by Lulu Taylor
‘Understood.’ Vicky came a little closer. ‘Listen, Octavia, I’m not here to make your life more difficult. I’m here to make it easier. I’m your cousin. You can trust me, you know.’
‘I know. It’s all fine. It’s all good. I’m going to bed – I’ve got a busy week coming up and I’m travelling tomorrow. Good night, Vicky.’ She turned her back on her cousin and made her way along the corridor, aware all the time of Vicky’s eyes on her. And somehow, though she didn’t know why, Octavia felt uncomfortable.
19
The gathering at Mabbes was supposed to be for work, with Roddy designing and creating in the great solarium, the girls there to be his models and muses, and Iseult to oversee everything. But almost from the moment they arrived, driven up the long winding driveway in Iseult’s shabby old Ford Mondeo – ‘Such a reliable car!’ she said. ‘I never have to get it fixed and nobody ever wants to steal it!’ – the whole thing quickly turned into a party. Perhaps it was because Iseult had invited some boys as well, a gaggle of handsome lads to amuse the girls, who arrived a few hours afterwards, ready to stuff away the piles of flapjacks and scones that the housekeeper had made for tea.
Octavia was enchanted at once, first by the house itself, which stood at the heart of a series of gardens that must once have been magnificent and manicured but was now a wilderness of trees, flowers and shaggy shrubs cut through with mouldering stone walls. From a distance the house looked solid and strong, a large Victorian mansion, but on closer inspection it seemed to be crumbling away into the garden, its red brick softened by over a century of Somerset rain, its roof thick with moss and missing the occasional tile, the chimneys tilted and precarious and the window frames rotting away around their glass panes. At the front door one corner of the Gothic-style brick porch was being supported by a piece of timber wedged between the roof and a pile of paving stones.
‘Don’t worry about that, I shouldn’t think it’ll fall down,’ Iseult said breezily as the girls walked a trifle nervously underneath. ‘It hasn’t so far, and it’s been there ten years or so.’
Inside the house was just as charming, but just as dilapidated. ‘It’s a ten-bucket job these days,’ explained Iseult. ‘You’ll see, it’s simply falling to bits. We’ve had to abandon the west wing altogether. We’ve stuck up some plastic where the worst holes are, and we’ve shut the door on it, just hoping it won’t get any worse. No money, you see. But don’t worry, we’ll be perfectly comfortable.’
Octavia was reminded of a black-and-white film she’d seen once about a girls’ boarding school where the pupils ran riot, treating the place like a glorious playground. That was how she felt about this place. As soon as they arrived, she was seized by high spirits and a sense of being utterly free and unrestricted. The state of the house, with its frowsy grandeur, seemed to add to the sense of grown-ups being absent. It was so unlike the buffed and polished perfection of Aunt Frances’s house, the atmosphere one of anything goes.
Her room was dusty and uncared for, though at least the sheets looked clean. A large patch of ugly brown damp disfigured one corner, with the wallpaper peeling away in long dark strips, but the view from the bay window was gorgeous, the soft Somerset countryside rolling away into the distance.
They opened bottles of wine almost as soon as they arrived. Roddy took one and disappeared into the solarium, which looked to Octavia like a very large conservatory but without the mass of plants and elegant cane furniture that she remembered in Aunt Frances’s version. All of Roddy’s work, fabrics and equipment had been delivered earlier by a courier company and he was now ready to let his creativity come flooding back, with the help of Sauvignon Blanc and endless Marlboro Reds.
Meanwhile, the others lazed around and got slowly, comfortably drunk on the bottles of cheap supermarket plonk with which Iseult stocked her cellar.
‘So … hi. How are things?’ asked a low voice beside her as Octavia flicked through a magazine while lying on a sofa in the drawing room. ‘It’s great to see you again.’
She looked up, and her stomach did a pleasant forward roll of excitement at the sound of Ferdy’s voice. As casually as she could manage, she said, ‘Oh, yeah. Hi. I’m fine, thanks. How are you?’
She took in his good looks: a smoothly handsome face with soft, boyish features, given an almost feminine cast by full lips with a pronounced cupid’s bow. His dark brown hair was carefully styled into messiness and his tall frame looked lean in a pair of baggy jeans and a vintage New York Dolls tee-shirt.
