Left for collige. Call if you need me. Love u. Cee.
I walked down the stairs and noted the kitchen had been tidied and looked as pristine as it usually did, which made me feel guilty for lying to her last night. I switched on the kettle, then remembered we’d run out of teabags.
Wandering into the sitting room, I peered through the glass at a day that appeared considerably brighter than the one before it.
As I stared out of the window my thoughts flew unbidden to High Weald and I wondered if Rory was awake yet, and what he would have for breakfast now that I was no longer there to make it for him. Come on, Star, he’s with his mother, he’s happy . . .
And yet – maybe it was vanity rather than instinct – I felt him missing me.
No.
‘That is not your life. They are not your family. Rory is not your child,’ I told myself out loud.
I walked upstairs and for want of anything to fill the emptiness, I adopted Orlando’s policy of routine and took another shower, after which I dressed and went downstairs to sit at the desk. Today, I told myself, I would try to begin my novel. Do something for me, to start forging my own destiny. So I picked up my notebook and ink pen and began to write.
A few hours later, I came to and saw that a fiery dusk was already descending. Putting down my pen and massaging the fingers that had clenched it so tightly, I stood up to get a glass of water. I looked at my mobile and saw there were a number of texts and two voicemails, which I studiously ignored, until both curiosity and fear that something had happened to Orlando – or perhaps Rory – melted my resolve.
‘Hi, Star, it’s Mouse here. I don’t know whether Orlando passed on the message, but Marguerite is off to France this weekend. She said you might be willing to take care of Rory and the house while she’s gone. Can you get back to me as soon as possible? The landline at High Weald isn’t working – something to do with an unpaid bill – so she asked me to call you. Thanks.’
The next message was from Shanthi, asking how and where I was, and saying that it would be great to meet up soon. The mellow sound of her voice comforted me, and I made a mental note to call her back and arrange a day and time. I checked my text messages and saw two more from an obviously desperate Mouse. With Orlando currently off the scene, the job of taking care of Rory would inevitably fall to him. I was about to put the mobile down when Mouse rang again. This time, I decided I must answer it.
‘Star, thank God. I was wondering if I had the wrong number. I tried calling Orlando, but he isn’t picking up either.’
‘No, he wouldn’t be.’
‘Did you get my voicemail and my texts earlier?’
‘Yes, I did.’
‘And can you come to High Weald next week?’
‘No, I’m afraid I can’t.’
‘Right.’ There was a pause on the line. ‘Can I ask you why not? Marguerite said you seemed pretty keen on the idea of working for her sometimes.’
‘Yes, but only with Orlando’s agreement. And he didn’t agree.’
‘Surely he can spare you for a few days for the sake of his nephew?’
‘Yes, he can. He sacked me yesterday after your call to him. He called me a traitor,’ I added abruptly.
‘God.’ Mouse gave a long sigh at the other end of the line. ‘I’m sorry, Star. This isn’t your mess at all, and we shouldn’t have involved you in it. I wasn’t thinking before I called him . . .’
‘Yes, well, that’s the way things are.’
‘And you won’t consider coming here, even for the weekend?’
‘Sorry, but I can’t. Orlando has been so kind to me. I don’t want to betray that kindness.’
‘No, I see that. Ah, well . . . you’re probably better off out of our crazy family anyway. Rory will be devastated – we’re all getting bored with his eulogies about you.’
‘Send him my love.’
‘I will, of course. And maybe, when the dust has settled, you might change your mind.’
‘I don’t think so. Sorry.’
‘Okay. I’ll leave you alone. Just one thing, though. Can you give me your address so that I can at least send you on what you’re owed for taking care of Rory last week?’
‘It really doesn’t matter. I was happy to do it.’
‘It certainly matters to me, so if you wouldn’t mind . . .’
I gave him our address and he said he would put a cheque in the post.
‘Right, well then, my troubled relatives and I will leave you in peace. Perhaps Orlando will calm down and go down on bended knee to beg you to come back.’
