The Olive Tree

by Lucinda Riley

  ALEX’S DIARY

  21st July 2006

  It’s not often I feel anger. The deep, burn-through-your-heart-and-set-your-soul-on-fire sort.

  I understand now how men can kill in moments of high emotion. This was what I felt by the pool this morning.

  I should have known at the start it would not go to plan.

  My faithful sidekick Immy had a humongous tantrum about not being able to put on her favourite dress to be a spy.

  An overgrown woodland pixie in a voluminous piece of lurid pink netting and chiffon, wearing sparkly flip-flops and a pair of yellow sunglasses shaped like stars, just might have been noticeable in the olive trees and given the game away.

  I’ll bet James Bond never had this kind of trouble with Moneypenny. So I had to leave her be and face the consequences alone.

  Rupes appeared at the allotted time. He was wearing those hideous Ray-Bans of his and trying to look cool.

  ‘Got the letter?’ he asked me, from the other side of the pool.

  He stood legs akimbo, arms folded, looking like he was having his team photo taken as captain of the Rugby First XV. He didn’t frighten me. Much.

  ‘Got the bunny?’ I replied.

  ‘Yeah. Let’s see the letter then.’

  ‘Let’s see the bunny.’

  Rupes unfolded his arms and turned to retrieve a plastic bag from under a sunbed mattress. Damn! He’d obviously planted Bee there earlier and I could have come and got him without all this palaver. I saw Bee’s precious head sticking out of the plastic. And nodded. I held up the envelope.

  ‘It’s in French, as promised.’

  ‘Read it to me.’

  ‘Of course.’

  I cleared my throat.

  ‘“Ma chèrie Chloë. Prendre vers le bas la lune!”’

  ‘In English, you muppet!’

  ‘Sorry. “Cancel the stars! There is a new light in the firmament! You shine like a new-born angel, fresh against worn-out planets! You have eyes like sma—”’

  ‘Okay, enough.’ Rupes looked as if he was going to be sick. ‘Give it to me.’

  ‘I want the bunny at the same moment. We’ll walk towards each other and do the exchange.’

  Rupes shrugged and started walking round the pool. We met at the edge of the deep end.

  I could see he was sweating. I was as cool as a cucumber. ‘Here.’ I reached out one hand which contained the letter and the other to grab the bunny bag.

  His hands came towards me. He clasped the letter and I clasped the handles of the bag.

  Then, quick as a flash, he wrenched the bag out of my hands and threw it into the pool.

  There was an almighty splash. I gasped in horror as, having expected it to float, I realised that it wasn’t going to. My precious Bee sank slowly out of sight.

  ‘Cheers for this.’ Rupes was waving the envelope and chuckling manically. ‘You can practise your apparently magnificent diving skills, saving that old bit of fluff. Sorry Chloë’s not here to cheer you on!’

  ‘Bastard!’ I screamed, unzipping my shorts in preparation to jump in, then realising I had no underpants on underneath and doing them up again.

  ‘Come on then, let’s see you!’ taunted Rupes as I jumped in, heavy Bermudas with days’ worth of un-emptied crap in the pockets weighing me down.

  I took a gulp of air and went under, feeling the chlorine burn my eyeballs (I never swim underwater without goggles as I emerge looking like a close relative of the Devil) and searched around in the murk for Bee.

  He couldn’t have gone far. He was light, so why on earth hadn’t he floated? I came up for air, my vision blurred, to see Rupes laughing his socks off. (If he’d had any on. Which he didn’t. Another ridiculous turn of phrase, but this was not the moment to analyse the English language.)

  I drew breath again and swam down, and down, my lungs bursting with fury and panic and lack of oxygen. And there, right at the bottom of the seven-foot-deep deep end, lay Bee.

  I came up again, wishing I could take my shorts off, but knowing the ignominy of remarks about the Lilliputian state of my privates would be too much to bear. Off I dived again, and managed to grab the top of the bag and pull. Then I pulled some more.