‘Great.’ He grinned. ‘I didn’t realise you were going to be here.’
‘I didn’t realise you were going to be here,’ Octavia said, and smiled back. She could feel her skin tingling as her mind raced over various possibilities. They were both staying here for the weekend. Would he try to kiss her again? Surely he was bound to. Would she let him? Oh … She felt her lips part involuntarily at the thought of it. Yes.
‘Then it must be fate, I guess,’ he said, and grinned again. ‘Listen, do you want to—’
‘Ferdy!’ came Iseult’s insistent cry from the hallway. ‘Come here at once! I need you!’
He looked at Octavia, his brown eyes a touch rueful. ‘Gotta go. No one ignores Iseult, as I guess you already know. But don’t move, okay? We’re going out to explore the gardens later, maybe you’d like to come.’
‘Yeah, sounds good,’ Octavia replied casually, hoping she seemed nonchalant.
‘Cool. Won’t be long.’ Ferdy got up and headed for the door. She watched him go, suddenly giddy with lust. Oh, God, I hope he wants to kiss me. She was desperate for a kiss, a real proper kiss. Maybe tonight, she told herself, maybe tonight …
20
I’m not quite sure how this happened, Flora thought, bemused.
This afternoon she’d been curled up in bed, happy to be locked away from the world in her place of security. Now here she was, drinking an elderflower and prosecco cocktail in the bar of Claridge’s, surrounded by people.
‘You’re doing fine,’ Vicky whispered, smiling, her green eyes sparkling. ‘Really amazing. Are you having fun?’
‘I don’t know … sort of, I guess. It’s weird to be out.’
She hadn’t wanted to come. She’d protested, but her cousin had been insistent. ‘Why should Octavia have all the fun?’ she’d asked as she flung open the doors to Flora’s vast walk-in dressing room. It was rather empty, certainly compared to Octavia’s which was overflowing with clothes, but there was still plenty to pick from.
‘This is wonderful,’ Vicky had declared, scooping up a silk jersey dress in a subtle mocha and pink print with a tie panel at the waist. ‘Ooh, it’s Issa.’
‘Octavia bought it and then decided she didn’t want it,’ Flora said, taking it from her and examining it. ‘Yes, it is pretty.’
‘Put it on. Now what should you wear with it?’ Vicky turned to the racks of shoes. ‘You’re not exactly Imelda Marcos, are you? You’ve only got one decent pair of heels.’ She picked up a pair of silver Charlotte Olympia sandals. ‘Better put these on. Now, brush your hair, put on some lipstick and mascara, and we’ll go out, all right? I think you need it.’
Forty minutes later they were ready. Vicky was wearing a dark green halter-neck dress with a full skirt scattered with tiny daisies, and white ballet slippers. ‘Ooh, you look fantastic,’ she said sincerely as Flora came down the stairs into the hall. ‘That fits you so well.’
Flora grinned. ‘I guess it helps having a sister who’s identical to me – she can do my legwork.’ She glanced at herself in the huge oak-framed mirror on the wall. Perhaps she did look all right. She’d been worried that the mocha and pink would wash her out but instead it gave her a delicate ivory look and the silk jersey glowed softly in the electric light, while her blonde hair, scooped back into a loose ponytail, glittered.
‘You look wonderful. Now come on, Steve is outside ready to drive us wherever we want to go.’
Flora found the trip from the front door to t
he car hard enough. As soon as she was outside, she began to shake and felt a cold sweat break out on her forehead. Her breath came quickly and she could hear a tiny squeak of fear which she realised came from her. Terror streaked through her. She felt sure that someone was about to pounce on her, though from which direction she had no idea.
Vicky reassured her that everything was fine as Steve opened the door to the Mercedes. The next minute they were sitting on the slippery leather seats and the car was pulling smoothly away. Only minutes later Steve brought them to a halt in front of the hotel in Brook Street, and the doorman was stepping forward to open the door so that they could get out. Vicky took the lead and Flora followed as they walked along the red carpet that led into the hotel.
Across the road a few paparazzi were loitering with their cameras – someone famous was inside. When they saw Flora, they lifted the cameras but dropped them again, looking puzzled and muttering among themselves, obviously wondering who she was.
