He followed me up the track that led to Avalon, but hung back when we came to the garden gate. I asked if he was not familiar with the house.
‘I’ve never been here before,’ he said.
‘Why not?’
‘When I was a kid this house was rented out to tenants. We weren’t encouraged to fraternize with the peasantry.’
‘Oh. But surely when your sister lived here …’
‘Half-sister.’
‘You never came when Genevieve was here?’
‘Didn’t anyone tell you I’m persona extremely non grata in these parts?’
‘I heard the exile was self-inflicted,’ I said.
‘Even if it was, I’d never have set foot in any house where darling Genevieve lived,’ he said. The bitterness in his voice stopped me from asking any further questions.
Damian asked for decaffeinated tea. I didn’t have any. In the end he settled for a glass of tap water and I drank instant coffee. We sat in the garden, and the mournful sound of the sirens drifted across the fields from the quarry. I heard the sound at least three times a week; it was a warning that there were going to be blasts at the rockface, and I wasn’t used to it yet. It seemed to go on for ages, and although I realized its purpose was primarily to ensure no living thing remained in the area that was about to be dynamited, still the sound seemed sinister to me.
Damian had noticed my discomfort.
‘Know what? That noise is so familiar to me that I quite miss it,’ he said. ‘When I was a kid, I used to run down the hill when I heard the siren. There’s a point at the edge of the woods where you can see the blast and, a few seconds later, there’s this deafening sound like an air crash, and the rush of air hits you. I used to find it exhilarating.’
He laughed, but there was a note of cynicism in his voice.
‘Why don’t they like you being up at the quarry?’ I asked.
He shrugged self-deprecatingly and cleared his throat, and I knew he was going to tell me something about himself that made him proud.
‘It’s my life’s ambition to close it down,’ he said. He turned his glass in his dirty fingers, waiting for my response.
‘Why?’ I asked.
‘Because it’s wrong. Everything about it is wrong. The Churchills are pillaging one environment for the raw ingredients they can sell on to destroy another.’
‘I don’t follow you.’
‘They take stone from here, and it’s used to build roads, executive houses, shopping centres, whatever, elsewhere, fucking up the environment all over the place while they get rich on the profits.’
‘Oh.’
Damian’s voice was sounding less self-conscious now. As he became more passionate about his theme, the upper-class vowels made themselves clear despite his best efforts.
‘The whole thing stinks,’ he said. ‘What right does the Churchill family have to blast into that hill and profit from their vandalism? They have no more right to the land than anyone else.’
I picked a stem of grass that had grown a seedhead.
‘I suppose they own it …’ I said, stripping the seeds from the stem.
‘How can they “own” something that took millions of years to form?’ Damian asked. ‘It doesn’t belong to anyone. It belongs to us all. Up until a few decades ago, that land was a perfect hill. It was covered in woodland, ancient woodland that was home to all manner of flowers and trees, butterflies, animals, and now it’s all being blasted away for the commercial gain of my family. Once they’ve finished with it, they’ll be wealthier, but nothing will be able to grow there. It’ll just be another abandoned quarry. Another eyesore. A dead place, a murdered place. Do you think that’s right?’
I could not reply. If I sympathized with his point of view I would be being disloyal to Alexander’s in-laws, Jamie’s grandparents, yet I could not argue with what Damian said, because it was true; he was right. I realized that inviting him back to Avalon had been a mistake. It wasn’t that we had nothing to talk about but that there was nothing we could talk about. I pretended to be worried about the non-existent delivery and was relieved when Damian said he had other places to be.
I asked if there was any way to get in touch with him, in case there was news of Genevieve.
‘No,’ he said. ‘There’s no way to get in touch.’
‘At least tell me where you’ll be?’
He shrugged. I felt a twinge of frustration.
‘Damian, what if we need to contact you?’
‘You won’t,’ he said. ‘If Genevieve’s body turns up, I’ll read about it in the newspapers.’
