One Secret Summer (35 page)

‘So what do you think of it all?’ Diana asked Harvey later that evening when they’d gone and the house had returned to its
usual quiet state. She kept her voice deliberately neutral. She finished brushing her hair and swivelled round to face him.

‘She seems nice,’ he said mildly. Harvey knew her too well to be fooled by her indifference.

‘Nice?’

He put aside the journal he’d been studying and looked at her. ‘We don’t know her,’ he said simply. ‘Not yet, at any rate.’

‘Don’t you think it’s odd?’ Diana said, aware of a knot of tension slowly making its way up her spine.

‘What? That it seems to have happened so quickly?’ Harvey completed the question for her. ‘Well, we always said we’d leave
this sort of thing completely up to them,’ he said after a moment. ‘We always said we wouldn’t interfere.’

‘I just find it all so
odd
. I mean, he hardly knows her himself! How many times have they met? Four? Five?’

‘Darling, Rafe’s clearly over the moon about her … let’s just leave things up to them, shall we?’

Diana said nothing. She felt her shoulders hunch of their own volition, and a tremor ran through her, her skin contracting
like water under a shiver of wind.

MADDY

London, April 1997

‘Just a sec … there … that’s me finished. All done.’ Claire, the hairdresser Diana had brought with her, finished making the
last-minute adjustments and stepped away, admiring her handiwork. ‘Looks lovely, don’t you think?’ She tilted Maddy’s head
towards Diana for confirmation.

Diana nodded. ‘Indeed,’ she said briskly. ‘All set? I’m just going down to check on the caterers. Harvey’s waiting to drive
you over.’

Maddy nodded, not trusting herself to speak. It was her wedding day and she was completely alone. Sandy was on holiday in
the Caribbean; she was the only one of her New York friends who would have been able to come. Martha couldn’t leave the farm
in calving season … it was their own fault; the decision to marry quickly had been theirs. ‘We’ll have another reception,
later on in the year,’ Rafe promised. ‘And then we’ll bring your mother over for a fortnight at least. Take her to Paris.
If she’s going to come all this way …’ Maddy simply nodded. The whole thing still felt as though it were happening to
someone else. She didn’t feel able to make a decision on her own. About anything. Least of all the wedding. Luckily, once
she’d recovered from the shock, Diana had taken charge. Of everything. From the wines and the flowers in the registry office
to the caterers who were at that very moment setting up tables in the garden. She’d even organised the weather; it had poured
with rain the previous day but today had dawned bright and sunny, not a cloud in sight.

Maddy got up carefully. Her hair cascaded over her shoulders and down her back in beautiful, perfect little ringlets. It had
taken Claire the better part of the morning to wash and set them. Her dress was simple; an empire-line ivory silk number that
fell from the tight, fitted bodice in a clean, straight line to the ground. In one hand she held the posy of tightly closed
ivory roses, and in the other, the beautiful silk purse her mother had sent over as a gift. She took a final look at herself
in the mirror and then followed Diana out of the room. It was almost 11 a.m. The entire Keeler–Pryce clan was waiting at the
town hall, just up the road. When the short marriage ceremony was over, they would all come back to the family home, where
the reception would take place. She’d seen the garden from the window. It had been transformed into a fairy tale of starched
white linen, Baccarat crystal and trailing bunches of white roses and heavily scented lilies. She stood on the landing for
a second. The house was quiet. There were three rooms up in the attic – the guest room where she’d slept the night before;
a study that Harvey occasionally used and Josh’s room, which no one went into. He’d always slept a floor away from the others,
she remembered Aaron telling her once. She looked at the closed door across the landing. On an impulse she couldn’t name,
she reached out and tried the handle. The door swung open silently and she stepped inside.

It was a large room, dominated by the bed in the centre, a large peeling poster of Che Guevara on one wall and a stack of
cardboard boxes against the other. There was a small bathroom leading off to one side and several suitcases piled up in the
corner. She looked at the boxes curiously. They were all neatly labelled –
Bosnia. Smara. Gaza. Personal Effects. Files. Reports
. Whatever else Josh might or might not be, he was well organised. She’d never seen such neat handwriting. She was about to
turn and leave when her eye was caught by a photograph stuck to the back of the door with Sellotape. She peered at it. It
was Josh, standing with his arm around the shoulders of a girl whose face was partially obscured by her veil. One long strand
of chestnut hair had escaped the veil; it cascaded in a thick, glossy tumble over his arm. She was laughing; he was not. She
wondered who she was – a girlfriend, perhaps? Behind them, just visible in the frame, was an eclectic jumble of half-completed
buildings, fluttering bits of plastic sheeting, corrugated iron and television aerials held aloft on spindly bamboo poles.
A squatter camp of some sort. She wondered where the picture had been taken.

