The Secrets Women Keep

by Fanny Blake

  She did her best to preserve this new-found sense of goodwill to all men as she and Terry stood squashed between Hilary’s Heavenly Hens, a raucous party of six generously endowed women on the wrong side of thirty (that was being generous) in pink sparkly tops and antennae, and a rowdy family with three young children who refused to stay put in the queue. Eve saw her continuing good humour as a test of character that she was determined to pass. She channelled her thoughts to other things. There was still no sign of Anna and her friend. But there was nothing Eve could do. Either they would turn up or they wouldn’t. There was no point getting exercised about it.

  Inching forward, Eve shrank back as the steward making random checks on the weight of hand luggage paused beside her. She held her breath, lifting her case quite cheerily as if it wasn’t pulling her arm out of its socket. He hovered there for a moment. She smiled at him, but thought better of making a comment that might provoke him. He glared in return, then pounced on one of Hilary’s Hens. Eve and Terry shuffled past the poor woman as she was forced to unpack her suitcase, having to share out half the contents between her friends.

  On the plane, they sat with an empty seat between them. Eve arranged her jacket and bag over it proprietorially, hoping they could keep the extra space for themselves. She focused on her Kindle, determined not to catch the eye of any of the other passengers. If they wanted the seat, let them dare to disturb her and ask. So far, so good.

  Just as the plane was settling down and their row of three seats seemed secured, there was a flurry of activity at the door and in burst a final couple, who were swiftly directed down the aisle by the crew. Eve looked up at the disturbance to see Anna at last, hair flying, followed by a tight-T-shirted young man with his hair pulled back in a ponytail.

  ‘Auntie Eve!’ Anna stopped beside her. ‘How incredibly lucky. Could you move in one?’ As Eve obliged, sorry to lose the extra space but delighted her niece was there, Anna touched the man’s hand. ‘You’ll be OK, Rick?’

  So this was Rick! Rose had said he was coming. Although shouldn’t one of them be looking after the garden centre? Wasn’t July a busy time for them? According to Terry, the business was beginning to pick up nicely, but Eve supposed Anna must know best.

  Rick’s smile lit up his face, contradicting the conclusions Eve had already drawn from the dark ponytail, silver nose- and earrings, the complex coloured tattoo on his arm. ‘No worries,’ he said with a strong Australian twang. ‘I’ll seeya at Pisa.’

  ‘That’s Rick,’ Anna explained unnecessarily, as he found himself a seat further back. ‘I’ll introduce you when we land. I’m sure you’ll like him.’ She polished a large orange Perspex ring on the hem of her see-through shirt.

  ‘I’m sure I will,’ said Eve, not entirely sure at all. ‘What happened?’

  ‘We overslept.’ Anna tugged the seat belt from under her and clicked it across her stomach. ‘Thank God we made it. I’m exhausted. Sorry, Auntie Eve, but I desperately need to destress.’ She shook her hair out, then began to scrape it back so she could clip it up with a barrette stuck about with pinky-red crystals, before flinging herself back in her seat and closing her eyes, giving a melodramatic groan. They stayed shut during the safety routine, despite the pointed glares from a Tangoed hostess with a bleached topknot and tight shirt, and eventually Anna sank into a sound sleep. Eve returned to her Kindle and the remaining part of the first of two young-adult submissions that had been delivered the day she left the office. She didn’t want them or their authors to be sitting waiting for her return and this was as good a moment as any other to get on with them. Beside her Terry slept too, head against the side of the plane, mouth open, the occasional snore fluttering forth.

  Rose walked back from the pool to the house. Her towel was slung around her neck, her body warm in the sun. She rubbed her hair dry with one hand as she passed the table under the walnut tree, gazing at the old farmhouse bathed in the Tuscan summer light. While the rest of her life might have weathered a sea change, Casa Rosa had remained steadfast: the warm shades of the solid stone building, the shallow pantiled roof, the small brown-shuttered windows and heavy wooden doors. Nothing had changed since their last visit, almost two years ago. After Daniel’s death, she had let the place to holidaymakers. Terry had volunteered to come over to meet the lettings agent for her and attend to a couple of maintenance problems that needed resolving. Thank God for Marco, their indefatigable odd-job man, who had kept the place so well in her absence.

