‘NO! Don’t you dare try and wriggle out of it.’
‘Amy!’ he said sharply. ‘Not here. Come on, we’ll leave Josie alone and sort this out in the morning.’ He took her arm and began to lead her towards the door. She tried to pull away, but his grip was firm. ‘Sorry, Josie, we’ll see you tomorrow.’
Amy had expected him to drag her back to their room, but instead he took her out of the side door and across the terrace to the pool house: as far away from the pergola and the diners as possible. He closed the door behind them, the anger coming off him like heat.
‘Now do you want to tell me what the fuck that was all about?’
‘David . . .’ began Amy. She was aware that she was slurring even that one word, but he was far too furious to notice.
‘You think I’m having an affair with the nanny? Are you insane?’
‘That slut’s underwear was in our room!’ she hissed.
‘And instead of confronting me about it, you go sneaking about in the dark, looking through her knicker drawer? What kind of fucked-up logic is that?’
‘I was looking for the pendant.’
‘What pendant?’
‘The one you bought . . .’ She turned away. ‘Oh forget it.’
‘No, Amy, I won’t forget it. Can’t you see how this looks? You’ve accused your best friend’s daughter – half my bloody age, I might add – of sleeping with me, and based on what? A random bra and some imagined jewellery.’
‘I found the receipt for the fucking pendant, David!’
‘Yeah? So where is this pendant?’
Amy suddenly realised she had no idea.
‘If you don’t believe me, there’s no point talking.’
‘I don’t need to believe you, Amy, because I happen to know that none of this is true. I’m not having an affair, I’ve never cheated on you with Josie or anyone else, and I never bought any jewellery. None of that happened.’
Amy couldn’t help the tears coming. She wanted to stay angry, but it had turned to despair. ‘It did,’ she moaned. ‘It did happen. I know it did.’
‘No, Amy, it didn’t.’ He held her arms, his expression softening. ‘Look, I know you’ve been struggling with work, and now you’ve put yourself under even more pressure with this application, but you have to see that it’s all in your head.’
‘NO!’ she screamed, wrenching herself from his grip, and then she was running, running through the gardens, running, running across stones, bare feet running. She ran into the darkness and didn’t look back.
Chapter 18
It was cold. Amy would never have believed after that sweltering evening under the pergola that the temperature could drop so dramatically. She pulled the towel tighter around her shoulders and tried not to shiver. Vaguely she remembered reading that alcohol made you colder – or was it dehydrated? She didn’t know. She squeezed her eyes shut. She didn’t know anything any more.
‘I won’t cry,’ she whispered to herself. ‘I won’t bloody cry.’
She’d done far too much of that already. After tearing herself away from David, Amy had run and run into the darkness, blindly stumbling over potholes, whipped by tree branches, finally turning her ankle and falling to the ground. She had just lain there on the cold grass, listening to David and the others call her name and quietly weeping in frustration and shame. When they had all given up and gone back into the house, she had hobbled over to the pool house, closing the doors and sinking back into the darkest corner, pulling her knees up so her feet were off the cool tiles. And there she had sat, turning everything over and over in her head until it felt like a furnace, pulsing and ready to melt.
What had she seen? What did she really know? What was real and what was imagined? Here in the icy dark, nothing had any substance; everything seemed possible. The world itself seemed intangible and out of reach, as if Amy, in her pool-house ship, were floating away from the lights of the harbour, far out to sea.
She stopped and held her breath as she heard a noise. Footsteps? She frowned, listening. Was someone, or something, outside by the pool? A rat? A fox? A wild boar? She knew they were out here in the countryside, tusks and yellow eyes gleaming.
She gasped and shrank back as the door opened.
‘Amy?’
She kept silent, hoping that the dark figure would shrug and leave, but instead there was the blinding flash of a torch lighting up the interior.
‘There you are,’ said Peter, stepping inside and closing the door. ‘I was worried.’
Amy blinked and rubbed, trying to scrub the dazzling orbs of white from her eyes.
