Luke joins in the hurrays which follow and watches Mathilde help Lynton to his feet. Lynton raises an arm of thanks and goodnight as he moves to the house, while Alden, finding himself stranded mid-speech, throws a flamboyant wave in return, as if this were the planned ending to his vote of thanks. For an instant he is nonplussed, but his confusion is relieved when a boy from the summer school begins playing a guitar.
Luke notices that Agnes and Dan are now seated on the low wall on the far side of the terrace. Alden walks over and sits next to Dan. A minute later Rhona joins him.
The guitarist is now playing American Pie. Alden’s joins in and encourages everyone to do the same. To Luke’s surprise Russ knows all the words. Luke relaxes and tries to become at one with the colours and sounds around him. It is irksome to see Rhona seated next to Alden, but she is not singing but chatting to Agnes and all but ignores Alden. Luke reassures himself that the word man may be prince of the party, but when the coloured lights are switched off he will be disappear like a glow from a filament.
Luke checks his watch. It is just after 2am. The air is cooler, the last drifts of charcoal smoke have been absorbed by the night, giving way to the gentler scent of marijuana. The moon is now above them.
As the guitarist begins singing a slow sea shanty, Luke feels an arm rest on one of his shoulders, followed by another arm from the other side as Cassie and Josh lull him into the swaying rhythm of the music. In return he locks his arms with theirs. Other groups in the circle have done the same, but not all moving in the same direction at once and causing gentle collisions like waves lapping against rocks. Luke can see Rhona, looking bored, linked between Alden and Agnes, and moving in mesmeric rhythm. When Russ and Dan join in the chorus, one by one the others follow until the whole circle is singing:
‘Way haul away, we’ll haul away together,
Way, haul away, we’ll haul away, Joe.’
‘At this end of the deck we can’t hear you,’ calls the guitarist between verses.
This spurs Alden to dominate the circle with an almost operatic tenor.
During the next verse, as Luke watches Rhona’s group move to and fro, he hears a mysterious exchange of confidences around him. The conspiracy is revealed in the next chorus when Cassie, Josh, Russ and Matthew sing confident harmonies. Among the impromptu choir Luke sings the melody line, savouring the riposte to Alden’s choral supremacy.
After the final chorus, the guitarist responds to wild applause by raising a wine glass to the circle. The gesture heralds a drinks break. Luke, watching Alden open a bottle of beer, sees Rhona stand and exchange a word with Agnes and Alden. Alden appears to say nothing, but gives an indifferent shrug. Without looking in Luke’s direction, Rhona walks across the terrace towards the steps leading to La Place des Pèlerins. Luke turns to watch her leave the party. At the foot of the steps, no longer within Alden’s vision, she looks up, brings her hands together and rests her head on them to signal sleep, but a second later flings her arms wide and mimes a breast stroke. As the guitarist resumes playing, Luke waves goodnight and watches her walk back to Les Puits.
Luke relaxes into the next shanty, the chorus of which is sung loudly and accompanied by excessive swaying. Further singing and drinking follow, during which Matthew’s largesse with champagne seems boundless. But Luke refuses more wine and drinks only water, remaining alert among the ambient drunkenness. In another chorus, an attempt at harmonies by the makeshift choir fails amid laughter, during which Josh slips off the wall, provoking triumphant finger-pointing from Alden on the wall opposite who, despite the bottles at his feet, seems more sober than anyone.
Cassie pulls Josh to his feet. ‘Home time,’ she says, struggling to steady him.
‘I’ll join you,’ says Luke.
‘Sleep well,’ say Russ and Matthew together, clearly with no intention of leaving before dawn.
As Luke, Cassie and Josh walk down La Place des Pèlerins towards Les Puits, an encore of Roll the Old Chariot fades behind them.
21
Luke wakes at 5.30am and walks to the window. He breathes in the cold air and watches the light soften the contours of the mountains At 6.00am he is in the kitchen waiting for Rhona.
He hears footsteps on the staircase but they do not sound like Rhona’s. Nor are the steps coming along the hallway. There is an unmistakeable creak as the door of the house opens. He moves to the window and sees Alden in a red T-shirt and white shorts walk to the bridge. Luke watches the tai chi exercises begin and wonders what thoughts pass through Alden’s mind with each movement of limb or fist.
