by Fiona Neill
“Vaguely,” said Nick.
“Well, he seems to have drawn the wrong conclusions,” said Ali, adopting a forthright tone that seemed appropriate in the circumstances.
“What exactly do you mean?” asked Nick, leaning forward to squint at Ali with his piercing blue eyes.
“He thought that something had happened between us,” said Ali, staring at Nick without blinking.
“Why on earth would he think that?” asked Nick in astonishment.
“Your zip was half undone, and I suppose I was only wearing a T-shirt and cardigan, and maybe we looked as though we had been . . . as though we might have been . . . intimate,” she continued, immediately berating her absurdly Victorian choice of adjective.
“I see,” said Nick in a neutral tone. “Is this what Jake has indicated to you?”
“He has always been cool toward me, but today he specifically insinuated that this is what he believed,” said Ali, sounding calmer than she felt.
“And what do you want me to do about it?” asked Nick.
“I don’t know,” said Ali, looking down at her feet. “Maybe tell him the truth?”
“What did you see when you came into the drawing room?” asked Nick. Ali was surprised by the question.
“I saw you sitting on the sofa with your zip halfway down, looking at something on Jake’s computer,” she said.
“And what did you assume?” he asked.
“I’m not sure,” Ali lied.
“I think that you thought I was looking at porn,” said Nick, “and that I was using Jake’s computer so it wouldn’t come up on my history.” There was a long silence.
“I never imagined having this conversation with my children’s nanny,” said Nick, shaking his head. The sunglasses slid onto the table, but he didn’t attempt to pick them up.
“I don’t judge you for looking at porn,” said Ali quickly, “but you need to tell Jake that’s what you were doing, because frankly it’s the lesser evil.”
“How about I had just come home from the mother of all trips and I was assuming that no one would come into the room, so I’d undone my trousers and let it all hang out and was using two computers because I wanted to look at yield curves on one screen and write a document on the other?” said Nick.
“Then I would say that I made the wrong assumptions, too,” said Ali. Nick gave a hollow laugh.
“I’ll have a word with Jake,” he said, tapping the table with his fingers. “You know there is a historical precedent for this.”
“What do you mean?” asked Ali. Nick took a deep breath.
“When Jake was little, about ten years old, he caught Foy having sex with Julian Peterson’s wife, Eleanor, when they were on holiday here together.” Nick sighed. “It was before they had bought their own house. Jake went down to the pool house one night to fetch a jar of grasshoppers that he had collected. The door was open, he went inside, and he saw Foy screwing Eleanor Peterson. They didn’t see him. Can you imagine what a sight that was? Foy’s trousers halfway down his arse and Eleanor’s skirt up around her waist. Granted, Eleanor is a good-looking woman who has grown old more gracefully than many, but she was almost sixty at the time. Between them, there was more than a hundred years of flesh lying on the table.”
“The table?” repeated Ali.
“She was lying on the table, like a buffet,” said Nick distractedly. “Jake came and found me and told me what was going on. We never said anything to anyone else. Tita must have known. Bryony and Hester have no idea.”
They heard the sound of voices approaching.
“Can I have Bryony’s phone, please?” said Nick, holding out his hand. He took the phone and for a brief moment their fingers clumsily touched. Ali blushed with embarrassment. Foy appeared from the front of the house wearing a pair of sandy-colored shorts that did up above his belly button, emphasizing his girth.
“Les invités sont arrivés!” Foy announced triumphantly. He came outside with Hester’s daughters under one arm and Izzy under the other, commenting on how tiny Izzy felt in his embrace. But it was a ruse to underplay the more conspicuous changes to Izzy’s appearance: she had dyed her hair crow-black and cut a ragged fringe high on her forehead; her nails were painted with black nail varnish, and she was wearing purple lipstick; her eyebrows were dyed black. She was wearing a shirt with the sleeves cut off, a short miniskirt, and big black boots.
