Facing the Light (24 page)

‘What are you after, sweetheart? I can tell you want something,' he said. ‘You've got that look on. I know it well. All right for money, are you?'

‘It's nothing to do with money, Dad. I just wanted to know what you've got planned for displaying the presents, that's all.'

Gwen ran a hand through her hair and sighed. ‘To tell you the truth, it only occurred to me last week that they ought to be displayed. We're going to give her our presents, just the family, after dinner on Saturday, but as for all the other gifts, I've decided that as people arrive, someone can put the presents on the dining room table or somewhere and then Leonora can open them after the party, when it's just us. Why?'

‘Because,' said Chloë, leaning over the table towards Gwen for added emphasis, ‘I've had a brilliant idea. A few parcels came today, and there'll be some more tomorrow, and everyone who comes will bring something and there'll be too many to go on the dining room table, don't you think?'

‘I don't really know. I hadn't thought of that.' A frown appeared on Gwen's face.

‘What about this, then?' said Chloë. ‘Philip and I'll pick some willow branches and make a tree in the hall and arrange all the presents under it, just like we do with the Christmas tree. I'd decorate it really spectacularly, I promise. We can put the presents Leonora's already opened nearest the trunk and then all the wrapped ones can go in sort of circles all around it. It'll be great, really. Please, Mum, please, say we can do it?'

Gwen thought for a moment. ‘I suppose so,' she said finally, and Chloë leapt up from her chair and ran round to the other side of the table to hug her mother. ‘Fantastic! You won't regret it, I promise,' she cried and, grabbing Philip by the hand, she raced out of the kitchen, almost bumping into Rilla and Sean on their way in.

‘Chloë seems on good form,' Rilla said. ‘She looked as though she was on the way to something really urgent.'

‘She's had one of her brilliant ideas,' James said. ‘I don't think any harm can come of this one though.' Rilla laughed. Chloë's ideas had, over the years, led to some spectacular catastrophes. Once she'd decided to try and make a fountain in the middle of the conservatory floor and the whole room had needed recarpeting.

‘Do sit down, Sean,' said Gwen. ‘Would you like a cup of tea?'

‘No, thanks, Gwen,' Sean said. ‘We had tea not long ago.'

‘What was Chloë suggesting?' Rilla asked, and James told her.

‘That sounds gorgeous!' she said. ‘It'll look splendid, Gwen.'

‘I expect it will. And I'm pleased that she wants to do something special for the party. It's a bit last-minute of course, but that's typical of the young, isn't it? I wish she'd thought of asking me weeks ago what she could do
to help, instead of springing all this artistic improvisational stuff on us at the last moment. A law unto herself, that girl is.'

‘But she's very gifted, isn't she? It'll work beautifully, Gwen, you know it will.' Rilla stood up and went to stand near her sister beside the sink. ‘You're just tired, that's all, and no wonder. You never stop working, that's your trouble. Come and sit down with us and have a chat. We've just been down to tea with Nanny Mouse.'

Gwen flashed a look at Rilla that she couldn't interpret. Is that envy crimping Gwen's mouth, she wondered? Could it possibly be that she's put out to see me and Sean together? Poor Gwen! She thinks of herself as Queen Bee of Willow Court; the main person in charge of all arrangements, including the filming, so that when anyone else wants to join in, or contribute in some significant way, like Chloë a moment ago, her nose is put slightly out of joint. Rilla felt irritated with her sister and sorry for her at the same time. She said, ‘Nanny Mouse strongly implied that Ethan Walsh used to hit his wife.'

‘She's confused,' said Gwen. ‘She can't remember what she had for breakfast, so I shouldn't think she's to be relied on about anything like that. Maybe she's thinking of something she saw on television.' She turned to James. ‘I need a long, hot bath after the kind of day I've had. I'll see you upstairs.'

‘That sounds remarkably like a summons,' said James to Sean and Rilla as he followed his wife out of the kitchen. ‘I'll take her up a nice cold Pimm's. Times like these, what would we do without alcohol, eh?' He gave one last wave in their direction and closed the door behind him.