‘I doubt it. You told me how stubborn he is, and I’ve hurt him deeply.’
‘No, Star, I have. This is all my fault. Anyway, good luck with finding some other employment, and keep in touch. Bye now.’
‘Bye.’
The line went dead. And despite my firm stance, it felt like the ending of a beautiful love affair. With a house, a family, and what may or may not have been my own past. I swallowed hard to prevent the tears, then went to the kitchen to prepare supper for CeCe and myself. Just the two of us once more.
As I sliced the vegetables for a stir fry far more aggressively than was needed, I realised that, on every level, I was back to square one. While I was waiting for CeCe to arrive, I only hoped that my feigning illness would dissuade her from a delayed attack of the sulks over forgetting to tell her I was staying on at High Weald. I then texted Shanthi – I had to start somewhere with a life of my own – and invited her over for a cup of coffee at her convenience. She texted back immediately and said she’d be delighted to pop in at four tomorrow. I was at least happy that this gave me a great excuse to bake a cake – something other than lemon drizzle, I thought morosely as I heard the front door open and close.
‘Hi, Sia, how are you feeling?’
‘Much better, thank you.’
She frowned as she studied my face. ‘You look very pale still.’
‘I’m always pale, Cee,’ I chuckled. ‘Promise, I’m fine. How are you?’
‘Oh, okay, sort of,’ she said, and I knew she wasn’t. ‘Want a beer?’ she asked me as she went to the fridge to reach for one.
‘No thanks.’
‘How was nursery-maiding?’ she said, coming to sit down opposite me.
‘Fine, thanks. Rory’s a sweetie.’
‘Will you be going again?’
‘No. It was a one-off.’
‘I’m glad. Goodness, Star, you have a first-class degree in English Literature, speak two languages fluently and are the most intelligent person I know. You’ve got to stop selling yourself short.’
It was CeCe’s oft-repeated refrain and I really wasn’t interested in pursuing it.
‘What about you? What’s up?’
‘How did you know something was?’ CeCe came over and folded her arms around me. ‘Thank God I’ve got you,’ she sighed heavily.
‘So what is it?’
‘It’s hard to explain, but it’s like being back at school, with all the other students bonding and me feeling like I just don’t fit in. Actually, it’s worse than school, because I don’t have you there. I try not to mind, but I really thought that a group of artists would be different. But they’re not. And it hurts, Sia, it really does.’
‘Of course it does.’
‘The tutors criticise my work non-stop. I mean, I know that’s what they’re paid to do, but the odd compliment wouldn’t go amiss occasionally. At the moment, I feel completely demoralised and on the verge of jacking it all in.’
‘But I thought the whole point was the show at the end of the year? That the college shipped in eminent art critics and collectors to see your work? Surely, however tough it is at the moment, you can’t give up on that?’
‘I don’t want to, Sia, but Pa always said that life is too short to be miserable.’
‘He also said we must never give up,’ I cautioned. It struck me that we sisters could adapt Pa’s many words of wisdom however we saw fit now th
at he was gone.
‘Yes.’ CeCe bit her lip and I was surprised to see the beginnings of tears in her eyes. ‘I really miss him. Thought I’d cope, but there’s a hole, you know?’
‘I do,’ I said softly. ‘Cee, you haven’t been there long. Why don’t you give it more time and see how it goes?’
‘I’ll do my best, but I’m struggling, Sia, I really am. Especially with you away so much.’
‘Well, I’m back now.’
CeCe went up to take a shower and I began to add the ingredients of the stir fry to a wok. And thought that perhaps both of us were destined to be outsiders – two lone wolves with no one else but each other. However much I had recently tried to escape, history and literature were peppered with stories of unmarried sisters who had sought comfort from each other. Maybe I needed to surrender and accept my fate.
We ate dinner together, and for the first time in a while, CeCe’s presence comforted rather than irritated me. And as she showed me photos on her phone of her latest paintings from college, which I genuinely thought were the best I’d seen her produce for a long time, I thought how a change of perception and acceptance might alter everything.
