‘Sure. Luca, can you manage? The balls and rackets go in that hut over there.’ He pointed.
Luca. I was taken aback. Right back. I hadn’t seen him for years. Had deliberately missed his last visit a couple of years back, finding him a sulky, shifty boy on my previous encounter. Yet here he was, this towering great lad, all tawny tousled hair and testosterone: a man almost.
‘Oh – Luca.’ I was covered in confusion as Seffy knew I would be. I felt his amused eyes on me. Fifteen love to my son. I reached for my manners. ‘How marvellous to see you again. Gosh, it’s been ages.’ I advanced, hand outstretched. ‘I’m Hattie, Seffy’s mum. Laura’s sister. You probably don’t remember.’
‘I remember,’ he said, in his heavily accented English. We shook hands, and I glanced at the other one, the withered one – thank the Lord the left one, as Laura always said, so he could at least shake hands, so important for a man. It was still shrunken, but perhaps not quite so obviously as when he was a child. Had he seen me glance? I wasn’t sure: but then I’d been wrong-footed. Forewarned, of course I wouldn’t have.
The eyes, I noticed, still didn’t meet mine. They slid away, dark and narrow, in a thin oval face, as Seffy’s never did, even when he was caught with his trousers down.
‘How lovely to see you,’ I gabbled as it became transparent I couldn’t just sweep Seffy away and leave Luca to clear up like the village boy I’d thought he was. And how ghastly was that? ‘Are you here for long?’ That sounded dreadful too, the implication being I hoped he wouldn’t be, but then, as I said, I was thrown. Nervously, I began picking up the balls, stooping round the court like a baboon, or a cotton picker, whilst the boys leaned on their rackets and watched
‘Yes, I stay about a month,’ Luca said. ‘My university course has an exchange year, so I am travelling the while, and staying a bit with my father.’
‘Oh how marvellous!’ I breezed as I scooped some more, thinking Seffy could at least help, and not stand arrogantly by. I staggered to the wire basket, up to my chin in balls, and dropped them in. Not one went in the basket. We watched as they bounced cheerfully around the court.
‘Seffy, for God’s sake – pick them up!’
He rolled his eyes. ‘So-rry. You told me not to.’
‘Well, I’ve changed my mind!’
I plastered on a smile. Then, embarrassingly, adopted Luca’s own pigeon English, as sometimes happens when I address foreigners. ‘And what is it that you are studying?’ I asked slowly. ‘At the university?’
He gave me a withering look. ‘English.’
Of course. What else? Because in another few years he’d be here, installed in the house, lord of all he surveyed. And to run the estate properly, he surely needed the lingo. My heart lurched for Laura, with this ticking time bomb in her midst.
We were leaving the court now, heading across the lawns towards the house, and I felt my conversation dry up, because a natural question would be, what d’you want to do when you leave university? – and I couldn’t think of anything else to say. Perhaps he sensed it.
‘See you, Seffy.’ He raised his racket, and giving me a sly, knowing smile, peeled off languidly in the other direction, past the rose garden, towards the stable yard. A bright red, low-slung slick of a car was parked there on the cobbles. I had an idea Ferrari was the word I was groping for.
‘Yeah,’ Seffy, raised his own in response. ‘See you.’
I watched as, a sweatshirt over his arm, Luca sauntered off, plucking car keys from his pocket. Quite the dude. Not at all what I’d expected the awkward boy to grow into.
‘What’s he like?’ I asked, curiosity getting the better of my own troubles.
Seffy shrugged. ‘He’s OK. He comes across as a bit pleased with himself, but when you get chatting he’s all right.’
‘Well, you’re obviously chummy enough to have a game of tennis together?’
‘Laura asked me to. I think she likes to get him out of the house. I could hardly say no, could I? Anyway, it was something to do.’
He bashed the ground with the head of his racket, and it occurred to me it wasn’t as much fun as it sounded, being sent home from school. Which of course was why they did it. To concentrate the mind.
‘I’m really sorry, Mum,’ he said in a much smaller voice. ‘It was such a stupid thing to do. I’m sorry I’m such a loser.’
Relief, love, joy, flooded my heart. That was all it needed. All it took, to stop me in my tracks, melt me, open my arms and hold him tight. We hugged, Seffy already towering above me, dark head bent. I could hear his heart hammering.
