Chapter 7
With surprising speed, due to a combination of luck and Juliet’s sheer force of character – she was used to dealing with London newspaper editors, so a benevolent builder was no match for her – work started quickly on the space above the cookery school: installing the small bathroom, running the electrics up from downstairs and using one of the leftover stable partitions to create a bedroom, and was completed within a month. She had spent that time in London packing her belongings and organising a drinks party in a local bar to say goodbye. When that evening arrived, her emotions bounced around like a squash ball. She had packed most of her clothes but kept out a stunning vintage black corseted pencil dress with a square neckline, and some vertiginous heels that were firmly in the category of ‘car to bar’ shoes as you couldn’t walk much further than that in them. As she put it on, then did her make-up, she felt horrible butterflies in her stomach but couldn’t decide if they were due to nerves about leaving London or excitement about the new path that lay before her.
The leaving party itself was fun. A lot of her friends turned up – well, she had to admit that most of them were more in the category of acquaintances – and she found that several gin cocktails were perfect for banishing the butterflies. By ten o’clock, she was dancing in the precarious heels on a table as her party guests cheered her on, wondering why she had ever wanted to leave the metropolis and her wonderful friends. By one thirty, she was hanging out of the window of a taxi, praying she got back to the flat without being sick, and rueing the day she ever set foot in London. It was safe to say that Juliet was confused.
The next morning her hangover was brutal, and all she could find to try and alleviate it was a couple of Ibuprofen (how she wished Frankie was there with her mobile pharmacy) and the eminently unsuitable breakfast she had left herself when she was sober and healthy – a yoghurt, banana and a handful of nuts. Everything else had been packed and sent on ahead, so she had a glass of water and nearly cried at its deficiency in caffeine. She couldn’t even shower to try to fix herself up a bit as she, very sensibly, hadn’t wanted to pack a wet towel, so she struggled into her clothes and a large pair of sunglasses, pulled the door shut on her little rented flat and dragged her suitcase – fairly light, thank goodness, as it only contained last night’s outfit and some toiletries and make-up – to Paddington Station. She just had time to grab a vegetable pasty and huge hot coffee before scuttling to the correct platform and climbing onto her train. She managed to get one of her favourite seats, a single one, and huddled down in it, scrolling through her phone as she chomped her ambrosial pasty and flooded her veins with caffeine.
The journey wasn’t long, and she alighted feeling marginally more human but not – she noted, catching sight of her reflection in a window – looking it. Never mind, the taxi would get her home – home! – in twenty minutes and then she could disappear into that lovely little space in the stables until she regenerated into the sleek, impenetrable Juliet she preferred to be. She looked around for the taxi sign.
‘Juliet?’
Oh no, had someone seen her? She really didn’t want to make small talk with one of the locals. She cast around frantically for a taxi to leap into.
‘Juliet?’
Wait a minute, didn’t she recognise those accented tones? Juliet turned around reluctantly. Yup, there he was. For the second time, he was seeing her at her very worst and, she was sure, looking pleased about it.
‘Oh. Hello. I’m just getting a taxi up to the house. I’m sure I’ll see you up there later.’
‘No need. Here, let me take your suitcase.’
‘Oh…thank you, but I really can manage myself. And I’m perfectly happy in a taxi.’
‘But I have the car here now. Sylvia told me which train you were on, and I came especially to give you a lift.’
Léo looked thoroughly confused, and Juliet realised that she couldn’t really turn him down, much as she wanted to.
‘All right, come on then. Thanks.’
He beamed.
‘You’re welcome. Now, let me take this…’
He swept the suitcase away from her before she could stop him, and strode over to the car, where he popped the boot and put it in, then opened the passenger door for her. Juliet shuddered. Did he really think he was going to win her over with all this gallantry? She really hated it – it made her feel out of control, and in control was where she firmly preferred to be. Wordlessly, she slid into the car and clicked her seatbelt as Léo shut her door and got into the driver’s seat. As he started the ignition, he continued talking.
