he’d said he was cutting his old friends off.

We sat at a long table, Gail and I at the very end facing each other.  Rav sat next to me on my right, with James directly opposite him. I remember eating Lottie’s giant prawns, sautéed in brandy butter, and I remember feeling embarrassed because they were tricky to eat, requiring huge amounts of paper towel to clean up from, despite the lemon water Lottie provided for my fingers. I remember Gail and Rav having a fairly heated political discussion down the table, good natured but feisty. Before long Rav swapped seats with another of the stag party, sitting next to Gail so they could argue more quietly. Most of all I remember how each time I looked at James I found his eyes were already on me.  Initially he’d appeared caught out, quickly looking down at his plate or picking up his red wine. But as the evening went on our eye contact began to linger.

Rav got more drunk than anyone else, foolishly trying to keep up with Gail. I remember at the end of the meal the two of them sloped off up the stairs together, supporting each other arm-in-arm. Several of the stags went outside, variously smoking cigars or cigarettes.  James and I joined them; neither of us ever smoked but the evening breeze was refeshing. Shortly the stags decided to head down to the village to terrorise La Roda. James asked me if I’d come, I genuinely didn’t feel like leaving the house. James said he’d catch up with the rest of the stags. They all made various roars and wolfwhistles.

The two of us instead went for a walk in the grounds of Casa Amanhã. Away from the exterior lights of the building thousands of stars became clear, the wisp of the galaxy slicing the sky in half. I’d not seen the night sky like that since I was a child.

‘What star sign are you?’ James had slipped his hand in mine.

‘I’m a Pisces,’ I had to think about it for a second. ‘But I don’t believe in any of that nonsense, obviously.’

‘That’s your constellation, just there.’ He pointed with his other hand to a cluster of stars low on the horizon. ‘The fishes.’

‘So you’re an astrologer as well as a politician. Where do your talents end?’

‘Oh, astrology’s a load of old bollocks, but I used to have a telescope when I was a kid,’ he was still staring skyward. ‘You used to be able to see most of the zodiac from my parents’ back garden, until they built a golf course nearby and the floodlights drowned out the stars.’

‘And how about you, what’s your sign?’

‘Aries, just there.’ He took our hands, guided them towards a patch of sky slightly higher. ‘Right next to you,’ he said, before turning and kissing me.

We stood kissing for a long time. We didn’t say another word to each other, instead we somehow ended up on the grass, me sitting on James, trying to be quiet.  James’s shorts around his ankles, my knickers cast to one side. Twice, before falling asleep on the lawn, only waking up at dawn when the sprinkler system kicked in, soaking us both wet through.

It wasn’t until several months later that I discovered that James wasn’t an Aries at all. His birthday was the 28th of November, making him a Sagittarius. I never picked him up on that in the years that followed, and I suspect it was something he just forgot about. Certainly I tried to.

The snow’s still coming down vertically, sparkling in the sunlight. It’s sticking to everything, the trunks of the poplar trees, the rosemary bushes lining Casa Amanhã’s driveway. It won’t be long before Naviras is completely smothered. Lottie hasn’t spoken since I explained about the missing alcove in Room Seven. ‘I wondered if you knew,’ I say, to break the silence. ‘About me and Luis.’

She shakes her head. ‘I knew you weren’t happy with James, I just thought you’d decided to put up with it.’ Snow is gathering on her shoulders, clinging to the delicate fabric of her dress.

‘I did put up with it, Lottie. Right until the end.’ Then I say Luis’s name and I can’t finish.

‘A way of tormenting yourself, darling? A reminder of what you could’ve had?’

‘Oh Lottie, that wasn’t what I was trying to do.’

‘Of course not, but look on the bright side. James isn’t here, but Luis is.’ A large snowflake lands on Lottie’s nose and she giggles.

‘But Luis was acting strangely towards me, down at the beach bar,’ I say. ‘I felt like he didn’t really want me here.’

Lottie frowns. I’m sure it’s the first time I’ve ever seen her do that, in life or death. ‘Perhaps he’s waiting to make sure James isn’t here,’ she says finally. ‘After all, if you wouldn’t leave him when you were alive…’ She doesn’t finish. ‘I did wonder why Luis was so reluctant to come up to Casa Amanhã,’ she says instead. ‘It seems to me that this house had a double life, too. One I wasn’t aware of. I’m assuming it all happened here?’

I nod, wondering whose side she’s on, mine or his. But she doesn’t know the half of it, and I’m unwilling to tell her the rest. Not without him being here, too.

‘What happened after I died, Ellie?’ She says it quietly. ‘What happened to the house?’

I want to cry so badly it feels like the tears must be filling up inside my head somewhere, squishing my brain. ‘I can show you if you like. It’s all in the wine cellar, or at least it should be. Will you come with me? There’s something down there I have to see.’

Lottie gasps. ‘The wine cellar? Goodness, I never went down there, Ellie. Too many spiders.’

‘But there won’t be any, I don’t think,’ I sound more confident about it than I really am. ‘There’s only people here.’

