Love Always (18 page)

‘Well –’ Pamela began. ‘I must say—’

Frances put her hand over her sister’s. ‘No, Pamela,’ she said. ‘You mustn’t.’ She seemed to be wrestling with something inside herself. ‘This is all wrong,’ she said. She tried to catch Miranda’s eye, but Miranda stared straight ahead.

‘Let us eat,’ Arvind said, lifting to his mouth a huge serving spoon that had ended up on his plate. His authority was, as ever, absolute. ‘We will not discuss the polluting of this great nation in my house. We will give thanks for it instead. Enjoy your coronation chicken curry.’ His expression was grave, but his eyes twinkled.

They ate without noise, in the airless room.

Chapter Nineteen

It came to an end for them not long afterwards. The following day, Saturday, was hot and muggy, and over the next few days the winds seemed to drop as the temperature increased.

The atmosphere had changed inside Summercove, too, since Archie was caught peeking, since Miranda’s blow-up with her uncle. The cousins eyed each other with greater suspicion; they fell into their own ranks, only Jeremy on the sidelines. Louisa barely spoke to Miranda or Archie, and was extravagant in her affection for the Bowler Hat, who was himself perfunctory in the repaying of it. Miranda and Archie were together even more. They would barely speak to Cecily, whom they considered to be some kind of pariah. And Cecily – Cecily changed, suddenly, almost overnight. Something had got to her. Whatever it was, she wasn’t the same in the days that followed.

On the Tuesday morning, four days after the James’s arrival, the thermometer in the kitchen read 91 degrees, and Mary said it was the hottest she’d known it. At the breakfast table John did what he’d done since he’d arrived, taking first the
Express
and then
The Times
and reading them in silence, digesting every last dirty detail of Stephen Ward’s death three days previously and his upcoming funeral, while the others waited, resentfully, for their chance to read, eventually giving up and going outside to sit in the relative cool of the morning shade.

Arvind had taken to having his breakfast in his study, these last few mornings. Guy had got up early, gone for a long walk, the Bowler Hat said. No one had seen him. The others drifted outside, one by one, hoping for some relief from the heat.

Pamela passed her napkin delicately over her upper lip. ‘It is extremely close, isn’t it?’ she said to Frances. ‘Too close. I should have thought the breeze from the sea would provide a little relief, but no.’

‘I’m sorry,’ Frances said. She was drumming her fingers anxiously on the table; there were dark circles under her eyes. ‘Perhaps the cloud will burn off later, you know. It’s still early.’

‘Hm,’ said Pamela. ‘It’s getting to be unbearable,’ she said, standing up. She nodded at her sister as she left the room.

‘I agree,’ Frances said mirthlessly. She turned to Cecily, who was sitting further down the table by herself. ‘Cec, darling, will you be ready to start at ten?’

Cecily was picking at her placemat. She looked up. ‘Oh,’ she said, in a small voice. ‘Of course, Mummy.’

‘You look rather pale, darling. Are you all right?’

‘Ye-yes.’ Cecily stared back down at the bowl. ‘Yes, I’m fine. I didn’t sleep very well, that’s all. Our room’s awfully hot.’

‘I know, I must do something about it. I’m sorry, darling. The studio will be baking too, I’m afraid. We could do it in the evening, when it’s cooler. Why don’t you and Guy go for a swim again?’

‘No. Not Guy.’

‘What’s wrong with Guy?’ Frances stared at her daughter. ‘Cec darling, what on earth’s the matter?’

‘Nothing’s wrong with Guy,’ Cecily said. ‘I didn’t mean anything by it. Let’s just get it over with.’

She looked so wan and sorry for herself that Frances leaned forward and put her hands together. ‘Darling, are you sure you’re all right?’

Cecily looked intently at her mother. ‘Mummy . . .’ she said after a pause. ‘You would love me no matter what I did, wouldn’t you?’

‘Of course I would,’ Frances said. ‘And Miranda, and Archie. You’d still love us, even if we did something terrible.’ She glanced down, picking strips of raffia off her mat. ‘That’s the way it works, isn’t it? We have to love each other no matter what?’

Frances paused. ‘What’s going on, Cecily?’