‘I think we got off on the wrong foot. If we are to be in close proximity, and you are to help us with our website, we need to try to get along, no?’
‘Yes, I suppose so. I doubt we’ll see that much of each other, though; I’m going to be frantic with work.’
‘As am I, so you are probably right.’
Good, she was glad they’d got that straight.
‘Which is a shame.’
She glanced at him out of the side of her sunglasses. His eyes were on the road, and he had a small smile – smirk – on his face. Wordlessly, she turned to look out of the side window at the green scenery flashing past, and they remained in silence for the rest of the journey. When they arrived at Feywood, Léo was quicker than her and was already bearing her suitcase off towards the stable block before she could stop him. She felt fury rising inside her at his peremptory manner and walked at her own pace, rather than scurrying to catch up with him. She would not be railroaded by another man, fooled and confused into submission and gratitude by gentlemanly gestures. A full minute later, she strolled in and up the staircase, where she found him waiting on the tiny landing beside the newly installed and firmly locked door.
‘Thank you for carrying my suitcase, but I can take it from here.’
He shrugged and squeezed past her on the small staircase. She caught a delicious scent of a light cologne mixed with some sort of herb and a faint waft of garlic, which she loved. Mingled in was a distinct smell of – well, just of man, and her stomach gave a little tug of pleasure in response to it. She stiffened her back and glared at him even more icily when he spoke.
‘I do not understand why you dislike me so much, Juliet. I am sorry about it. I try to do nice things – to collect you from the station, to carry your bag – but it seems to make things only worse.’
Don’t fall for it, Juliet, you’re being manipulated.
His face looked open enough, and for a moment she felt bad that she had upset him, but then she remembered all the times she had taken the blame for Toby’s sorrows, and where that had got her. The chink in her armour clanged shut.
‘I’m…sorry you feel that way. Thank you for your help.’
She pulled a key from her pocket, opened the door and slipped into the room without looking back at him. Gazing around the light-filled space, Juliet felt a sense of relief and peace flood her. Although there were boxes to be unpacked, the furniture she had either bought or had sent from her studio was in place and the big bed had been assembled. The builders had sent photos of the bathroom, but this was the first time she had seen it for real, and she pushed open the door to admire the tiny space with its glass-walled shower, white sink and loo and neat little cabinets. Content, she returned to the main space to start unpacking and creating her new life.
By the evening, Juliet had not only straightened out the flat, making the bed with brand-new linen, positioning her drawing table just so by one of the sloping windows and arranging the sofa and TV so that another defined little space was created, but she had found an hour to sit quietly with a cup of tea and just gaze at the view. The windows looked out over the lawn and down to the wood that lay at the bottom, with the fields and towns beyond just discernible. It was mesmeric, and deeply relaxing, and she suddenly felt full of good resolutions: to work tirelessly and enthusiastically, to take walks through the dew at dawn and maybe – just maybe – to give Léo another chance.
At seven, she reluctantly pulled the door shut behind her and walked up to the main house, where she knew she was expected for supper. Feeling oddly shy, she slipped in through the boot room and pushed open the sitting room door.
‘Juliet! You’re here.’
Juliet smiled. Trust Martha not to have realised; she would have been lost in one of her detailed portraits, unaware of the time or any of the comings and goings of the household around her.
‘Yes, I’m here, hello everyone.’
Supper was a large gathering at Feywood, and everyone currently living there was expected to turn up, although a kindly eye was turned towards forgetful artists who wandered in late or not at all. Today there was just Martha and Frankie, Rousseau, Sylvia, Will and, of course, Léo. Juliet nodded around at them all and went to join Frankie who was the only one not in conversation; instead, she was tapping away at her phone.
‘Sorry, Juliet, won’t be long. I’m exchanging hair-raising texts with my new man. I’ll just finish this one and then I’ll put it away – it’ll do him good to wait for me.’
