by Aileen Izett
Chapter 51
Tom helped his two guests heave two mattresses up into a room on the first floor.
“This is lovely,” Serena said admiringly, although there was nothing in the room except dead flies and dust behind the door.
“Sheets, Sis. Where are they?” Tom seemed to be doing everything in his power not to be alone with me.
He asked the students to give him a hand with supper.
“There’s no food,” I warned.
“What about the stuff we bought the other day?”
“Stale. Gone off.”
He sighed heavily, as if it were my fault that the fridge was on its last legs.
“You can’t stay holed up here forever,” I said deliberately.
Instantly he guessed. It was there, in his eyes. I’d as good as told him that I knew. He smiled, making a challenge out of what I had said. “So be it. The restaurant then.”
Harry and Serena were enthusiastic. Who would have turned down a free meal at their age? Any age?
Later, Tom, Harry, Serena and I were in the salon, waiting for Eveline to appear. The young people sat bunched together on the sofa in front of the fireplace. I was sitting adjacent to them. Tom had given us each a glass of champagne, Dom Pérignon 1985. Harry and Serena hardly touched theirs. Harry twirled the end of Serena’s fat plait like a paintbrush, she absentmindedly stroking one of his bony knees. Tom paced the room, knocking back the champagne like lemonade. Serena watched him without really looking, a half-smile on her face. He seemed less tipsy than he was in the afternoon.
“I’d rather stay in,” Tom announced. “Take our chances with whatever food is left in the kitchen.”
“Is there any truth in what Colin Wareing is saying?” I asked lightly, as if making small talk.
He forced a laugh. “I should have known I couldn’t have secrets from you. Tell me,” he asked Harry and Serena, “do either of you have bossy older sisters?”
“Please Tom,” I said before either of them could answer.
“I could see the mattress had been moved. You wouldn’t make a good spy, Sis.”
The youngsters’ eyes focussed on me with renewed interest.
“To be honest,” Tom gave in and answered my question. “I haven’t read what he has written. I expect it’s rubbish. But as with everything I expect there is a nugget of truth in there about Braid Industries.”
He put down his glass. The mask — the successful, debonair Tom with the Midas touch — slipped for a second. My brother was frightened. Tom was Braid Industries. It carried our name.
I couldn’t go over and comfort him, because we were having this awkward conversation in front of two strangers who were aware without comprehending, that something important was being communicated.
Harry jumped up, almost knocking Serena’s glass out of her hand with excitement.
“You’re the Tom Braid? I should have guessed!”
“A celebrity!” Serena giggled. Harry laughed as well. The two of them look at Tom with something akin to admiration.
With that comment, the atmosphere changed. It was visible in the set of Tom’s shoulders, in the way he snapped the foil off another bottle of champagne, in the way the cork popped with the resonance of a bullet.
“Is that why you’re here, you two?”
“We didn’t know you were here, honest.” Harry sat back down on the sofa. “We just came here because we met your sister… we didn’t know her name.”
“It just seemed,” Serena said softly, “a fun thing to do.”
I believed them. They were just joyous that they had met someone who had the capacity to make headlines. They didn’t care how.
Tom too, he believed them. They might have been very clever but they were also stupid.
The evening had begun to draw in. The shifts and glitches in the ancient glass in the salon’s window panes gave the gardens a surreal air in the twilight. Inside, shadows had begun to form: a pool of dark around the standard lamp, a clump of shade on the floor which was Serena and Harry, my shape, more etiolated than Tom’s, across the worn Oriental rug laid in front of the fireplace. Serena’s attention seemed to be drawn by something in the corner of the room, so I looked, dreading the return of the man in the tree, but there was nothing there. She shook her head, almost imperceptibly.
“Soon it’ll be time to have a fire,” Tom gestured at the enormous empty grate, a proprietorial hand on the baronial mantle.
“There’s a woodpile down by the stables,” I drained my glass and proffered it to Tom.
