Little White Lies (19 page)

But when I get inside, it’s not the grand old house I was expecting. I mean, it is grand—like, the ceilings are all really high, and there’s the most enormous fireplace that you could fit a sofa in, just in the entrance hall. But it’s not formal. You don’t need to walk around on tiptoe because you don’t want to smash a Ming vase or anything. The entrance hall has a huge staircase and double doors to all the rooms, which are all open, so it’s almost entirely open-plan, and it feels really lived in. There’s loads of old furniture, piles of old books, and two dog baskets right in the middle of the sitting room. And there’s a huge toy racing car circuit set up on what I assume is the dining room table.

The dogs are yelping in excitement and I get a huge urge to rush out into the gorgeous-looking garden I can see through the French doors in the sitting room, where the two little boys have run out to play. Instead, I just look around, marveling at the house.

“Do excuse the mess,” says Simon’s mother, picking up some random sheets of newspaper from the floor. “We’ve got Simon’s nephews here for another half an hour or so, and they just seem to create debris wherever they go. I’m Tilly, by the way, and this is my husband, Archie. Now, Simon, why don’t you make us all some tea?”

“Tea?” says Archie with derision. “It’s nearly lunchtime, Tilly. Time for something a bit stronger than tea, don’t you think?”

Tilly rolls her eyes. “Archie, two glasses of wine a day, you were told. I don’t think the doctor would be particularly impressed if you supplement that with a gin and tonic before lunch.”

She turns round quickly and shoots me an I-don’t-know-what-to-do-with-him look.

“Sorry, Cressida dear, would you like a drink?” she asks me. “Archie’s on strict instructions not to indulge, but that shouldn’t stop you.”

“Tea’s fine with me,” I manage to say before the two small boys I saw earlier come tearing into the house, nearly knocking me over again.

“Oscar, Jacob, will you stop running,” Tilly continues in an exasperated tone. “If you want to play, stay in the garden, do you understand? Now, say hello to Cressida.”

“Hello, Cwessida,” the boys say dutifully before running over to Simon and challenging him to some kung fu fighting.

“Ah, so you’re siding with her, are you?” Archie asks me accusingly. “Bloody ridiculous. Can’t even have a drink these days without someone telling you not to . . .”

Simon disentangles himself from the boys and puts his arms round me. “Come to the kitchen,” he suggests. “Let’s make the tea and let Mum and Dad argue the toss.”

The more I look around, the more I listen to Archie accusing Tilly of hiding the key to the drinks cabinet, the more grounded I feel. No wonder Simon thinks London is overrated. Even the kitchen is perfect. It’s big, like the rest of the house, but incredibly cozy, with jars and pots all over the place, arranged higgledy-piggledy, and wonderful smells emanating from the oven. It’s the sort of kitchen you’d be able to stay in all day, with a big old battered table and a larder that’s about half the size of my flat in London.

I get a huge stab of guilt as I realize that I am in this wonderful home under false pretenses. That they think I’m someone else. I’ve got to sort this out.

Oscar runs into the kitchen and collides with Simon. “We went to Tessington wold of adventures,” he tells us breathlessly. “We went on a woller coaster. Jacob was scared, but I wasn’t. Even going down. Going down is more scarewy than going up. And it was weally fast.”

“Sounds like fun,” I tell him. “Did you go to the zoo, as well?”

Oscar looks thoughtful. “It’s not a pwoper zoo,” he says after a few seconds. “It’s a baby zoo. And I’m not a baby anymore. I’m a boy.”

“You certainly are,” says Simon, lifting him up, turning him upside down, and hanging him over his shoulder as Oscar shrieks with delight.

“Is that Oscar?” Tilly calls from the sitting room. “Simon, can you tell him to go in the garden? Jacob’s out there on his own.”

Dutifully, Simon opens the side door and deposits Oscar outside.

“Now,” he says, walking over to the huge long counter that runs the length of the kitchen and rummaging in one of the cupboards above it. “Earl Grey, English Breakfast, Assam, or Darjeeling? I think that’s it. Oh, no, I take that back—we’ve also got some Lapsang Souchong.”

“Simon,” I say, maneuvering myself under his arm so that I’m leaning against the counter and pressed up against Simon’s chest. “Thank you for bringing me here. I . . . I really love it.”

“You do? I’m so glad,” Simon says tenderly, leaning down to kiss me. “Cress, you know that I’m hopelessly in love with you, don’t you . . . ?”

