The Olive Tree

by Lucinda Riley

  ‘Stop it, William, please! Not here, not now . . . we’ll talk later, I promise.’

  He looked at her, then gave a sigh of exasperation and defeat. Dropping his arms from her shoulders, he shook his head. ‘But I’m telling you now that I don’t want to be with someone who doesn’t want to be with me. Happy anniversary, Helena.’

  Then he turned and made his way swiftly into the crowd.

  Feeling tearful, she walked back to the wine barrel and refilled her glass. She was about to take a large sip when someone put an arm clumsily round her shoulder, spilling the wine everywhere.

  ‘Hello, lovely girl.’

  ‘Sacha. You made it,’ she said apprehensively.

  ‘I did.’ He brandished a brandy bottle at her, and took a swig.

  Even though Helena had drunk more than she normally would, she was sober enough to recognise just how drunk he was. ‘You look dreadful.’

  ‘Probably,’ he agreed, swaying slightly, ‘but as a matter of fact I feel fantastic. You see, my angel, I have cause for celebration.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Oh yes.’

  ‘Why?’ She almost didn’t want to know the answer.

  ‘Because, in a few minutes’ time, I will be free! And you know what that means, don’t you, my sweetest Helena?’

  ‘No, Sacha, I don’t.’

  ‘It means . . . well, you know what it means. But now, I must go and find my lovely wife. And impart the good news.’

  He gave her a wobbly mock-bow, then swayed back into the crowd. Helena watched as he pushed his way into the centre and went to stand next to Alexis, who had just finished speaking. Her eyes searched wildly for William, but she couldn’t see him anywhere.

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen! Do forgive me for butting in like this,’ Sacha slurred. ‘My name is Sacha Chandler, and I would like to add my own congratulations to those of this gentleman here. What is your name, sir?’

  ‘I am Alexis.’

  ‘Alexis. What a great name.’ Sacha slapped Alexis hard on the back. ‘Are you married?’

  ‘I was, yes.’

  ‘Oh dear. Did it all go pear-shaped? A trip down divorce drive?’

  ‘No. My wife died,’ said Alexis quietly, looking at the ground.

  The crowd was still now, hushed, holding its breath as one. William appeared suddenly at Sacha’s side and laid a hand on his shoulder.

  ‘Come on, old chap, time to go home.’

  ‘Go home? But I’ve only just got here!’ shouted Sacha, shaking William’s hand off. ‘And anyway, I have an announcement of my own. Where is my lovely wife, Julia?’

  ‘I’m here, Sacha.’ Jules spoke up from the back of the throng.

  ‘Right, I need to tell you something.’ Sacha took another swig of his brandy. ‘You see, I’ve got to do it now, or else I’ll never find the courage. So, here goes, my love: my company has not so much been liquidated, as nuked off the planet. I no longer have a single sou to my name. Oh, and no house either, because I mortgaged it to the hilt, so the bank’ll snaffle that tout de suite. We are destitute, my angel, and have nothing but the clothes we stand up in. No more poncey schools for the kids. They’ll have to move to the local comp, and those nags of yours in the back paddock will probably end up in a wok in the local Chinese takeaway.’

  Sacha laughed harshly at his own tasteless joke. Holding the bottle aloft, he toasted his horrified but rapt audience. ‘So, ladies and gentlemen, there we have it! A double celebration! The start of one union, the end of another. Cheers.’ He took a swig from his bottle.

  The crowd began whispering, many of the non-English-speakers asking their neighbours to translate. William finally managed to grasp hold of Sacha’s arm and pull him away.

  Helena, who up until now had been paralysed by Sacha’s drunken oration, raced to William’s side, their earlier conversation on hold in the drama of the moment. ‘Christ. What do we do now?’ she whispered desperately.

  They both looked at Sacha, who was hanging on to William for support.

  ‘Go and look for Jules,’ he suggested. ‘See what she wants to do.’

  Helena did so, but although she searched the entire party, both Jules and Rupes seemed to have vanished into thin air. She eventually found Viola sobbing into Alex’s chest.

  ‘What’s going to happen, Mum?’ mouthed Alex over Viola’s Titian curls.

