The Secrets Women Keep (42 page)

As she reached the bridge, she heard her ringtone. Glad to talk to someone, she dug her phone out of her bag, delighted to find her younger daughter on the line.

‘Jess! How are you?’

‘We’re all fine. Dylan’s talking all the time now; just constant chatter. I can’t wait for you come down and see him again.’

Rose was looking forward to that too, being part of a family. But Jess sounded rushed. Phoning during the working day meant there was a purpose to the call. Rose waited.

‘I’ve had awful morning sickness but it’s getting better now. Adam’s been great, though he’s using every spare moment he can to finish the bowls for the Plymouth
exhibition. Mum, we need you!’

This was music to Rose’s ears. ‘I’ll be down in a couple of months or so, but I’ve got to give the classes I’ve committed to and tie up a few loose ends.’

‘You should think about doing something like that when you get here,’ Jess suggested. ‘I want you to have your own things going on too.’

And so did Rose. Although she relished her role as grandmother, and was looking forward to helping out when needed, she wanted her independence too. ‘I’ll think about what I might
do,’ she said. ‘But first I need to find somewhere to live. I can’t stay in the hotel for ever. Incidentally, how’s the building going?’

‘That’s really why I’m calling.’ A deep breath travelled down the line.

Rose readied herself for the worst. She had stopped just as she reached the beginning of the bridge’s span. As she looked at the familiar landmarks on either side of the Thames, she
realised how much she was looking forward to this new start Jess was offering her. She would find herself a cottage near Trevarrick, and have a studio flat to return to in London when she wanted.
She could not abandon all this completely.

‘Mum, it’s dreadful. Roger, the project manager, doesn’t get it at all. It was bad enough during the first stage of the work, when he was unfamiliar with what was happening,
but now he keeps trying to change the plans. I know work’s not starting until the end of October, but he’s suggesting we change the orientation of the swimming pool and use different
tiling, something much lighter than the slate, that’s much more expensive. He doesn’t think the glass we’ve chosen for the snug is the best for the job. Apparently there’s
some German-manufactured glass that’s better. Look . . .’

She hesitated, and in that second, Rose knew exactly what she was about to be asked.

‘We need Simon to see it through. We really do. I can hardly bear to suggest it, but Trevarrick matters so much to me now. It’s everything Dad left behind—’

‘Not quite everything,’ Rose butted in.

‘You know what I mean. But Simon’s the only architect I’ve met who really gets the place. I don’t want him here either, but we do need him, just until the work’s
finished the way Dad would have wanted it. You won’t have to have anything to do with him. I’ll keep contact to the bare minimum, don’t worry about that, but he does understand
what we both want and what Dad would have wanted too.’

Rose stood stock still, unable to believe her ears.

‘I know it’s hard,’ Jess went on. ‘And I never thought I’d be asking you this. But he wouldn’t need to be here all the time. Just a couple of visits or so to
oversee things again.’

‘That’s out of the question,’ said Rose, feeling her blood pumping. ‘I’m amazed you’ve even asked me. I know you and Anna think we should try to move on, but
I thought you were with me on this.’

‘Oh Mum, I am.’ Jess’s sympathy was audible. ‘You know how upset and furious I’ve been with Dad, and I would never do anything to hurt you, but I need this to be
done properly. And face it, so do you. You loved the original plans too.’

For a moment, Rose was back in her kitchen, going over them for the first time with Simon, listening to him talk so enthusiastically and knowledgeably, forging a new friendship, sharing a vision
for the future of Trevarrick. ‘Yes, I did,’ she conceded. ‘But things have changed.’

‘No they haven’t. Not really.’

‘How can you say that?’

A young woman pushing a Rolls-Royce of a buggy slowed down as she heard Rose’s raised voice. Rose forced a smile to show everything was all right, waving her free hand to indicate a
problem that would be easily resolved. The woman shrugged her shoulders, reciprocated the smile and walked on.

