‘Drink, Alexis?’ William offered him a glass of wine.
‘Thank you. And as you English say, cheers.’
The assembled company raised their glasses as Helena joined them, looking lovely in a simple white cotton dress. ‘Hello, Alexis.’ She greeted him, but did not move to kiss him. Instead, she turned to William. ‘Darling, would you pop upstairs and say good night to the little ones?’
‘Of course. Anything need to be done in the kitchen while I’m up?’
‘No, apart from telling the older ones that supper will be ready in fifteen minutes.’ She touched him lightly on the arm as he passed.
‘Could you chivvy Viola up to bed whilst you’re at it? She’s watching a DVD inside. Tell her she can read ’til eight, then lights out,’ called Jules.
William nodded and went inside.
‘So, Alexis, come and sit.’ Sadie patted William’s vacated chair. ‘I want to hear more about your wine business.’
Helena half listened as Alexis explained the workings of his vineyard. Jules was saying something to her about the awful plumbing, but she wasn’t paying attention.
‘Yes,’ she said, absently, hoping it was the right answer.
‘You’re not going to renovate the bathrooms, then?’
‘To be honest, I haven’t really thought about it. Excuse me, Jules, I have to go and check on supper.’ Helena stood up and went to seek sanctuary in the kitchen. She stirred the pork casserole Angelina had left for them in the oven, checked the rice that was simmering on the hob and drained it.
A hand snaked round her waist from behind. ‘Our little ones are in bed, and I took Viola upstairs too. Poor little thing – could her mother not even make the effort to go up and say good night? I do sometimes wonder why they bothered adopting her in the first place,’ William commented. ‘Pretty obvious who the favourite child is in that family.’
‘Jules can be a little harsh with her, but Sacha absolutely dotes on her,’ Helena equivocated.
‘I seriously don’t know how you can be so kind about Jules, when her behaviour irritates the hell out of everybody else. Anyway, I think Viola’s a sweetheart, and as she’s my goddaughter, I’d like her to have the best time possible now she’s here. ’
‘I agree. I’ll certainly try to give her as much attention as I can. She’s a little lost soul,’ said Helena thoughtfully, tipping the rice into a large serving bowl. ‘And she definitely needs some TLC.’
William swung Helena gently round to face him, then kissed her on the forehead. ‘Sorry about earlier.’
‘Really, it’s okay. It’s my fault too. I understood after I spoke to Sadie that it’s . . . difficult for you.’
He swept a strand of blonde hair away from her eyes. ‘Yes, it is. And really darling, I’d appreciate it if at some point you told me exactly what happened between the two of you.’
‘I will, I promise, but not now,’ Helena said as she turned back to the hob. ‘Anyway, Sadie looks as though she’s in for the kill out there with him, so I wouldn’t worry.’
‘You don’t mind, do you?’
‘Of course not!’ Helena snapped. ‘I—’
‘Hi, Daddy. How’s tricks?’ Chloë sauntered into the kitchen, wearing a turquoise sarong masquerading as a dress.
‘Fine,’ William sighed. ‘You?’
‘I’m cool. Is it okay if me and Rupes walk up to the village after supper? Check out some of the bars?’
‘As long as you don’t drink alcohol and you’re back by midnight, then yes, I suppose so,’ he said resignedly.
‘Thanks, Daddy. Mmm, something smells good.’ Chloë peered into the cast-iron pot that Helena was now lifting from the oven. ‘By the way, who’s that bit of beefcake outside on the terrace?’
‘His name’s Alexis. He’s . . . a neighbour,’ added Helena.
‘He’s quite fit for an oldie. Sadie’s getting stuck in, anyway,’ she giggled. ‘See you guys later.’
‘Hold on a minute.’ William stopped her as he lifted the covered dish from the countertop and held it out to her. ‘Make yourself useful and take out the rice, please.’
‘Have you seen Alex, Chloë?’ asked Helena, as she followed them both outside and placed the casserole on the table.
‘I think he’s in his room. Want me to go and get him?’ offered Chloë.
‘Yes please.’
‘No probs.’