‘You’re not a loser,’ I said fiercely. ‘You just lost track of time, that’s all.’ I was instantly on his side. ‘And I’m horrified they didn’t do a proper head count, send someone to look for you. It is totally irresponsible of the teacher in charge to leave without you. Indefensible – and I shall tell them so.’
He shrugged and we walked on. ‘Yeah, well, he’s in the shit too, obviously, the beak. But we all make mistakes. I’d rather you didn’t make a fuss, Mum.’
‘No. No, well, all right.’ I agreed. ‘I won’t, I suppose, if you don’t want me to. After all, this isn’t hugely serious, is it?’ I glanced at him anxiously. ‘You’ve only been sent home for a few days?’
‘Till the end of the week, but then it’s an exeat, so ten days in all.’
Of course, next weekend was an exeat, which helped. Everyone would be going back to school together: it was much more easily forgotten about. Seffy wouldn’t be arriving back in a classroom suddenly. Ivan had been right, it could have been a lot worse. I breathed; started to relax.
‘And the girl? Was she in big trouble?’
‘A bit, but of course she wasn’t miles from home like me. She was only about an hour late getting back to her dorm, and she slipped in without being seen.’
‘Right. Do I know her?’
‘You’ve met her, I think. Cassie Forbes?’
I stopped. ‘Cassie Forbes? Cassie Forbes?’ My head whipped back. I stared at him. His eyes were opaque. Impenetrable. But then, something sharp, something knowing was there as well. I felt fury mounting.
‘Oh you stupid, stupid boy! What are you doing messing around with her?’ The ghastly, hateful words were out before I could check them. Instantly, Seffy’s shutters came down.
‘We weren’t messing around, we were talking. And anyway, why should you take against her so much? She’s a nice girl, you said so yourself.’
‘Yes, yes,’ I breathed, raking my fingers quickly through my hair, ‘she is a nice girl. I don’t know why…’ But I did. Did know why. Dominic and Letty’s child. I didn’t want him to go there. ‘Sorry. Forget it, Seffy,’ I said shortly. But my son wasn’t finished.
‘What’s the problem, Mum? Why the violent reaction?’
‘No reason, no reason, you’re quite right. I’m being ridiculous. And you’re just friends, so that’s lovely. Anyway, let’s go in. Look, there’s Laura.’ I spotted her through the kitchen window.
‘Well, we are just friends at the moment, but I really like her. She’s really nice. Fit, too.’
Don’t rise, don’t rise. Somehow I knew he was lowering the worm, dangling it in front of my nose to reel me in, but I wouldn’t take it.
‘It’s just, I worry, Seffy,’ I said, keeping my voice level with a struggle. ‘You know, we left the last school because it wasn’t right, and now you’re starting with a clean sheet. It would be a shame to—’
‘We did not leave the last school,’ he roared, making Laura turn, even through the glass. ‘I was expelled, as you well know, for drinking a bottle of wine and inadvertently setting fire to the common room as I fell into a drunken stupor with a lit cigarette. We did not decide it wasn’t right for me, for pastoral and academic reasons, as you’re so fond of telling people, as if I could pick and choose. I was fucking well kicked out!’ His face was white with anger; eyes ablaze. He never swore at me. I felt myself shrivel inside, as if a ha
nd had reached in and scrunched me up, like a desiccated old leaf.
‘No. No, you’re quite right. We do both know that. But I like to protect you, to—’
‘Lie,’ he said fiercely. ‘You like to lie. You call it glossing over the truth, but the fact is, Mum, you can’t face reality.’
I felt myself rock back in my shoes at this: with the force of his venom.
‘I tell anyone that asks that I was sent down, but you, you have to big it up, don’t you? You have to blag and lie your way out of everything, and d’you know what? Sometimes it’s downright evil.’
We were by the kitchen now and I reached out to hold the wall with the flat of my hand. To steady myself. I could feel my eyelids flickering under the force of his invective, his onslaught; could already hear Laura’s footsteps running down the passage from the kitchen towards us. Through half-shut eyes I looked into my son’s furious, glittering ones. It seemed to me I looked down the passage of time, right back to the beginning of everything; right to the core of my soul.