Cecily said, ‘Not sure.’ She looked wildly around the room. ‘I’m not sure any more. Everything’s changed.’

Frances turned towards the open door. There was no one there. Out in the garden, Jeremy and Louisa were lying on the grass,
The Times
spread out like a huge, sand and black coloured towel, in front of them. They were reading intently.

‘What’s going on?’ she said again. ‘Cecily?’

Cecily got up. She took a deep breath. ‘Nothing, Mummy. I’m just being silly. Look, can I go and brush my teeth and my hair? And write my diary up before that? I’ll only be a few minutes.’

‘Of course,’ Frances said. ‘I’ll go and set everything up.’ She took something out of the pocket of her embroidered top. It was the ring Arvind had given her, the ring his father had sent over from Lahore after he’d proposed. Cecily loved it. It was her favourite thing, and Frances had even let her take it to school last year. She had her wearing it on a chain around her neck in the painting she was working on. ‘Here, have this.’

Cecily stared at it blankly. ‘What, put it on now, instead of later?’

‘No,’ Frances said. ‘I want you to have it to keep. From me. Because . . . because I want you to.’

‘But it’s yours.’

‘Now it’s yours,’ Frances said. Her eyes filled with tears. ‘Why?’ Cecily said. ‘You love it, don’t you? You’ve always said you did.’ Cecily stared at the ring, lying flat on her small palm. ‘Yes. But why do you want me to have it now?’

‘I just do,’ Frances said. Her voice was thin. ‘I like the idea of you having something of mine, darling, some jewellery to wear of your own from me. Like a talisman.’ She smiled. ‘Why, you’re practically a woman these days, it’s time we thought about this kind of thing.’

Cecily didn’t even smile. She just said, ‘Thank you.’ Frances didn’t know what to do next. She came round to her and kissed her daughter’s silky head. ‘I’ll see you soon, my darling.’ She added, ‘It’s going to be fine, honestly.’

Cecily paused at the door. ‘Is it?’ she said quietly. ‘I don’t know that it is.’

Frances watched her daughter go. She didn’t know why, but she knew that Cecily had grown up in some way, that the lanky-legged teenager who ran ahead of the others down to the beach, chattering nine to the dozen, had gone for ever.

Chapter Twenty

‘What’s for lunch?’

‘I don’t know.’ Louisa stretched out on the grass. ‘You’re so greedy, Jeremy. It’s too hot to think about that now.’ She turned on her side. ‘Do you know where Miranda and Archie went?’

‘Think they’ve gone off round the cliffs.’

‘They might bump into Guy,’ Louisa said. ‘Gosh, everyone’s in a bad mood today.’ She rolled her head from side to side. ‘I’m starting to look forward to leaving, you know. Like I’ll be glad to get away from here.’

‘Oh, I don’t know about that,’ Jeremy said uneasily. ‘Don’t see why.’

Louisa glared at him. ‘You’re the one who said you didn’t like it down here, before the Leightons arrived.’ She chewed a nail. ‘It’s – I don’t know. How’s it ever going to be right again after what Archie did?’ she said pragmatically. ‘I mean, he could go to prison. And Miranda – what she said to Daddy, I can’t believe she hasn’t been punished for it!’

‘I think Franty and Arvind aren’t such sticklers for dis cipline,’ Jeremy said diplomatically.

‘Well, and look where it’s got them,’ Louisa said tartly, but lowering her voice. She looked at her brother. ‘Don’t you think Miranda went too far? I mean, I think she was awful, and no one’s really done anything about it.’

‘Er –’ Jeremy said. ‘I think she was a bit rude. But – well, I think she meant, well, what she was saying. P’rhaps she didn’t quite say it right.’ He plucked at the lawn. ‘Dad’s a bit outmoded. He doesn’t understand the way things are these days. Or the way things are going, if that makes sense.’

‘I know,’ Louisa said. ‘I mean, we’ve got Indian cousins, we know what it’s like.’

‘Er –’ Jeremy said again. ‘I suppose so . . .’ He looked at his sister. ‘I’m just suspicious of Miranda’s motives, that’s all. Think she had a point to prove rather than moral outrage.’