‘Is that your daughter, William?’ asked Alexis, watching Chloë retreat back into the house.
‘Yes.’
‘She is very beautiful. You must be a proud father.’
‘I am. But like all fathers, worried she’s growing up too fast. More wine, Alexis?’
Alex came hobbling out with Chloë a few minutes later, looking glum.
‘Why don’t you sit next to Sadie, darling?’ said Helena.
‘Thanks.’
‘Your father says you jumped from Adonis Falls today, Alex,’ said Alexis as he sat down.
‘Yep.’
‘You are brave, especially from the high rock.’
‘Even I wouldn’t jump from that one,’ remarked William, as he handed round steaming plates of pork and rice.
‘We ought to go, too,’ interrupted Jules. ‘Rupes was the school diving champion.’
‘It is not a good idea to dive from that height. Even though the pool is deep, there are rocks at the bottom. Your feet touch them, okay, but your head, no, it is not good,’ warned Alexis.
‘I’m sorry I didn’t come. It sounds wonderful. Would you take me there some time, Alexis?’ asked Sadie.
Alexis stared at Helena for a moment, then averted his eyes. ‘Of course. And anyone else that wishes to come.’
‘I do.’ Rupes appeared, reeking of aftershave and sitting himself down next to Chloë. ‘This looks good, thanks, Auntie Helena,’ he said as a plate was put in front of him.
‘I think it’s time to drop the “Auntie” now you’re thirteen and officially a teenager. Please, do start, everyone,’ said Helena, finally sitting down herself.
‘I’d like to propose a toast to the hostess, who has worked so hard to make Pandora comfortable for us all. To Helena.’ William raised his glass.
‘To Helena,’ everyone chorused.
After dinner, Rupes and Chloë disappeared off to the village, armed with mobiles and a torch. Alex scuttled off back to his room and Sadie insisted she would do the clearing-up, corralling Jules into helping her.
Which left Helena, William and Alexis on the terrace.
‘Brandy, Alexis?’
‘Thank you.’
William passed him a glass. ‘So, tell me, how is your business competing with the New World wines? Which, from what I saw in the supermarket, are very popular here?’
Helena half listened as the two of them discussed business. William was on his best behaviour, no hint of his earlier anger in his demeanour. They were both good men, she thought, and there was no reason why they shouldn’t become friends. As long as neither of them ever learned the truth . . .
Alexis left an hour later. Jules had already gone up to bed, and Sadie sat back and yawned sleepily.
‘Alexis was telling me earlier about his wife, and how hard his boys took it when she died. She was only thirty-four, poor thing. The good news is, even though he’s had such a rotten time, he doesn’t seem needy, or a bastard. He’s a thoroughly nice man, which at the very least has helped restore my faith in the male sex. Right, I’m for the sack. All this sun knocks it out of you. Night.’
‘She’s right. Alexis is a nice man,’ William mused when Sadie had left. ‘But I can’t quite see those two getting together.’
‘You never know. Stranger things have happened.’
‘Perhaps, but it’s obvious Alexis isn’t ready to let go. Not of his wife, might I add, but you.’ William checked his watch. ‘Where on earth have Chloë and Rupes got to? It’s almost one o’clock.’
‘I’m sure Rupes won’t let anyone harm her.’ Helena wa
s relieved he’d changed the subject.
‘Actually, I’m far more worried about the harm he may want to inflict on her himself,’ William muttered, as the sound of a car crunching along the gravel lane leading to Pandora made them both turn. ‘Christ, I hope they haven’t got themselves arrested for underage drinking. Perhaps we shouldn’t have let them go out alone.’ William stood up and strode towards the drive, with Helena following in his wake.
As the car drew closer, they realised it was a taxi. Once it had drawn to a halt, the rear door opened and a creased figure emerged, clutching a holdall.
‘Thanks.’
Slamming the door, the figure walked towards them.
‘Hello, chaps. I finally made it.’
‘Sacha! Why on earth didn’t you let us know you were here? We’d have collected you from the airport. Good to see you, old boy!’ William gave his best friend a ‘man hug’ that involved much clasping of forearms and back-slapping.