Laura’s hand was on my arm. ‘Hattie!’ She gave me a little shake. ‘Seffy – what’s wrong?’
Seffy’s face in that instant crumpled. Collapsed like a puffball that’s been pricked, and even though he turned and ran, I saw his eyes fill as they had when he was a little boy. For some reason, a moment when we were on holiday, years ago in Croatia, on the Dalmatian coast, sprang to mind. He must have been about ten. He’d built a fort on the beach. Not a castle you understand – he was too old for those – no, this was an intricate Camelot affair, complete with arrow slits and roads and a drawbridge. A child, running backwards, pulling a kite, had accidentally trampled through it, wiped it out in moments. It was that same, aghast look he had on his face, as if his world had caved in.
Laura took me inside and I managed to babble something innocuous. About how shocked I was at Seffy being sent home, and how, stupidly, I’d balled him out. How cross I was, especially after all that had happened. But then I stopped. Because you see, I couldn’t remember if Laura had been told the lie: about Seffy choosing to leave the last school, and move elsewhere. Luckily she was prompting me, sitting us both down, her hand still on my arm.
‘I know, because he was sent down before, of course you’re worried.’
Yes, yes, I had told her, that’s right. It was Mum who didn’t know. Dad did. Seffy had told him. My mouth was very dry, though, and I was glad of the glass of water she put in front of me. I drained it in rapid gulps. It seemed to clear my head, as if I’d rinsed my brain under a cold tap.
‘Stupid of me. I yelled at him, you see,’ I repeated, dimly aware I was fabricating again. ‘Got cross, and he exploded.’
‘But at least you’ve cleared the air,’ she was saying, ‘which is no bad thing. Let him cool down now, and then talk to him later. Much better. Honestly, sometimes I think if Luca and I had a stand-up-knock-down like you and Seffy just have, it would be so much healthier.’
‘I saw him,’ I managed to mutter, managing to move on, to progress the conversation as one normally would. ‘He was playing tennis with Seffy. He’s changed, for the better, I thought. Slightly less shifty? More charm?’
I reached for the Evian bottle to replenish my glass. I needed to rehydrate, to be calm: to breathe.
‘Well, he’s grown up. And he is much improved, but we’re still so polite with each other, Hatts. However much I try, he still won’t meet me halfway. Still keeps me at a distance. And of course, that puts me on the back foot and I get all brittle and insecure. And yesterday – oh God, yesterday I behaved so badly, after what was, after all, only an accident. But still. You know what Daisy’s like about those wretched bantams.’
She was at the sink now, drying up glasses in that automatic, feverish way women do when they’re trying to calm themselves: clinging to a simple domestic task.
‘What happened yesterday?’ My mind was still buzzing, and I could feel my heart pumping.
She turned. ‘Oh, of course you don’t know. Hugh took Luca for a wander with the air rifle, down by the lake. He’s shooting here next weekend and he doesn’t exactly get his eye in much in Florence. He shot one of Daisy’s bantams by mistake.’
‘Oh Lord. She’ll be devastated.’
‘She is. I rang her at school yesterday. I mean, they do drop off their perches now and then, and the fox got one last winter, but this was the mother of all the chicks. And the fact that it was Luca seemed so heinous to Daisy. “He murdered her!” she kept saying. “Mum, he murdered her!” And of course her being so upset made me upset, so when I came off the phone and he sauntered up and asked – rather nonchalantly, I thought, but perhaps he was nervous and it came out wrong, you know how he never looks at you – asked how she was, I said, “Well how d’you think? You’ve shot her pet!” And ran upstairs. Not very clever. A bantam isn’t a pet, and he didn’t do it on purpose. It didn’t make for a very pleasant evening, though. I realized I’d overreacted and came back down and fell over myself trying to apologize and Hugh tried to smooth things over, but it didn’t help that I heard Luca mutter to Seffy, who’d just arrived back with Dad, ‘It’s only a fucking chicken.’ Dad had to take me in the kitchen and talk to me, tell me to breathe, to count to ten. Where would we be without Dad?’
‘I don’t know,’ I said, knowing I’d thought that exact same thing very recently.
‘Anyway, he stayed for supper which helped – Dad, I mean – and was brilliant with both boys. He doesn’t get the cold glittery eyes like I do. Luca’s OK with him, and – oh, I don’t know.’