She pressed ‘send’ with a flourish and then stuffed the device down the side of the sofa.
‘So, how are you settling in? Did Luscious Léo come and pick you up from the station? He was very keen to beat off all the competition – well, when I say “competition”, Will offered, but probably just to be polite. Don’t you think he’s gorgeous? I’d have a crack at him myself if it wasn’t for this hottie.’
She gestured vaguely towards the buried phone.
‘Shh, he’ll hear you,’ hissed Juliet, then whispered, ‘No, I do not think he’s gorgeous, I think he’s bloody pleased with himself, and a bossy-boots.’
Frankie flicked an eyebrow at her sister but replied in a lowered voice, ‘Oh yes, I forgot you don’t go in for any sort of chivalry after that nasty bastard, Toby. I can’t blame you, I suppose, but he was really oily. Léo’s masculine – he has just the right sort of arms for swooning into.’
‘Don’t be so ridiculous.’ Juliet knew Frankie was winding her up but reacted anyway. ‘I’m not looking for a man and certainly not some sort of archaic Romeo who thinks all women want is to be told what to do. If – if – I ever get involved with anyone else, it will be someone who sees and respects me first and foremost as a person, not a girlfriend or a wife.’
‘Doesn’t sound exactly brimming with passion, but whatever floats your boat. Oh look, it’s time to go in.’
Sylvia had been popping in and out but was now ushering everyone through into the dining room, where the large table was laid with a haphazard selection of plates, glasses and cutlery. It was a wonder, thought Juliet, that with so much crockery, glassware and silverware, there was barely a piece that matched another. She was glad to sit between her father and Martha, but nearly let out an audible groan when Léo appeared directly opposite her and beamed warmly. She gave a small smile in response, one which didn’t meet her eyes, then turned in relief to her father, who was banging his knife on his glass.
‘A toast!’
No one had had time to pour any drinks, so there was a scramble to pass around the wine bottles before Rousseau finished speaking. Luckily, reflected Juliet, as she waited her turn, his speeches tended to be on the long side, so she probably wouldn’t still have an empty glass by the time he finally got to the point. Indeed, it was a couple of minutes before he concluded:
‘…very glad to have Juliet living back with us here at Feywood. To Juliet!’
‘Juliet!’ said everyone and gratefully started necking their drinks. Juliet’s appreciative smile and muttered ‘thank you’ were as brief as etiquette allowed before she took a welcome slug of her wine.
The food was absolutely delicious, and it was a few minutes before anyone spoke again as they devoured the starter of delicate cured salmon with herbs from the kitchen garden and crumbly savoury shortbread biscuits. Frankie and Will jumped up to help clear the plates and bring in the main course of spring vegetables and nut filo pie, then Martha cleared her throat.
‘Everyone, there is something I would like to discuss.’
Every eye swivelled to look at her. It was unusual for Martha to speak up, and she reddened as she continued.
‘It’s nearly a year now since Mum…since Mum died…’ She paused and swallowed hard. ‘I think we should arrange a memorial service for her. I mean, I’d like to.’
‘But we already had a funeral,’ said Juliet.
Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Léo looking at her, his eyes wide and his brow crumpled, doubtless with disapproval.
‘Well, yes, but I do feel that I would like to do a proper memorial and invite more people. The funeral was so small, and we did say we would do something later.’
Rousseau rose and came to stand behind his eldest daughter, his hands on her shoulders.
‘Martha is right. I, too, would like to honour Lilith with a special occasion in her memory, and maybe we could all create some special art as a tribute to her. Will you organise it, girls? I’ll help you write a list of people to ask. Thank you, Martha.’
