The Secrets Women Keep

by Fanny Blake

  Rose smiled at him. She’d anticipated how much he’d like the place. She always felt a funny sense of possessive pride when she brought friends here, almost as if she was responsible for the town’s shuttered buildings, the cobbled streets, the hustle and bustle of the weekly market. She was already looking forward to taking them into its heart, to the gothic church of San Francesco and the neighbouring Palazzo Pretorio with its modest museum.

  Shaded by white awnings, the market stalls were laden with local produce. They wandered down the street, Eve and Terry walking ahead while Simon and Rose lingered to look at the boxes of fat shiny aubergines, big beefy tomatoes, courgettes with their trumpet flowers, large red radishes, lettuces, potatoes, brilliant peppers, big pots of basil. They passed stalls laden with wheels of local cheese, others with eggs, olives, bread and more. While Simon lagged at a fruit stall, buying peaches, nectarines and strawberries, Rose watched Eve and Terry, who had already found the small café on the left of the street and dived into its dim interior. How much better they seemed to be getting on of late. Eve had spared Rose the intimate detail about how they’d recovered from the trials of the last year, but it was enough for her to see them relaxed in each other’s company again.

  Other people’s marriages were impossible to fathom. What brought people together, what kept them together and what tore them apart: how could one ever understand the chemistry of attraction? However well Rose thought she understood what made another couple tick, whether they were dear friends of hers and Daniel’s or those closer to home – Eve and Terry, Jess and Adam, her own parents – there was always something kept hidden from outsiders. As indeed there had been in her own marriage. No one could ever know everything that went on in the head of their partner. Could they? No one should ever take anything for granted. Or had she been particularly obtuse during her own marriage? Sometimes she thought she must have been. But then as she had relived so much of it since Daniel’s death, she was convinced he had given her no clues. Despite everything else, though, he had loved her. She was sure of that now.

  ‘The others have gone for a coffee,’ she told Simon as he emerged from the scrum of people surrounding the fruit stall clutching three bulging brown paper bags. ‘Shall we join them?’

  ‘I’d rather explore. Unless you want to.’ He waited for a stray dog, its teats engorged with milk, to cross his path, then joined Rose and put his purchases into the carrier bag that she held open. ‘Let me carry that.’ He took it from her.

  Nothing pleased Rose more than the prospect of meandering through the concentric streets, climbing up and down the linking stairways, peering into hidden gardens, encountering the street life: children playing, little old ladies in black sitting outside their front doors, groups of men gathered gossiping under the shade of trees in the small square. ‘I’ll tell them what we’re doing and we can meet at the gate in an hour.’

  The rest of the morning disappeared quickly as the two of them explored the tiny town, visiting the modest museum and neighbouring church, ending up in the bar to the right of the gate where they drank espressi, taking in their surroundings, observing an argument among a group of card players, and waiting for the other two, who were not far behind.

  They arrived back at Casa Rosa in good time for lunch. Jess had fed the children, who were already adapting to an Italian lifestyle and were tucked up for their siesta. Simon gave her the loaf of foccacia they’d picked up from the bakery. ‘Couldn’t resist this.’

  Jess thanked him and put the flat rosemary-flavoured bread on the worktop before carrying on arranging the cheese on a plate. Rose held her breath. She thought the previous evening had gone too smoothly to be true. Her daughter looked up. Her gaze flicked between Simon and Rose, as if making up her mind about something, then she spoke. ‘I thought we could have a tomato salad. It’s a family staple out here. Would you like to make it?’

  ‘Sure.’ Simon grabbed an apron from the hook on the back of the door, and went to the knife block, carefully avoiding Daniel’s filleting knife. ‘Or what about a bread salad? I could use up the bread from yesterday.’

  ‘Panzanella?’ Jess’s face lightened. ‘Great idea.’ She reached for the tin of olive oil on its tile and passed it to him. ‘You know where the onions and garlic are, don’t you? And I think there’s a cucumber in the fridge.’

  He nodded and set about his task, humming as he put the kettle on and prepared to skin some tomatoes.