  ‘I’m going to drive us all home as soon as possible. Let me just go and round everyone up. You take Viola to the car. It’s open.’

  ‘Okay. Don’t be too long,’ he whispered urgently.

  ‘I won’t.’

  Helena hurried off and eventually found William and Alexis sitting on a wall, with Sacha doubled over between them.

  ‘Jules has disappeared along with Rupes, but I want to take Viola and Alex home.’

  ‘I have suggested William and Sacha stay here with me tonight,’ said Alexis. ‘Perhaps it is better, until the dust settles.’

  Helena looked quizzically at William, who nodded in agreement.

  ‘I’m gonna puke. Sorry chaps,’ moaned Sacha, then promptly did so.

  ‘You go home to the kids, Helena, there’s nothing you can do here,’ said William, getting out his handkerchief to clean Sacha up, while Alexis leapt up and ran off to fetch some water. ‘Let me know if Jules turns up. I’ll stay and make sure my oldest friend doesn’t choke to death on his own vomit.’

  ‘Are you sure you’ll be okay staying here?’ she asked her husband, hoping the expression in her eyes told him how she felt for his situation.

  ‘Alexis and I had a chat just now and he says he has spare rooms. I don’t want the children – any of them – seeing Sacha like this. It’s not fair on them. Apart from the fact Jules might get violent. And has every reason to do so,’ William sighed.

  ‘Okay.’ She tried to read his expression, but it told her nothing. ‘Keep in touch.’

  ‘I will,’ he said, and turned his attention back to Sacha.

  ALEX’S DIARY

  21st July (continued)

  Ahem.

  Well, gosh! And all that. What can one say? I am . . . speechless, or wordless, as the case may be.

  Unlike others, who made quite . . . umm . . . dramatic speeches tonight.

  It was a seminal moment. Not quite up to Winston’s level, but to give Sacha credit where it’s due, he was very drunk and yet he didn’t stumble over his words once.

  So much for a quiet, relaxing holiday.

  It is one o’clock, or thereabouts, and I am holed up in my hole. And because of the evening’s Greek tragedy, played out for the entire village to witness and applaud, then hold their breath in horror, I too have been affected:

  I am now feeling guilty. Dreadfully guilty.

  They say you should be careful what you wish for, because you might not like it when you get it. And I don’t.

  Earlier today, when I was pegging my bedraggled bunny by the feet on a piece of string I’d managed to hang across my small window to catch the air (I couldn’t risk leaving him on the line outside as he might have disappeared again), I asked God to employ a just punishment for Rupes, as I myself could not think of one heinous enough. In time it would have come to me, but my brain was addled by chlorine and emotion.

  And, hey presto! Big G comes up with a pearl: Rupes is homeless and penniless. Penis-less would have been better, but let’s not be churlish about this.

  And best of all, he will probably have to face the prospect of some sink-estate comprehensive. If those exist on the outskirts of Godalming, which they may not. But as they’re near broke, they’ll probably have to move to somewhere revolting anyway.

  Rupes will duly be annihilated by a hoodie-wearing, knife-carrying gang of thugs, who will pulverise the public school out of him, and then some.

  Oh! The joy!

  On the other hand, I realise suddenly, he might gain control, become leader of the pack and end up saving his family’s fortunes as a drug pusher, insisting his gang swap
the trainers and hoodies for brogues from Lobb and overcoats from Aquascutum. Though to be fair, I equivocate: he’s certain to get caught eventually, because he is a victim of his own arrogance, and will probably end up doing time in the clink with rapists and perverts for neighbours.

  However, as much as I am overwhelmed by my prayers being answered – and so promptly, to boot – the look on little Viola’s face was enough to make me feel like a complete heel.

  A six-inch stiletto, in fact.

  So, it’s a Pyrrhic victory, as these things usually are.

  Jules and Rupes vanished into the night like erstwhile lovers, leaving poor little Viola sobbing her heart out all over me.

  When we arrived home, Mum, who’d sobered up considerably since her Dirty Dance with Mr Fix-it – puke! – took Viola off upstairs to bed, and told me and Chloë to follow suit.