  I couldn’t move it. About to expire, I swam to the surface, my head spinning. I was gulping for breath so heavily I could not speak. I swam to the side and held on as I let my lungs fill. The thought of Bee drowning at the bottom, the chlorine eating into the remains of his delicate, un-furry fur, spurred me on. Taking a last gargantuan breath, I dove under the surface again, clasped the ear of my little friend and gave an almighty tug. And thank the Lord, he shifted. The swim up to the surface, dragging myself, my Bermudas and what felt like a two-ton sack of coal, will go down in history as the most harrowing moment of my life so far.

  I could have drowned. My worst enemy and my best friend could have killed me.

  When my hand came out of the water and I groped for the side of the pool to haul myself up the last few agonising inches, coughing and choking, I saw Rupes laughing away above me.

  ‘Just doing as my dear mama asked; getting you ready for boarding school. See ya, Alex.’

  With a wave and a smirk, he was gone.

  My legs shaking like unset jelly, I pulled myself and my bunny up the steps and collapsed onto the side of the pool.

  I turned and looked at the pitiful pile of soaking fur lying next to me. And saw the big rock that was tied to his paws. The ear by which I had pulled him up was now hanging on by one tiny thread.

  I don’t know how I’ve got through today, but I have. My fury and humiliation have known no bounds. I have contemplated running away, taking the next flight to Marrakech where I could work as a snake-charmer, if I could learn to conquer my intense phobia of snakes, but that would punish my mother and so wouldn’t be fair.

  Instead, I must go to this party, and live with the fact that my adversary will be there too. I comfort myself with the idea that he looks like a large pink pig in that shirt and also with the fact that Chloë is now completely ignoring him. I will use the time to make a plan which will be – and do not doubt me here – a fitting and just revenge.

  ιε′

  Fifteen

  The engagement party was taking place in the large courtyard at the front of the ancient, vine-smothered winery, which stood at one of the highest points in the village, overlooking a deep valley. The courtyard was bedecked with strings of fairy lights woven through the branches of the silvery olive trees that surrounded it, their glow augmented by the dozens of lanterns that had been lit all around.

  A group of cheerful local women served out platefuls of food from behind a line of trestle tables, which were loaded with an enticing medley of delicious-smelling dishes: stuffed vine leaves, spit-roasted pork and lamb, spanakopita and grilled fish, accompanied by huge bowls of rice and salads.

  By the time the Pandora posse arrived, the evening was already in full swing. A three-piece Cypriot band was playing in the corner, drowned out for the most part by the chatter of the two hundred or so guests. Wine was poured into glasses through a tube, straight from an enormous oak barrel.

  ‘An alcoholic’s paradise,’ breathed Jules, taking a glass of white. ‘Sacha would love it,’ she added as she wandered off to circulate.

  ‘Can I have a glass of wine, Mum?’ asked Alex as he watched both Chloë and Rupes help themselves.

  ‘Yes, a small one,’ Helena agreed, taking a sip of her own and feeling oddly alone. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been to a party without William beside her. The situation was made all the more poignant by the fact that tonight should have been a celebration of their own marriage.

  ‘Look, Alex, there’s a man eating fire over there.’ Viola, left stranded by Jules, pointed to another corner of the courtyard. ‘Can we go and watch?’

  ‘Why not?’

  They pushed through the crowd, who were all dressed in their best, towards the fire-eater.

 
‘Do you think my daddy is okay?’ Viola reached up on tiptoe to speak into his ear.

  ‘I don’t know, Viola, but I should think so.’

  ‘He’s not. I know something is wrong with him.’

  Alex reached for her small hand and tucked it into his own. ‘Viola, parents are funny things. Try not to worry. I’m sure whatever it is will sort itself out. In my experience, these things usually do.’

  ‘William’s not your real dad, is he?’

  ‘No, he isn’t.’

  ‘Did you know that my daddy isn’t either? Or my mum?’

  ‘Yes, I did.’

  ‘I love him like he is, though. He’s always been there, you see. It doesn’t matter really, does it?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Whether you have their genes. I’m sure my real father could never have been as nice and kind as the one I got. Do you love William? I think he’s lovely.’

  ‘I . . . yes, I do.’

  ‘I’m glad he’s my godfather. Alex?’

  ‘Yup?’