‘Well, that’s Miranda, isn’t it?’ Louisa said lightly. She leaned her head back, face held up to the sky. ‘It’s so humid, I can’t even see the sun. She’s an awful drama queen. And she’s been so much worse, the last few days.’

‘It’s true.’ Jeremy rolled over. ‘It’s all rather . . .’ His shoulders slumped. ‘I’m a bit tired of her and Archie, to be perfectly honest. All that sneaking around together and whispering. Odd behaviour. What Guy and Frank make of it all I don’t know. Old Frank’s a sound chap though,’ he added reassuringly.

‘Ye-es.’ Louisa spoke slowly. ‘Yes, he is.’

She didn’t sound overwhelmingly sure and Jeremy was not the type to pry. He was silent, and a few seconds later Louisa said, ‘He’s asked me to marry him.’

‘My goodness!’ Jeremy said. He stood up. ‘Louisa, old girl, that’s wonderful news! Where is he?’ He looked around. ‘I say—!’

Louisa sat up and pulled him back down. ‘Oh, sit down, Jeremy, you big fool! Shut up a second!’ She gripped his arm. ‘I said no.’

‘What?’ Jeremy’s mouth dropped open, and he appeared lost for the right thing to say. ‘You said no to Frank? Thought you were keen on him.’

‘Yes,’ Louisa said. ‘I was surprised, too. But—’ She rolled onto her stomach and stared at the grass. ‘I just don’t know if that’s what I want.’

They were both silent for a moment. ‘Really?’ Jeremy said. ‘Old Frank?’

‘Frank, yes – well, no—’ Louisa shook her head. ‘I don’t know. He’s been different, these holidays, rather off. But I do think I love him, I suppose. Before they came here, I was so sure.’ She looked at Jeremy, her huge blue eyes wide open. ‘I thought we had an unspoken sort of agreement, that we were to be engaged, even if it wasn’t talked about. And now – I just don’t know any more.’

‘Why?’ Jeremy asked softly. ‘Something Miranda said, if you can believe that. About women, about us and what we can do with our lives. I – I do love Frank, but oh, Jeremy—’ She hit the ball of her palm against her forehead. ‘Can you possibly understand? I don’t know if you can, Jeremy. I think if I marry him, my life will be over.’

‘Oh, Louisa, come off it.’

She shook her head, smiling, and stood up. ‘You don’t understand, I knew you wouldn’t.’ She put her hand out to reassure him. ‘Don’t worry, it’s me. I have to decide. Go to Cambridge, study hard, get a good job afterwards.’ She brushed her shorts down methodically.

‘Can’t you do both?’ Jeremy stood up too, looking mystified.

‘I don’t think I can,’ Louisa smiled. ‘I rather feel that if I marry him, my identity, me, it will be gone.’

Jeremy looked upset. ‘I don’t—’

Louisa put her hand on his. ‘Don’t worry, big brother,’ she said. ‘I don’t expect you to understand.’

As they turned towards the front door, Frances appeared at the bottom of the side staircase.

‘Gosh, it’s hot. Where’s Cecily, do you know?’ she asked. ‘I’ve been waiting for her for ages.’

‘She’s with you,’ Louisa said stupidly. ‘Isn’t she?’

‘No,’ said Frances. ‘She was supposed to be, but she went to brush her teeth and write her diary up. That was half an hour ago. She’s not in her room.’ She stared impatiently across the terrace. ‘Where on earth’s she got to? I know she hates it, but it’s so very nearly done.’

And then there was a scream, and hollered shouting, from the path towards the sea. ‘Help! Help!’

‘What on earth . . . ?’ Jeremy darted forward. ‘What’s that?’ They ran to the bottom of the terrace. Miranda was running towards them, followed by Archie and another figure behind them.

‘Help! Get help! Ambulance!’ she screamed. ‘Get the . . . get the ambulance!’

‘What?’ Louisa said, running towards her cousin. ‘Miranda – what’s wrong?’

Frances stood stock-still, as if frozen to the spot. ‘It’s Cecily, Cecily.’ Miranda was racing like a madman, her hair whipping round her face. Two circles burnt red on her cheeks. ‘She fell – she stepped back and she slipped . . . Oh, God.’ She stopped and looked up at them imploringly. ‘What have I done?’