‘Peter, I—’ she began, but he clucked his tongue.
‘I know, I know, you want to be left alone. Fair enough. Just wanted to check you were still alive.’
Amy snorted. ‘I thought you were a wild boar.’
‘First time anyone has called me wild before.’ He smiled and took a seat beside her, leaving his torch pointing at the wall so she could see him.
‘Want to talk about it?’ he said after a moment. ‘Or I can just leave . . .’
‘No, no, stay,’ said Amy. She’d had enough of being alone. ‘I’ve just been sitting here trying to sort things out in my head, but none of it seems to go together.’
‘Ah, the old jigsaw puzzle,’ said Peter. ‘You’ll laugh at this, but I’ve had a few dark nights of the soul myself.’ He held up a hand before she could reply. ‘I know, silly old Peter, born with a silver spoon and an allowance, what can he have to worry about?’ He shook his head sadly. ‘I won’t bother you with it, of course, but believe me, I’ve been where you are from time to time and I recognise the look.’
‘The look?’
‘Oh, despair, misery, my-world-is-at-an-end, all that rot. And it is all rot, Amy. May not feel like it now, but whatever’s bothering you, it will sort itself out in the end. You never see a skeleton in a tree, do you?’
Amy shook her head. ‘I’m sorry, what?’
‘Oh, it’s the old thing about how the fire brigade used to roll out to calls about cats being stuck in trees, sirens and bells, winding out the ladder and so on. But they stopped coming once they’d worked out you never see a dead cat up there in the branches. Cats – and people, for that matter – always find a way of getting back to safety.’
Amy laughed feebly. ‘You’re right. I do feel like I’m stuck right now. But I can’t see a way down.’
He chuckled and then looked more serious. ‘If you’re honest with yourself – really honest – you generally know what’s going on and who’s telling the truth.’
‘But Peter, I don’t,’ said Amy.
He gave a sad smile. ‘Then think about what you want.’
‘What I want?’
He stood up. ‘The big things are never easy, old stick. That’s why you’re sitting in an outhouse in the dark trying to work it out.’
He picked up the torch and held out a hand.
‘Come on, let’s go where it’s warm at least, hmm?’
Amy uncurled herself, her legs shaking in protest, and Peter gently took her arm.
‘Thanks, Peter. For coming.’
‘All part of the service,’ he said. ‘And don’t worry about Josie. Juliet and I are going home tomorrow anyway, so we’ll pack her up and take her along. I’ll sort out the tickets and so on: one less thing to worry about.’
‘Peter, I . . .’ said Amy, her voice thick.
‘No, no, we’ll have no more of that,’ he said, producing a handkerchief. ‘The dark night is over; it’s time to look at things properly in the cold light of day. Are we agreed?’
She dabbed her eyes and nodded.
‘And Amy? Do me one favour, because I haven’t always been able to do it myself. Be brave,’ he said simply.
Amy gave a thin smile. ‘I’ll do my best.’
&nbs
p; ‘Good enough,’ said Peter, and they set off back towards the house, his thin torch beam lighting the way.
Chapter 19
Oxford, 1995
David looked in the mirror and decided he hated white tie. He hated black tie too, hated any kind of suit. Too stuffy, too restrictive, especially with those stupid stick-up collars that left a red ring of chafing around your neck. Thank Christ he hadn’t gone to Eton, where they had to wear this ridiculous get-up every day.
‘Stand up straight,’ said Juliet, adjusting the white bow tie. ‘If you slouch, you’ll lose the effect.’ She stood back with a satisfied look. ‘There. Shoulders back and you look almost dashing.’
David snorted. ‘I feel like I’m being squeezed into my funeral suit by the undertaker.’
Juliet wrinkled her button nose. ‘Certainly smells that way. But if you will hire a suit instead of buying one like a real human, you’re going to have to put up with years of sweat and wine spills.’
‘I can’t afford a bespoke three-piece from Gieves like Pog.’