He makes himself tea and sits at the table where the white flowers have been replaced by sprigs of rosemary. There are voices and sounds of feet elsewhere in the house – perhaps late night revellers have only now returned. Silence again. Five minutes pass and she has not come down. Has she overslept? He cannot possibly go to her room and wake her. No, she will be here.
At 6.10am Luke goes to the sink, stretches over the pots of herbs on the sill, opens the window and looks out, his worries increasing as he counsels himself: in her time, in her time. A memory surfaces of waiting years ago for another girl outside Turnham Green tube station. She’d told him she wasn’t working at the florist’s that Saturday. She’d be there at 10.00am. She had never appeared. He had waited for an hour. Miserable, he walked back home via the flower shop. She was at the counter, working as normal. ‘They needed me after all,’ was her only comment. ‘I was going to phone.’
He hears the kitchen door open and turns round. Rhona is standing there. Pale, barefoot, she is wearing only a long dark blue shirt. She opens her mouth but doesn’t speak. Nervous, she looks around the room. Luke steps towards her but she rushes to the window. He follows. She is looking towards the bridge where Alden in a crouched position stares forward like a wild beast about to pounce.
She turns to Luke and throws her arms round his neck. Shivering, she begins to sob, quietly at first but soon unrestrained.
‘The bastard,’ she says. ‘The bastard.’
‘What’s he done to you?’
She looks to the window again.
‘You’re safe here. He’ll be on his bridge for half an hour.’
Rhona sits at the table. She rests her head in her hands, her elbows on the rough pine surface. She closes her eyes. Her fingers claw through her hair.
Luke rests a hand on her arm. ‘What happened?’
She looks up and opens her eyes. She brushes away tears. ‘He forced himself on me.’
‘He raped you?’
‘He tried to.’ She clutches his arms. ‘After the party. I was almost asleep. He sat on the side of my bed – naked, stroking my hair. I told him I was tired, I needed to sleep. He kept talking about the play and touching me. I told him to leave me alone. He took no notice. He lay down beside me. I said, “Get off.” He persisted. He almost . . . it was hell. I wanted to scream – I couldn’t. I punched him. He didn’t care. It seemed to excite him. So I kicked him. Hurt him. He got angry. I managed to get off the bed. He threw himself at me – grabbed my wrist. “I’m leaving you. I want a divorce,” I said. Immediately he released me.’ She turns again to the window.
‘You’re safe now.’
She looks at Luke. ‘He was suddenly calm – a different person. I was more scared than I had been before. “So you don’t want the business,” he said. “I’ll buy you out,” I told him. But he just laughed. “You can’t. Moira and I wouldn’t sell our shares – even if you went begging to your mirror man for the money. You’ve only a minority stake. You want to sleep? Sleep on that”.’
‘So he knows about us.’
‘Yes, but I don’t care – the break-up’s already started. Maybe it was naive to think it would ever be easy. I was so angry with him. He lay down on his own bed as if I wasn’t there and he hadn’t a care in the world. I said to him – I shouldn’t have done but I said, “And all this because you can’t run away, sell all you’ve got, borrow from your darling siste
r and shack up with your little dancer.” This made him give me that fish-eyed look he’s got. At first I thought he would attack me again. But he didn’t. He just said coldly, “The business could survive without you, you know.” That really hit me. Worse than if he’d punched me. I was in shock, angry. I couldn’t speak.’
She looks up. ‘What’s that?’
‘Nothing.’
‘I heard footsteps.’
‘Elsewhere in the house.’ Luke goes to the window. ‘He’s still on the bridge.’
She falls back in her chair. ‘As he lay there with his eyes closed, I wanted to kill him. I couldn’t be in the same room. I ran down the corridor and went to Russ’s room. I knew it would be empty. I shut myself in. I didn’t get any sleep. I was frightened. I thought he’d come looking for me. I kept checking the iron bolt and worrying about my safety. About you and me. The business.’
