by Clare Boyd
‘I have to think about what’s best for the whole family.’
Jude’s jaw clenched. ‘How can it be best for you guys?’
‘I haven’t been coping too well.’
‘You seem so much better. And you’ve got Agata, if things spiral again.’
‘When you have your own kids, you’ll understand.’
‘No, believe me, I won’t. Not about this.’
‘Don’t be like that.’ His disappointment was unbearable.
‘Have you told Mum? She’ll go mad.’
‘She’d already heard about the facilities there. The theatre is like a West End stage.’
‘Isla is no actress,’ Jude said.
They had reached the barn. ‘Hello Piotr,’ Elizabeth said. Piotr was on his knees. She looked around at the transformed space.
It took a few minutes for Jude to follow her inside. He ducked under the doorway.
‘Hi, Piotr,’ he said.
Elizabeth smoothed her hand across the dry plaster. ‘We’re going to paint it white, aren’t we, Piotr,’ she said, thinking about the white beta blockers that she had returned one by one into the packet.
Jude grunted.
‘You see the mezzanine floor for the bed? Piotr built that!’
For a moment, it seemed that Jude had remembered his manners. ‘Piotr, that’s bloody brilliant work. Beautiful.’ He stood at the bottom of the wooden ladder that led up to where the bed would be, but he didn’t climb it. In a good mood, he would have.
‘And this wall is where we’re putting your paintings,’ Elizabeth continued.
He swivelled around. ‘Oh my God! You’re going to sell them to that American couple, aren’t you?’
‘Bo has always loved them.’
‘I want them back,’ he said furiously.
‘But you gave them to me.’
‘I’ve changed my mind.’ He began walking out.
She blurted out, ‘If Lucas thinks I’ve screwed this up, he’ll use it against me.’
Jude stopped in the doorway and turned back to her. ‘What do you mean?’
Elizabeth bit down on the edge of her tongue. ‘I don’t want to let him down. You know what he’s like.’
‘I wonder if I do sometimes,’ he said, scratching his head.
‘Come on, Jude. Let’s not squabble.’ She smiled, but her heart was hammering in her chest. ‘You’ve not missed them in five years!’
‘Neither have you, by the looks of it.’
* * *
Jude joined Lucas on the terrace after his game. Lucas picked his brain for information about the London art scene – specifically the artists on the summer party guest list. He wanted to know who was coming and why, which emerging artists had been picked up by White Cube, Jude’s dealer, the famous arbiters of the art world, and whether he should buy their work. He was one-track, which visibly irritated Jude. Elizabeth was still not sure what Jude’s decision about the triptych was going to be. She could see he was preoccupied, still mulling it over, battling with the two sides of their argument. Dutifully he gave Lucas the details he needed for the guest list, but his smiles and teasing hadn’t returned.
‘You should do an art history course or something, Lucas. If you’re going to start buying more,’ he said.
Jude respected art collectors who knew about art, but he was scornful about rich people who wanted art as an investment only. Lucas mentioned the Paris salons of the eighteenth century – one of a few facts he had gleaned from a Christie’s event sponsored by Citibank – and Jude explained the history, exposing Lucas’s scant knowledge. Quietly, to Elizabeth, Jude admitted that artists needed their sponsors. These days, he slept on a proper bed and drank good wine, thanks to rich, ignorant collectors like Lucas.
* * *
He had only stayed the night for the children’s sake. Or so Elizabeth guessed. She hoped there was a small part of him that had stayed for her too, but the triptych had not been mentioned.
At the car, as he said goodbye, he softened towards her. ‘You can do what you like with those paintings.’
She exhaled, tears of relief welling in her eyes. ‘Thank you.’
He frowned at her. ‘You’re looking after yourself, aren’t you?’
‘Yes, baby brother.’
‘You deserve to be treated well.’
‘I’m treated like a princess. I even get sapphire necklaces.’
He scratched one eyebrow. ‘That’s not what I meant.’