He kisses me again, and I wrap my arms tightly around his neck. I can’t believe things could be so wonderful. I run my fingers through Simon’s soft, thick hair and then pull away to look at his lovely strong face. Hopelessly in love with me. I can live with that.

And now is definitely the time to tell him the truth. I don’t want him calling me Cressida anymore. I want to hear him call me “Natalie.”

“Simon . . .” I start, but he continues talking.

“There’s something I need to talk to you about,” he says softly. “A decision I’ve made. I was hoping to tell Mum and Dad about it this weekend, but I wanted to tell you first. Soon. I was going to tell you about it before, but the time never seemed quite right . . .”

“Okay . . .” I say hesitantly. What sort of decision? But before Simon can open his mouth again, his father appears at the door.

“I thought you were making tea?” he says jovially. “Tilly, would you believe that Simon hasn’t even turned the kettle on yet? And you say I’m not allowed a proper drink. Do I need to be diagnosed with acute dehydration before anyone here will let any liquid pass my lips?”

Tilly bustles into the kitchen. “Archie, darling, you can get yourself a glass of water, you know. Now, Simon, can you and Cressida lay the table? And make sure the boys stay in the garden for the next twenty minutes. And the dogs, for that matter. Archie, you’re on spinach duty. Everyone else, out of the kitchen, please, or there won’t be any lunch.”

“So tell me,” I start to ask, as we leave the kitchen, but instead Simon grabs me and kisses me passionately. I feel him harden and look around nervously to check no one’s watching.

I try to pull away, worried someone will see us, but he holds me close.

“You said down and dirty, remember?” Simon is grinning.

“No, that’s what you said,” I point out.

“Okay, but you didn’t say no . . .”

I grin, and move my hands down to squeeze his bottom, but Archie comes strolling out of the kitchen and we disentangle quickly. A few minutes later, he wanders back to the kitchen.

“I think we’re meant to be setting the table,” Simon says seriously.

“Absolutely,” I say. My cheeks are slightly flushed.

“You know that if the old dears weren’t here, I’d be having you over the table right now, don’t you?” Simon whispers in my ear as I clear away the toys.

I giggle, and Tilly appears again at the door.

“Come on, you two,” she scolds, then turns back into the kitchen. We set about laying the table almost in silence, squeezing past each other even though there’s loads of room, and letting our hands touch ever so slightly as we put down knives, forks, napkins, and glasses. Every few minutes, Archie or Tilly wanders in, and we wink at each other or make eyes at each other, daring the other to do the same and risk being seen. Every inch of me wants to be consumed by Simon. And I never knew setting a table could be so much fun.

As I put some wineglasses on the table, Simon grabs me from behind, then pulls away as Tilly comes out of the kitchen again.

“Here we are,” she says, depositing a serving dish full of roast potatoes down on the table.

“Simon, darling, would you help your father bring in the rest of the vegetables. Now, Cressida, are you any good at opening wine?”

She hands me a bottle and a corkscrew, and I manage to open it without too much trouble.

“It’s really kind of you to have me to stay,” I say as I start to pour. “And this is the most beautiful house.”

“Oh, you’re very sweet,” says Tilly warmly. “We do love it here. Costs a bomb to keep up, of course, but it wouldn’t be the same anywhere else. Archie grew up here, you know . . .”

“It must be idyllic here for children,” I say, trying not to get too carried away with my fantasies of living here. It’s just the most perfect house.

“Oh, absolutely,” gushes Tilly. “That’s probably why we have Oscar and Jacob here so much. Peter’s children. He’s Simon’s brother—I’m sure you’ll meet him later. It allows you a great deal of freedom, having so much space. So what about you? Do you live in London, too?”

I nod, trying to remember all the great reasons I had for moving to London. Somehow my flat in Ladbroke Grove has lost its allure somewhat. “It’s just a small flat, really,” I tell her. “But, you know, it’s nice to be close to the bright lights and everything . . .”

I trail off, unable to sound convincing.

“Well, I’m sure it’s lovely. I used to live in a flat in Kensington, you know. Then I met Archie!”

She looks thoughtful for a moment, then lowers her voice. “Simon hasn’t ever brought a girlfriend down here before. We’ve met some of them, of course, but usually up in London. Parties, that sort of thing.”

“Really?” I ask incredulously. “I’d have thought he’d want to have brought them right away. I mean it’s just so amazing . . .”

