Chapter 2
Finishing off a piece of golden, crunchy hash brown, Juliet turned to Martha.
‘Do you know what this meeting’s about? It’s not like Dad to be all serious and secretive. He’s not ill or something, is he?’
It had only been a year since their mother had died, and Juliet, who had always had a difficult relationship with her when alive, had not yet fully found her peace. She found her father easier company, and the sudden idea that he might be unwell clutched at her heart.
‘I don’t think so,’ said Martha in soothing tones. ‘If anything, I think it’s going to be about Feywood.’
‘Feywood? Why?’
‘Look around you, Juliet. We all love this house, but it’s falling down around our ears. I wouldn’t be surprised if Dad wants to sell it.’
‘Sell it! He can’t do that – this is our home.’
Her sweet sister looked down at the floor, the familiar blush rising in her cheeks that gave away even the smallest discomfort. Juliet took a breath, not wanting to upset her, but wishing she would say what was on her mind.
‘What is it, Martha? Please tell me.’
‘Well, it’s just that…Do you actually still think of Feywood as your home? You’ve been living in London for so long, I kind of thought you’d forgotten about us all. I was so happy when you wanted to have your thirtieth here, I wondered…’
She paused and bit her lip. Juliet took up the sentence:
‘You wondered if I was going to come back for good…now Mum’s gone.’
Martha nodded, and her eyes shone with tears.
‘I hoped…’
Juliet put an arm around her shoulder and pulled her in for a hug.
‘Oh, Martha. I’m so sorry. I don’t want to come back and live here, but I do still see it as my home. I…I’m doing all right in London. Plenty of people I meet there find me familiar because of Mum being such a famous artist, but they don’t know me at all, and I’m happy with that. They know a version of me, a new version, and that feels…’
‘Safe?’ supplied her sister.
‘Oh, stop being so wise,’ said Juliet, grinning. ‘Yes, safe, I suppose. I can get on with work and have a good time without constantly being reminded of who I used to be, who Mum wanted me to be, how disappointed in me she was.’
‘She wasn’t disappointed, not really,’ said Martha, her face crumpling with concern. ‘She loved you, Juliet, she did.’
‘Only when I was little,’ said Juliet. ‘When she thought I was her mini me. When I grew up and started having my own opinions about things, then didn’t show any artistic promise – or not the promise she wanted me to have anyway – she just…dropped me.’
‘But you’re a wonderful artist!’ protested her sister. ‘Your pictures are in the paper every day; you’re probably the most successful of all of us.’
‘At the moment, maybe,’ said Juliet. ‘But it’s commercial success, those cartoons, they don’t have lasting artistic merit. You’re already commissioned all the time for your portraits, and they’re starting to find their way into galleries and auctions. And Frankie will have her breakthrough any moment. The two of you have the real talent. Mum knew that…I don’t understand why that wasn’t enough for her.’
‘I think she was just trying to push you; she wanted you to fulfil your potential.’
‘She hated my cartoons. Don’t you remember when she came to that exhibition at sixth form college?’
Martha nodded miserably.
‘She swept in, making sure everyone saw the great Lilith Carlisle deigning to attend, then she took one look at my display that I’d spent so many hours on and said, “Rather derivative, darling, but I suppose the family talent had to skip someone.” Then she wandered over to someone else’s display and spent fifteen minutes raving about his use of light.’
‘Which wasn’t even that good!’ said Martha with uncharacteristic cattiness. ‘If it’s any consolation, he’s working as an estate agent now, after art school threw him out.’
Juliet gave a small smile.
‘Poor guy. At least I’ve always known I didn’t have what it takes for fine art.’
‘Well, I think you’re amazing,’ said Martha stubbornly. ‘And Mum’s gone now.’ She swallowed hard, and Juliet reached out a hand to touch her cheek. ‘She’s gone,’ she repeated. ‘So…what’s stopping you coming home?’
‘Oh, Martha, being here, just sitting here talking to you…it’s making me feel so?—’
‘Vulnerable?’
‘I was going to say ‘uncomfortable’, but yeah, I suppose ‘vulnerable’ is fair, and I really hate that feeling. Five years ago, I had only just managed to move away from here, from Mum, from everyone who had known me my entire life and started to build something new, a different me in London and then I stupidly got involved with Toby.’
‘You weren’t stupid,’ said Martha fiercely. ‘He was an arch manipulator; we all fell for it.’
‘Maybe, but I feel stupid,’ said Juliet. ‘And he kept dragging me back to Feywood because he was so starstruck by Mum and Dad, so everything got enmeshed, especially as Mum loved him so much and made it clear that I should count myself lucky he was interested in me. And, of course,’ she added wryly, ‘he never failed to tell me the same thing. If I ever complained about Mum to him, he would remind me how everyone said we were so alike, then shake his head sorrowfully and ask me to reflect on what he had to put up with, being with me. I fell for it for such a long time.’
‘But you got away from him.’ Martha suddenly looked worried. ‘You have, haven’t you?’
Juliet nodded.