We went to bed early that night, both of us exhausted for very different reasons.
Perhaps we were more similar than I cared to believe, I thought as I stared up at the moon through the window. We were both afraid of the cruel world outside our comfortable nest.
24
For reasons probably to do with the old chestnut called pride, I had not told CeCe I’d been sacked from my job. So, the next day, I got up with her, knowing she left half an hour before me, and went through the usual morning routine.
‘Have a good day,’ CeCe called as she left.
‘You too.’ I waved as I pretended to slurp my coffee down in a hurry.
Once the door was closed, I trawled through my cookbooks to find a cake recipe to make for Shanthi. I decided to plump for something typically English – a malt loaf – but with some added spice as a nod to her heritage. Then I went out to the supermarket to buy the ingredients and some teabags.
The doorbell rang at exactly four, and I pressed the buzzer so Shanthi could enter the building. The fact that someone had taken the trouble to visit me warmed my heart. As she emerged from the lift, I was waiting for her on the doorstep.
‘Star!’ She threw her arms around me and hugged me to her. ‘It’s been too long.’
‘Yes, it has. Come in.’
‘Wow!’ she said as she surveyed the enormous sitting room. ‘What a place. You didn’t tell me you were a trust-fund kid.’
‘I’m not really. My sister bought this. I’m just a tenant.’
‘Lucky you,’ she said with a smile as she sat down.
‘Tea? Coffee?’
‘Actually, I’m going to have water. Or any herbal blend you might have lurking in the depths of your cupboards. I’m on a fast, you see.’
I looked at the malt loaf, plump and fresh, just waiting to be devoured, and sighed.
‘So, how have you been, ma petite étoile?’
‘You speak French?’
‘No,’ she said with a laugh, ‘that’s about the only phrase I know, and it happens to contain your name.’
‘I’m well,’ I said as I took over the tray with her tea, the malt loaf and a pat of fresh butter to spread on it. Orlando’s afternoon cake habit had stuck and I would have some anyway.
‘What have you been up to?’
‘I’ve been working in a bookshop.’
‘Which one?’
‘Oh, one that you’d never have heard of. It sells rare books and we don’t get many customers.’
‘But you’re enjoying it?’
‘I love it. Or at least I did.’
‘You’re not working there any more?’
‘No. I was asked to leave.’
‘Star, I’m so sorry. What happened?’
I debated whether to tell her. After all, I hadn’t even managed to tell CeCe yet. But then, Shanthi had a way of drawing me out. And if I was honest, that was why I’d been so eager to see her. I needed to talk to someone.
‘It’s a long story.’
‘Then I’m all ears,’ she said, as she watched me munching on a slice of spicy malt loaf. ‘Okay,’ she added, ‘I surrender. That cake looks absolutely delicious.’
After I’d cut her a slice, I began to tell her of my odyssey into the Vaughan/Forbes family, Shanthi only occasionally interrupting to double-check she’d got the facts right, until I was at the denouement of my sorry story.
‘So, there we are.’ I shrugged. ‘Once again, I’m unemployed.’
‘They sound absolutely fascinating,’ Shanthi breathed. ‘I always think these old English families have such character.’
‘You could say that, yes.’
‘And you might somehow be related to them?’
‘If I am, I shall never find out now. I doubt I’ll hear from any of them again.’
‘I absolutely think you will, and very soon. Especially one particular person.’
‘Orlando?’ I asked her eagerly.
‘No, Star. Not Orlando. But if you can’t see who it might be, then I’m not going to tell you. And . . . it also sounds as though they’re hiding something.’
‘Does it?’
‘Yes. Something just doesn’t make sense. The house sounds amazing, though,’ she added.
‘It was. I loved being there. Even though my sister told me they were using me and I was worth more . . . I like being domestic and looking after people. Do you think that’s wrong?’
‘You mean in the days of all of us females having to be career women and smash our way through the glass ceiling?’
‘Yes.’
‘I don’t think it’s wrong at all, Star.’