  ‘Do you think they love us the same as if we were theirs?’ she asked uncertainly.

  ‘’Course they do, Viola. Probably even more. I mean, you got chosen by them especially.’ He gave her a clumsy hug, then pointed to the fire-eaters. ‘Hey, look how high they’re throwing the fire sticks up in the air.’

  ‘Wow,’ she said, distracted, her face full of wonder.

  ‘There you both are.’ Helena appeared behind them.

  A waitress was passing with a tray of wine and Helena drained what was left of hers, then took another.

  ‘Mum! Be careful. You know you can’t drink more than a couple without getting squiffy.’

  ‘Alex, you are not my minder, and this is a special occasion,’ Helena snapped at him.

  ‘Sorr-eee. Come on, Viola, I’ll take you to the front so you can see better.’

  Left to herself again, Helena drifted through the mass of people, listening to the excited chatter of a crowd in which everyone was almost certainly distantly – if not directly – related to someone else, through years of intermarriage. She gazed at the throng gathering around the band, a few couples beginning to dance. Dimitrios and his fiancée, Kassie, were at the centre of it, their faces animated with happiness.

  Helena thought it unlikely that their lives would ever take them far from this place, and she imagined they would probably produce a new generation of strapping boys who would one day take over the winery. They would find their pleasure through each other, their children and the close community that supported them.

  Helena felt suddenly envious. And terribly sad.

  ‘How are you this evening, my Helena?’

  She was momentarily startled by the voice at her shoulder, and turned to find Alexis standing behind her.

  ‘Hello.’ She gathered herself together, thinking that she mustn’t spoil the celebration with her own self-indulgent melancholy. ‘This is a wonderful party – thank you so much for inviting us all.’

  ‘It is my pleasure, and my son’s. I only wish to know that you are enjoying yourselves.’

  ‘Oh, we are.’ She hesitated for a moment, not wanting to broach the subject, but feeling she must. ‘Alexis, please forgive me for my outburst yesterday.’

  He gave her a sad smile. ‘No apology necessary. I only wish you had told me years ago. But what is done is done. The important thing now is that we learn and move forward. Speaking of that, where is William? I have not seen him tonight.’

  ‘He’s coming later, with Jules’ husband.’

  ‘I see.’ Alexis let out a sigh. ‘I fear he is unhappy because he saw me holding his wife in my arms.’

  ‘He is. And it just happens to be our tenth wedding anniversary tonight.’

  ‘Then Helena, I think you must explain to him the circumstances. William should know the truth. It will help him to understand you. And me.’

  If only it was as simple as that, thought Helena, as a cheer came up from the crowd watching Dimitrios and his fiancée dance.

  Alexis looked across at them and smiled. ‘I wish that we were them, beginning our lives together. But’ – he shrugged – ‘it was not to be. And I want you to know I now accept it will never be. You belong to another, and I can see that he loves you very much. Truly, Helena, I wish to apologise both to you and to him. My behaviour has been unacceptable. I have struggled to adjust to the fact you are no longer mine . . . but I must. Now, come and let me introduce you to some faces from your past.’

  He stretched out his hand. After a moment’s hesitation, she held out her own. ‘Yes. Thank you, Alexis.’

  Alexis’ friends – mere boys when she first knew them – were now fathers with wives. They clasped Helena to them, greeted her warmly, telling her she was still beautiful and asking her questions about her family and Pandora. She enjoyed their attention, but with Alexis’ sage words still ringing in her brain, she couldn’t help wondering whether William would actually come, or whether she’d spend the night of their tenth anniversary alone.

  Which was no more than she deserved . . .

  The dancing had begun in earnest and the guests were all taking to the floor to dance the traditional Cypriot steps, passed down through generations. Helena saw Jules and Sadie in the crowd, their arms above their heads, trying to follow their partners’ movements.

  ‘Papa! Papa! You must dance Zorba for us.’ A sweating Dimitrios clapped his father on the back.

  ‘Yes, Alexis! Dance for us! Dance!’ The crowd took up the refrain.

  ‘And Helena, you must dance with him, like you danced together here before!’ It was Isaák, an old friend of Alexis’.