Elizabeth regretted her poor joke. She said, ‘I’m the one who’s the handful, believe me. God knows how he puts up with me.’
‘He’s a lucky man,’ he said. Then, before closing the car door, he said one last thing. ‘You know, if you think it’s best that Isla goes to Channing House, then I respect that.’
For a split second, her heart stopped beating. It was one of the few big lies he had ever told her. She knew he would never respect her decision to send Isla to boarding school at seven years old.
Choking out, ‘I appreciate that,’ she stepped back from the car, crossing her arms over her chest.
She did not appreciate his forgiveness. It was worse than his anger. It meant he had acquiesced, like the rest of them. He had finally bought into the lie that she projected: that she could be bought for a sapphire necklace, that she had choices. It seemed he was finally convinced that her values were up for sale. It set a precedent in their relationship.
Up until now, Jude had been her ally, on her side when their mother judged her for making different life choices; on her side when old friends fell by the wayside; on her side when Lucas thought she had lost her mind. Her brother had stuck by her, always believing in her, always trusting that deep down she was the same girl he had grown up with, in spite of the lifestyle that spoke differently.
Now that she had complied with Lucas on Isla’s schooling, it seemed Jude had lost all faith in her.
She could not lose faith as her brother had done. She would cling to the belief that change was around the corner, that Lucas would trust her again, when there was less at stake, when he wasn’t living on the edge, risking his investments and his reputation. Around the corner, he would get what he wanted and achieve all he had dreamt of. He would lay to rest the taunts of his housemaster. Around the corner, she would think happier thoughts; say the right things, do the right things. Around the corner, the pressure would be off and they would find equilibrium. Soon. Around the corner and after the party.
Fifteen
‘Why are we even doing this?’ I sighed, twisting a screw into a bed frame.
‘All hands on deck today. Only a week to go,’ Dad said.
From our position on the mezzanine, I stopped to look down at the rejuvenated barn. The space was unrecognisable. Everything was white and clean. The white walls and clean white floorboards, the white woodburner in the centre, the large skylights. There were opaque white blinds on the back-wall windows that hid the camper van behind them.
‘Why hasn’t Elizabeth invited you and Mum?’
‘Ha! What would your mother and I have to say to those people?’
‘Quite a bit, if you ask me.’
‘Nobody is asking you.’
It was a warning shot. I was irritating him. Every day I sensed that his patience with me was lessening, as though my presence had a cumulative effect on his mood. It reminded me of how I had felt as a child, how I had wanted to pack myself away from him. Staying quiet and invisible had been the best solution.
The silence was interrupted by Lucas, who appeared at the bottom of the ladder. I wanted to run.
‘How’s it going?’ he asked.
I neatened my hair and wished I wasn’t so hot.
‘All good,’ Dad replied.
‘Just wondering if I left my watch up there?’
I scanned the floor, looking under the plastic wrappings and flat-pack instructions, wondering when and why Lucas might have had reason to remove his watch up here.
‘Nothing here, Mr Huxley,�
� Dad said.
While my father’s back was turned, as he continued to search, Lucas looked right into my eyes, conveying an unreadable feeling; a vulnerability or a need, I couldn’t grasp which. His blue eyes were bottomless pools. Instinct told me he was using the watch as an excuse to see me. A childish excitement skittered through me. Forgetting who I had become and how far I had moved on, I wanted once again to dive in and save him from himself. It was a fleeting madness. I was not that silly girl any more and never would be again.
‘No worries,’ he said, leaving us to our bed assembly.
* * *
‘Back to the real beds,’ my father quipped after we had laid the mattress on the frame.
‘Ha!’ I said, following him outside, picking up one of the wheelbarrows full of ‘Canadale Gold’, spiraea ‘Gold Mound’ and Lupinus polyphyllus. ‘I’ll start around the back.’
I knelt at the beds and took my time with the planting, wishing I could control the recurrence of thoughts about Lucas that looped in and out of my mind.
After a couple of hours, I saw Agata dart around the barn to her camper van. It was unusual to see her here in the middle of the day. She seemed harassed, tugging her peroxide ponytail tight to her head as she ran.