  Nonetheless, every minute of every hour contained a reminder of Daniel. All the little jobs that he would have done on arrival had demanded her attention: hanging out the hammocks; checking the pH levels of the pool; making sure the septic tank hadn’t overflowed; repairing the outside chairs where the sun had melted the glue; looking for evidence of mice and spiders; replacing dead plants; seeing if the plumbing leaked; going through the mail that had welcomed her on the doormat; checking for breakages made by the previous tenants.

  She stopped by the pots of miniature roses arranged at the feet of the pergola, neatly deadheading them with a few careful flicks of her thumb. Then she went to the geraniums, picking up her secateurs from where they lay on the low stone wall, and snipped the dead heads from them too, carrying the cuttings to the compost heap. With every movement she felt the sun drying her off, until it began to burn her unprotected skin. She draped the towel over her shoulders and upper arms. Before going indoors, she cut some stems of orange and purple bougainvillea and carried them in with her.

  She opened the dresser cupboard and took out two small ceramic vases, filling them with water and arranging the bougainvillea before taking them to where Eve and Terry would be sleeping. This time she was putting the two of them in Jess’s room. She didn’t want to repeat the arrangements of their last visit. Besides, Jess and her family would be much more comfortable in the privacy and space of the old stables.

  Satisfied that everything was ready for them – soap, shampoo and shower gel by the bath, towels folded on the rail, bed neatly made, hangers in closet, shutters closed – she went to her and Daniel’s . . . no, she corrected herself, just her bedroom and turned on the shower.

  When she’d first arrived, she had considered swapping bedrooms with Anna, not wanting the memories that she might find in hers. But to her surprise, the room had welcomed her, cocooning her within its four walls. Daniel’s holiday clothes still hung in the locked half of the wardrobe. But they didn’t upset her, despite knowing that she would have to get rid of them before the end of the summer. The bag that he had bought her long ago in the market by the Medici chapel was slung over the back of a chair. The picture of a Madonna and child hung over the bed, watching over her. She and Daniel had chosen her together in a junk shop they had found down a Sienese back street. The blue of her robe blazed out from the flaked gold leaf of the background. As she looked down at her child, her expression was one of the most loving Rose had seen. Rose understood completely that maternal devotion that refused to be derailed. Her last few nights in here had been undisturbed. It had taken two years, but at last she felt at peace.

  She showered quickly, then grabbed a pair of white shorts and got dressed before slipping her feet into her flip-flops. She let her hair dry naturally. With the slight glow already lent to her by the sun, she needed no more than a brush of mascara and a slick of lipgloss and she was ready. She stopped by Anna’s room. Everything was ready for them. She stroked flat a wrinkle in Anna’s top sheet, pulled to the shutter with a loose hinge. The knotted mosquito net over the bed swayed in the breeze. As she left the room, Rose caught sight of herself in the wardrobe mirror. What a difference time could make to someone, both inside and out. She looked well again, still slim, her skin with that gloss a holiday could give. She had come a long way since Daniel’s death.

  In the kitchen, she fiddled around, putting things away. The familiar routines were always soothing. Humming a snatch of ‘Amazing Grace’, she was piling oranges, lemons and apple
s in the bowl on the table when she heard a shout. She spun round, orange in hand, to find Dylan in full Spiderman get-up behind her.

  ‘Dylan!’ She put down the fruit and squatted to hug him. She felt his hot breath on her face, obviously fresh from a tuna sandwich, as he wriggled with pleasure in her embrace. She looked up to find Jess behind him, sweaty from the heat, with little Daniela sitting on her hip, all smiles. Bringing up the rear was Adam, unflustered as ever, carrying his and Dylan’s backpacks. At their ankles, next door’s ginger cat had made its entrance, purring a noisy welcome. Immediately Dylan transferred his affections from Rose, reaching out a sticky hand to grab its fur.

  ‘You’re earlier than I expected. No, Dylan, not a good idea.’ Rose tried to take his hand as he attempted to grab the cat’s tail, but he snatched it away.