‘Maddy?’ Harvey’s voice suddenly floated up the stairwell.

Maddy gave a guilty start. ‘Coming,’ she called back and quickly closed the door. She hurried down the stairs. Harvey was
waiting for her on the bottom landing.

‘You look lovely, my dear,’ he said, looking up at her. ‘Simply lovely.’

‘Th … thank you,’ Maddy stammered. As remote and unapproachable as he could sometimes be, there was something undeniably kind
about Harvey. She felt the soft tug of tears in her throat again.

‘You’ll be fine,’ he said, smiling down at her.

She nodded, drew a deep breath and walked down the stairs towards him. He offered her his arm. As she took it, his hand closed
over hers. ‘I’ll be fine,’ she repeated.

‘Of course you will.’

Throughout the short ceremony she was conscious only of Rafe’s hand in hers and the faint but discernible sounds of traffic
on Upper Street. The window of the registrar’s office, where they both signed the enormous leatherbound book, was partially
open. The service – if that was the right word – was short and to the point. She signed with a hand that shook only a little.
Then it was Rafe’s turn. His handwriting was much like himself – strong, clear, steady. She kissed him; there was a good-natured,
muted cheer from the friends and family who’d gathered to toast them and then, just as quickly as it had started, it was over.
They made their way through the corridor to the front steps where still more friends and relatives were gathered. She was
passed from one to another; introduced to this aunt, that friend, this colleague, that cousin. She would not remember a single
name. By the time the party finally left the town hall and made their way slowly down Northampton Park Road to the house,
her arm was numb and her cheeks ached from smiling.

Back at the house, she excused herself and quickly headed upstairs to change. Again, it was Diana who’d come to the rescue.
Her after-ceremony dress was equally beautiful and equally simple – a soft rose-coloured linen shift with a pretty ivory silk
and cashmere cardigan and simple black slingbacks. She unpinned her hair and fixed the black silk rose that she’d bought the
day before just above her ear. The diamond on her finger caught the light; she stared at herself in the mirror. Mrs Rafe Keeler.
She touched the rose again with trembling fingers, then turned and closed the door behind her.

In the garden, champagne flutes were handed round by long-haired girls in black skirts and crisp white shirts; music flowed
from the living room; the laughter and chatter rose all around her. All was exactly as it should be. Rafe caught sight of
her and hurried over; he tenderly tucked a strand of hair behind her ear with a smile and handed her a glass before he was
dragged away again. She saw Diana moving regally through the crowd, stopping here and there to accept congratulations on the
happy couple’s behalf. Why do people congratulate the parents of the bride and groom? she mused, sipping her champagne and
glad of the momentary lapse in everyone’s attention.

‘I hope you don’t feel overwhelmed by all this.’ Someone spoke just behind her. ‘We’re a bit of a clan.’

Maddy jumped and turned round. The man standing in front of her was tall and powerfully built with dark hair greying at the
temples and deeply hooded dark eyes behind rimless glasses. ‘I’m sorry?’ she stammered.

‘I was just saying I hope you don’t find us all rather daunting – the whole clan, staring at you … but on second thoughts,
you’re probably managing just fine.’

‘They’re all …
you’re
all very kind.’

‘You look wonderful. Rafe’s a lucky man.’

Maddy blushed. There was something strangely familiar about him; he reminded her of someone. ‘Have we met?’ she asked, trying
to place him.

‘Oh, I’m sorry.’ He held out a hand. ‘I’m Rufus. Harvey’s brother. Rafe’s uncle. And now yours, I suppose.’

‘Oh.’ She shook the hand he offered. She’d heard his name before – he and Diana didn’t get along, apparently. She’d overheard
Rafe and Aaron arguing about where to seat him at the wedding. But before she could say anything further, Rafe suddenly appeared.
‘Uncle Rufus,’ he said, grinning. ‘When did you get here?’