“Where is that girl?” He demanded with mock exasperation.
“I’m here.” None of us had heard her enter the room. Eveline faced us, her back pressed up against the door. There was a sharp intake of breath from us all. A pang of regret went straight through my heart. I felt as proud and as apprehensive as any mother when confronted with a daughter’s startling beauty.
“You look stunning,” Serena said admiringly. “Doesn’t she Harry?”
“Let’s go,” Tom said and he frogmarched us down the hill.
Chapter 52
The buzz of conversation stopped as soon as our group entered the restaurant. Tom threw back his shoulders so that he stood absolutely erect. He needn’t have worried. All eyes were on Eveline. She was dazzling, radiantly overdressed in her silk dress with her green shoes and their pink rose detail.
We were shown to the last remaining table in the far corner, by the kitchen door. Tom, in the old days, would have made a fuss. I made sure that he and I were seated with our backs to the rest of the room.
Eveline ordered for us all in perfect French: soup to start with; steak for her, Harry and Serena. I had duck in memory of Greg. Tom requested chicken.
Harry and Serena did most of the talking, regaling Eveline with tales of university life.
“And what about you Eveline?” Harry asked. “What brings you here?”
Eveline gave me an oblique glance. “My brother.”
“I didn’t think there was anyone else staying at the château?” Serena was puzzled.
“He’s dead.” Eveline smiled at them both.
Embarrassed by the mention of death, Harry swiftly changed the subject, relating some exploit of his and Serena’s in a cathedral town in Northern France.
“What are you going to do?” I asked Tom as the crème brulée was cleared away.
Tom looked at me vaguely. He had hardly spoken, taking no real interest in the meal, not even in the choice of wine.
“I’ll have to go back to London at some point… sort things out.”
“And Samantha?”
“For the last few years, she’s only been in the marriage for the money.” He looked drained. “I can’t say I blame her. Are you sure about going back to Philip?”
“What about the children?”
“They’ll see as much of me as they ever do.”
I became aware that the others had stopped talking, but they weren’t listening to my conversation with Tom, their eyes were focussed on a point somewhere above Tom’s head. They looked puzzled. Tom’s expression was impassive. Perhaps — most probably — he had spent the entire meal waiting for something to happen.
Slowly, Tom turned to face the man who had been standing silently behind his chair.
He was about my age this man, smartly dressed with greying hair and angry, burning eyes. I didn’t recognise him as one of the local British.
“I don’t know how you have the cheek to show your face in here,” the man said to Tom. “Here or anywhere.”
With difficulty, Tom pushed back his chair and stood up.
“I don’t recall having met…”
The man ignored Tom’s proffered hand.
“My mother invested everything she had in Braid Industries,” he hissed. “And by the looks of things, she’s going to lose the lot, you bastard.”
“What are you going to do about it?” The man’s voice cut across the restaurant hub-bub. In the hush,
everyone looked at our table; at the man angrily leaning in on Tom.
“Everything I can, mate,” Tom put up both hands in a gesture of surrender. “I’m so sorry.”
The man jabbed Tom in the chest. Startled, Tom took a step back and knocked against the table. A glass smashed to the floor, but no one cared — the stranger had grabbed Tom by the shoulders and started to shake him. It was as if he was trying to jerk Tom’s head off his neck with Tom offering no resistance.
And, for what seemed an age, I watched. Harry, Serena and Eveline, they watched. The people in the restaurant. The waiter. We all just watched.
“Stop it,” I pleaded, finally putting out a hand, putting my fingers around the demented man’s thick, hairy wrist. “Please, stop it. There’s no point. I assure you that my brother will do everything in his power…”
The man stopped. His scornful eyes raked our table — over me, Tom, Serena, Eveline, and Harry, who had half got out of his seat, hesitant about what to do.
“Your brother is nothing more than a common thief.”
He turned on his heel, took a couple of steps away from us, turned his raging face back towards us.
