Rosie lowered her considerable frame onto a deckchair and took a moment to catch her breath. ‘Actually, have I ever told you my view on exercise?’
‘Not that I can recall,’ Sam replied.
‘Well, it’s like this. I figure our hearts are a lot like engines. Car engines. With me so far?’
‘I think I’m keeping up.’
‘OK, so we all know that there are only so many miles to be squeezed out of any one engine. Right?’
Sam cocked an eyebrow, but played along. ‘Right.’
‘So why the hell would anyone want to force their heart to burn through so many extra beats? Nobody ever extended the life of their truck by driving it 3 000 miles a day.’
Sam smiled and shook his head.
‘If you ask me, the best way to look after your heart is to keep perfectly still and do as little as possible. One could argue, in fact, that I did a certain amount of damage to my heart just walking here. We’ve got money, Sam. Maybe we can pay poor people to carry us around. Their hearts aren’t as important as ours. Their blood is like cheap wine to our Chardonnay.’
That, as it proved, was as much as Sam could take, and he began to laugh. Which, in their never-ending verbal joust, meant that Rosie had won the point. Again.
‘Damn it,’ he muttered. ‘Car engine? Really?’
‘It’s like competing against a child who has suffered some unfortunate brain trauma,’ she said, leaning over and kissing him on his forehead.
‘Hello, Rosie,’ he said, cupping a hand around her arm.
‘Hey, Sam.’
They chatted for a while, mostly small talk, until Jack climbed out the pool to join them.
‘Nice going,’ Sam said, tossing his friend a towel. ‘Close on fifty laps at least.’
‘He’s being kind. You were dragging arse out there,’ Rosie interjected. ‘It was embarrassing to watch, if I’m honest.’
‘My apologies, Rosie. I’ll put in more effort next time,’ Jack replied, running a towel over his head.
‘You know, Jack, with your hair all wet like that you bear a striking resemblance to an older George Clooney.’
‘Is that right?’
‘It is. Of course I’m not talking about the actor, but rather the homeless drunk who used to pound on my gate back in the day looking for free food and a good time.’
Jack smirked, but resisted any attempts at a witty comeback. Instead, he reached for his shirt and slipped it on. He then leaned over the cooler box and, without having to take any orders, handed a wine spritzer to Rosie and a lemonade to Sam – always a lemonade. He took a beer for himself. ‘So where’s Queen Elizabeth?’
‘Probably polishing her cheekbones,’ Rosie suggested.
At seventy-four, Elizabeth Shaw was the oldest of the four of them. But only on paper. Physically, she was something of an enigma. Her long brown hair seemed to be largely unaffected by the passage of time and shimmered with a vitality that belied her years. Her smooth skin and clear blue eyes suggested she was, at most, in her late fifties. And, if she was not already fortunate enough, she possessed the sort of facial structure and slim body that marked her as a classic beauty. It helped, of course, that she had spent most of her adult life in London – far away from the ravages of the African sun – where, after a brief career as a model, she’d spent the better part of forty years heading up an international fashion house.
‘There,’ Sam said, spotting her leaving the clubhouse.
As Elizabeth made her way towards them, Jack noticed that she was wearing a silk scarf despite the oppressive heat. It made her look like an old-school air hostess.
‘It’s unlike you to be late, Lizzie,’ Sam said, as she joined them.
Elizabeth went around the circle, kissing each of them. ‘Sorry. I was reading and lost track of time. How are you all? Good swim, Jack?’
‘According to Rosie, not good enough,’ he replied. ‘What were you reading?’
‘Just some novel. Never Let Go, I think it’s called. Nothing important. I just wanted to see how it ended.’
As she sat down beside Rosie and they launched into a discussion about one of their common friends, Jack turned to Sam and frowned. Sam nodded and then shrugged. He had also seen it. Something was troubling Elizabeth. Of all her many talents, being able to disguise her emotions was not one of them.
As Jack poured her favourite drink, lime and soda, Elizabeth turned to look at him. ‘You were wonderful this morning, Jack.’
‘I think wonderful is a strong word.’
‘Don’t be so modest. Paul was right to ask you. It was a remarkable letter. You did it justice.’
‘You did,’ Sam agreed. ‘Everyone’s been talking about it.’
‘You really didn’t read it beforehand?’ Rosie asked.
Jack shook his head. ‘It didn’t seem right.’
Sam took a sip from his drink. ‘I think his message really touched people. Struck more than a few nerves. It’s a pity we never really got the chance to know him.’
Jack watched as Elizabeth nodded. Her eyes were wide and intense. Holding his beer aloft, he regarded each of his friends with a warm smile and then rose to his feet. ‘To Paul. Quite possibly one hell of a guy.’
Three
Jack knocked on the door and then glanced down at his watch. It was well after nine and he knew there was a reasonable chance that Elizabeth had already turned in for the night.
‘Lizzie, it’s me,’ he said, pre-empting the question when he saw the kitchen light come on.
A few moments later the door slipped open and Elizabeth appeared, wrapped in a dark blue velvet dressing gown. ‘Jack. Everything all right? Has something happened?’