Lottie looks back into the restaurant. ‘And rather strange people, at that, it seems.’ She smiles. ‘Alright, as long as you go down first, darling,’ she turns and walks past me, heading through the restaurant for the kitchen, ignoring the diners just as they ignore her. She walks faster here, I have to pick up my pace to keep up with her as she quickly climbs the stairs and walks through the door to the vestibule before stopping. ‘I mean it, I’m not going down those stairs in front.’

From my perspective it’s been more than a year since I last went down to the wine cellar, it’s not somewhere I ever imagined I’d revisit, and certainly not like this. I continue down the stairs into the gloom. It’s only a dozen or so more steps until I reach the door, which won’t open. I pull at the handle, the door rattles slightly but won’t budge.

‘It’s locked,’ says Lottie. ‘That’s most odd. We never bothered to close it, the bolt’s on the other side.’

I remember, yes. Nothing in the house was ever locked up, one of the joys of Naviras was how nothing was ever stolen.

‘We can get in through the hatch outside, maybe?’ I say, as Lottie nods and turns around, walking back upstairs, through the front door of the house. The snow’s falling much more heavily now, giving the gravel driveway a sheen. We turn left and head to the side of the building where the old hatch is there, ostensibly for loading up the wine cellar without having to traipse through the house. The last time I was here – in life – it had been secured with a chain and padlock. That’s not here, fortunately, there’s just the wooden catch which I lift up easily. The hatch doors open outwards and I descend the short staircase into the wine cellar. A soft light’s reflecting on the sides of the stone walls.

‘Funny how it’s not pitch black,’ says Lottie from behind me. ‘There’s no electricity down here, at least there wasn’t. Luis used to use the lantern.’

As I reach the bottom of the steps I stop, in shock. The wine cellar’s here, the racks of bottles running floor-to-ceiling, the old safe tucked in the corner. But there’s a light coming from somewhere else, at the far end of the cellar. It’s coming from a large cavity in the opposite wall, an archway that certainly wasn’t here the last time I was. Beyond it there’s a brightly-lit corridor stretching away, with a green carpet on the floor and green books in shelves lining the walls. A small chandelier’s suspended halfway down the corridor, that’s the source of the light. It’s all too familiar.

‘What on earth?’ I feel Lottie bump against my back. I can’t reply; I know this corridor, or ones like it. I know where it leads, and who might be waiting at the end of it.

‘You should go back, Lottie,’ I say. ‘This is for me to deal with, I think, if anyone.’

‘I’ve no intention of going back,’ Lottie pushes past me gently, steps down onto the floor of the wine cellar and begins walking slowly to the corridor’s entrance. ‘First the snow, now this, it’s intriguing.’

‘I don’t think we’re meant to be down here,’ I say, foolishly. ‘The door was bolted.’

‘Don’t be silly, it’s an adventure, Ellie! Did you ever think death would be so exciting?’

I wish I could share her enthusiasm. If she weren’t here I’d probably just turn around and walk back up the stairs and pretend I’d never seen what’s down here. I want to stop Lottie, but who am I to try? She’s already past the wine racks and through the archway, advancing quickly past the bookshelves, the last flakes of snow from outside freeing themselves from her hair and falling onto the carpet. In a few seconds she’ll be underneath the chandelier. Already she looks so vulnerable and small, like she’s heading towards some vanishing point. I want to draw a deep breath but that’s impossible, so once again I find myself hurrying to catch up with her.

So, this is where James is, I think. His place isn’t Naviras, but it’s directly connected to it, so we can co-exist. Separate but together, perhaps the best compromise the universe could offer two people like us? Unfortunately it’s one I could do without. I would’ve been happy just with Naviras, Lottie and Luis, and shouldn’t have to face this all again.

It’s not long before we reach the end of the corridor and another set of stairs, these made of concrete. It’s like being back at school,’ says Lottie, starting to climb the staircase. ‘Sneaking around at lunchtime when we should be outside.’ It’s hard to disagree.

I start to feel anxious as we arrive at the top step, in front of a paneled wooden door with frosted glass running up the inside. A shaft of light emanates from underneath the door. Lottie pushes it open and I’m briefly dazzled by the light. Not in a painful way, just disorienting. It takes a second or two for my eyes to adjust, before I see the back of a statue, a man’s figure facing away from me, staring ahead into the central lobby of the Houses of Parliament.

It takes me a few moments to work out why Central Lobby’s different. It’s not the layout of the place or its dimensions; the four statues stand guard in each corner as always, the green leather seats are still dotted around the sides of the circular chamber. After a second or two I realise it’s the light that’s different; the mausoleum gloom’s been banished and the rays from the giant chandelier in the middle are casting bold shadows. It’s a golden light, warm and including, but not natural. Luis had insisted there was no electricity, but there’s definitely plenty of it here. Were it not for the context, I’d feel quite happy about that.

‘How extraordinary,’ Lottie whispers.