Luke cradles her head in his hands. ‘He won’t touch you again – I’ll make sure of that. And he may be bluffing about him and his sister not wanting to sell their shares. I’ll help you buy out one or both of them, whatever you have to pay, so you have control. You can get rid of him.’
‘Luke, he wasn’t bluffing. He’s vindictive. He won’t give up his share.’
‘You could try and buy his sister out. Everyone has their price.’
‘Not Moira. She’s married to a multi-millionaire. She has no need of the money. She and Alden have always been close and she’ll do what he wants. If he doesn’t want her to sell, she won’t. For the last few hours it’s all been spinning through my head. The bastard’s in control and he knows it. He’s trying to drive a wedge between you and me. Between me and my business. Between me and my team. He knows how hard it will be for me to leave what it’s taken years to build.’ She walks to the window. ‘Look at him standing there, hands in the air.’ Unconsciously she grasps a handful of marjoram from one of the pots.
‘I saw him like that last night on the balcony before his bust-up with Lou.’
‘I wish she’d crept up behind him and pushed him off. Look – that ridiculous way he stretches his arms. Lord of Santa Marta. Imposing his seigneurial rights on any girl who takes his fancy. And I’m meant to be his submissive lady who colludes with his power trip.’
‘Live with me and let him do his worst. Start your business afresh.’
‘He’s coming back to the house.’ She dashes to the door. ‘I don’t want to face him.’
Luke takes her hand. ‘Stay here, I’m not scared of him.’
She pulls herself away and rushes into the hall. Luke follows.
‘We’ll meet up later,’ she says. ‘I must sleep.’ She looks at her hand, frowns in puzzlement that she is holding the herbs, throws them down and runs up the staircase.
The front door opens. When Luke sees Alden he feels his fingers closing to form fists.
‘Luke, glad to have caught you,’ Alden smiles. ‘Now you and Russ must join us for dinner tonight at the hotel. A small thank you for your help. Seven o’clock?’ He rests a hand on Luke’s shoulder.
With great effort Luke does not raise his fists.
It seems that Alden is about to go to the kitchen but he pauses, noticing the stalks of marjoram on the floor. In that instant it strikes Luke that Alden not only knows Rhona has been here a minute before, but is also aware of every word she said – perhaps the claimed second sight is true.
Alden looks him in the face. ‘Rhona and I sometimes have our differences, but . . .’ Luke sees the iciness in Alden’s eyes above the smile, ‘. . . how can I put it? You’re my guest. Please don’t embarrass yourself.’ Alden goes to the kitchen.
Luke looks down at his fists, still clenched. He relaxes and breathes in deeply. Knuckles are not the way to confront Alden. So far, on the surface at least, he has been amicable towards him; that is how it must continue. From the kitchen he hears the sound of running water. Rising anger tells him to go in and knock the hell out of Alden, but again he resists. Instead, he scoops up the stalks of marjoram, pushes them into a pocket, and returns to his room.
Lying on his bed, he is glad there has been no fist fight, that sound sense has restrained him. Nor was there any cowardice on his part. In fact his willpower and restraint have been a sort of victory. Nevertheless, alone in his room, he also feels like a child reprimanded by an adult and sent upstairs as punishment. Perhaps Alden also thinks this is what happened – that a small miscreant has been put in his place, warned off, that a minor threat to his marriage has been brushed away, swotted like an annoying insect. Luke winces at the thought that Alden is enjoying his triumph in every department – husband, holder of the purse strings, controller of people – even master over this village and its inhabitants.
‘But you will not win, you will not win,’ Luke says aloud. In contempt he repeats Alden’s words, ‘Please don’t embarrass yourself.’
Luke again clenches his fists. He talked to me like a Victorian patriarch and treats Rhona the same way. She has been abused, disabled. She is clearly so terrified of him and what he might do in the future that she is afraid to leave him. Is there nothing I can do? Must I wait until we have returned home? Do I let her accept abuse for a few more days – weeks – ask her to play the long game – wait for her until the position of her company and its shareholders is resolved? No, this is not a game and she is not a commodity whose future is to be negotiated over the medium or long term.