“First thing tomorrow ‘mate’,” his voice was laden with derision, “I’m telling the police where you are.”
He swaggered self-consciously out of the restaurant, aware that everyone was looking.
Tom rubbed his neck. He looked — not to make too much of a pun — shaken. Then what had happened before, happened again: he pulled himself together; reworking his face and his stance, quite visibly, for all to see.
Eveline, sitting on the other side of Tom, tugged at his shirt. He sank back into his seat. She closed her hand over his, sympathetically. He gave her a weak smile.
“Well,” he said, when the noise level was back to normal, “let’s get the bill, shall we? My treat.” He waved and a waiter promptly appeared.
“Here,” Tom selected a card from his wallet. “Use this to cover our bill and — ” he beckoned the waiter to bend closer, “after we have left, give everyone a glass of champagne with my compliments — and apologies for the inconvenience caused.”
“The house champagne?” The waiter murmured.
“No,” Tom said. “The best you’ve got. Give yourself a tip as well.”
As soon as we stepped outside, we were lit up by flashes from a camera. Tom put his arm to shield his eyes. When my vision readjusted, I could see the solitary figure of man, smoking in the shadow of one of the plane trees on the square. It was too dark to see his face.
Tom shrugged his shoulders. “All part of the territory,” he murmured to no one in particular.
*
We walked back up to the château, Harry and Serena loitering behind, whispering fiercely; Tom, Eveline and I out in front.
“Thanks, Sis,” Tom broke the silence between us.
“You’re my brother.”
“I’ll pay every penny back. I’m not a thief.”
I could hear the distress in his voice. “But was it really necessary to give everyone champagne?”
“I might have maxed out on that card. I hope not. My name really would be mud.”
He took my hand. He took Eveline’s hand. He walked us home.
Amazingly as soon as we got back, Tom regained his bonhomie. He slapped Harry on the back. He joked with Eveline about her shoes. He called Serena ‘Rapunzel’. He slit the foil on another bottle of champagne. It was his idea to have a midnight swim and the others were glad to be propelled along by his enthusiasm. They wanted to forget the incident in the restaurant. I felt heavy with tiredness. I wanted to go to bed. Eveline darted off to find candles. Harry was despatched to locate the lanterns that Tom had seen, but couldn’t remember where. Serena looked frantically for her costume.
“I had it earlier,” she kept on repeating, bewilderment in her voice.
“Then it can’t have gone far,” Tom said. “Or use your underwear. Sis, are you going to join us for a dip?”
There was a devilish glint to his eyes. I wondered if he had hidden Serena’s swimsuit for a joke. He was on a maniacal high.
I went to bed and fell asleep with the sound of laughter drifting up from outside.
And to my horror, I dreamt of the naked man in the tree. My heart wept because I thought he had gone forever. I couldn’t get away from him because of his branches. I could feel his weight pressing on me, like he was falling from a great height, like he was pressing the life out of me and eventually I found my voice through the leaves of the trees and I screamed and screamed to chase him away.
Harry and Serena stood by my mattress. She was draped in a sheet. He was clutching a towel. Their faces were suspended in the darkness, lit by the candle Serena was holding.
“Are you okay?” she asked.
“For a second, we thought someone was being murdered.” Harry said gruffly.
“I’m fine. Sorry. Just a nightmare.”
“This house is full of nightmares, isn’t it?” Serena’s voice was soft with wonder.
“Serena,” Harry began to admonish.
“Other people’s nightmares,” she corrected herself.
“It’s okay,” I told them both.
When they had gone, it was difficult to get back to sleep. Drenched in sweat, I was cold.
Chapter 53
There was a hush in the house in the morning, the deep hush of other people sleeping. Harry and Serena had left the door to their room open. They lay entwined, her hair fanned over the pillow, cascading across the floor. I closed the door gently. There was no sign of Tom, nor of Eveline.