What’s startling is how the lobby’s full of men - exclusively men - coming and going. They don’t look like MPs as such; some are wearing lounge suits, others dressed to the nines with black tie and top hats. Two of them cross paths in the middle of the lobby, stop and hold a short conversation before strutting off their own separate ways. There’s something else odd about these men, they’re all astonishingly handsome; there’s a cocksureness to each of them. They swagger, legs apart as they walk. Their trousers are snug, their backsides firm. None of them are overweight or sagging, each of them is blessed with impeccable looks, they remind me of models from old catalogues Mum used to keep around the house when I was a girl.

‘Ellie,’ Lottie says quietly in my ear. ‘Do you think that
sex
is allowed here?’

‘What, in Parliament? I don’t see why not,’ I laugh. Laughter is possible, even though there’s no air coming out. It’s an odd sensation. ‘It happened often enough before.’

I feel self-conscious, still dressed in my sarong and bikini top. It’s a hangover from my old life; the very thought of me, the wife of the PM, walking into Parliament dressed for the beach, it’s scandalous. I think of the little tricks Luis showed me back at the beach bar, try to summon new clothes for myself in a similar way, but nothing changes. I find this disconcerting, like I’m trapped in one of those dreams where I’m naked in a public place. Yet no-one’s giving us a second glance as they walk past us. In fact I have to take a quick step back at one point, when a particularly handsome young man wearing a brown lounge suit and rather garish yellow tie practically barges past me.

Despite all these men walking in and out there’s not the usual sense of urgency often felt in Central Lobby, no tension. The whole building seems newer than it should, somehow; the statues around the walls look sharper, like they were carved yesterday. As ever the lobby’s a crossroads, where four internal corridors intersect. We’re looking ahead to the one that leads directly to the Commons, all the men are meandering towards it. I can just make out more of them crowding at the door to the chamber in the distance.

‘The House must be sitting,’ I say quietly to Lottie. ‘That’s just bizarre.’

Lottie’s eyes are still on the men, but they’re not looking back at her. ‘Did James ever know about you and Luis?’

‘No, Lottie,’ I try to sigh. ‘I’m sure he had no idea.’

‘Then he’ll have to know, darling, now it’s like this.’ She gives me an almost pitying look.

‘It shouldn’t be like this.’

Lottie straightens her shoulders. ‘Well, it is, darling. So what do you want to do?’

‘Go back, lock up the wine cellar and forget this is here.’

She shakes her head. ‘Wouldn’t you need to know what’s going on in here, eventually?’ We face each other for a moment or two before Lottie grins and looks to her right. ‘Anyway I’m sorry, darling, but it’s my wine cellar and I want to know.’ She looks back at me, her eyes saying it’s up to me whether I follow or not, then she takes two steps forward into the lobby. The men don’t acknowledge her, yet avoid colliding with her as she walks further in, her heels making only the gentlest clicks. I’m briefly struck by how much better Parliament would’ve been with Lottie as an MP. At once she would’ve made the place more civilised and also less stuffy.

‘I’ll show you the way,’ I call to her and she stops in the very centre of the lobby. I walk quickly out to her. We’re directly under the beams from the lights above us. I look at her, then past her to the entrance to the Commons about a hundred yards behind her. Lottie seems proud of me as I take her hand. ‘We can go through the division lobby,’ I say to her. ‘Then take a peek from one of the doors at the side of the Commons.’

‘What, sneaking around? Don’t be silly, darling. Why not just go through the front?’

‘We’re not allowed, Lottie. It’s for MPs only when the House is sitting.’

Lottie stops, looks up to the ceiling then back at me, exasperated. ‘Darling, we’re dead, remember?’

By rights we shouldn’t be allowed down here, but there’s no-one to stop us; no doorkeepers or policeman in their usual place at the desk. As we walk I start to worry less, perhaps it’s because I’ve made the decision to confront things, finally. Everyone’s going to have it out, it’ll all be in the open and then we’ll see what happens.

It’s fairly quiet in Members’ Lobby, but also incredibly bright. I don’t pay much attention, I’m looking straight ahead to the Commons. Cheers echo from inside the chamber, they grow louder as I walk towards it. I’ve been on the floor of the Commons many times never when it’s been sitting. It’s fairly packed inside but nobody seems to take a blind bit of notice at our entrance. More than a dozen MPs who can’t find a seat are crowded at the bar of the house. I stand behind them on tiptoes, trying to get a decent view. At first I don’t recognise anyone, not even the Speaker. He’s a youngish man - far younger than any Speaker I ever knew or heard of – and he’s wearing a long wig, as they used to in Parliament before I was born.

‘Look, Ellie,’ whispers Lottie, pointing to our left. ‘It’s that young man James came to Naviras with.’

I look at the government front bench, expecting to see James sitting before the despatch box. He’s not there, instead it’s Rav sitting in my husband’s place.

First I feel shocked then quickly pleased. Rav had never been a Member of Parliament. He’d tried so many times to get elected but had always ultimately missed out. He’d done well enough out of it, sure, but is this what he’s always really coveted? Seemingly so.

Unlike Lottie and me, Rav isn’t younger here. If anything he’s older, his hair greyed at the sides and cut short, reminding me a little bit of Gavin Cross. He’s wearing a charcoal grey suit with matching waistcoat, a wide pale blue tie with quite a large knot, slightly loose.