‘There is no body,’ I said. ‘She’s not dead, Damian, she’s gone away of her own accord.’
Damian raised an eyebrow. ‘Do you really believe that?’ he asked.
I wondered if he was being deliberately weird and melodramatic, but thought maybe it was a symptom of the mental distress Claudia had hinted at and Alexander had mocked.
‘She left letters saying as much,’ I said calmly. ‘She said she wouldn’t be in touch for a while.’
‘If she was alive, she’d have contacted Claudia by now,’ he said. ‘We all know that. Those two were always so close. Claudia could never see Genevieve for what she was, despite what happened to our mother.’
I could see the memories crowding into his head. He licked his lips like a nervous dog and his hands trembled.
‘You mean the divorce?’ I asked gently. ‘I know that must have been awful for you, but …’
‘Not the divorce!’ Beneath the hair and the grime, his skin had paled and tiny bubbles of sweat appeared on his forehead. He wiped them away with the back of his hand.
He said: ‘You don’t know, do you?’
I shrugged helplessly.
‘Well, here’s the big news,’ he said. ‘My mother hanged herself the day Genevieve was born.’
I clasped my hands over my mouth. ‘Damian, I’m so sorry, I had no idea, I …’
‘When father married the hugely inaptly named Vir-gin-i-a’ – he dragged out the four syllables with bitterness – ‘Mother, Claudia and I were relegated to a cottage on the edge of the estate. Mother couldn’t bear it. People were talking about her, her friends pitied her, she wasn’t eating, she wasn’t sleeping and when she heard about Genevieve, it was the last straw.’
‘That’s terrible.’
‘And I found her,’ he said, looking up, into my eyes. ‘I was six years old and I found her.’
‘Oh, Damian!’ I leaned forward to touch his hand, hoping to comfort him a little, but he pulled away and shook his head. I didn’t know what to do, so I sat beside him until he had composed himself again.
‘It fucked me up,’ he said at last.
‘Well, it would.’
‘I didn’t speak for two years. Couldn’t. Father sent me to different shrinks, but nothing worked. And all the time Virginia was swanning round Eleonora House with her cute little Churchill baby on her hip, treating Genevieve like a princess and Claudia like shit and acting as if nothing had happened. That’s why I went away; that’s why I’ll do whatever I can to shut the quarry down; and that’s why I never wanted anything to do with my half-sister.’
I exhaled slowly and waited, but Damian didn’t say anything else. After a moment or two he leaned back, taking his weight on his extended hands.
‘Are you going to go and see Claudia while you’re here?’ I asked as gently as I could.
He shook his head.
‘Won’t she be upset if she finds out you were in the village and you didn’t at least go and say hello?’
‘Claudia knows what I’m like.’
‘Should I tell her we met?’
‘Tell her whatever you want. I don’t give a toss.’
‘Damian, you know she cares about you.’
He nodded. ‘I know.’
Then he uncurled his long legs, stood up and stretched.
‘Well,’ he said, ‘good luck, nanny. You’re going to need it.’
And he was gone with a backward wave of his hand, banging the gate so hard it rattled on its hinges.
I watched until he disappeared into the tunnel of trees at the far end of the track, the hem of his coat flapping around his worn old boots, then I went inside and locked the door with the big metal key. I kicked off my shoes, went into the living room, and curled up on the settee. I stayed there for the rest of the morning, thinking about Damian being the same age as Jamie when he found his poor, dead mother, and how that must be one of the worst things that could happen to a child and how it would stay with him for the rest of his life.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
I TOLD ALEXANDER about meeting Damian and he said he thought it would be a good idea to steer clear of him if I saw him again.
‘He’s not staying in Burrington Stoke,’ I said, and Alexander said that was definitely for the best.