‘I can say that because I want to remember Dad as he was.’ Jess sounded absolutely sure of what she was saying. ‘I haven’t been able to stop thinking about him.
Don’t think I haven’t. I’ve talked and talked to Adam so much about what’s happened, and he’s made me look at things differently. I was devastated at first, but
he’s right. We can’t undo the past, but I don’t want to be constantly wondering whether our family life wasn’t what it seemed. It was what it was. I really believe Dad loved
us all, even if he did have a bit of an odd way of showing it sometimes. That temper!’ She gave a little laugh. ‘And he loved you. I know he did.’ She hesitated over what she was
going to say next. ‘I don’t understand his friendship with Simon. I don’t even want to think about it, but we should try to remember him the way we can, not torture ourselves with
what might or should have been.’

‘It was more than a friendship.’ Rose started walking again, keeping to the right, looking downriver to Tower Bridge. Where had her daughter found this new maturity? She guessed they
had Adam to thank.

‘But Mum, it doesn’t matter what it was now. Don’t you see that? Dad’s dead.’

‘I know that.’ She spoke sharply. ‘I think about him every day.’

‘Of course you do. But we can’t live in the past. Do you know what Adam said? Of course you don’t. Well, he said, “The best thing to do with the past is to take what you
want from it to make your future and leave the rest behind.” He thinks you’ll never lose by doing that. Think about it, Mum. All I’m doing is asking you to reconsider.
Please.’

‘Perhaps we should talk again when I’m not walking outside.’ Those wretched tears were threatening yet again, and a crocodile of gabbling schoolboys were making it conveniently
hard to hear. Rose said a brisk goodbye and tucked her phone back in her bag as she continued towards St Paul’s.

An hour later, she was at home. Throughout her journey she had thought of nothing but what Jess and indeed Anna had said. Perhaps they were both right. Perhaps she should take their lead, let go
and move forward. But how was that possible? How could she ever get her mind round what had happened? Yet Adam’s advice to Jess still rang in her ears: ‘The best thing to do with the
past is to take what you want from it to make your future.’ If she was to have a future at all, perhaps she should listen.

She made herself a mug of tea, then went upstairs to her bedroom. She opened her wardrobe and took out the dress Simon had helped her buy, unworn since the party. Holding it in front of herself
as she stood by the mirror, she saw again how spot-on his choice had been for her. What a successful day that had been: shopping, then lunch and laughter. Returning the dress to its place, she
sighed, then opened her bedside drawer and took out Simon’s envelope. She sat on the edge of her bed and stared at his writing for a long time.

Will had been in Bath all day, so Eve travelled down on her own. A bit of her was relieved to get away from Rose for twenty-four hours. The drip-drip of badly disguised
disapproval was beginning to get her down. She knew exactly what she was putting at risk and who she might be hurting. If she wanted a guilt trip, she was more than capable of sorting one out for
herself without her sister-in-law breathing down her neck. Rose was only looking out for her brother, but that irked Eve, given that her own relationship with Rose was much closer than Rose’s
with Terry. As adults, the two siblings had increasingly little in common. In fact, sometimes Eve thought she was the glue that kept them together. So it was rich that Rose had come out on
Terry’s side.

Terry. Whenever she had thought of him in the last few days, she had been rocked by sadness and regret. Once she had helped him through his current problems, and completed sorting out their
finances, she would be free to leave the marriage. The sale of the Arthur was going through as planned, and with Rufus’s unpredicted return to the fold, her own business prospects had
improved. Terry had to stay on the straight and narrow. Knowing how much depended on it, he was doing his best. She admired him for that. But the more she tried to picture a life without her
husband, the harder it became. There seemed so many obstacles in the way of a life without him. Despite his faults, he loved her and would do anything for her. Many women weren’t as lucky
with their husbands. And she could hardly claim to be fault-free. He put up with a lot.

The financial crisis his gambling had provoked had driven home to Eve how much her family meant to her and how unbearable it would be to leave the nest in which she had invested so much time and
love. They had brought up the children there; Millie had even been born in their bedroom, and the place was imbued with family history. She wouldn’t find that anywhere else. Nor would she
find anyone, least of all Will, who would share her interest in her children’s lives. As far as she could tell, he found it hard enough to muster enough attention for his own kids. That was
something she couldn’t understand about him.