‘Hi, Agata!’ I said, slapping my hands on my thighs to shake the excess soil from my gloves.
Startled, she stopped and looked down at me as though I were a dog who had barked at her. Then she gathered herself. ‘Oh, hi.’
‘How are the preparations for the party going?’
She blew out her cheeks. ‘Everyone is …’ She circled her finger around her temple to suggest they were all crazy, making me laugh. I couldn’t have agreed more.
After she had disappeared into the camper van, I poured out the remaining water from my drinking bottle and knocked on the van door. Agata might be able to offer a diversion from the flower beds and also, possibly, some news about Elizabeth and Lucas’s boarding school visit. I hoped to hear that it had been an aberration, that sweet Isla would be remaining safe at home.
‘Yes?’ Agata said, standing on the top step above me.
The noise of Dad mowing a pathway through the meadow for the marquee was in the background.
‘Sorry, but any chance I could fill this up?’
She shrugged and stood aside for me.
As I ran the tap into the small metal sink, I could hear her opening and closing drawers and cupboards.
I turned the tap off. At my feet, she was on her knees looking under the small table. ‘Lost something?’ I asked.
She didn’t reply.
‘I can help you look if you like?’
‘No,’ she said, standing up. ‘No, no.’
‘Okay then, I’ll leave you to it. Shout if you need any help.’
She waited for me to go before continuing her search, but just as I was leaving, I heard her exclaim something in Polish.
I nipped up the steps. ‘Everything okay?’
She stuffed an object into her jeans pocket. A couple of metal links connected to a man’s wristwatch flopped out. I recognised them instantly.
She tapped her pocket, shoving the links back in. ‘I find it.’
I couldn’t hold back. ‘Whose is that?’
Her close-set pretty brown eyes blinked repeatedly. ‘It’s Piotr’s,’ she said.
I took a sip of water to hide how surprised I was about her lie. Pretending to make light of it, I grinned at her. ‘Piotr has a Rolex?’
She shifted from one foot to the other and shrugged. ‘Lucas leave it by the pool. I pick it up.’
‘Why did you say it was Piotr’s?’
‘I not stupid. I know what you think,’ she said, clicking her tongue.
‘I don’t think anything!’ I hadn’t wanted to think about what had first occurred to me.
‘Elizabeth thinks …’ she said, stopping, picking at her nail polish.
‘What does she think?’
She shrugged again, her small shoulder bones poking the air by her ears. ‘She nuts.’
‘In what way?’
She deflected. ‘You know, I from bad place in Poland. If I steal this piece of shit, my whole life is different. And Lucas buy another one.’
‘You’re not like that, Agata,’ I said.
She looked out of the window. There was a view of the gnarled trunk of the tree. ‘I am just stressed out,’ she said, seemingly adopting an expression she had picked up from Elizabeth.
‘Yes. Stress makes us do crazy things,’ I agreed.
‘Piotr’s brother. He have a baby. We want to go see him, but is not possible.’
‘Because of money?’
She shrugged, jabbing the watch further down into her pocket. ‘We have money.’
I wasn’t sure what she meant, whether she meant she now had money, thanks to the watch, or whether her statement had been a proud declaration of their financial self-sufficiency. Whatever the connotations, I didn’t feel it was my place to get involved.
‘I’d better get back to it,’ I said, leaving her with her decision. I was not going to be the one who stopped her stealing from Lucas.
* * *
As I rolled the wheelbarrow closer to the hole I had dug earlier, I heard Agata hurry past me. The tiny purple flowers trembled as the warm breeze disturbed the air. I kept my eyes fixed on this last remaining plant. It sat there waiting its turn, ready for its roots to be placed in the composted soil, ready to grow. But I didn’t move to plant it. In its pot, it was neat and separate, but as soon as I placed it in the flower bed, its roots would lace themselves into the soil, embed and entwine into life’s cycle. Around me, the trees and shrubs whooshed in the wind. The world’s chaos – its inexplicable miracles and its cruel blows – were beyond my control. When I looked at this pretty plant, hothoused for the structured bed, my hands became inert but my brain went into overdrive. I recalled those evenings that summer. Before every lesson, Lucas had removed his Casio watch and placed it on a white plastic chair. The memory of its metal face shone in my mind, vivid enough for me to feel I could reach out and touch it again. I wanted to place it back on his wrist and halt the momentum of suspicion. The more I thought about Agata and the watch, the less I believed that stealing it would ever cross her mind.