‘Well, I like the simple things. I love cooking, and gardening, and keeping a nice home . . . and I loved taking care of Rory. It made me happy.’
‘Then that’s what you must aim for, Star. Of course, you’d need one further ingredient to make the magic happen.’
‘What is that?’
‘Don’t you know what it is?’
I looked at her and I did. ‘Yes, it’s love.’
‘Exactly. Which, as you know, can come in many different shapes and forms; it doesn’t have to be the traditional man/woman scenario. Look at me: I have a pretty continuous stream of lovers of both sexes.’
I blushed, despite myself. Shanthi studied my reaction with a smile on her lips.
‘Do you find talking about sex uncomfortable, Star?’
‘I . . . no . . . I mean . . .’
‘Then you won’t mind me asking – because I’ve been dying to since I met you – whether you prefer men or women? Or, like me, both?’
I stared at her, horrified, wishing that the squashy sofa cushions could swallow me up, or that some natural disaster would occur now so I wouldn’t have to face these questions.
‘I’m straight,’ I mumbled eventually. ‘That is, I like men.’
‘Really?’ Shanthi nodded sagely. ‘Then I was wrong. Don’t worry, I shall cross you off my list of possible conquests.’ She laughed gently.
‘Yes,’ I muttered, knowing my face was bright red. ‘More tea?’ Whether she wanted it or not, I was going to put the kettle on. Anything to get away from her interrogative gaze.
‘You’re so beautiful, Star, yet you seem totally unaware of it. The physical self isn’t shameful, you know. It’s a gift from the gods, and it’s free. You’re young and lovely. You should enjoy the pleasure your body can bring you.’
I stood in the kitchen, unable to return to the sofa and have those eyes upon me. For I simply could not continue this conversation. I asked then – no, begged – for divine intervention in whatever shape or form. And to my astonishment, a few seconds later, it came with the sound of the buzzer.
Not caring if the person standing outside the door was an axe murderer or, more likely, CeCe, who would often r
ing to save her having to root through her bag for the key card, I picked up the receiver.
‘Hello?’
‘Star? It’s me, Mouse. I was just passing, and thought that rather than posting your cheque, I’d hand it to you in person.’
‘Oh.’
‘Perhaps you can come downstairs and collect it. There doesn’t seem to be a post box outside.’
He was right, the developers had forgotten to install one, and the doorman was always conspicuously absent whenever I walked into the lobby. After an agony of indecision, my fear of further chat with Shanthi eventually won.
‘Come up,’ I said. ‘It’s the third floor, the door directly opposite the lift.’
‘Thanks.’
‘Sorry,’ I said as I wandered over to the sofas and hovered uncomfortably. ‘A friend decided to pop in.’
‘I must be going anyway,’ she said, standing up.
I walked her to the door, unable to hide my relief at her swift exit.
‘It was lovely to see you, Star. I’m sorry if I embarrassed you.’
‘It’s fine.’ I could hear the whirr of the ascending lift, and realised I’d have to introduce them to each other.
‘Well, goodbye, my little Star.’ Shanthi put her arms around me and clasped me to her generous chest. Which was how Mouse found us as the lift doors opened.
‘Sorry,’ he said, as Shanthi released me. ‘Not interrupting anything, am I?’
‘Not at all,’ Shanthi said with a pleasant smile, ‘I’m just on my way out. Star is all yours.’ She walked past us both and stepped into the lift. ‘What’s your name by the way?’ she asked him as she pressed the button to take her down.
‘Mouse.’
‘Ha! Told you, Star.’ Shanthi gave a thumbs up from behind his back before the doors closed, and I heard her throaty laugh echoing through the building as the lift descended.
‘What was the joke?’ he enquired as I led him into the apartment. ‘I didn’t get it.’
‘Don’t worry, nor did I,’ I said with feeling.
‘She looked like an interesting character. Friend of yours?’
‘Yes. Can I offer you a cup of tea or coffee?’
The Shadow Sister Page 26