  We had a quiet chat at the bottom of the stairs before we parted for the night. Chloë seemed to think the whole thing was a complete hoot, but then I think she’d had more to drink than Mum, a habit that will have to stop once we are affianced. She was far more interested in telling me all about the dreamy Michel, Mr Fix-it’s younger son, and how gorgeous he was . . . also a habit that will have to stop.

  She was cross ’cos Mum had insisted she leave the party and come home with us, as Michel had already offered her a lift on his scooter later. And also because Sadie did stay on. She’d found a ten-year-old bloke she was hanging off, who’d also offered her a lift home on his scooter later.

  I know she’s Mum’s best mate and she’s great fun, but isn’t there a time when you admit you’ve had it? That you’re past it? Like, at twenty-five?

  Sadie’s miniskirt was competing with Chloë’s for lack of length and I really think someone, like Mum, should take her in hand and tell her she should adopt a more mature approach to her attire. Preferably based on a nun’s habit, and definitely no knees on show.

  Mutton dressed as lamb . . . now, that cliché does make sense. And is, in my opinion, what Sadie looked like.

  I saw The Graduate once. I didn’t get it, I really didn’t.

  I divest myself of my shorts and T-shirt and sink into my bed, to find myself in a soggy puddle.

  Dammit!

  I look above me and see Bee still trying to break the world record for the longest time a rabbit can hang upside down, and realise he has spent the past few hours dripping all over my pillow and sheets. I stand up on the bed and unpeg him. He is relatively dry. Not surprising, as all the water now resides in my bed.

  I manage a U-turn and move to the other end of it, so it’s my feet that will get pneumonia, not my chest.

  And I close my eyes and try to sleep . . . but adrenaline is pumping round my body, my heart making my body believe it is on a five-mile uphill run. In temperatures of over a hundred and forty degrees. I cannot still its beat enough to relax, and I know why.

  Leaving Rupes and his weird family aside, all is not well with my own.

  That dance. Him and her . . .

  The ramifications are, frankly, terrifying. The linchpin, the safety-pin that is my mother, seems to have unpinned herself from Dad. And if she has, that might mean she unpins us all from our . . . life.

  The fact I have a stepdad, that we have no choice but to tolerate each other, that he won’t buy ice creams over a pound, and that I know he thinks I’m weird for preferring Plato to Pelé, is hardly perfect.

  But I’ve realised tonight that he isn’t that bad. In fact, he’s quite a decent bloke. He’s . . . safe, compared to other alternatives I could mention. Which are not . . . he is not . . . an alternative.

  There is a timid knock on my door.

  ‘Alex, are you awake?’

  It’s Viola. Oh, crap. ‘Er, no, not really.’

  ‘Okay.’

  Then I hear her little feet padding away. And feel so guilty that I manoeuvre myself to standing and open the door. ‘I am now,’ I say to the shadowy ghost in her white nightgown. ‘You okay?’

  She shakes her head. ‘I just heard Mummy come in with Rupes, but she’s locked her bedroom door and told me to go away,’ she whispers desolately.

  I reach out my hand to her. ‘Want to come into my Broom Cupboard for a bit?’

  ‘Thank you.’ And she takes my hand and follows me inside.

  ις′

  Sixteen

  It was five thirty in the morning when William woke to bright sunlight streaming through unshuttered windows. It took him a few seconds to realise that he was not in bed at Cedar House back in Hampshire, or at Pandora. He was in one of the guest rooms at Alexis Lisle’s elegant old house, which stood adjacent to the winery.

  Slowly, the events of last night began to filter into his drowsy brain, and he groaned softly.

  What a mess.

  He shook himself fully awake, then clambered out of the single bed and peered at the figure lying in the other bed next to him. Having satisfied himself that Sacha was breathing steadily and sound asleep, and knowing that the chances of dropping off again himself were negligible, he dressed and crept downstairs into the cool, tiled hallway.

  There were no other sounds of activity in the house, so he let himself out by the front door and wandered aimlessly down the long drive, across the rough track at the end of it, and into the dusty rows of vines in the vineyard beyond.

  As he walked in the soft, misty light of the early morning, he tried to make sense of what had happened at the party. Quite apart from Sacha’s alcohol-fuelled revelations, he suspected that he too had behaved badly.