Still, a couple of times, I was almost certain I glimpsed Damian; one morning I thought I saw him leaning against a tree at the far end of the orchard, with his coat wrapped around him and his chin tucked into its collar. I wondered if he had slept there, watching the house, but when I looked again, I realized that what I’d seen was probably just a displaced branch, felled by the hedge-cutter that had been along the lane the day before. Another time, from the car window, I saw someone with long, messy fair hair walking along the high street, with their hands in the pockets of a long coat. I only saw the back of the man, and could not be certain it was Damian. I had a few bad dreams, and then I forgot about him, but I never forgot what he had told me.
Certain aspects of my life in Burrington Stoke were continuing to improve. I had become friendly with a nice young woman from the village called Betsy. She was marginalized, like I was, only in her case it was because her three children all had different fathers. She lived in one of the small line of council houses that fronted the far end of the high street and she painted ceramic plaques saying things like ‘Drink up thee zider’ which she sold to the tourist shops in Wells and Bath. I was glad to have a friend of my own age, who was unconnected to the Churchill family.
Another positive was that Jamie and Alexander seemed happier now that Avalon was cleaner and tidier. Keys, shoes and schoolbooks were less likely to be lost or misplaced, so we were all less stressed.
It never went away, though, the wondering about Genevieve. The more I tried not to think about her, the more she was in my mind. I sometimes found myself having imaginary conversations with her about certain aspects of the house or about her early life. I wondered how old she was when she realized that her coming into the world was what had driven Claudia and Damian’s mother from it. I wondered what it was like to be in Eleonora House on her birthday when she was a child. It didn’t matter how pretty, bright, talented and rebellious she was, nor how adored and beloved; still her birthdays must have been terrible times for the whole of that disjointed family. Their money could do nothing to make things better. Genevieve couldn’t have had parties – not on the anniversary of the death of the mother of her half-siblings. The candles on her cakes would have counted the years since the suicide. Did the Churchills work out some respectful compromise? A visit to the cemetery to lay flowers on the grave in the morning, Genevieve’s presents in the afternoon? No wonder Damian was still angry. Thinking about the situation made me shudder.
It must have been awful for all three children.
I couldn’t ask Claudia about her family. I didn’t want to remind her of bad times. She was missing Genevieve terribly, and she seemed so lonely. Some days, she brought the twins round after school, and Jamie and the girls lay on the living-room carpet playing board games while she sat with me in the kitchen and taught me recipes to make the most of the produce that grew in the orchard and the garden. We were comfortable and easy together. Despite the awkwardness of the situation and the difference in our social status, we became friends. Perhaps Claudia liked being in Avalon, doing some of the things she used to do with Genevieve. Maybe being there with me made her feel closer to her missing half-sister. She had many acquaintances but no real friends and confided in me all the time. I told her very little about myself. I was more than happy to be the listener, to hear what Claudia had to say. Her loneliness was like a millstone around her neck; Genevieve going had left a huge hole in her life. And although it was Genevieve’s disappearance that had brought Claudia and me together, I was always glad when I heard the barking of the dogs on the drive signalling that she was coming in for a cup of tea and a chat.
She taught me things I did not know. She explained that people in that neck of the woods were stoic. They respected restraint, in behaviour and emotion. She said locals expected people to maintain their dignity at all times, even when the world was falling apart around them. People who didn’t demonstrate this degree of self-control were mistrusted. That was why her brother had found it so difficult to fit in. I prompted her to explain.
‘Damian’s one of those people who can’t help but wear his heart on his sleeve,’ Claudia said. ‘He never got on with Genny. He never made any effort with her and he was awfully jealous. It wouldn’t have mattered if he’d learned to hide it, but he didn’t. He hated her but he was sort of obsessed with her at the same time. And he used to do spiteful things.’
‘What kind of things?’
‘Horrible things …’ Claudia looked out of the window and sucked in her lips. ‘Once, he poisoned her pony, fed it yew. I don’t think he meant to hurt it badly, he only meant to disable it. Genny was due to go to London with the Pony Club the next day – they were through to the finals of something or other at Wembley and there was an awful lot of fuss getting ready. She was so excited and happy. He wanted to stop her going.’