  ‘I got the times wrong. We left at some ungodly hour from Gatwick, which means we’re completely shattered.’ Jess collapsed into one of the chairs. ‘Can I smell coffee?’

  ‘You can indeed. I was just making some.’ Rose reached for more cups from the dresser. ‘I’ve put you in the stables. Hope that’s all right?’

  ‘I’ll take our stuff round there,’ suggested Adam. ‘Come on, Dylan. Leave the cat. Let’s you and me explore.’ He waited a second. ‘Now!’ he added firmly. ‘We might even go for a swim.’

  Dylan emerged from under the table and ran after his father down the corridor, shouting for him to wait. Rose looked after them, amused, recognising that the peace she’d been enjoying was now well and truly over.

  ‘This all feels a bit funny.’ Jess shifted the baby on to her knee and gave her a teaspoon from the drawer.

  ‘I know,’ said Rose, her reasons for being an advance party justified. ‘But every day it gets easier.’ She had taken the decision to come ahead of everyone else so she could adjust to being back, before finding the strength to help her daughters when they arrived.

  ‘I shouldn’t really have left Trevarrick,’ Jess said suddenly. ‘I’ve got so much to do there. We shouldn’t have come.’

  ‘Yes you should,’ Rose said calmly, stroking Dani’s cheek. ‘It’s time we got back to normal, and that includes having our annual holiday together. Dad would have wanted that.’

  Jess was about to say something when they were interrupted by the sound of a horn.

  ‘That must be the others. I didn’t think they’d be here so soon.’ Rose put her arm around Jess and together they went to the front door to greet them.

  By the time Terry pulled up under the oak beside the other cars, Rose and Jess were at the door to greet them. Eve and Anna were first out. Rose hugged Anna, then Eve as if she wasn’t going to let her go. ‘Good journey?’

  ‘Everything went according to plan. Unlike last time.’ Eve wished she could bite back her last sentence, which would remind them all of too much. Instead she went for a deft change of subject. ‘Where do you want us?’

  Rose and Terry exchanged a smile as they kissed each other hello. Their hug lasted for longer than usual too. As they separated, Eve thought how much better Terry seemed with that look of permanent anxiety eradicated. However, his wardrobe could do with a bit of a makeover. When had that T-shirt got in there? First revealed when he removed his zip-fronted jumper in the car, it showed two hands busting apart a thick chain above the slogan Man of Steel. Never had a T-shirt been less appropriate.

  ‘I’ve put you in Jess’s room,’ said Rose. ‘The four of them are better off in the stables. I’m so glad you’re all here.’ The words obviously came from the heart, making Eve wonder what had been going on before their arrival.

  ‘Anna!’ Rose put her arm around her daughter’s shoulder. ‘Why don’t you show Rick your room, then we’ll think about lunch. There’s no hurry.’

  Terry was hefting Eve’s case out of the boot of the car with a grimace of pain. Rick moved to help him, lifting it with ease. ‘Let me, mate. Where to?’

  Anna squeezed his Japanese-dragon-themed bicep. ‘This way.’ She led him into the house.

  Eve watched, unable to help the flash of envy at their youth. Why spoil all that natural beauty with tattoos and piercings? She didn’t get it. She turned back to the car to help Terry, who was still unloading the last couple of bags.

  ‘A BMW,’ she explained to Rose, as if the car needed an introduction. ‘This year’s been so tough, but we’ve made it through and I think we’re going to weather the storm. So I treated us.’

  ‘You treated you, you mean.’ Terry gave her an indulgent smile.

  Rose looked at her quizzically. Eve knew what she was thinking. She could have equally well have been referring to the agency or her marriage. But now was not the moment to go there. She gave Rose what she hoped was an enigmatic smile, followed Terry inside and together they went upstairs.

  Terry was unpacked and changed before she had even begun to hang up her things that were now spread all over the bed. He grabbed a towel from the bathroom shelf. ‘I’m off for a swim. Can’t wait. Shall I see you down there?’

  She took a couple of hangers from the wardrobe. ‘I’ll finish off up here, then I’ll go and find Rose. Maybe I’ll have one after lunch.’