  Food. One of the great levellers. Rose had never expected the two of them to find a common ground so quickly, but find it they seemed to have. If the kitchen was where they could find harmony, she certainly wouldn’t complain. She suspected that she had Eve to thank for brokering the peace, but she wasn’t going to ask; just accept it for what it was for as long as it lasted. Terry had taken himself off to grapple with whatever financial anxiety was still bothering him. He had tried to explain to them the problem he was trying to solve while they had been having coffee at Lucignano, but she had lost track of the detail. It was definitely better that he sorted it out on his own. Eve had gone upstairs to change for a swim.

  With nothing else to do, Rose drifted towards the pool, where Anna and Rick were soaking up the sun. They lay motionless on adjacent loungers, islands in a sea of coffee cups, glasses, suntan cream, books and flip-flops. They looked asleep, their hands touching to bridge the gap between them. She studied them, unexpectedly almost converted to the tattoo winding around her daughter’s torso. Beside the dragons and other indeterminate shapes on Rick’s arms and chest, Anna’s flowers seemed modest and even decorative.

  She felt an arm around her shoulder. ‘How can you resist?’ Eve had changed into her swimsuit and was leading her to the edge. The water, blue and almost motionless apart from one or two struggling insects that had skimmed too close to the surface, was irresistibly inviting in the heat.

  Rose swiftly stripped off her shorts and T-shirt to reveal her swimsuit. ‘Last one in’s a wuss!’

  The splash from their synchronised jumps elicited startled shouts of objection from Anna and Rick, who sat up at once as they were showered with water. Rick picked up a beach ball and, tossing it into the air, leaped in too. Anna was right behind him, her long hair flying. Once they surfaced, he swam with strong strokes to the ball and flipped it up and over to Rose. Within minutes the four of them had begun a fast and furious game of water volleyball, screaming and shouting with laughter. They only stopped when Simon eventually came to stand on the edge of the pool to tell them that lunch was ready.

  They clambered out, dried themselves and wandered up to the walnut tree, where the others were waiting. Food was passed around, drink distributed; a couple of insistent wasps were flicked away. The baby monitor that Jess had put on the table remained silent.

  The atmosphere round the table seemed markedly more relaxed than it had been so far. Rose hoped she wasn’t imagining the improvement simply because that was what she longed for. Without the children to distract, the conversation turned around what they might do once the day had cooled off a little.

  ‘Well I’m doing absolutely nothing,’ announced Eve, as she loaded her fork with Simon’s panzanella. ‘I’m going to take a siesta under a fan, then, when it’s a bit cooler, I’m doing a bit of pool work. Anyone got any better suggestions?’

  ‘The kids’ll be up soon,’ said Adam, tapping the top of the baby alarm. ‘But Simon and I thought we might at least make a start on the shelter by the pool. Then it’ll be done.’ He was obviously dying to get stuck into the task.

  ‘If no one wants me, I thought I might take my paints and start a new canvas,’ said Rose. ‘If I’m going to have anything to sell at Trevarrick, I’d better get painting.’

  ‘You’ll never do enough to fill a shop,’ laughed Anna. ‘Aren’t you being a bit overambitious?’

  ‘Not at all. You haven’t heard the latest. Adam’s putting in some of his work and we’re going to run our online business from there too. But we’re going to b
e taking work by other people as well. Did I tell you that?’

  Anna shook her head.

  ‘They’ll all be local, though,’ Rose explained. ‘That’s the criterion. Have you seen Jemma Dowling’s jewellery, for instance? Or Ali Kent’s driftwood sculptures? Fantastic stuff. Those are the kinds of things we’ll be selling too. All carefully selected by us, of course!’ She grinned at Adam, who nodded his head in support.