Claudia sighed. ‘Cracker, the pony was called. Poor thing had to be put down.’
‘Oh, Claudia, how awful.’
‘People tried to feel sorry for Damian; they were always cutting him slack, and I think he found that humiliating. He preferred them not to like him so he developed this odd persona,’ Claudia said. ‘It’s a shame. He could have been anything he wanted to be. He could have been a hero but he chose to be a drop-out, a misfit. He doesn’t belong anywhere.’
‘Don’t you worry about him?’ I asked.
She smiled and shook her head.
‘Every so often I read about him in the newspapers or see him on the television,’ she said. ‘He’s always up to something, being controversial, making people uncomfortable. I believe it’s his way of letting me know he’s all right. Or maybe he’s just trying to get on Virginia’s tits. Either way, he succeeds!’
I didn’t tell her that Damian had been in the village, or that he had been to Avalon and talked to me, because I thought she would be hurt. I thought I was doing the right thing.
I listened to Claudia, and I learned.
Whenever I was in the village, I kept myself to myself. I didn’t give away any information apart from the absolute basics, no matter how much anyone tried to draw me. I always smiled and was polite, but I never discussed the situation at Avalon.
There were a few exceptions. I told Betsy everything and was friendly with the postman who continued to deliver letters for Genevieve; bank and credit-card statements, invitations to equestrian events and fashion-house previews. I put the letters into a pile on the counter, and when Alexander came home he put them straight out into the green box for recycling.
‘Don’t you think you should keep those?’ I asked him once, and he shrugged and said: ‘What for?’
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
LATE IN SEPTEMBER, Virginia invited Jamie to stay overnight at Eleonora House the following Friday. She said she had a surprise for him.
Alexander went to speak to Virginia and Philip about the arrangements. He told me he wanted Philip’s personal assurance that Jamie would be allowed to return to Avalon after lunch on the Saturday. He seemed, to me, to be taking the invitation rather too seriously. Despite all the family’s problems, Virginia and Philip wer
e Jamie’s grandparents; it was obvious they had his best interests at heart and it didn’t seem unreasonable for them to want to spend some time with the boy. Part of me thought it would be a good thing, because Jamie would be able to reassure Virginia that Avalon was a cleaner, calmer, happier house now. He would be interrogated, for sure, but since the squirrel morning I hadn’t been into Alexander’s bedroom. Jamie knew that and, given that his father and I had not so much as looked at one another with desire or spoken an inappropriate word since I had come to Avalon, there were certainly no crimes of passion to report.
I tried to make Alexander see that the overnight visit might be a good thing but his reaction was strange.
‘I have to be sure they’ll let me have him back,’ he told me.
‘Of course they will! What else would they do with him?’
‘You don’t understand,’ he said.
‘Then tell me what it is that’s bothering you.’
But he wouldn’t.
I wasn’t worried about Jamie going to stay at Eleonora House for a night, but I was jealous. I didn’t like the thought of Genevieve’s mother having our boy all to herself. I imagined her dusting him down, metaphorically, and wiping any trace of me from him. I imagined her wrapping him up in Genevieve again like a lamb wrapped in the bloodied fleece of another to disguise its smell.
Conversely, I also looked forward to that Friday night with intense anticipation and more than a little dread. For once, Alexander and I would have the house to ourselves. If he acted with his usual circumspection, then I would know that what had happened that day in Taormina had been a one-off, something that only served to bring the two of us together in a practical way. Sometimes I wondered if that breathless, glorious sex in the shade of the trees had not been the romantic catharsis I remembered but something else altogether.
Then I remembered how Alexander had explained the situation when I arrived at Avalon. He had said it would be best if people thought I was ‘just’ the nanny. ‘For now,’ he had said. He had been right. It would have been wrong for us to have behaved with even the slightest impropriety, not least because it would have been cruel to Jamie. But he had been letting me know that there would be a time when we could be together, openly. I was sure that was what he had meant.
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