My thoughts began pedalling faster than I wanted them to, bringing disparate facts together, recalibrating memories, forming an impression of Lucas that was unthinkable. Ridiculous, in fact. I must be tired, I thought, or I wouldn’t be inventing such mind-boggling theories. Stress was whirling around the grounds and it was getting inside me too.
But then I considered Elizabeth’s unstable character and it seemed plausible that Lucas might seek comfort in the attractive young woman who cared for his children every day. It was common for men to sleep with their nannies, and Lucas was a risk-taker by nature.
Even so, I still couldn’t picture it. Something was unconvincing about the two of them together. With the party ahead, and this purported deal so close, I couldn’t fathom why he would gamble it all away for Agata.
I planted the flower, pressing the soil down around the stem, feeling the sensory pleasure of the springiness and softness of earth under my fingertips; connecting with nature. Calm and order settled over me. My heart rate slowed, just as it did when I looked out to sea. The party would be over and done with soon. Everyone’s efforts would prove worthwhile. And if not? Would the world stop turning?
Sixteen
It was the morning of 4 July. Elizabeth was wearing a tracksuit. Her hair had been blow-dried and her nails manicured and her headache dulled by two paracetamol. Kneeling next to her at a large cardboard box were Jude and Agata, who were helping her to fill the glass tea light holders with candles.
There were five hours to go before Bo and Walt Seacart arrived, and eight hours before the party started. Elizabeth worried her head might spin off her shoulders.
Outside, the sun was shining and the marquee was erected. She had been checking t
he weather report every hour since yesterday morning. The sun icons had popped up each time, but she would not take it for granted. Her contingency plans for rain were in place. Fifty large branded umbrellas were stacked in a box for the guests to use between the house and the marquee, if necessary.
‘It will be perfect tonight,’ Lucas had whispered to her earlier that morning, panting into her ear after sex. It had been fevered and quick, up against the kitchen units in the barn. It wasn’t the first time they’d had sex there. A week ago, before the bed had been erected by Gordon and Heather, he had pulled her up the ladder of the mezzanine and made love to her on the freshly painted floorboards. The tension in his performance had stretched the sinews in his neck and brought high colour to his cheeks, released only when he had climaxed. As soon as he had clicked his watch back on, she’d lost him to his thoughts again.
It will be perfect tonight.
He had chosen those words to reassure her, to prove that he had faith in her. But they had become a mantra of fear, driving her through the exhaustive list of tasks.
Everyone had too much to do. Everyone was sweating and harassed. Agata had taken twice as long to iron Lucas’s shirt than usual and Elizabeth couldn’t fathom why. She needed her to be on her game, more than anyone else.
Yet to arrive: twelve dinner tables and chairs, twelve bouquets for the tables, parquet dance floor and disco lights, Moroccan pouffes and low metal coffee tables, plus rugs, linen tablecloths and napkins, 120 champagne glasses, 120 wine glasses, 120 dinner and side plates, 120 pudding bowls. Yet to do: lay tables, hang the Moroccan lanterns, decorate and arrange the Moroccan lounge in the marquee, set out the occasional tables and the large beanbags for the hog roast buffet, arrange the logs and hay bales around the fire pit, roll out the carpets for the marquee, erect and light the bamboo fire lights, make the bed up in the guest barn, hang Jude’s paintings, position the flowers, tidy up the house and garden. Due to arrive: hog roast caterers and drinks waitresses, Sarah with the macarons, fireworks display company, DJs.