  The shop had been Simon’s idea. He had, of course, been the one who had consistently encouraged her to take up her painting again. Once she had settled at Trevarrick, she couldn’t resist the temptation and began to put her spare time to good use. She soon rediscovered how therapeutic she found the work. When he saw her Cornish landscapes and still lifes stacked up in her room at Trevarrick, he had been excited. ‘You can’t hide these away,’ he’d protested. ‘I’m sure people staying here would love them, for a start. They’d make very classy souvenirs.’ He hadn’t said anything more, but had obviously been brooding on the subject when a day or so later he sprang his idea on her. ‘What about the stable on the other side of the road from Trevarrick?’ he suggested. ‘It doesn’t look as if anyone’s used it for years, and it would be the perfect location for a hotel shop.’

  Flattered by his faith in her but certain Jess would hate the idea of any more building work, she had laughed at the thought. Life at Trevarrick was only just getting back to normal after the disruption of the pool building and then the relaunch of the hotel. The last thing Rose wanted was to be the cause of any more upheaval. More than that, the sale of the London house had gone through and she was about to move from the hotel into her cottage. She had plenty on her plate to be going on with. However, without thinking, she had mentioned Simon’s idea as a joke at supper with Adam and Jess one night. Jess had laughed the idea off as Rose had, but Adam took it more seriously.

  ‘You know, there might be something in that.’ He scratched his beard as he spoke, thoughtful. ‘I’d love some of my bowls and plates to be sold at the hotel. They are local craftsmanship after all. I won’t stop the exhibition work,’ he reassured a suddenly anxious-looking Jess. ‘But this could be something that would work for both of us, and we could help other local artists too – give them a new outlet.’

  By the end of the evening, he had convinced both of them that that was what should happen. Jess’s agreement was only on condition that Simon would be responsible for the design of the conversion. Whatever else she might have felt about him, she trusted him to come up with something that would fit exactly into the idiom of Trevarrick.

  ‘If it all goes according to plan, we’ll be opening at the end of the summer holidays.’ Rose raised her eyebrows inquisitively at Simon, who responded with a confirming nod. ‘So I might as well add to our stock when I’ve got the chance.’ The additional truth was that she couldn’t imagine a finer way to spend the late afternoon than by losing herself alone in the landscape. She wouldn’t return up the hill to her old favourite spot, where the memories would crowd in too fast. Instead, she would walk in a new direction and see what she could find.

  ‘Actually, Mum, there’s something I’d like to do with you, if you wouldn’t mind.’ Jess spoke up. ‘Before I do anything else, I’d really like to go to where Dad died. Once I’ve done that, I think I’ll feel better about being here again. I don’t know why, but it feels right. I’d like you to be there, though.’

  Simon got up and started to clear the plates. Eve rose to help him.

  ‘I’d like that too,’ added Anna, before she turned to Rick. ‘You wouldn’t mind, would you?’

  Rick draped his arm round her shoulder. ‘Not a bit. You do what you’ve gotta do. If he’s up for it, I’ll give Dylan another swimming lesson. Without those bands this time. And then I promised him we’d go look for dinosaurs in the olive grove.’ He made a face, as if to ask Why?

  The others laughed.

  ‘In that case, why don’t I have the gorgeous Dani,’ offered Eve. ‘Then Adam and Jess are free to do what they want. I’d love that.’ She disappeared in the direction of the house with the serving plates.

  ‘Well that’s settled then. Let’s wait till it’s a bit cooler, then of course I’ll go with you.’ Rose was quietly delighted. Her painting could wait. She hadn’t expected their two daughters to ask to visit the spot so soon, if at all. But to go with them so that the three of them could remember Daniel together, for however long they wanted, would perhaps bring her daughters some of the acceptance they still needed to find. She reached for her glass and, smiling, raised it.

  ‘To Daniel. Wherever you are. We all still miss you, darling.’

  There was a moment of silence before the others at the table followed suit, echoing her toast. ‘To Dad.’ ‘To Daniel.’

  Rose looked over at Simon. He was staring at the table, apparently lost in thought. He twisted the thin chain he wore around his wrist, then, as if aware of her gaze, he raised his head and they exchanged a supportive smile.

  The sharp ringtone of a mobile interrupted the moment. Terry stood up as if he’d been shot.