“He . . . he doesn’t do things lightly. Simon has always been very sincere. Very easy to hurt.”

Tilly looks up at me nervously, as if worried she’s said too much.

“Not that you’d hurt him, I’m sure. It’s just that, well, it’s important that you know . . . I mean, that you’re not going to . . .” she breaks off, looking flustered.

“Tilly, of course I wouldn’t,” I say with a smile. “I really . . . care about him.”

Well, come on, I’m hardly going to tell her I’m in love with him, am I? Even though every inch of my body is tingling with it.

“Oh, oh I’m so glad,” she says, her face breaking into a huge smile. I can understand why Simon sees her as his real mother. I’d love her to be my mother, too. Tilly sniffs slightly, looks as if she might come and give me another hug, then thinks better of it.

“You’re really not what we were expecting,” she says quickly. “Leonora really didn’t describe you very well at all!”

I gulp. Leonora? She’s been talking to Leonora?

“What . . . what did Leonora say?” I ask, panic rising up through me.

“Oh, nothing really. I mean, I only mentioned . . . but . . .”

Tilly looks around the room as if trying to make up her mind whether to say more. She obviously decides against it. “Well,” she says eventually. “I’d better get the brussels sprouts.”

When she leaves the room, I sit down, my heart drumming loudly in my chest.

My mind is racing. I love Simon. I am really and completely in love with him. He is thoughtful, sexy, intelligent, and lovely, and I don’t care if he would look utterly out of place in Market Bar or Canvas. I do care, however, that he thinks I’m Cressida Langton. Actually I care quite a bit. And I also care that Tilly’s been talking to Leonora. What if she finds out before I can tell Simon? I’m going to have to tell him, and it’s going to have to be today, before it’s too late.

Before I can figure something out, Tilly starts to herd all the humans into the dining room and all the animals out, and we finally sit down to eat. Maybe the food will calm my jangling nerves. I can’t look at Tilly without wondering what Leonora said. As she takes the lids off the serving plates, I realize that I’m absolutely starving and it all smells divine—roast potatoes with garlic, roast chicken with coriander, and green beans with fennel. I breathe in the scents, gradually forgetting my nerves. In spite of the whole wrong-name business, it’s incredible how at home I feel here—usually I feel awkward in other people’s houses. Tilly passes me a plate heaped with chicken, and I greedily help myself to vegetables.

As we eat, Archie tells us about his latest round of golf—“Blasted wind. Buggered up my game completely”—and Tilly tells us about the village fete which is going to be held tomorrow—“Nothing much there, really, but everyone would love to see you both. If you have the time.”

“Oh, Cress is far too cool for the village fete, Mum. She lives in Notting Hill, you know,” Simon says with a smile.

“No! No, I’m not,” I say quickly, giving him a look. I want to go to the fete. I want to meet people who knew Simon when he was little. I wonder briefly what Alistair and Julie would think, then realize that I don’t actually care. “I’d love to go to the fete,” I say to Tilly.

“Interesting name,
Cressida,
” Archie says suddenly.

I look up quickly. “Yes, yes it is,” I manage to say. I can feel myself redden. Not now, I beg. Don’t let things go wrong now. Not when everything is so perfect. And I’m going to tell Simon this afternoon. Without a doubt.

“Shakespeare, isn’t it?”

I nod slowly. Shakespeare? I thought it was just a name. I’m sure Archie is looking at me curiously. Does he know? Can he tell I’m a fake?

Before he can ask me anything else, Simon turns to Oscar, who is tugging at his sleeve.

“Yes?” he asks his nephew kindly.

“Do you like going down, Simon?” Oscar asks loudly.

There is a long, shocked silence as everyone contemplates the question. So relieved that we’ve abandoned the
Cressida
conversation, I almost start giggling, but manage to stop myself in time. Simon chokes slightly on his roast chicken and looks around nervously, completely lost for words.

Archie clears his throat loudly, and everyone is avoiding eye contact. And then I remember what Oscar was telling us in the kitchen.

“Rides,” I manage to say, suppressing my giggles. “He means, do you like going down on roller-coaster rides?”

There is a collective sigh of relief, and Simon smiles broadly.

“Yes, Oscar,” he says in a deadpan tone. “I do like going down, but not on very scary rides. I think I’ll leave those ones to you and Jacob.” As he says “going down,” I feel his foot pressing down on mine. Archie catches my eye, and I blush slightly.