As he sat down, most of those assembled started talking quietly, congratulating Martha on her idea and discussing what could be done. Juliet had lost her appetite, even for the beautiful food her aunt had cooked. How could she create some art in memory of her mother, when that memory was so sour? Her mother had despised Juliet’s art, and she had never hesitated to make that clear, as well as attacking many other choices she made. And now, here she was living back at Feywood because Lilith had put the house at risk. What tribute could Juliet possibly create? The funeral had been bad enough, as she had tried to tackle feelings so mixed that she didn’t think they could ever be pulled apart and released, while the few mourners that had been at the small service expected her to show some sort of dramatic grief. The tears hadn’t come then but were pricking now. She didn’t want to upset the others or stop them honouring the woman they had all had such different relationships with, but she couldn’t see what her contribution might be. Pushing her chair back, she whispered her apologies and slipped out of the room.
Grabbing a discarded shawl from the newel post at the bottom of the stairs, Juliet ran out through the sitting room to the terrace beyond and sat at the wooden table they used for meals in the warmer weather. The spring evening was growing chilly, and she tucked the shawl around herself tightly, only now noticing that it was shocking pink. She wondered who had left it in the house, as it wasn’t something any of them would wear, but at the same time she was grateful for its soft warmth. Her mind was clearing from the fog of panic and anger that had risen, when she heard the French window open and close softly behind her and footsteps approach the table.
‘Hi, I thought you might be sorry to miss your supper.’
Léo placed a tray on the table with her filo pie, two bowls with squares of chocolate brownie and raspberries, two full glasses of wine and, bless him, half a bottle more.
Juliet looked up, wondering if he was laughing at her again, but he smiled with what seemed liked genuine warmth.
‘Oh, thank you. That’s really nice of you,’ she said.
‘May I join you?’ asked Léo.
She nodded and he pulled out a chair and sat down, taking one of the puddings and a glass of wine.
‘You seemed very upset in there.’
‘You probably think I’m horrible. I didn’t get on with Mum, so I don’t know what I could contribute to a memorial.’
‘I don’t think anything. I don’t know you and didn’t know your mother. I do know that mothers can be difficult, very difficult. Your sisters and father, perhaps, feel differently?’
‘Oh no, they feel exactly the same. They know damn well how difficult and selfish and narcissistic and controlling she was.’ Juliet had a drink of her wine and warmed to her theme. ‘They are well aware, but somehow, they don’t seem as conflicted about it. Maybe Martha feels too guilty – my mother manipulated her nicely into that. Frankie probably got on with her better than the rest of us – their screaming arguments were probably the healthiest dynamic in our house growing up – and Dad…well, Dad always opted for the easy life, let her have her way and retreated into his art.’
Léo nodded.
‘And you?’
‘My mother despised me. Why she didn’t just stop talking to me, I don’t know – it would have been kinder. Instead, she did everything she could to criticise me, control me and try to force me to be who she wanted me to be.’
Juliet was furious to feel tears rolling down her cheeks. She was angry at Léo seeing them, angry at her mother for causing them, even from beyond the grave, and angry at herself for being so weak as to succumb to them. She rubbed them away with the pink shawl and glared at her brownie. Léo sat quietly, sipping his wine, and, for a moment, Juliet wondered what it would be like to spill it all out to this sympathetic man, to tell him some of the cruel things her mother had said, the ways she had found to shame her middle daughter. She felt a sudden dizziness as she thought she was going to open up to Léo, perhaps even lean her head against one of his sturdy shoulders and let him comfort her as she reopened the hundreds of little wounds her mother had inflicted, letting him heal them. But almost as soon as the urge had come to her, she pushed it away with a sharp inward breath. Léo looked at her earnestly, apparently unembarrassed by her tears.
‘It sounds as if you had a tough time. I’m so sorry you went through that.’
Juliet dragged her eyes up to meet Léo’s, wondering if she would find more mockery there, but all she saw was kindness. It was more than she could bear. Grabbing the bottle and her glass, she stood up.
‘Thanks. I’m going to bed now. I’ll start work on the website in the morning.’
And with that, she hurried back to the sanctuary of her little hayloft.