I walked down to the boulangerie, past the familiar houses with their balconies and pots full of pink geraniums. Although the sun was shining, it was noticeably more chill and heavy clouds were banking up behind the hills. I tried a little French and Madame smilingly corrected me. She gave me another pot of jam.
“You know,” I wanted to confide in her, “my husband had an affair.”
“Ah, an affair.” The Madame of my imagination would have given a very Gallic shrug of her shoulders. “So what?”
My heart sang. I would stay at the château, only for as long as Tom needed my presence, and not a moment longer. I would be a good sister and then, back in London, I would be a good wife. I was so looking forward to getting home.
I passed a round little man with a lank grey hair walking down the hill as I was going up. He acknowledged me with a slight, almost apologetic smile as if I should have known him. I didn’t recognise him but I knew, in a heartbeat, who he was. I hurried on, desperate to tell Tom. When I reached the château gates, I couldn’t help but look back. The man hadn’t continued on his way. He was standing stock still, smoking a cigarette, watching.
I opened the door to the gym without thinking of knocking. There was the smell first: the smell of two people who had been in close contact. Then there was the tangle of sheets on the floor. The exercise machines encircled the mattress like sentries.
I must have stifled a cry because Tom slowly propped himself on his elbows. I can’t remember. Even now, I can’t remember. He regarded me gravely without uttering a word. Eveline, curled beside him, shifted in her sleep.
I shut the door.
“You missed a lovely time,” Serena said happily, wiping down the kitchen table. “We ended up skinny dipping.”
“Even Eveline?” The image of Eveline lying naked with my brother was blistered on my brain.
“She couldn’t be persuaded — unfortunately.” Harry was sitting at the table, hands clamped around a mug of coffee, watching Serena bustle. Serena gave him a playful swipe with the dishcloth. “Harry’s got a hangover.”
“Are Tom and Eveline up yet?” Harry asked.
Serena saw how I stiffened at the mention of their names.
“Harry…” Serena said, giving me a brilliant smile.
She gestured at the two fat rucksacks propped against a wall. “We’re just waiting for Eveline.”
When Eveline eventually did come down with her suitcase, she was wearing the same black jacket and jeans as when I’d first set eyes on her, lying on the ground by the gates, except there were no gates. She looked happier than I had ever seen her. No, she said smiling, she didn’t want breakfast, and they should be on their way.
I was so angry. “I need to speak with you.”
I could tell she was startled by my tone.
“Let’s get the baggage in the car,” Serena said, giving Harry a prod.
Harry picked up Eveline’s suitcase. “Crikey, what have you got in here? Bricks?”
Eveline appeared not to have heard him. Harry gave her a searching look to which she also seemed oblivious. He shrugged and lugged the suitcase out through the archway door.
Serena disappeared upstairs to the bathroom. The sun disappeared from the windows, leaving the kitchen in a twilight. I switched on the overhead light.
Standing in the centre of the room, Eveline looked around, as if she was trying to imprint the kitchen on her memory. I looked with her: at the table beneath the windows, the dresser cluttered with paint pots, the chipped cabinet by the door, the battered old range, the even more antiquated fridge — and felt even more alive with rage. I had given her sanctuary. Cared for her. In return she had betrayed me with my brother.
“You know,” I said, “you’ve proved Tom right. He always wondered if you were a prostitute.”
Her eyes darkened. “How dare you.”
“I don’t know what you thought you’d gain by sleeping with my brother.”
“Whatever he’s done, he’s a better person than you.” She spat the last word out with utter contempt and started to walk towards the door.
I wanted to hurt her. I wanted to hurt Tom.
I grabbed her wrist. She gazed at my pale fingers with a moue of distaste.
“He burnt Zachary’s passport.”
It was as if she had been hit by a bolt of lightning. She had to steady herself. She gripped my arm.
“No.”
“Yes.”
Her eyes searched mine.
“Zachary’s passport was here all the time?”