‘Not for long, sweetie. Soon you’ll be ruling the universe with all those other thrusting young investment execs.’
David shrugged. ‘Maybe.’
Juliet looked at him with surprise. ‘Maybe? I thought you’d sewn up a grad position with Annabel’s father?’
‘Yes, well that’s the problem, isn’t it? The job’s one thing, but it comes with . . . strings.’
Juliet raised her eyebrows over her wine glass. ‘Everything not so rosy in the Garden of Eden? Do tell. I did notice you didn’t stay at Annabel’s last night.’
David turned away to look in the mirror again. That suit, clinging to him like . . . He closed his eyes, but all he could see was Annabel with her arms around him, pulling him down, down, like he was drowning.
‘I just wanted a night in my own bed,’ he said, not making eye contact. ‘You know, tonight’s going to be a big one, isn’t it? We’ll probably be up until dawn, so I wanted to get some beauty sleep.’
‘Take more than that,’ said Juliet, shoving him out of the way and adjusting her own dress in the mirror.
David looked at her with appreciation, glad that she wasn’t pushing the point. That was why Juliet was such a good friend: she knew what he needed, respected it. Annabel would never have let it go, niggling, whining, wheedling it out of him. David sighed. She was a decent enough girl, he supposed. Most people would consider her a catch. She was pretty, connected, rich, the ‘right sort’: all the boxes were ticked. And yes, she had even provided him with his first opportunity in the City, via her father, for which he supposed he should be grateful. But the truth was, she was starting to get on his nerves.
They had started dating in the second year. Annabel was his first real girlfriend after the frenzy of partying and shagging that was a common pattern for public schoolboys suddenly freed from the constraints of a red-brick adolescent prison: he’d been like a greyhound let out of the trap, chasing any rabbit that caught his eye. Not that it hadn’t been fun, but he had been glad to settle down with Annabel, or at least do couply things like dinner parties and little mini breaks; all that running around with a new girl every weekend was beginning to wear him out.
‘Another drink?’ asked Juliet, waving the champagne bottle.
‘Don’t see why not,’ said David, holding out his glass. ‘Plan to get completely ratted tonight. Last hurrah and all that.’
Juliet gave him a sideways look. ‘Don’t tell me you’re getting all nostalgic already. You’ve spent the last three years slagging off Oxford.’
David laughed. ‘Very true, but it’s not Oxford I dislike; it’s the people. All those red-faced twats with their stupid dining clubs and their ancient little cliques.’
‘I think you’re describing Max there,’ smiled Juliet.
‘Yes, I think I am. But there are worse specimens than Maximilian Quinn out there. At least Max has the decency to admit that he’s an overprivileged nob and to revel in the role. And at least he’s funny. I’m talking about the ones who live in their shiny Oxford bubble, the ones who treat everyone outside it as a servant or a plaything.’
‘Well, get used to that, honey pie,’ said Juliet. ‘Those are the exact people you’re going to be working with at Annabel’s daddy’s firm. And don’t delude yourself that you’re not in the bubble too, because you are.’
She was right, of course; she always was. David could rely on Juliet to give it to him straight, however uncomfortable it was. And he knew that part of his dissatisfaction with Annabel was that she belonged to that world, and that staying with her was funnelling him into it too. Sometimes he wondered if that was what he really wanted. Although he loved the down-to-earth easiness of their housemate Amy Shepherd, he still adored hanging out with Max. He couldn’t actually remember when he’d first become friends with Max; it had been somewhere in that blurry first couple of terms of boarding school. Max, like David, was not a typical Harrovian, from money and privilege. Their parents were successful for sure, but they were first-generation successful, not families who had made their fortunes from land and industry in centuries gone by.
The two ambitious boys had stuck together, and had both got into Oxford, where Max had helped David move into the grandest college circles, getting invited to the best parties, attracting the prettiest girls, and somehow getting someone else to foot the bill for the lot. He’d even introduced David to Annabel, who had subsequently secured him an extremely plum job at her father’s bank, a job that paid almost twice as much as the other offers he’d managed to land on the milk round.