‘I did leave a message on Jules’ mobile to ask her to pick me up from the airport, but she obviously didn’t get it, so I grabbed a taxi. Hello, Helena. How are you?’
As he kissed her cheek, Helena flinched at the stench of alcohol on Sacha’s breath.
‘Come round onto the terrace and have a coffee. You must have had a long day,’ said William.
As they stepped into the soft light emanating from the terrace, and Sacha slumped into a chair, William saw his skin was as white and dry as parchment, a raft of lines etched deep on his forehead and on either side of his nose. His normally shiny, unruly mass of auburn hair was greasy and noticeably greying at the temples.
‘I’d rather have some of that brandy than a coffee,’ Sacha said, pointing to the bottle on the table.
William poured a small amount of the dark-gold liquid into a glass.
‘Come on now, Will, fill her up,’ urged Sacha.
William exchanged a look with Helena as he reluctantly topped up the glass.
‘Shall I tell Jules you’re here?’ Helena asked.
‘God, no,’ said Sacha, downing a large slug of brandy. ‘To coin a phrase, let’s let sleeping dogs lie.’ He chuckled at his own tasteless joke.
‘Well, I’m off to bed. It’s getting late.’ Helena stood up, desperate to leave and rationalising that this was definitely a man-to-man moment. ‘Good night.’
‘Night, Helena,’ muttered Sacha.
‘I’ll be up soon, darling,’ William said as his mobile bleeped to tell him he had a text.
on wy hme. all cool c n r x
He grimaced. ‘That was from my darling daughter, telling me that she and your son have finally decided to come home, some two hours later than promised.’
‘Of course! Chloë is here.’ Sacha had already drained his glass and reached for the bottle to pour himself another. ‘How is she?’
‘A typical teenager, desperate to grow up. You can imagine that I was expecting the worst, given her mother, but actually, she’s delightful. If I’d had a hand in her upbringing, I’d be very proud.’
‘Come on, you were there during her formative years and it’s not your fault that cow you married was unhinged.’
‘Chloë’s also stunning, even with fifty per cent of my genes. Your son obviously thinks so too,’ said William, hearing the slur in his friend’s voice and trying to lighten the darkening mood. He knew Sacha was already very, very drunk.
‘I’m sure. Bloody women, eh? They’re all the same, using their charms to trap us poor hapless men. Then once they’ve got us, spending the rest of their lives complaining. Look at Jules. In her list of favourite people, I probably rank somewhere between Hitler and the Devil.’
‘You don’t mean that, Sacha.’
‘Oh, I do,’ he said vehemently, then let out a bitter, mirthless laugh. ‘In fact, that’s the only thing cheering me up; the thought of Jules’ face when she finds out.’
‘Finds out what?’
Sacha looked at William, his face a picture of despair. He shook his head and chuckled harshly.
‘I suppose it’s pointless trying to keep it a secret any longer. From anyone.’
‘What on earth is it?’
Sacha took another gulp of brandy. ‘Well, let me see: I’ve remortgaged the house twice now, and taken out numerous private loans to keep afloat. But it’s all over, Will. My business is bankrupt. And the consequence is that my family and I have lost everything.’
ALEX’S DIARY
19th July 2006
It’s past one in the morning and I lie here hardly daring to breathe in case I miss the sound of footsteps.
I have to know Chloë is home and safe.
I heard a car and thought it was them. But then I heard a voice and it’s Sacha who’s arrived. And then . . . I’m not certain, but soon after that, I thought I could hear the sound of a man crying. Perhaps they’re watching a DVD in the drawing room or something, because I can’t think that either Dad or Sacha would be sobbing their eyes out like a pair of girls. It’s not the kind of thing boys do in front of each other.
Our tear ducts are programmed from conception only to Operate In Private. And On Special Occasions, of which there are only two categories: births, and deaths.
Even then, it’s dodgy, as from what I’ve seen, a man has to be ‘there’ for the woman in his life. She can fall apart all over the place and everyone thinks how amazing (birth) or caring (death) she is. Whereas, the moment we shed a public tear, we are girly and that’s the end of it.