  ‘Not Mango Books again! For God’s sake.’ He felt in his back pocket and pulled out his phone, but it was silent. He sat down again with a sigh of relief. Anna and Rick were busy looking under the towels they’d dropped on the ground. Rose glanced around for her own phone before she remembered she’d left it inside. Then she spotted the culprit. Eve had left her BlackBerry on the floor by her chair. Rose picked it up to take to the house for her, but Eve was already on her way back to the table, carrying a bowl of fruit and a pile of small plates. Rose glanced at the caller ID and stopped still. She just managed to prevent her jaw from dropping as her assumptions about Eve and Terry were abruptly tossed into the air all over again. As she double-checked to make sure she wasn’t mistaken, Eve briskly took the phone from her hand. ‘I told you the Rutherford Agency never sleeps, didn’t I?’

  Beside her, Terry gave an exaggerated groan as he put his arms behind his head and stretched out his legs. ‘You’re not joking.’

  ‘Sorry, darling. I should have left it inside,’ said Eve. She looked to see who it was. Her eyes widened and she quite definitely reddened a little, even if Rose was the only one who noticed, before flicking the phone to silent and switching it off. ‘It’s no one who matters. They can wait.’ She passed Terry the fruit bowl and kissed his cheek. He looked as startled by her unexpected show of affection as the rest of the table, but grunted contentedly and raised his hand to her face.

  Rose had no doubt now about the identity of the caller. She had thought that perhaps a work contact of Eve’s shared the same name. Will was a common enough name, after all. But Eve’s reaction had confirmed her initial reaction.

  ‘Fruit?’ Eve passed the bowl. Rose caught her eye over the pile of nectarines and peaches and gave the smallest shake of her head to convey her disbelief at what she had just seen.

  Eve answered with a confident smile. ‘They shouldn’t have called,’ she said by way of explanation. ‘But it’s nothing to worry about.’

  Rose gave her a look as she reached for a peach. She wished she could be as certain.

  Acknowledgments

  As always, I want to thank my terrific and tireless agent and friend, Clare Alexander. My novels wouldn’t happen at all without her.

  Huge thanks are also due to:

  My eagle-eyed editor Kate Mills, as well as Susan Lamb and their formidable publishing team – with a special shout-out for Jemima Forrester, Gaby Young and Louisa MacPherson.

  Lizy Buchan for being at the end of the phone, always with sage advice about writing, life, and everything else.

  Julie Sharman for listening (a lot) and reading and being brave enough to say what she thought.

  Sue James and Tessa Hilton for their unstinting support, and Gaby Huddart for an idea she gave me on a train that turned into much more.

  Sue Fletcher, Nick Stuart, Martin Neild and Tessa Kerwood for some glorious Italian days.r />
  Sally O’Sullivan and Aisling Foster who spent our all-too-brief holiday trying to come up with the perfect title.

  Rebel Rebel, one of the best florists in town – www.rebelrebel.co.uk

  And most of all, my long-suffering husband Robin who puts up with more than he should have to, and our three sons, Matt, Nick and Spike.

  Facebook: facebook.com/FannyBlakeBooks

  Twitter: @FannyBlake1

  By Fanny Blake

  What Women Want

  Women of a Dangerous Age

  The Secrets Women Keep

  With a Friend Like You

  About the Author

  Fanny Blake was a publisher for many years, editing both fiction and non-fiction before becoming a freelance journalist and writer. She has written various non-fiction titles, acted as ghost writer for a number of celebrities, and is also Books Editor of Woman & Home magazine. To find out more visit Facebook/Fanny Blake or follow her on Twitter @FannyBlake1

  Two so-called best friends.

  A surprising secret.

  Women at war.

  With A Friend

  Like You

  The wickedly funny new novel

  from Fanny Blake.

  Available in Orion trade paperback and eBook

  August 2014

  www.orionbooks.co.uk

  1

  ‘Pregnant?!’ Beth put down the jug of water and stared at her eighteen-year-old daughter, hoping she had misheard. From habit, her hand flew to the thin gold chain round her neck, twisting it round her forefinger.