‘You didn’t do anything,’ Archie said.

Guy appeared behind them. ‘What’s happened?’ he was shouting as he approached them. ‘I heard screams – who is it? Where’s – where’s Cecily?’

‘I’ll get the ambulance,’ Miranda sobbed. ‘Oh . . . Cecily . . . oh, my God.’

‘What?’ Guy stood still. Sweat ran down his forehead. ‘Cecily?’

Frances was running towards the sea. ‘Where is she?’ She was opening the gate, but Archie stopped her. He put his hand on her arm, blocking her path. ‘No, Mum,’ he said, his face unreadable. ‘I don’t think you should go down there.’

‘Why?’ Frances’s voice broke. ‘Get off me. Why?’

Archie said very quietly, ‘I don’t want you to see her like that.’

They knew, then. As Miranda’s voice came out to them: ‘Yes, Summercove. Parry Lane. It’s the Kapoors. No, dammit,
Kah
poor. Come quickly!’ Her voice was breaking. ‘Please, hurry up!’

‘I’m going down there,’ Guy said, breaking away and running towards the gate. ‘I’m going . . . she might still be all right, we have to do something.’

Miranda, emerging from the house, her pale face stained with tears, just looked at him, and then at Archie, and shook her head.

‘What happened?’ Frances said, watching her daughter. ‘What did you do, Miranda?’

Her son tightened his grip around her. ‘Mum. Don’t say that. She didn’t do anything.’

Miranda, who had opened her arms to her mother, let them drop to her side. She looked back at her, and sank onto the stone doorstep like a broken doll.

They brought Cecily’s body back up from the beach late that evening, as the sun was setting and the grey moths were fluttering around the candles they had set outside to light the way, just as the storm broke and it began to rain.

The police came, too, of course: they had to know what happened, had to see where she’d fallen, take measurements and photographs. And what happened, it would seem, is that Archie and Miranda were out walking when they bumped into Cecily, at the end of the path on her way down to the beach. Guy was walking in the opposite direction, towards the cliffs, and he heard raised voices, shouting, and then screaming. Apparently Cecily had turned and slipped, a little of the rock breaking away with her.

She had fallen down the steps, her neck broken in the fall. It had rained the day after the James’s arrival, and even in the height of summer, the steps, cut into the rock and without any sunlight, were often dank and slippery. Arvind and Frances had been advised to get them resurfaced. It was one of those things they’d been meaning to do, but the pair of them – when did they ever do what they were supposed to do?

She should have taken greater care, even Cecily who knew the path, the steps and the beach so well. She should have been more careful. She should not have died. And though no one said it out loud, and though at the inquest a verdict of accidental death was recorded, it wasn’t enough to silence the rumours that all was not what it seemed, that it wasn’t, in fact, an accident.

There was something in the air that summer, like a poisonous cloud, growing in strength. And when it broke, like the storm that raged all that night after her death, nothing was the same again.The day after Cecily’s funeral, when they had scattered her ashes out to sea (Arvind’s idea), and everyone had gone – the mourners, the rest of the family, a stunned Guy, a teary Louisa – Frances locked her studio door behind her, and went into her bedroom. Arvind was in his study, of course.

It was a dull, wet evening, mid-August. The nights were noticeably earlier. There was a chill in the air, a suggestion for the first time that summer was drawing to a close. She held the key in her hand, staring out of the bedroom window. She gazed at the gazebo where her son and remaining daughter sat, huddled together, looking out to sea. Her eyes narrowed as she watched them; hatred, she told herself it was hatred, squeezed her heart.

‘It’s over,’ Frances said to herself.

She clutched the key tightly and shivered. Then she opened her bedside drawer and dropped the key in, next to the ring she’d taken off Cecily’s damp, cold finger a week ago. She shut the drawer and went downstairs, and sat in the big, empty sitting room until the light faded and she was alone in the dark. Miranda and Archie came in separately, and went to bed. Arvind too. None of them knew what to say to each other, so they didn’t say anything at all.