“God, Izzy, what have you done to yourself?” said Nick. “Bryony! Bryony! Come out here.”
Bryony emerged from the house with Tita and Hester. Hester had obviously added to the drama of the occasion by mentioning nothing to her sister or mother.
“She’s become a post-punk,” said Hester in the face of Bryony’s awed silence.
“Why have you made yourself so deliberately ugly?” asked Bryony. She looked as though she was about to cry. She turned to Hester.
“How could you let her do this?” she asked.
“It had nothing to do with me,” Hester protested. “She went to Camden Market looking perfectly normal and came back looking like this.”
“It’s all about self-expression,” said Izzy. “Hester had nothing to do with it.”
“If you try and tell me that this has happened because I work full-time, I will probably resort to physical violence,” Bryony shouted at Hester.
“I think you can safely assume that Izzy doesn’t want to model herself on you,” said Hester, stung by Bryony’s criticism.
• • •
“Are they old enough to celebrate with a small glass of champagne?” Foy asked. He urged Andromede to search immediately for a bottle to celebrate with.
“I guess so.” Nick smiled as Izzy came over and sat on the edge of his knee.
“Will you at least get rid of those great clunking boots, otherwise you’ll get trench foot in this heat?” Izzy shook them off her feet to reveal a small tattoo of a yin-yang symbol on her left ankle.
“What is that?” Nick asked.
“It represents peace and harmony,” said Izzy.
“Well, we certainly could use that,” said Nick.
“It’s so long since I’ve seen you, Daddy,” she said, clearly enjoying all the attention. “Where have you been?”
“Working hard to earn enough money to keep you afloat,” said Nick. He stared at Izzy sitting on the end of his knee as though she was a strange mythical creature come to torment him.
“I can’t believe you’ve done this, Izzy,” shouted Bryony. “Why do you want to punish me?”
“Calm down, Bryony,” urged Foy.
Ali retreated into the jasmine to observe the elaborate ritual of greetings, aware that her presence would make things more awkward. People were never sure whether to ignore or acknowledge her. Silence was preferable to the misfired kisses and clumsy hugs that people sometimes undertook. Their intentions were well meaning, but it highlighted her confused status. She was relieved that Izzy’s metamorphosis had occurred away from her.
She watched as Nick gripped Rick’s hand and put the other hand on his shoulder in a manner that could have been interpreted as patronizing, except that Rick retaliated with a bear hug that definitely left Nick on the back foot. The twins and Lucy and Jake appeared, and Rick gave an ebullient round of high-fives. Hector took one look at Izzy and burst into tears. Lucy gave a disapproving glance up and down her body. Jake chewed his lower lip and stared at Ali.
“I want Izzy back,” Hector cried. Izzy went over and knelt down to reassure him that she was the same person.
“It’s a disguise, Hector,” she explained.
Foy demanded that everyone admire the pair of handmade slippers that Tita had bought for his birthday. There was an olive tree embroidered in the velvet over the left toe and a salmon on the other. Tita walked slowly toward Hest
er, arms outstretched, and embraced her daughter.
“So lovely to have you all here together,” Tita said, her eyes filling with tears.
“It’s wonderful to be here, Mum,” said Hester, embracing her mother.
Foy vigorously shook Rick’s hand.
“Happy birthday, Foy,” he said, carefully placing a present on the marble table.
Foy stared at it for a moment, until he was sure that everyone was watching. Then he carefully peeled back layers of paper and Bubble Wrap until he reached an oil painting of the Villa Ichthys that Hester had commissioned from an English artist resident on Corfu.
“It’s marvelous, Hester,” said Foy, although the lines were perhaps a little too abstract for his taste and the blocks of color too muted for such an obvious man. “How clever you are.”
“It was Rick’s idea,” said Hester, looking at him sharply, as though searching for any signs of insincerity.
“We must put it up at once in the drawing room so that Julian and Eleanor can admire it when they come over,” he said.
“If Foy is in the mood for presents, then maybe we should hand over ours,” suggested Nick.