‘Nothing’s happened and everything’s fine. I’m sorry to call on you so late. I hope I didn’t wake you.’
‘No, not at all,’ she said, waving a hand. ‘Come in.’
‘Thank you,’ he replied, and stepped into the entrance hall.
As usual, Elizabeth’s home was impeccable. It looked as if it had been lifted straight out of the pages of an interior design brochure – and a current one at that. The furnishings were mainly European antiques complemented by an array of statues and masks that, over the years, she had brought in from the likes of Cameroon and Morocco. The blend of Africa and Europe shouldn’t have worked, but it did.
‘Coffee?’
‘If you’re having.’
Elizabeth turned on her heels and headed into the open-plan kitchen. She flicked her espresso machine to life and then reached for a matching set of designer glass mugs. ‘So, Jack, are you going to make me guess? What couldn’t wait until tomorrow?’
‘You haven’t worked it out yet?’
‘Worked what out?’
‘I thought it would be obvious.’
‘Sorry to disappoint you.’
Jack opened the fridge and reached for the milk. ‘I can see something’s bothering you. Something of note. So I thought you might want to talk about it.’
‘Why do you think something’s bothering me?’
‘Oh c’mon, Lizzie. You weren’t yourself at the pool this afternoon and at dinner you looked a thousand miles away.’
Elizabeth said nothing as she poured and then stirred the coffee. She handed Jack his mug and, together, they sat down at the kitchen table.
‘I hate that you can see through me. How is it that you can always tell when something’s not right?’
‘Probably because you’re immensely crap at concealing your emotions.’ She smirked at him. ‘But even so. You’re always the first person to notice anything.’
‘It’s a gift,’ he replied, winking at her. ‘So, would you like to talk about it?’
Elizabeth thought for a moment. ‘I’m not sure.’
Jack decided not to push. Instead, he sipped patiently at his coffee. After a while, he pointed to the couches in the lounge. ‘Those look new.’
‘They are.’
‘Comfortable?’
&nb
sp; ‘Not bad. Better than what we’re sitting on.’
‘In that case,’ he began, holding out an arm.
As they made their way through to the lounge, Jack turned to face Elizabeth. ‘If it’s too personal and you don’t want to talk about it, that’s fine. I just thought you might want someone to speak to. Or even to speak at. That’s all.’
Elizabeth appeared to whisper something to herself and then picked up a cushion, which she placed in her lap. ‘There are a few things on my mind. You’re one of them, Mr Everson.’
‘Me?’ Jack said, surprised. ‘What have I done?’
‘It’s not what you’ve done, Jack. It’s what you’re going to do, you big idiot. Did you ever stop to think what your leaving means for the rest of us?’
Before Jack could respond, Elizabeth raised a hand. ‘And we don’t even know why you’re going. It’s all part of this big secret of yours.’
‘Lizzie. There’s a good reason I haven’t told—’
‘Take it easy, Jack,’ she said, raising a hand. ‘You want to know what’s on my mind? Well, I’m telling you. That’s all. Look, I know you must have good reason for not telling us why you’re going and I suppose I can respect that. Even if it doesn’t make much sense to me right now. Besides, that’s not really the point, anyway. I’m just sad that you’re leaving. All three of us are. OK?’
Jack felt a stab of guilt in his chest. ‘OK.’
‘Just tell me one thing though,’ she said, locking eyes with him. ‘Will we ever see you again?’
He considered the question. ‘I really hope so.’
‘I guess that’s something then,’ she replied, offering a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. ‘Anyway, as for the other things on my mind, I suppose seeing that you’ve gone to the trouble of coming over, well … I may as well share them with you. I’ve only been living with them for most of my life. What the hell, right? Surely even secrets have some sort of expiration date? For some of us at least,’ she said, holding his gaze. ‘Just remember you asked for this.’
‘I did.’
Elizabeth nodded and then took a moment to collect herself. ‘So as you’ve probably already worked out, Paul’s letter really affected me. You see there’s this door in my life that I thought I had closed years ago. Thought I could keep it shut for good. But, after today, I don’t know if that’s possible any more.’
‘What’s behind the door?’
Elizabeth reached for her mug, cupped her hands around it, and then stared down at the carpet that, to her, was no longer a carpet. ‘An old farmhouse. My childhood home,’ she whispered.
‘And that has bad memories for you?’
‘How can I put this? It’s like a … beautiful nightmare. As you know, my father was a landscape artist who brought us out to South Africa when I was still a girl. Obsessed with stars and desert plains, he bought a farm in Sutherland where, before long, we all fell in love with the place. Especially the night sky. It was the perfect space for him to paint and for a small family to flourish. It was particularly good for a sensitive child like me who, in the rough and tumble of London, had struggled to fit in with the other girls. The solitude and the warm days suited me wonderfully. It was more than comforting. It was a cocoon, just a magical place to grow up. I was sent to a farm school just outside town where the same lady taught me for years. It was just me and a handful of other children. For a long time I thought I would never leave Sutherland. And that was fine by me.