I thought of Seffy’s glittering stare just now. And in that moment it occurred to me that these boys had a lot in common. Both somewhat displaced, not actually part of a family. Away from their home countries, cuckoos in other people’s nests. Or at least, that may be how they felt. How they’d been made to feel. A nauseous feeling rose in my throat. I thought of Seffy, in the woods behind St Hilda’s, kissing Cassie Forbes: two young people finding each other, very sweet, very special. Experiencing perhaps, those first glorious shafts of love. I shut my eyes tight, teeth clenched. My head was spinning furiously, and when the door slammed violently above us, it gave me such a start, my hand shot out, and sent my water glass flying, smashing to the floor. Granted the subsequent commotion and sound of running footsteps were urgent and unsettling too, but then I managed to knock the water bottle over. It spun around the table hideously, spilling everywhere.
‘What now?’ said Laura as she lunged to set the bottle upright. We scrambled around picking up pieces of glass, waiting for the footsteps to come inevitably closer. They did, and as the door flew open, Maggie and Ralph de Granville burst into the room.
‘I cannot work with this man!’ Maggie was bright red in the face, fists clenched. She glared at Ralph, who looked similarly ruffled.
‘And I cannot work with this woman!’ he growled furiously. He threw his shoulders back and strutted across the room to take up a position by the sink. Spinning on a sixpence to face us, he folded his arms and tossed his head back. ‘She’s ignorant.’
‘Ignorant!’ Maggie roared.
This was possibly the worst insult you could hurl at my highly intelligent, supremely cultured friend. ‘I’ll tell you who’s ignorant. Anyone who hangs a streak of unframed dirt on the wall and calls it art, or – or puts a ridiculous lump of rock in the middle of the floor and calls it a table. Anyone who hoodwinks people, basically. Deceives them into pouring good money into pretentious crap. Who proselytizes phoney rubbish and gets their clients to adopt it like the emperor’s new clothes – that’s ignorant. It’s despicable too!’
‘Oohh…’ Ralph seemed to shudder from the top of his beautifully coiffed hair, right down his skinny spine to his toes. ‘As opposed to borrowing some tired, whimsical ideas from a clichéd, hackneyed parody of a bygone, pastoral era, perhaps? Ooh, let’s have another set piece, with a pair of Louis Quinze chairs, and yet another bit of artfully draped antique velvet over a rickety iron t
able. No innovation, no flair, and, most importantly – no ideas!’
Maggie’s face was suffused with rage. ‘I’ll have you know it is entirely the innovative twist I put on my classics that reinvents them, that brings them right up to date. That bergère with the scorched wood frame, for example, or… or the chaise with arms painted matt black in the study – all the things you don’t see because you’re blind to anything that wasn’t made five minutes ago. Just because it’s contemporary, doesn’t mean it’s good, you know.’
‘And just because it’s old, doesn’t mean it’s attractive,’ he spat back. He sucked in his cheeks and looked her up and down. ‘You’re an excellent case in point, if I may say so.’
Maggie’s breath was rarely taken from her, but it seemed to have been sucked right down to her elegant black patent boots. Not for long, though.
‘How dare you? You’re about as antique as they come, pulling in your middle-aged stomach and posturing away with your tired old luvvy manner. Dyeing your hair and—’
‘I do not dye my hair. This is entirely natural!’
‘You’ve got roots!’
‘Which is more than I can say for you,’ he snarled. ‘My family, I’ll have you know, are descended from the very French salons you crave to imitate: from the de Granvilles of Allègre with a beautiful château in the Loire that you will never in your wildest dreams re-create!’
‘My wildest dreams would certainly never include anything of yours.’
‘Except my Peruvian Rouge, of course. You couldn’t help yourself, could you? Little tea-leaf.’
Maggie gave a howl of rage. Hands raised like claws, she launched herself, harridan style, across the room. Luckily Laura and I, who’d been watching this exchange like a Wimbledon final, heads swivelling this way and that, were alive to it and instantly between them, backing them away, calming and cajoling whoever we felt we had the most influence over, making soothing noises the while.
‘Come on, Maggie, this is no way to behave,’ I implored her.
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