“Although I have no idea what he’s got for you, Daddy,” said Bryony. “It’s been his big secret.”
“We need to go down to the beach,” said Nick.
“Can’t you just give it to him here?” asked Bryony, nervously eyeing Hester.
“Indulge me,” said Nick, putting his arm around Bryony.
“On the Koloura or the Kassiopi side?” asked Tita.
“The Koloura side, in case we make the Rothschilds jealous,” joked Nick.
“Come with us, Ali,” said Bryony, noticing she was hiding underneath the jasmine. “You’ll love this beach.”
• • •
Ali could hear Nick and Bryony’s argument, even though their room was on a different floor in the main part of the house, where the olive press used to be kept, and their shutters were closed. The old stone walls couldn’t keep secrets. In summer nothing moved, the air stood still, and noise floated in mysterious patterns from one end of the estate to the other. She knew without listening that the argument was about the boat that Nick had bought Foy for his birthday.
She remembered Nick standing beside Foy on the beach, one hand covering his father-in-law’s eyes. Nick had dramatically removed his hands to reveal the twenty-three-foot speedboat. Foy had waded into the water and immediately got into the driving seat, laughing at the way Nick had called the boat The Menace.
“What a beast,” Foy kept saying, unable to suppress his joy. Alfie and Hector had climbed in the back, demanding to be given the first ride around the bay. Izzy had scrambled onto the prow with her cousins, Maud and Ella. Jake had even managed to disentangle himself from Lucy to climb on board. Foy had asked Tita if she wanted to join him, but Tita knew the motion would make her dizzier than usual. Hester and Rick had stood on the beach, unsmiling.
“How much did it cost?” Bryony kept asking.
“Does it matter?” responded Nick. To judge from the lazy tone of his voice, he was lying on the bed, sipping beer.
“You’re the one saying that we shouldn’t buy this house in Oxfordshire,” said Bryony.
“I paid for the boat a year ago,” said Nick. “Things were different then.”
“How much did it cost?” she insisted. “I can look it up on the Internet, so you might as well tell me.”
“Three hundred thousand pounds,” said Nick, as though this information would miraculously cauterize the argument. “It’s a Silvestris.”
“Why did you get it?” asked Bryony.
“I wanted to buy your father something that he will really love,” said Nick.
“I don’t believe you.”
“Why do you think I bought it?”
“Because you want to show my father that you can afford to buy him a present that he couldn’t afford to buy for himself. It’s part of this ridiculous one-upmanship that you have with him, this need to prove yourself against him. There’s more to life than money, Nick.”
“You don’t believe that or you’d let me give up my job,” Nick shouted back.
“It wouldn’t work,” said Bryony.
“What wouldn’t work?” said Nick.
“We wouldn’t work if you didn’t work,” she said.
13
Foy stood up in The Menace, one hand on the steering wheel, the other saluting Julian Peterson, as he navigated his way rather too fast toward the small jetty at the foot of the Petersons’ house on the edge of the bay at Agios Stefanos. The nose of the boat bumped the newly built wooden gangway, wrong-footing Julian, who for a moment looked perilously close to toppling into the water beside them. He stepped back to regain equilibrium, and Ali could see that his beige shorts and blue short-sleeved shirt were spattered with seawater.
“Let the party begin,” Foy shouted triumphantly as he finished his salute by doffing his panama hat toward Julian. Bryony put an arm on his shoulder to restrain him because he was rocking the boat, but Foy resisted. His sudden enthusiasm at the prospect of drinks at the Petersons’ was all the more astonishing, given the way he had spent most of the ten-minute journey complaining that they should bring their own food and wine because Julian was so stingy.
“What’s all this?” Julian asked as he leaned forward to read the boat’s name and get a better view of the hand-stitched-leather interior.
“Birthday present from my son-in-law,” Foy said, struggling to feign nonchalance.