‘But, as the years drifted by, things began to change and something inside me grew restless. I was reading a lot of French and English literature at the time and I became obsessed with the idea of studying in Paris. It was all I could think of. And so, as I got older, the barren landscape and the wide-open sky that I had once loved so much now began to stifle me. For the first time in my life I was fighting with my parents. Bickering incessantly with the two people who meant everything to me. I said things to them that I’ll never be able to forgive myself for. Horrific things. Things that weren’t even vaguely true. I just wanted to hurt them because I thought they were holding me back. I went from being a shy and happy child to a rebellious and disrespectful teenager in no time at all. I opened a rift so wide that, eventually, my parents had no choice but to give in to me and send me to Paris.’
Elizabeth blinked and a lone tear rolled down her cheek. ‘I’m so ashamed of who I was at that point. I was so selfish. I didn’t care what I said or did. All that mattered was getting to Paris. And then, just like that, I found myself standing at the airport six months after my eighteenth birthday. As you know, in those days international travel was a big deal and I can still remember the imploring look in my mother’s eyes as we parted. At the time, I didn’t know what it meant. Didn’t really care to find out. That insight would only come years later. She was praying that her daughter would come to her senses at the last moment and return to the farm with them. As for my father, he just looked worn down by it all – heartbroken. We were always so close and I think he couldn’t believe what I had turned into. Somehow, I think he blamed himself.’
Jack reached over and placed a hand on Elizabeth’s arm. ‘You don’t have to go on.’
‘I know,’ she replied softly. ‘But I think I’ve kept this to myself for long enough. Maybe telling you will do me some good.’
Jack nodded, but kept his hand on her arm.
‘So I went to Paris and, just as my parents had warned me, it wasn’t at all the place that I had read about in my novels. I mean I loved the architecture and the history of the city, but it certainly wasn’t all sunshine and roses. It was lonely. Dangerous even. I couldn’t speak the language well enough. Also, because I was English, a lot of people wouldn’t talk to me. I mean not a word. I was soon very unhappy and homesick. But after the fuss I’d kicked up, I couldn’t bring myself to admit the truth to my parents. So I stayed on. Eight months after I was gone, my mother fell off a ladder and hit her head on a table. She was in a coma for twelve days and died early on a Sunday morning, a week before Christmas.’
Jack closed his eyes, but said nothing.
‘I had no idea how to cope with her death. It just seemed impossible to me. I rushed home as soon as I could. But I was a complete mess. Still a child, really. I stayed with my father for a time but, as the weeks went by, I couldn’t bear it any more. My mother’s death had all but destroyed him. There was nothing I could do to take away his pain. And so, unable to deal with what was happening, and with the memories of my mother haunting me wherever I looked, I made the second biggest mistake of my life. I used all my savings to buy myself a plane ticket back to Paris and, not having the courage to face my father, left early one morning for the airport. I never even said goodbye. I just left him a note and walked out of his life.’
Elizabeth looked up at Jack, searching his face for the look of disgust that she knew she deserved. But, instead, she saw only kindness.
‘I left him there, Jack. All alone on that farm.’
‘Elizabeth, you were still very young. You can’t blame yourself for not being able to face your mother’s death. What you did was perfectly understandable given—’
‘You haven’t heard the rest of it, Jack,’ she said, sighing. ‘A few months later, my father suffered a major stroke. The farm’s caretaker, a kind and wonderful man named Joseph Thobela, only managed to get word to me a month later. He helped to look after my father during that time. But I didn’t have the money to come home. It took me a while to raise the money from my aunt in London, but before I could get home and try to atone for what I had done and to look after him, he passed away in his sleep.’
The tears ran down Elizabeth’s face and she made no attempt to wipe them away.
Jack leaned over and wrapped an arm around her.
‘I loved them both so much,’ she managed.
‘And they loved you. You must know that. You can’t blame yourself for what happened.’
‘I’ve never been able to come to terms
with what I did.’
Jack rocked her slowly. ‘What happened to your parents wasn’t your fault.’
‘I should’ve been there.’
Jack thought of arguing the point, but decided rather to change direction. ‘What happened after your father’s passing?’
‘I went to London to live with my aunt for a while. I never went back to the farm. She arranged for Joseph to look after the place until we decided what we were going to do with it. That was a lifetime ago.’
‘I’m not sure I follow. Are you saying that the house is still in your family’s name?’
‘Yes.’
‘And you’ve had this Joseph guy looking after the place all these years?’
‘It’s absurd, I know. He’s an old man himself now.’
‘Does anyone live in the house? Does Joseph stay on the property?’
‘Not as far as I know. He has his own home nearby.’
‘So what’s inside the farmhouse?’
‘I think it’s the same way it was when my father died. My aunt was there about six years ago, just before she passed away, and she said it was like a time capsule.’
Jack shook his head. ‘If you never planned to return, why didn’t you just sell the place?’
Elizabeth shrugged and Jack could see that this was something she had been struggling with for most of her adult life. ‘I’m not sure. I just know that my father loved the place so much that selling it seemed like a betrayal. Another betrayal.’
The Last Road Trip Page 2