  There was nothing quite so unprepossessing as a sun-deprived Englishman in a pair of swimming shorts and sandals, she thought fondly as he left the room. Hurrah for spray tans. She glanced at her arm, glad to see there were no streaks. She twisted it so she could see her elbow. Damn! Not quite as good as she thought. Oh well, a few days here should sort that out. As she hung up her dresses, she couldn’t help but reflect on how much the two of them had gone through since their last visit. She was so proud of the way Terry had tackled his gambling. He had had a couple of relapses, but nothing too financially damaging, and he had confessed shamefaced immediately. His resolve and the support of Gamblers Anonymous had got him through. He had been determined to prove to her that he was as good as his word. Will had made her decision to stay with Terry easy in the end, but despite what had happened between them, she didn’t regret their brief liaison one bit. It had taught her what was and wasn’t important to her.

  As she laid out the jewellery she’d brought on the chest of drawers, she mused on how she and Terry had almost come full circle. Or had they? Initially badly bruised by the cards life had dealt them, they had retreated into the comfortable confines of their marriage. The familiarity with what lay within it, however imperfect, made life so much easier than grappling with what was outside. They had so much that she couldn’t give up, and she had settled for that. But sometimes she still couldn’t help wondering whether that was enough. Terry never seemed to question their relationship. Unlike hers, his parents had stayed together to the end, and he took it for granted that he and she would too. As far as he was concerned, this wasn’t something that needed to be discussed. She, on the other hand, couldn’t help teasing out the good and bad aspects of their marriage. She would sit staring out of the window of her office, wondering about the alternatives, even if they weren’t remotely realistic. But that was how she was. She couldn’t envisage a relationship with Terry that wasn’t full of possibility but that also contained the frustration, compromise and indecision that went with their long marriage. The two of them might have regained some sort of equilibrium, and yet, and yet . . . she couldn’t help but question whether it was possible to have a relationship where none of those things existed. Was that so bad?

  She checked her BlackBerry. Her emails consisted of the usual battery of problems and queries that she would deal with that afternoon in a quiet moment. More interestingly, there was an invitation to lunch from Nick Plowright, the charismatic MD of Touchlight Films. They had met a couple of weeks ago at an awards dinner. Recently over from the States, he’d said he didn’t know London well, asked what she would recommend at the theatre. A musical? He loved them. So did she. They had hit it off immediately. What could she do but offer to accompany him? It would have been rude not to. After all, it could be classed as networking, and networ
king was one of the things that kept her in business. You never knew what might come up. And here he was suggesting lunch. She would go. Nothing would happen between them. Or would it? She wouldn’t be human if she didn’t occasionally think ‘What if?’

  She flicked off her phone, put her clothes away, tidied up the bathroom and readied herself for the sun. Glancing in the mirror, her cherried sundress did all it could for her cleavage, which was now glistening with suntan oil. Her toe- and fingernails gleamed in complementary shades of sherberty peach. Even she had to admit she looked pretty damn good for a woman of her age. She was looking forward to the next few days.

  33

  Everything was almost ready to take outside – plates and knives and forks on the tray, salad, more cheese, fruit – when Eve came into the kitchen.

  ‘Terry’s gone straight to the pool – factor thirty-fived up. I thought I’d see what’s happening in here.’

  ‘You mean you want a glass of chilled white!’ Rose knew Eve too well.

  ‘Well . . . Oh, twist my arm.’ Eve smiled and went to the fridge door like a homing pigeon. ‘Actually, I’m being much better now. If Terry can give up the gambling . . .’ She smacked her hand on the table. ‘Touch wood, anyway. I thought I might compromise a bit on my alcohol intake. But this is holiday . . . so it doesn’t count.’ She found the bottle, took out a couple of glasses and poured the two of them a drink. ‘Cheers.’ As she raised hers to her lips, there was the sound of footsteps on the terrace outside. A shadow crossed the doorway and a figure stood silhouetted there.

  ‘Hello, Eve. Good journey?’

  Eve turned towards the voice, then stood apparently paralysed. ‘Simon!’ She gripped the back of the nearest chair and put her glass on the table. ‘What are you doing here?’ She looked round to Rose for an explanation.