A Perfect Heritage (27 page)

She walked with her to the waiting car and they both got in. Watching them intently, Bertie saw Bianca slump in the back seat and bury her face in her hands. Susie put her arm round her.

‘Poor woman,’ said Florence; and he wasn’t sure if she meant Annie Ford or Bianca Bailey.

Chapter 27

‘This is just so amazing, isn’t it? I mean, perfect or what?’

‘Perfect.’

‘And, like how many kids have a holiday like this one?’

Milly suddenly realised Carey was looking rather beadily at her. She hated it when she did that; it scared her. She smiled at Carey, said, ‘Hardly any. Lucky us!’

‘We-ell – lucky you. I mean, I’d be here anyway.’

There was a certain lack of logic in this; but Milly knew better than to argue.

‘Yeah. Lucky me.’

‘Seen Ad this morning?’

‘No.’

She so didn’t like Ad. He was a brat. A sexist, spoiled brat. Whatever he asked for he got. From his parents. From his little brother. And from Carey.

‘Do my back, Carey,’ he’d say and she’d take the sunscreen and with great care start rubbing it in.

‘Get me a drink, Carey.’ And when she’d brought it, if it wasn’t quite right, ‘Get some ice,’ and she’d get him some ice.

Occasionally his father, Rick, who was equally gross, would say, ‘Now, Adam, Carey is not your slave.’

And Ad would shrug and say something like, ‘She’s a girl, isn’t she?’ and laugh and make out he was joking, but he wasn’t.

He didn’t like Milly; she didn’t mind, because she was quite happy to stay on the yacht and play cards with Toby, who was cute, although interestingly scared of his big brother. Adam teased him, told him he was a wimp because he wouldn’t dive off the deck and had trouble getting back into his water skis when they came off halfway round a ride.

Milly had trouble with that too, and preferred to lie in the huge rubber ring and be towed round on that; she suggested Toby did the same, and he loved it. Carey laughed and called them a pair of babies. She was horribly good at water skiing, better even than Adam, which he didn’t like, so after a bit she had to pretend she wasn’t and kept falling over on purpose.

They were halfway through the holiday and Milly was looking forward to it being over. Carey was increasingly difficult with her, mooned about after Adam, and took it out on Milly if he didn’t seem very keen. Which was often.

Of course it had been lovely in lots of ways. It was so beautiful sailing round the islands, the endless swimming and sunbathing was gorgeous, and so were the long lunchtime beach picnics when they went ashore. The Mapletons were lovely to her and she liked the evenings on deck after supper, when it was cooler, and they played things like scrabble and consequences, which Andrew and Nicky Mapleton liked, and even charades sometimes. Milly was rather good at charades, which annoyed Carey who was hopeless. Adam put his head in his hands when she was trying to act, and groaned in mock agony.

There was no doubt he was really good-looking, tall and dark and not skinny like most boys of his age; he was at Eton and was clever and very self-confident. He spent a lot of time texting his friends on his phone and getting in a rage whenever they lost a signal which was often.

That night the adults were going to join some friends from another yacht on shore and it was decided the children should all stay on board, under the rather unwatchful eye of Daisy, who was the sailing equivalent of a chalet girl; she had to do the cooking and clean the cabins, but a lot of the time she just sunbathed and flirted with Antoine, the water sports guy.

‘Now look,’ hissed Carey after Nicky Mapleton had outlined the plans for the day, and then dived into the water for a swim, ‘once supper’s over and Daisy’s disappeared, you disappear as well, OK? And take Toby with you. Ad and I want a bit of peace to listen to some music together, maybe have a smoke.’

‘A smoke?’ said Milly.

‘Yeah, a smoke. Weed, hash, a spliff, you know. Ad has some amazing stuff and he says it’s time I discovered how good it is.’

‘OK, cool,’ said Milly. She had learned not to remonstrate with Carey, whatever she said she was going to do, but she couldn’t stop herself when, later that afternoon, Carey suddenly removed her bikini top.

‘Carey!’ said Milly.

‘Now what?’

‘Ad might see. Or Antoine.’

‘Oh, don’t be such a dork. This is two thousand and eleven, Mills, not the nineteenth century. I’m not going to have white boobs.’

‘OK,’ said Milly and shrugged.

‘Oh God, here comes Mummy! Mills, take your top off as well. Back me up, OK?’

‘No, Carey, I don’t want—’

‘Mills! God, I wish I hadn’t brought you. You are such a
baby
. Come on, take it off!’