‘Well I for one am going to miss all this,’ said Juliet, gesturing towards the stained ceiling and the curling wallpaper. ‘They say school is supposed to be the best years of your life, but as you know, they were pretty shitty for me, while uni has been a blast, much of the time anyway. And you know what? I think we’re all going to look back on this and remember it as pretty special.’
‘You soppy old romantic,’ said David, snatching up the bottle. ‘Here, have another drink before you get all teary.’
‘Not likely,’ chuckled Juliet. ‘Weeping’s just a waste of good mascara.’
David nodded thoughtfully. Actually he couldn’t remember a time when Juliet had ever been emotional, not even in the bad old days of boarding school – her alma mater Beddington specialising in cold showers, hockey before dawn and a strict ‘no boys’ policy. He’d first met her on the smart public school circuit that revolved around London and the Home Counties: house parties, teen balls and point-to-point racing. Juliet had been vivacious and self-assured even then, and David didn’t mind admitting she had been his first crush. Beddington and Harrow were fifty miles apart, but the two of them had kept in touch via a series of letters, monthly reams of banter and confidences, so it had been no coincidence that they had ended up living together at Oxford.
‘Earth to David,’ said Juliet, clapping her hands, snapping him out of his reverie. ‘I asked you if we were going to be stuck with her.’
‘Stuck with who?’
‘It’s whom, numbskull. Didn’t they teach you anything at school?’
‘How to wank without making a sound.’
‘Gross,’ she said, rolling her eyes. ‘The very last thing I want to picture.’
David didn’t like to point out that she hardly needed to imagine. After attending so many school dances and birthday parties together over the years, there had, inevitably, been a drunken fumble during a particularly hot and heavy weekend in the Scottish Highlands in the summer before Oxford. But then came the many temptations of Freshers’ Week and beyond, and somehow over that first year they had slipped into a much more solid relationship. Juliet was his cheerleader, confidante and, well, best friend – and he tried to be the same for her. It made more sense, especially now they were both poised to step out into the big wide world.
/> ‘I was talking about Karen, actually,’ continued Juliet, lighting up a Silk Cut and blowing the blue smoke at the ceiling. ‘You know, Amy’s friend.’
‘Obviously I know who Karen is,’ said David, reaching forward and taking Juliet’s cigarette for a drag, then handing it back. ‘What do you mean about being stuck with her?’
‘She’s gone to the ball as Max’s date.’
‘What’s wrong with that? I mean, apart from having a lot of sympathy for the poor girl.’
‘Men,’ she said, shaking her head. ‘You walk through life with your eyes closed.’
‘Huh?’
‘Oh come on, think a few steps ahead. Max is either going to try and grope her or he’s going to spot some other air-headed filly and disappear. Then she’ll be wandering around lost, and seeing as Amy’s insisting on playing the working-class martyr, we’ll be expected to entertain her all bloody night.’
‘I don’t get why that’s such a problem. Karen’s nice enough, isn’t she?’
Juliet sighed theatrically. ‘It’s not who she is. She’s fine on a night out to the Bear or wherever, but this is the night, David. Our last night in Oxford, the big send-off. Don’t you want it to be perfect?’
David pulled a face. The truth was, he was torn about the ball. Juliet had been right earlier about being in the bubble. Yes, they were friends with people like Amy and Karen, but almost everyone else they spent time with was from exactly the same background as them: private school, skiing holidays, dogs and horses. University was supposed to expand your horizons, but Oxford had a funny way of narrowing them, underlining that sense of privilege and expectation. And while David wanted desperately to escape from that trap, to leave Oxford, to get to London, spread his wings and find his own path, at the same time he was scared to leave the bubble. It was all he’d ever known.
‘It’s going to be like all the other balls, Jules,’ he said. ‘A load of nobs in loud waistcoats getting pissed and boasting about how their daddy’s house is a tiny bit bigger than your daddy’s house.’
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