They went to the bar, and Vicky ordered them each a cocktail. When the drinks came they were palest green, fizzy and curiously refreshing. Flora savoured the sweetness and the gentle explosion of bubbles across her tongue.
‘How are you feeling?’ Vicky asked.
‘Not too bad. Calmer,’ Flora said. She looked about. All these people made her anxious, she couldn’t help that. And she couldn’t explain to Vicky her strange fear of being looked at. As soon as she felt someone’s eyes on her, she wanted to shrink inside herself and disappear. It seemed ridiculous to put on a pretty dress and come to a place like this when it was what she hated most … but as Vicky started to chatter away, Flora’s churning stomach subsided and her damp palms dried. It wasn’t so bad, was it? Nothing awful had happened. Perhaps it would be all right, leaving the house … The cocktail went right to her head and made her feel woozy. When Vicky ordered another two, Flora insisted on having a large glass of water as well.
Vicky was running through a list of questions she had for Flora. What ideas did she have for holidays – wouldn’t she like to go skiing? If so, they would need to think about the fact that they no longer had Aunt Francis’s Klosters chalet, unless they asked for it. And Aunt Frances always used to charter a private plane – would Flora like to do the same?
‘Excuse me,’ said a quiet voice.
Flora looked up and found herself gazing into a pair of light brown eyes. She recognised them from somewhere.
The man standing beside her in a smart black lounge suit smiled warmly. ‘I hope you don’t mind my interrupting, but as soon as I saw you I had to come over.’
‘Oh!’ she said, staring at him in surprise, and then she remembered. ‘You’re Otto! How n-n-nice to see you again. Thank you so much for the lovely flowers.’
His eyes crinkled as he smiled again. ‘You are most welcome. I received your note of thanks. I hoped they helped you recover from your nasty experience.’
‘Not half as nasty as it might have been, if it hadn’t been for you.’ She looked at Vicky who was staring at him with great interest. ‘This is my cousin. Vicky, this is Otto. He practically saved my life.’
‘Hi.’ Vicky grinned. ‘Always a pleasure to meet a real-life knight in shining armour.’
‘How do you do?’ Otto said politely. ‘Now, I won’t disturb you ladies any longer. I’ll leave you to enjoy your drink in peace.’
‘I’m so p-p-pleased to see you again,’ Flora said quickly. ‘I never got the chance to thank you properly. Won’t you join us for a drink?’
Otto glanced at his watch. ‘I’m supposed to be meeting an associate. But … I am early and he is always late. I would much rather be with you.’ He looked over at a waiter, an eyebrow raised, and instantly another chair was brought to the girls’ table. Otto insisted on ordering a bottle of champagne.
‘What good luck to meet you again,’ he said to Flora. ‘I’m leaving in a few days, and don’t know when I’ll be back in London.’
‘Where are you going?’ she asked. The waiter brought the ice-cold bottle over, along with three glasses. He poured out the champagne as they watched.
‘Back to my home. Germany. I’ve been here on business, and always long to get back when I’ve been away for a time.’
‘What is your business?’ Vicky enquired.
‘I am in consultancy,’ Otto replied. ‘I introduce very important people to each other and help everyone’s dealings run smoothly. Modern business is all about connectivity and networks. My role is to link networks to other networks, make fresh connections from which we can all benefit.’
‘Goodness, sounds very high-powered and important.’
‘It certainly takes up a lot of my time. I’ve come to London often and yet still I know so little of it. I’m always on my way to or from a meeting.’ He shrugged, looking forlorn. ‘That’s how it works.’
‘It sounds very interesting,’ Flora said. Perhaps it was because of what had happened the last time they had meet, but the moment Otto sat down with them she felt completely calm. It was as though his presence soothed her. She thought he might be anything between twenty-five and thirty-five, though from the crinkles at the corners of his eyes and the slight furrows on his brow she suspected closer to thirty-five. She liked his face: it was ordinary-looking but with a sweetness about it that appealed to her, and she knew already that beneath the gentleness there was strength.