She, not Terry, would have to be the one to leave. Their mutual friends were bound to take sides. And the children? Would they suffer? Even though adults now, their parents splitting up was
bound to affect them in some way or other, especially Millie, the baby of them all. Would
they
take sides? Especially when they knew who she’d left their father for. How would they be
able to celebrate individual achievements as a family without things being awkward between them? Millie’s graduation, for instance. Marriages. Grandchildren. For a fleeting moment, she
pictured Rose carrying Dylan up to bed, his arms around her neck, his soft cheek pressed against hers, Daniel proudly looking up after them. She envied her that. Christmas wouldn’t be the
same without their long-established family rituals. And the summer? Would she ever be able to visit Casa Rosa again? And of course Terry – she would miss all the little things that irritated,
amused or made her love him, all the things they had in common. Her mind kept racing with lists of the losses and possibilities that were in her gift. And Terry would even get custody of the
chickens!

But equally, when she was with Will, she couldn’t imagine a future without him. He understood her, flattered her, made her feel all things were possible, that life could be exciting and
unpredictable. He made her feel like a different woman. Terry may have once done the same – it was hard to remember – but those feelings had been buried a long time ago in the mundane
routine and the stresses involved in trying to have it all. Was that what she was doing again now? She wasn’t so sure that she liked this different woman Will had unearthed, whose overriding
concerns were shallow and selfish. But the way she felt when she was with him was incomparable. She couldn’t let that go.

She walked from the station to the hotel, an elegant Georgian building. She put her bag on the pavement under the iron and glass porch and stood for a second gazing up at the honey-coloured
stone and the multi-paned sash windows. One night with Will, without any of the pressures of her everyday life. Twenty-four hours of uninterrupted pleasure and room service. Perhaps they’d
emerge for dinner in the evening, and a stroll around the town. If it really was going to be their last meeting, better make it a memorable one. She shut her eyes in the most pleasurable
anticipation, only to open them to the clearing of a throat.

‘Can I help you?’ A uniformed doorman was half bent over her case.

‘Yes, thank you. I’m just checking in.’ Her stomach fluttered with excitement.

They went in together and straight to the reception desk. Will had expected to arrive about half an hour before her, unless his meeting overran.

After glancing at her computer, the receptionist looked up with a warm smile. ‘In fact Mr Jessop hasn’t checked in yet. Would you like to go ahead to the room?’

Minutes later, Eve was sitting on the edge of a four-poster bed swagged in the palest of blue and grey. The almost matching toile wallpaper featured plump cherubs surrounded by garlands of
flowers. She was flattered that Will hadn’t skimped on the expense. In Terry’s hands, they would have occupied the most modest of rooms. Once, he had even economised by choosing the one
without an en suite. In the middle of those nights, Eve could be found trailing along the chilly corridors in search of a loo, wrapped in a thin faded kimono provided expressly for the purpose.

She lay back, feeling the give of the mattress, letting herself relax, smelling the clean white bedlinen. Then she sat up swiftly. Will might be late, but that gave her time to get ready for
him. She unpacked her bag, stashing it away in the bottom of the wardrobe, hanging up the dress she’d brought for the evening – just in case they ventured out of the room –
putting her new satin and lace underwear in a drawer. Then she undressed, putting on one of the thick white towelling robes before taking her sponge bag into the bathroom. Examining herself closely
in the mirror, she took her tweezers and plucked out a rogue hair from her chin, sure that it hadn’t been there when she last looked. Just another of the pleasures that came with hormonal
change, designed as reminders of time passing. Other than that, with a little minor titivating, she looked as good as she was ever going to. Lastly, she unwrapped the loo paper from the bracelet
Will had given her and used it to wrap Terry’s. Then she slipped Will’s gift on to her wrist. Satisfied, she returned to the bedroom, pulled back the sheets and slid between them,
careful not to disturb her hair or make-up. That would happen later.

After five minutes, when Will still hadn’t appeared, she got out and padded over the shag-pile carpet to retrieve her bag. Having resolved not to spend any moment of her time in Bath on
her BlackBerry – she had allowed herself twenty-four hours to be devoted exclusively to pleasure, not work – she took out her Kindle and found her place in the thriller she had started
on the train. Back in bed, she lay reading, time flicking past in big red numbers on the bedside clock. But aware that Will might arrive at any moment, she couldn’t concentrate. The plot had
too many twists and turns for her to follow. At any other time she’d have been gripped by its complexities, but not today.