He tightens his grip and squeezes his eyes tight as a simmering fury spreads through his body. After some minutes he opens his eyes and looks at the room and open window. The sparse furnishings around him and the cloudless sky outside settle his mind enough to allow him to pull himself up from the bed. He leaves the room. Along the corridor he looks through a window and down into the courtyard where he sees Alden reading a book. Occasionally he pencils notes in the margin. Once he casts about as if waiting for his wife to appear along with a maid carrying two cups of coffee – like an actor, Luke thinks, in an advert for an exclusive holiday villa. Seeing Alden calmly enjoying the morning sun, it is hard to believe that this is the man who last night attempted to rape a woman who is now in terror of him. Luke digs into his pocket and pulls out the stalks of marjoram to convince himself that his earlier encounters first with Rhona, then with Alden, were real, not a pre-waking dream. He knows he must leave the house.
The walk to the spring seems interminable and it is an age before the twisting path begins to ascend steeply. Further on, he cannot recall a stretch of flattish terrain dotted with scrawny oaks. At intervals the track seems to disappear but he trusts to instinct that he has followed the correct route. He is perspiring and thirsty but has no water.
At the interface between oaks and pines, the path again ascends. The air is cooler and the path leads him between sheer rocks which he clearly remembers, but where before they were tamed by Rhona’s presence, now they have become intimidating. As the track opens onto the platform of gnarled pines, he pauses by a low, flat rock. It was here he and Rhona sat side by side and she allowed him for the first time to look down to where their ascent had begun. His legs are heavy but he cannot bring himself to sit here again. Looking at the rock, he can see the two of them, his arm around her, and he can hear her words, ‘Now you can look back.’ It seems wrong to follow her instruction when she is not here but with some reluctance he finds himself turning and surveying the mountainside beneath him, the position of Santa Marta indicated only by the top of the church tower. In the distance the sea is still and blue, merging on the horizon with a cloudless sky. The silence is broken only by the sound of shouts rising from the village below. After a few minutes they cease.
He follows the path through the pine trees. A startled bird flies out of some low branches. Large and dark – he has no idea which species – it reminds him of the nightjars he and Rhona saw on the heath. He wishes he were back there with her on that evening when the future seemed so certain. It will be again, he tells himself. It will.
> The path swings out of the trees and becomes a hazardous track, clinging between the mountain face towering on the left and a steep drop to the right. A minute later he is hit by a wave of vertigo. He stops, forcing himself not to look down. There is no Rhona at his side to encourage him but he can hear her voice, ‘Not far now, but you have to do the next stretch without thinking.’ When he arrives at the break in the path he steps, undaunted, across the crevice, fear suppressed by the urge to be at the spring. Now he finds himself walking too fast and fights to curb his impetuosity. At last he sees the path bend round the mountainside and widen. But after a few steps he is halted by the sound behind him of falling stones. He looks back and down but sees nothing. Have they fallen from above? Worse, has the path behind him slipped away in a rockfall? He must go on.
As Luke approaches the spring, through the stillness he hears the intermittent fall of water droplets. Perspiring heavily, he finds the sound a comfort, as if calling him to him from the far side of the pines. At the rock-face he places his hands on the streaks of algae either side of the fissure. There is sufficient dampness to wet his palms. A drop of water falls on his face. He wipes it with a hand and tastes its mineral coolness. A glass of well water could not have been more refreshing. Another drop falls on his feet. He turns and sees on the ground a stalk and a few dried petals. He wants to touch it, but a primitive voice tells him that since it was an offering it must not be disturbed. He pulls from his pocket the crumpled stalks of marjoram, now more aromatic through bruising, and lays them besides Rhona’s gift. In the pleasure of a task fulfilled he goes to the wall and sits. It is safe here. Here he does not feel belittled by Alden. Here he is protected from Alden’s second sight and malevolent charisma. It is not until he places his head in his hands that he is aware he is crying. He looks up. The remote place has an otherness which makes it easy to understand why it has always been considered sacred. He cannot imagine feeling this way in the English countryside. He closes his eyes, and rids his mind of thought by concentrating on the slow, irregular pendulum of falling droplets.
The Mirrror Shop Page 30