“God, it’s a Silvestris, isn’t it? You lucky bastard,” said Julian, reacting in exactly the way Foy hoped he would. “Nick must be doing well. Either that or he’s trying to kill you.”
“Requires a clear head and a steady hand, and fortunately I still have both,” said Foy, unable to contain his excitement. “Isn’t it a beast? Glides through the water like a torpedo. I’ll take you and Eleanor for a spin later.”
“Grandpa needs a parrot for his shoulder,” shouted Hector excitedly.
“Please get a parrot,” pleaded Alfie, “please get a parrot.” If someone could get a boat that cost more than a house for his birthday, then a parrot didn’t seem so outlandish, thought Ali, as she helped the twins onto the jetty. Bryony, Tita, Maud, and Ella followed close behind.
Ali stood awkwardly as everyone kissed Julian hello. She knew the routine by now. Two kisses, one on each cheek. Would Julian remember her? If not, would Bryony remind him? In the event, both forgot. Foy, who was generally better than everyone else at including Ali in a round of greetings, was too wrapped up talking about the engine of his boat to notice her unease. For a moment she considered introducing herself, even though she had met Julian several times before. It was a less embarrassing prospect than coming across him later and having to explain that she was neither a friend of Jake’s nor one of Hester’s daughters, and was, in fact, the nanny.
Foy strode up the steep pathway toward the Petersons’ new house, leaving Julian breathlessly trailing behind him. Now it was Foy’s turn to muster enthusiasm appropriate to the purchase of an eight-bedroom villa overlooking the Ionian Sea.
“Stunning location . . . beautiful garden . . . fantastic house . . .” he said effusively, sounding like an estate agent. “It will be so lovely having you and Eleanor close to us in the twilight of our life.”
“Have you decided to retire here?” questioned Julian. “What about your business?”
“Can’t retire yet,” said Foy gruffly. “Fenton’s not ready to take responsibility. Too much of a loose cannon. Requires a steady hand on the tiller to negotiate with these bloody supermarkets. They’re squeezing our margins so tight that you can barely fit a piece of paper between profit and loss anymore.” It was all bluster. Even Ali knew Foy’s opinion no longer held any sway w
ith Freithshire Fisheries.
Ali hung back with the children, behind Bryony and Tita, who were discussing Izzy. This was the first time that Tita had joined the family on an outing since they had arrived. Generally she was invisible. In the mornings, when Ali was down by the pool with the twins, Tita visited famous Corfiote gardens in search of new ideas. Occasionally she went to see a friend or accompanied one of the guests to a local market. In the afternoons Ali usually took the twins down to the beach, and when they came home Tita was shut away in the drawing room, sticking photos in albums or reading. Always biographies. Never fiction. Sometimes they happened upon her in the pool in the late afternoon. She wore a swimming hat with purple and orange plastic flowers and swam the slowest breaststroke Ali had ever seen, her head held erect above the water.
Tita had reluctantly decided to go in the boat at the last minute, after a great deal of persuasion from Bryony and Foy, who both insisted she should be present during The Menace’s first proper maiden voyage. How everyone would travel to the Petersons’ had been the catalyst for a long argument that spluttered on from breakfast through to lunch. Far longer than it took to get there, Ali now realized.
Hester and Rick had announced they would walk, even though it was so hot that Leicester’s paw had blistered on the terrace. It was a point of environmental principle, Rick had sanctimoniously explained. Izzy had refused to go in the boat because it would interfere with her makeup. Nick had really wanted to travel in The Menace but had caved in to pressure from Bryony to take Jake, Lucy, and Izzy in the Land Rover. Bryony had insisted he needed to spend more time with his troubled teenage daughter. As she had waited outside the house for the boating party, Ali heard Nick impatiently revving the Land Rover in the driveway and pressing the horn nonstop for almost a minute until Jake and Lucy finally emerged. Then, just as they were all in place, his phone had rung.
“Sorry, Izzy, I’m dealing with a bit of a crisis. I’ll make it up to you.”