She reached out and grabbed Milly’s top hard which gave way and fell off. Milly, mortified, turned over on her tummy as Nicky Mapleton walked up to them.

‘Getting rid of your strap marks, girls? Good idea. Make sure Ad isn’t around though. Listen, we’re off now. Have a great time, see you tomorrow. Oh, and Milly, I had a text from your mum. About meeting you next week. We’ve sorted out a flight from Athens for you. She sends her love, says she hopes you won’t find a family holiday too dull after this!’

‘Thank you,’ said Milly. The villa holiday with her parents and Fergie and Ruby suddenly looked rather wonderful.

Nicky was gone; Carey looked thoughtfully at Milly, then said, ‘Take a picture of me will you?’ She passed Milly her phone.

‘What, without your top?’

‘Without my top, Miss Modesty. Go on!’

‘OK,’ said Milly reluctantly. She took a few pictures of Carey, then handed her the phone back.

‘Right, now let’s have some of you.’

‘Carey, no!’

‘Mills, yes. Come on, don’t be boring. I’ll do one of us together too, if you like.’

‘We-ell . . .’ She knew she’d have to give in. Carey would just nag and nag if she didn’t. ‘OK.’

She sat there, hating every minute, horribly aware that her breasts were only half the size of Carey’s and very white. Carey had obviously been working with the fake tan. Carey pouted at the camera, pushing her tits about like a porn star.

‘Cool,’ she said, studying the pictures, ‘really cool. Right, I’d better put lots of stuff on or they’ll burn. Red tits, not a good look. God, I can’t wait for tonight.’

‘So, what happened?’

‘Oh . . . nothing.’

‘Darling, yes it did. I can tell.’

‘Mummy, nothing happened.’

‘All right,’ Bianca sighed. ‘Well, if you change your mind—’

‘I won’t! I mean, there’s nothing to change it about. Hey, Ruby, want another diving lesson? Come on, Fergie, don’t you dare start bombing her. Just don’t!’

‘She seems all right,’ said Patrick, watching Milly disappear into the pool very neatly, head first, long legs pointed behind her, followed by a rather untidy plunge from Ruby, rather shorter plump legs wide apart.

‘She’s not all right. I told you, she was crying last night, and when I asked her why, she said she’d tell me today, so there
was
something. She’s – Patrick,
please.
’

‘Sorry. Won’t be a minute.’

He grabbed his phone, walked away quickly into the pool house, listening intently. Saul. Bloody Saul. He was hanging over this holiday, calling endlessly, quite late at night sometimes. She was quite shocked at Patrick; when she was on holiday she would check her phone three times a day and then switch it off. It was an unbreakable rule. Well, almost unbreakable.

‘What this time?’ she asked Patrick, as he came back looking sheepish.

‘Oh – just questions. Will I look at this, did I look at that. I – don’t mind though,’ he added in an attempt at bravado.

‘Well, you should.’

‘I don’t think you understand. Saul’s not like anyone. Or hardly anyone. He’s absolutely obsessed. That’s how he does what he does. He’s a bit – well, I hesitate to say it, but a bit unhinged. In a way. Maybe that’s rather harsh, but he is distinctly odd, sort of random. As a person, that is.’

‘Really?’ She was reluctantly intrigued.

‘Yes. You couldn’t get to where he is unless you were. You need to have no emotions, basically.’

‘Oh, really?’ That hadn’t been quite how she’d read Saul. ‘He’s quite emotional about Dickon, I’d have said.’

‘He is, but it’s obsessive emotion, lacks judgment. Dickon is the most important, indeed the
only
, person in his life. He doesn’t see him as part of a whole, part of a family.’

‘He doesn’t have a family, poor little boy.’

‘Well, he has a mother. Although Saul does treat her like some sort of staff member. She only exists in so far as what she does for Dickon.’

‘No wonder they’re divorced.’

‘Jonjo says she really struggled to be a good wife to Saul.’

‘And?’

‘Well, no one could be. He just wants people who do what he thinks they should. Thing is, he only really cares about the money he makes. Not so that he can have it, but as some kind of abstract thing. It’s so hard to explain. He doesn’t care about anything else, doesn’t think, am I offending this person, am I going to upset that one? Ninety per cent of the time that’s how he is.’

‘Goodness. Well, don’t you get like that, darling. And do remind him you’re on holiday. Otherwise I might.’

‘Bianca . . .’ Suddenly Patrick’s voice was very serious, his expression intense. ‘Please don’t. This is my job, remember, and he’s my boss. I’ll deal with it as I think best.’