‘As it happens, perhaps I will get the chance to see more of London this time. One of my contacts has unfortunately been taken ill and cancelled our appointments. I haven’t decided yet whether to go to the trouble of changing my flight home or whether to be a tourist for a few days, just for a change.’ He smiled at Flora and looked hopeful. ‘Perhaps, if you have nothing else to do, you might care to join me for an afternoon? I’m sure you know this city much better than I …’
‘Oh, no, hardly at all,’ she began then stopped herself when she saw Vicky shaking her head and widening her eyes.
‘That sounds like a lovely idea,’ her cousin said quickly. ‘Why don’t you get out and show Otto around, Flora?’
‘Oh, I …’ Flora stopped. Her first instinct was to refuse. The idea of roaming the city among crowds of people was nerve-racking … but then again, who would she be safer with than Otto, the man who had already come to her rescue?
‘I would be delighted, if you think you can spare the time,’ Otto said. Just then a waiter came up and said quietly, ‘Baron von Schwetten, the gentleman with whom you are dining is here. I’ve shown him to your table in the restaurant.’
‘Thank you.’ He smiled at Flora. ‘Regretfully, I must leave. But if you decide you would like to join me, tomorrow or the next day, then please call me.’ He rose to his feet with fluid grace, reached into his pocket and took out an engraved card which he held out to her. ‘You can reach me on these numbers.’
Flora took it, flushing. ‘I don’t know … if I can,’ she stammered.
‘Of course, I realise it is a great deal to ask,’ he said, ‘but it would be an honour for me. If I do not see you again, then I wish you all the best, and thank you for a charming time in your company. Now, if you’ll excuse me, ladies? Good night.’ He bowed his head to them and left, walking out of the crowded bar. Flora watched him go, surprised to feel disappointed that he couldn’t stay longer.
‘Goodness,’ Vicky said. ‘Let’s see that card.’
Flora put it on the table and they both looked at it. It was adorned with a coat of arms in red and black held in the claws of black eagle, its wings outspread.
‘Very Germanic,’ remarked Vicky. ‘The Baron von Schwetten, Schloss Meckensberg, Bavaria. Crumbs, he’s titled!’
Flora imagined a schloss. How romantic. She could see it now: a grey fairy-tale castle with turrets and arched windows, high on a mountainside, surrounded by thick forests with the silver Rhine curling by.
‘He seems lovely,’ Vicky said. She looked solemnly at Flora. ‘I really think you should consider going out with him.’
Flora blushed. ‘I hardly know him,’ she said, embarrassed.
‘I don’t mean a romantic date! I just think it would be fun for you to get out and do something. Otto seems like the perfect escort. After all, he’s already proved that he can look after you, hasn’t he?’ Vicky picked up the card and looked at it again. ‘Promise me you’ll give it some thought, won’t you? I don’t see what harm it could do, and you might actually enjoy yourself.’
Flora thought about Otto again. There was a slight air of melancholy about him that appealed to her. And she couldn’t deny that she liked his company.
‘I’ll think about it,’ she said. ‘I really will.’
‘Good.’ Vicky grinned. She tucked Otto’s card into her handbag. ‘Now, let’s have some more of that delicious champagne.’
21
The candlelight in the dining room made it hard to make out what Iseult was holding up but her enthusiasm was unmistakable. ‘Look at these, just look at them!’ she cried. ‘I adore these pictures.’
Octavia could make out elegant swirls, long pencilled lines, the turn of an arm or leg. Roddy sat at the opposite end of the long dining table, smoking away on a cigarette, a large glass of red wine in front of him. He smiled when Iseult held one of his drawings aloft for them all to admire.
‘Aye, I like that one,’ he remarked.
‘It’s stunning,’ declared Iseult. ‘Pure theatre, pure art – but incredibly wearable. I can see exactly how this will look.’
‘It’s inspired by this place,’ he said. ‘It’s changed the whole direction I was going in.’
‘Good. Good! Dear old Mabbes.’ Iseult held up her glass. ‘Come on, everyone, a toast! To Mabbes and to Roddy, a perfect combination.’
Octavia seized her glass, a delicate flute engraved with vines and flowers. None of the champagne glasses matched but the table looked all the more charming for that. She held it up and said, ‘To Mabbes and Roddy!’ before gulping back a mouthful. Roddy downed his in one. Across the table, Ferdy smiled at her as he put his own glass back down, his eyes sparkling in the candlelight.