‘Half an hour ago. Nearly didn’t make it.’ He cocked his head towards Maddy. ‘She’s lovely. Lucky you.’

Maddy felt herself blushing under his gaze. ‘Nice to meet you,’ she said, touching his arm impulsively. He looked down at
her hand but said nothing. She withdrew it hurriedly. Had she done the wrong thing? Again? Luckily there was no time to ponder
the question. Someone else appeared, claiming their attention.

‘Aunt Hermione,’ Rafe duly intoned as Maddy felt herself being enveloped in yet another soft, perfumed embrace. When she managed
to extract herself and look round, Uncle Rufus was gone.

‘Rufus!’ Diana heard Harvey’s cry of surprise and almost dropped her glass. A ripple of fear ran lightly up and down her
spine. She had to hold herself very still for a second to control the expression on her face before turning slowly around.
‘Darling, look who’s here!’ Harvey’s deep voice was tinged with delight.

‘Rufus.’ She forced a smile to her face. ‘What a surprise. We didn’t know you were coming.’

‘I wasn’t planning on it. I’m en route to the US – only just made it in time.’ He bent down and kissed her on both cheeks.
‘How are you?’

It was all she could do not to turn away. ‘Fine,’ she muttered. Her skin burned where he’d touched it.

‘We did send you an invitation, you know,’ Harvey said, draping an arm over Rufus’s shoulder.

Rufus smiled. ‘Yes, I did get it. Just wasn’t sure where I’d be. She’s lovely.’ He inclined his head in Maddy’s direction.

‘Isn’t she just? Lucky chap, Rafe. Now, what’ll you have? No, don’t tell me … a Bloody Mary.’ Harvey grinned at him. ‘I haven’t
forgotten.’

‘Absolutely not. Double, if you don’t mind.’

Harvey walked off in search of his drink and Diana was left alone with him. She bent her head, pretending to fiddle with a
thread in her skirt.

‘Where is he?’ His voice was a tightly held thread in her ear.

She didn’t lift her head. She knew to whom he referred. ‘Djibouti. He was here just before Christmas.’

‘How is he?’

‘Fine,’ she murmured. She kept her profile turned away from him, not trusting herself to meet his gaze.
Not now
.
We can’t talk now
.

JULIA

London, April 1997

A fortnight after the dinner that had turned her completely upside down, Julia stood in front of a mirror in the sort of shop
she wouldn’t normally be seen dead in and fingered the silk dress indecisively. It was strapless, long and floaty – not the
sort of dress she normally favoured, but it was beautiful. Plum, deepening to black at the hem, it had a fitted, fluted bodice
and fell around her feet in loose, luxurious swirls. It came with a hefty price tag, too. She was standing in an agony of
indecision, trying to picture herself in it, when the sales assistant suddenly appeared. Five minutes later, she was looking
at her own reflection in the long triptych mirror in the changing room with anxious concentration.

‘It’s lovely,’ the assistant breathed, her voice dripping with the desire to make a sale. ‘Just lovely.’

‘It’s not too tight?’ Julia asked anxiously, turning sideways.

‘Not at all. You’ve got such a lovely figure. We’ve got the most adorable little shrugs just in, too. Let me get you one …’
She disappeared before Julia could open her mouth to protest.

Half an hour later she walked out of the boutique with the dress, a shrug, a pair of shoes and a necklace in one of those
oversized, expensive-looking bags and tried not to think about the small fortune she’d spent. It was worth it, she reasoned.
She would wear the dress again and again – yes, it was an
investment
, not a purchase. She hurried along Fleet Street, the bag banging awkwardly against her legs. She’d spent her entire lunch
break in the changing room full of the scent of other women’s perfumes.
Most
unlike her. She hurried into her office and stowed the offending bag under her desk. She switched on her computer
and tried to take her mind off the one thing that had been on it for almost two weeks. Aaron Keeler.

‘Julia?’ It was Katie Fitzsimmons. She popped her head round the door. ‘Doyle’s just asked if you’d sit in on the meeting
with Aimée Sinclair. They’re starting now.’

Julia came back down to earth with a bump. She made a small sound of impatience. ‘Do I have to?’

‘Absolutely. What Doyle wants, Doyle gets. Good luck. Tell us if she’s had plastic surgery.’

Julia sighed and got up. ‘Where are they?’