‘I was only joking,’ she said, half startled.

It wasn’t quite true; but she suddenly saw what Saul represented to Patrick: not just success, but self-respect and a chance to achieve on his own account, rather than by the endowment of his father. She would intrude on that at her peril.

‘So good of you to come.’ Henk’s voice was at its most dangerous. Susie spun round. Against the background of the crowded bar, the noise, the heat, his face, white and taut, was the only thing in focus, frightening her.

‘Oh, I’m sorry. I thought you’d still be at home. Was – was everything all right? Happy birthday,’ she added belatedly, reaching up to kiss him; he pulled away.

‘I suppose so. A load of crap food and not enough booze; it was a pretty poor attempt at a birthday party.’

‘Henk, I’m sorry.’ She had to shout above the din, aware that even now there was a row building. ‘I – I did tell you I’d be late.’

‘Did you? You tell me so often I suppose I didn’t notice.’

‘And . . . did you find the present I left?’

As if he couldn’t have: placed on the kitchen table as she crept out, tied up with a huge red bow, the new, vastly expensive lens he had been longing for.

‘Yeah, I did.’

‘And was it OK? The right one?’

‘Yeah, it was. The presentation lacked the personal touch, but yeah. Yeah, thanks.’

‘Well . . . good.’ Even now, she’d have expected something a bit more fulsome; maybe he was embarrassed to show his gratitude in front of these strangers.

‘Aren’t you going to buy me a drink?’

‘There’s a tab at the bar.’ He turned away, started talking to someone; stung to tears she made for the loo. And then came back, smiling, apparently ready for anything.

Which was rather more than even she had expected: inside the flat, several hours later, he turned as she followed him in, pushed the door behind her and raised his hand and hit her, straight across the face. He was very, very drunk.

‘You’re such a bitch,’ he said, ‘such a selfish, up yourself cow. All you care about is that fucking job, even on my birthday you put it first.’

She didn’t dare antagonise him, or stand up for herself.

‘Henk, I’m sorry, so sorry, I told you, I couldn’t help it, that’s why I organised the food and everything—’

‘Yeah, well, this is what I think of the food,’ he said and he picked up a half-empty plate of canapés and hurled it at the wall. It smashed, the contents splattering everywhere. A bowl of fruit salad followed, trickling down the wall, the glass smashing as it caught the fireplace.

‘Henk, stop it, stop it! You’re mad!’ And then, as he turned to look at her again, his eyes glittering, she said, terrified of what he would do, ‘I’m sorry, so sorry you’re so upset, I should have been here—’

‘Yes, you fucking should,’ he said and hit her again, on the other side of her face; she staggered, almost fell, managed to make the bathroom, slammed the door and locked it. After a bit she heard the front door open and then slam shut; and she went out nervously, afraid he was tricking her, but he had gone, and she locked the door and put the chain across it and started, for it seemed the only thing to do, to clear up the mess. Thinking that any amount of loneliness would be better than what she had been enduring over the past few weeks.

She woke, exhausted, aching all over, and looked at her phone; she hadn’t set the alarm and it was after nine. Thank God she didn’t have any meetings. She could be in by ten, could spend the day quietly— Her phone rang; it was Henk. She ignored it. Then the landline rang, the machine picking it up and she heard his voice: ‘Babe, babe, I am so, so sorry. Forgive me, please please forgive me. I love you, I love you so much. I can’t live without you. It will never ever happen again, I swear. Please, please say I can come home.’

She went into the bathroom, switched on the shower. And then caught sight of herself in the mirror. One black eye, one hideously swollen cheekbone, a bruise at the side of her mouth, a cut lip. She couldn’t go into work like that, she absolutely couldn’t! She’d call Jemima, tell her she was ill – thank God Bianca was away. She stood in the shower for a long time, trying to wash off the misery and the shame and the pain, forcing herself to confront the truth; and then she came out and wrapped herself in her bathrobe and sat on the sofa, her mobile switched off now, drinking coffee, ignoring Henk’s endless calls on the landline, telling her how much he loved her, how it was only because he was so hurt, because it was his birthday, thinking maybe if she persuaded him to stop drinking, guilt creeping into her now, guilt and shame. It had been his birthday, his thirtieth birthday, pretty important . . . No, Susie! You mustn’t give in, don’t do this, you mustn’t! He’s dangerous, awful . . .

‘I need you,’ Henk’s voice said, ‘I need you so much . . .’

‘Is she here?’ Athina’s voice was irritable.