I once went to hospital, having fallen off my bike and managed to grind the tarmac deep into my kneecap. I cried, automatically, because it bloody hurt! Did I get sympathy as Cruella De Nursey picked out each tiny, hideously painful piece of path from my knee with a pair of tweezers? Did I hell! Even though I’d left behind a piece of skin large enough to equip the nearest toad with a full-body graft, I was ordered by Cruella to be a ‘big boy’.
Now, now, dear, big boys don’t cry . . .
No wonder men are ridiculed by women for not being ‘in touch’ with their emotions. How can we be, when we are not even allowed to send our feelings a letter, let alone call them on the telephone, or – horror of horrors – actually ‘visit’ them in person by allowing our tear ducts to open?
Yet who is it that mainly brings the boys of this world up?
YES!!
The women!!
I pause in my philosophic ramblings and wonder whether I have just discovered some enormous, world-shattering conspiracy. One day, will my name be mentioned alongside Aristotle? Hippocrates? Homer Simpson?
The point is this: what exactly do women want from us?
Whatever it is, I am unable to continue to consider it, as I hear familiar voices from along the corridor.
She is home. Thank God. I can now relax, get some sleep, knowing Chloë is safely tucked up in bed a few feet above me.
I can hear the patter of her delicate feet as she walks into her room and begins to do whatever it is girls do before they retire for the night. Taken out of context, it sounds as if she is on patrol, marching backwards and forwards. In reality, she is probably getting undressed, hanging her clothes in the wardrobe, finding her nightwear, brushing her hair, reaching under the bed for her lost copy of Heat magazine. Et cetera.
I switch off the light, tell her I love her, and prepare to nod off. Just as I am doing so, there is a knock on my door.
It opens, without waiting for a response from me.
‘You awake, Alex?’
‘I am now.’
What does he want?
I sit up as Rupes enters my space.
‘Hi.’
‘Hi.’
Rupes squeezes his muscles through the narrow entrance between the end of the bed and the door, then closes the door behind him, which is a worrying sign.
‘I want to ask you something.’
‘Yeah? What?’
‘Did you write Chloë a poem and leave it in her room this morning?’
I am ag
hast he knows about this. ‘I . . . might have done.’
‘Thought so. She liked it.’
‘Really?’ My spirits rise. Has she sent Rupes here as a romantic emissary, being too shy to confront me herself?
‘Yeah. Problem is, she thinks I wrote it.’
What?!
How could she?! Rupes isn’t eloquent enough to copy out a nursery rhyme, let alone compose the kind of poetry Wordsworth himself would be proud of.
‘Yeah,’ he chuckles as he looms above me. ‘She got very friendly with me tonight. All that slush obviously did the trick. So I was wondering if you and I could strike a deal?’
I remain silent in the darkness.
‘Like, if I paid you, you could write me some more. Say, a fiver a letter?’
I am not silent on purpose anymore. I am simply struck dumb.
‘Let’s face it, you’re never gonna get off with her. You’re her little stepbrother. It would be, well . . . incredulous.’
‘You mean “incestuous”.’ His pathetic command of the English language unlocks my jaw. ‘No, it wouldn’t be. I am not related by blood to her so there is no reason why not, if we . . . chose to.’
‘Unfortunately it’s me she’s got the hots for, not you. So, will you or won’t you?’
‘Under no circumstances would I even consider the possibility. Forget it, Rupes. It’s a no.’
‘You sure?’
‘I’m sure.’
I hear him sucking air in between his big front teeth. ‘It’s unfortunate you couldn’t see fit to help out a mate, especially when there was something in it for you. Oh well, daresay you’ll change your mind. Night.’
As he leaves the room, I wriggle back down into my bed, panting with the tumult of emotions suffusing my brain.
No! No! No!
My poor, fair Chloë. You have been brainwashed, hypnotised . . . you’ve taken leave of your senses! I will save you, I will protect you, for you know not what you do.
I now know that this is out-and-out war, and I lie there plotting my campaign.
It is some time later when I dream my door is opening and hands are rummaging under my armpit and pulling something away from me.
In my dream, I am too tired to wake up and stop them.
The Olive Tree Page 14