  Helena . . .

  He’d been consumed by a red-hot lava of jealousy when he’d arrived to see her dancing with such abandon in Alexis’ arms. His anger had finally exploded, after days of slowly burning resentment and confusion over the exact status of Helena and Alexis’ relationship.

  And the fact it was their tenth wedding anniversary had only exacerbated the situation.

  William plucked a bunch of grapes from a vine and ate a couple, knowing their juicy flesh would not placate his growing thirst. The heat was already overpowering, and he needed some water. As he turned back and began to retrace his footsteps, he mused on Helena’s general reluctance to open up emotionally to him.

  Why did he feel that she always held back? Stood just a heartbeat away from truly being his . . . ?

  Was it to do with Alexis?

  Well, he decided, there was only one way to find out.

  And that was to confront the man himself.

  Letting himself into the house, he heard sounds of activity from a room at the far end of the hallway. Making his way towards it, he tentatively opened the door to a large, sunlit kitchen, where he found Alexis busy brewing coffee.

  ‘How are you, William? Did you sleep well?’ Alexis turned and gave him a sympathetic smile.

  ‘For a short while, yes, thank you. Alexis, I must apologise for putting upon you like this. And for that very unfortunate scene last night.’

  ‘These things happen, William. I checked on Sacha just now and he’s still out cold.’

  ‘It will do him good to sleep. I doubt he has for a long time.’

  ‘Coffee?’

  ‘Yes – and some water, please, Alexis.’

  Alexis poured water and then two cups from the coffee pot on the stove, and set them on the table. ‘Please, my friend, be seated.’

  The two of them sat opposite each other and concentrated for a few moments on sipping the hot, reviving liquid.

  It was William who eventually broke the silence. ‘Alexis, forgive me if it’s not an appropriate time to have this conversation, given what happened last night, but I have to ask you bluntly, as I don’t know any other way . . . what exactly is the story between you and Helena?’

  Alexis paused for a few seconds, then nodded slowly. ‘I am glad you ask me. And that we have an unexpected opportunity to talk in private. I was going to make sure that I engineered one myself. So . . .’ he sighed, ‘I think it is no secre
t that Helena and I had a summer romance when we were younger. When she left here, I saw her only once after that.’

  ‘But she told me she hadn’t laid eyes on you after her last summer here.’

  ‘She tells the truth. I went to watch her dance with the La Scala ballet at the amphitheatre in Limassol. She never even knew that I was there.’

  ‘I see,’ murmured William.

  ‘And I will admit now that when I heard she was returning to Pandora after all these years . . . well, I cannot deny that there was a part of me that wondered if our old feelings for each other might reignite. But I tell you truthfully, William, that I know now there can never be more than memories and friendship between us. Because it is obvious she loves you, and she has told me so. Please forgive me, William. And you must not doubt her feelings for you. And if I have given you cause to, then all I can do is apologise wholeheartedly. It is no fault of Helena’s, I swear.’

  ‘Thank you.’ William swallowed hard, fighting to control his emotions as a wave of relief washed over him. ‘But I can’t help feeling there’s more to it than she’s telling me. Is there, Alexis?’

  ‘That, my friend’ – Alexis glanced at him – ‘is something you must ask your wife.’

  Helena looked at the clock, gasping when she saw it was past nine o’clock and wondering why the little ones hadn’t climbed into bed with her, as they often did if she was still sleeping. Grabbing her robe from the back of the door, she left the bedroom and made her way downstairs to the kitchen.

  ‘Hi, Mummy! You weren’t up, so I made Fred and me some breakfast,’ Immy announced proudly.

  Helena looked around at the devastation. She picked up a half-eaten bar of cooking chocolate and an upturned pot of olives from the floor. There was flour and sugar all over the table and floor, which would soon summon the local massed armies of ants.

  ‘Hello, Mummy,’ said a voice from under the table.

  Helena pulled up the tablecloth, took one look at Fred’s mouth and knew immediately where the other half of the cooking chocolate had gone.

  ‘Hello, Fred,’ she replied wearily, deciding she couldn’t even begin to start clearing up until she’d downed a cup of coffee, and she filled and switched on the kettle.