*

It was still quite early, but James had already changed for dinner and was lying stretched out on their bed. Gwen sat at her dressing-table sipping the last of her drink as
she patted some powder on to her nose. She said, ‘I can't think how Rilla has the patience to go through her make-up routine every day. It would drive me mad. “Slap” she calls it. She says that's the theatrical word for it.'

‘You don't need any help from powders and paints, my love. It would be gilding the lily.'

Gwen turned to look at him. ‘Do you want something? What's all this flattery about?'

James laughed. ‘Can't a chap pay his wife a compliment? You're looking particularly fetching tonight.'

‘Thank you,' Gwen said and picked up her hairbrush. Before a silence could grow between them, she spoke again. Silences that went on too long were not a good idea because they gave her thoughts room to go back to the days when James could not be trusted. That was all long ago now, and he'd sworn to her then that he loved her, loved her best and passionately, and he'd never never never … and so forth. She had made it quite clear that one more infidelity on his part would mean that he never crossed the threshold of Willow Court again, nor exchanged another word with her. That had been the end of the matter. Neither of them had mentioned it since, but James knew that she was careful to watch him and monitor his comings and goings discreetly but thoroughly. Now she said, ‘I think Rilla's rather set her cap at Sean. She seems quite smitten, doesn't she?'

‘He seems a decent chap,' said James. ‘And they're both adults and so on. Can't see the harm in it, myself.'

‘I suppose you're right,' said Gwen, ‘but I do hope Rilla isn't going to get hurt.'

‘Good Lord, why ever should she? You worry too much, my darling.'

‘I suppose I do,' Gwen said. ‘I can't help it. Still, I expect it'll be all right.'

*

This was the best part of the day in summer: the hour or
two before dusk, when the sun was low in the sky but not quite setting. Beth was on her way to the lake, and wondered why the pearly light and the warmth and the sight of butterflies hovering above the poppies in the wild garden which normally lifted her spirits were not having their usual effect. The day hadn't been what she'd dreamed of when she was back in London.

There, she'd found it easy to weave fantasies of herself and Efe walking together through the long grass, which she would soon be walking through all by herself. Also, in her dreams of the weekend she'd forgotten to include swarms of people moving chairs and tables into the marquee, and coming and going constantly over the lawns behind the house. She'd managed to leave the film crew out of her imaginings as well. They kept popping up wherever you went in the house, whenever you least expected it. And somehow she'd blanked out the rest of the family – Fiona smug about the new baby; Douggie running about everywhere; Leonora materializing in that quiet way she had; Rilla mysteriously hidden away in her bedroom for half the morning and then disappearing with Sean Everard; Alex nowhere to be seen for most of the time; and Efe, the main focus of her feelings and attention, not in a sunny holiday mood at all, but looking sulky and cross whenever she caught sight of him.

She hadn't known about the Reuben Stronsky plan before last night, and at the moment, she wished fervently that the American millionaire and all his works could have been delayed till after these few days. Efe wasn't himself. No, that wasn't quite true. When he wasn't looking like a thundercloud, he was being a sort of on-duty, business-like, superficially charming Efe and not the friend of her childhood. Beth hated admitting it to herself but it was a fact that the man who'd been on display over the last twenty-four hours wasn't the sort of person she liked at all.

He'd been visibly irritated with Fiona at lunchtime for some completely ridiculous little thing like not passing him the right sort of cold meat, and Beth was amazed to find herself wanting to stick up for the poor woman. If he'd spoken to me like that, she thought, I'd have taken the bloody ham and shoved it up his nose. Fiona had just blushed and said
Yes, Efe
in that silly voice of hers and done exactly what he'd wanted; followed his instructions to the letter.

Beth also noticed (how come she'd never noticed it before? Maybe she didn't see them together often enough) that Efe didn't so much as glance at his wife throughout the meal. He didn't address a single remark to her, though his charm was liberally scattered around the table at everyone else. If it were anyone but him, she thought, I'd think he was vile, but I make allowances. She'd looked at him across the table and he'd smiled back at her, as though they were in league together about something. A conspiratorial smile, it had been, and since they had no secrets as far as she knew, she could only conclude that he did it to annoy Fiona, who had intercepted the smile, gone white and stared down at her plate. Beth felt suddenly ashamed. She pushed back her chair and excused herself from the table.