  ‘Yes, let’s see you strut your stuff. It’s meant to be what you do, after all!’ Jules shouted from the crowd, as multiple hands pushed Helena forward to join Alexis in the centre of the huge circle that had formed around them, everyone grasping each other’s shoulders in preparation.

  ‘Remember this?’ He smiled at her gently. ‘My eighteenth birthday party, held right here.’

  ‘How could I ever forget?’ she whispered.

  ‘Shall we begin?’

  He clicked his fingers above his head, the signal that they were ready, and the bouzouki player struck up the ponderous opening chords.

  As the circle began to move around them, so Helena and Alexis did too, the steps precise, clipped. They danced separately, but together, and even though Helena had not danced these steps for almost a quarter of a century, they were imprinted on her memory. And now, the music and her body commanded her. She was no longer a nearing-forty wife and mother, but a free-spirited fifteen-year-old, dancing in a sun-filled field of grapes with the boy she loved.

  The steps, so simple when they were slow, became more complicated as the music raced on, faster and faster, Helena twirling and swooping around Alexis. As the tempo increased, the crowd circling them began whooping and stamping their feet. Alexis caught her in his arms and lifted her high above him, spinning her round and round until they were a whirling dervish of passion and excitement.

  Above him, Helena opened her arms wide and threw back her head, trusting him completely. Flashes of colour were all she could see around her, the sound of cheering ringing in her ears.

  She was dancing! She felt alive, exhilarated, wonderful . . .

  Then the music slowed, and Alexis let her down gently, her body brushing close against his on its journey to the ground. He took her hands in his and kissed them, then spun her away from him so she could curtsey and he could bow.

  The cries for an encore were relentless. Eventually, Alexis quietened the crowd. ‘Thank you, thank you.’ He took a handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped the sweat from his forehead. ‘It is all too much for an old man.’ The crowd protested, but Alexis held up his hands again for silence. ‘Tonight we are here to celebrate the engagement of my son and his beautiful fiancée.’

  Helena slipped away into the crowd as Alexis ushered his son and future daughter-in-law to stand n
ext to him.

  ‘Auntie Helena, you were really great.’ Viola caught her hand, her eyes full of admiration.

  ‘Wow, sweetie! Amazing!’ said Sadie, as a small crowd formed around them.

  ‘I didn’t know you could dance like that,’ said Rupes.

  ‘Nor did I,’ said a voice behind her. Helena turned on her heel.

  ‘William, where on earth have you been?’

  ‘Sorting out Sacha. Anyway, seems as though you’ve been getting on perfectly well without me.’

  ‘Yes, I’ve had a lovely time,’ she said defiantly. ‘Now, I need a drink of water.’

  ‘Shall I get you one?’ he offered.

  ‘No, I’ll get one myself, thanks.’

  William followed her. ‘What the hell is going on?’

  ‘Nothing! I was dancing, that’s all.’

  ‘For God’s sake, Helena, you’re my wife!’

  ‘Yes, I am. So what was I doing wrong?’

  ‘Helena, I’m not an idiot! Everyone who was watching saw it. It sticks out a mile.’

  ‘What does?’

  ‘Christ! Do I really have to spell it out? I’ve given you the benefit of the doubt time and again, tried to ignore the fact that every time I’m out of the house, he’s there, like a rat up a drainpipe, sniffing around.’ He grabbed a glass of wine from the table, took a gulp, then, noticing the two fascinated waitresses standing behind it, pulled Helena away into a quiet corner.

  ‘Mr Bloody Perfect! Mr Helpful! “Mr Fix-it”, as your son calls him! Even yesterday, after I’d taken the kids out because I thought you needed a rest and some time to yourself, who do I find on the terrace when I arrive back, clasping you to his chest? Him!’

  ‘He came to make sure I was all right,’ Helena replied quietly.

  ‘I’m sure he did. And on top of that, I arrive here tonight and see the two of you dancing, looking as though you . . . belonged together! For once, just tell me the truth! You’re still in love with him, aren’t you? For CHRIST’S sake, just say it, Helena.’ He took her roughly by the shoulders. ‘TELL me!’