She looked over to the marquee and there he was, deep in talk with his father. James was in charge of all the outdoor arrangements, but he'd torn himself away from the knotty problems of overseeing the arrival of the lighting engineers and the putting up and checking of lights because Efe had buttonholed him about the Ethan Walsh pictures. Even from this distance, Beth could see James was longing to escape from his son and go back to the easier task of making sure that the tent was lined and weatherproof and ready for the arrival of the tables and chairs tomorrow morning. She stood still for a moment, wondering whether perhaps Efe might catch sight of her,
realize that she was on her way down to the lake and run over the grass to join her. Fat chance! He didn't even notice that she was standing there, staring at him as hard as she could in an effort to make him turn in her direction.

She set off down the slope. Once she reached the wild garden, she knew no one up by the marquee could see her. She was safe to take out her anger and frustration by swishing through the long grass as fast as she possibly could, almost running, crushing flowers under her shoes, wanting to get out of breath, to put all thoughts of Efe out of her mind.

‘Watch where you're going!' said a voice at her feet and Beth jumped.

‘Alex! What on earth are you doing down there?'

He was lying full-length on the ground with his camera held up to his face, and for a few moments he said nothing as he pointed the lens in one direction after another before clicking off a few quick shots. Beth sighed and sat down beside him. ‘Taking photos of the ground, are you? Or some amazingly beautiful blades of grass?'

‘As a matter of fact, yes,' Alex answered, and rolled over on his back. ‘I've got some good shots of the lake through a sort of frame of grass and flowers.'

‘Sounds very artistic,' Beth said, and pulled a blue flower out of the ground by its stalk.

‘Don't take it out on me,' Alex said.

‘Take what?'

‘You know very well what. You're not pleased with the way the weekend is going and it shows. I don't know what you thought was going to happen.'

‘I didn't think anything in particular was going to happen,' Beth said, and wondered how much Alex knew. He didn't ever say much, but he paid close attention to everything and even though she'd never actually told him how she felt about Efe, she was sure sometimes that he'd
guessed her true feelings. For a mad second, she considered telling him everything and then decided that life would be easier, at least for now, if she changed the subject.

‘I love the lake,' she said. ‘Doesn't it look great in this light? You should take some more pictures of it. Come down there with me. The swans are over on this side, look.'

Alex continued to stare at the sky. ‘I've taken entire films of the bloody place,' he said. ‘Because Leonora would expect it but …' His words were left hanging in the air.

Beth shivered. She kept trying and trying to forget the afternoon of Mark's death, but it was still as clear as clear in her head and came into her mind often, mostly at night. It had been a blustery day, and the wind had blown sharp and chilly over the water and she could see, as though it were yesterday, Efe bending down into the black lake to pick up Markie's body and how every part of her baby brother had been dripping and streaming as he was carried back to the riverbank. Alex was at the edge of the water, silently weeping as Efe kept on and on trying to bring some life back into her little brother's body, shaking it and turning it upside down. It didn't take much to make her recall the icy dread that had crept over her as she realized that Mark wasn't ever going to breathe again, not ever. She'd turned and run up to the house then, unable to bear it. Shrieking and crying.

‘It was a long time ago, Alex,' she said gently, shaking her head to clear it of those images. ‘My mother hasn't looked at the lake since then, d'you know that?'

‘Don't blame her,' Alex murmured. ‘Beth … ?'

‘Yes?'

‘May I tell you something? Nobody else knows I know this. I'm not sure I should be saying anything, but …' His voice died away.

Beth nodded. She knew that Alex in a confessional mood was like a bird poised on a branch. One loud noise, one hasty movement and he'd be gone.

‘That day, the day Mark died, we were playing a special kind of game. Trappers. We used to play it a lot. Do you remember it?'