‘Yes, even if he does still contact me – sending those awful flowers this morning. I don’t know why he doesn’t leave me alone; he was always telling me how difficult I was to be with, how he was doing me a favour by staying with me and trying to fix the worst bits of me.’
Martha’s eyes filled with tears.
‘Juliet, it was all untrue, you know that, don’t you? Vile man. It was all to try to keep you to himself, make you feel you weren’t good enough for anyone else. And he kept you from us too.’
‘I know, and I’m sorry.’ She stood up and walked over to the window, staring out at the patchy gravel drive and willing herself not to cry. After a couple of deep breaths, she turned back to Martha. ‘But now I’m free of both of them…I finally feel safe. I don’t want to be that vulnerable child again, even if it means not letting people get so close to me.’
‘But I want to be close to you, and Dad and Sylvia and even Frankie,’ said Martha, brushing away the tears that had now fallen.
‘I know,’ replied Juliet, biting her lip. ‘But coming back here would be too much of a risk to everything I’ve built up. Sure, I could still work from here…but everyone here knows me, knows how humiliated I’ve been by Mum and Toby.’
‘People are sympathetic – they don’t pity you or laugh at you.’
Juliet came away from the window and sat down heavily on the sofa again, pushing her hands through her hair in anguish.
‘You don’t know that. I can’t bear it. I don’t want their sympathy. I just want to forget all that and get on with my life.’
‘And you think you can do that without going back and untangling all that other stuff, realising that the shame is theirs, not yours?’
Juliet’s lips tightened.
‘I don’t know. Maybe.’
‘Oh, Juliet, you’re so sensitive and caring. I can’t bear to think of you hiding away behind some scary persona in London that just isn’t you.’
Juliet took her sister’s hand.
‘Hey, it’s not all bad. Look at the fun we had last night. I go out all the time in London.’
‘With people you barely know. You can fool them, Jools, but you can’t fool me. I do know you, whether you like it or not. I know you’re clever, and witty, and fun, but I also know that you’re sweet.’
Juliet scoffed, but Martha continued, ‘Yes, you are. You’ve been badly hurt, but you mustn’t scar over too much. Tough isn’t you.’
‘Maybe, maybe not, but it’s working for me now. Please, Martha, just let it go. I’m doing okay, big sister.’
Martha shook her head.
‘If you say so. Now come on, we’ve got to get to this meeting soon, and I’d rather not turn up in pyjamas, although you could pull it off in that gorgeous dress.’
Juliet stood up.
‘I think I’d look better for a shower and change of clothes. See you just before half past?’
As they left the room, Juliet decided not to go upstairs immediately. Instead, she pulled on a light jacket and stepped out of the front door into the sweet May morning air. Turning left, she walked through an untended yew arch into what had once been the formal gardens, but now carried the same air of general dilapidation as, she had to admit, did the rest of the house. She stepped carefully in her black velvet shoes over the cracked paving stones that led through two small circular areas, enclosed with more overgrown hedges, until she arrived at a place she had loved since she was small. It was a hexagonal space, with yew on one side while the rest was walled. Espaliered apple trees roamed across all these walls and had just come into blossom. A small fountain should have bubbled in the middle, but now the pool lay damp and mossy. A stone bench stood at one end and Juliet sat down, closed her eyes and took a deep breath, glad of the peace after last night’s party and before the meeting that was due to take place.
A moment later, inevitably, the phone she had pushed into her jacket pocket chimed. Almost reluctantly, but unable to resist attending to it, she flicked the screen into life, where she found nothing more exciting than an email from her local health food shop, offering fifteen per cent off nuts and seeds until Monday. She had no idea how she had come to be on their mailing list, but they were one of her most faithful correspondents. Maybe she should start visiting; a healthy lifestyle felt appealing given her sorry state that morning. Nevertheless, she hit ‘delete’ and then started flicking through her photos from the night before.
‘Ha!’ she said out loud, as she looked at the first one. ‘You didn’t see that coming.’ She continued scrolling. ‘Oh, I didn’t realise Soph had come! Oh, Dad, those cocktails looked good, but they really were dangerous.’
She would have continued dissecting the photos if a movement by the archway entrance hadn’t caught her eye.
‘Hello!’ she said. ‘Is someone there?’
A man appeared in the doorway, a slight smile on his face.
She jumped slightly and lost her grip on her phone, which slipped out of her hand. She grabbed for it a couple of times, but it bounced further out of her grasp and slithered away down her skirt to the floor. As she leant forward to retrieve the damn thing, her head spun, and she clutched it and her treacherous phone at the same time.
Praying she wasn’t going to be sick, she slowly straightened up and forced her eyes to focus on the man, whose eyebrows had shot upwards at her antics.
‘Are you all right?’ he said, in an accented voice, tinged with humour. ‘I’m sorry, I did not mean to disturb you.’
The man was a complete stranger, but undeniably handsome in a rather lived-in way, with his shaggy hair and humorous face with its wide mouth and brown eyes. Juliet knew that she must look completely mad, sitting on a bench, alone, wearing last night’s dress with dishevelled hair and a face most likely smeared with mascara, whilst babbling away to herself. She was, unusually for her, thrown, and this made her speak more sharply than she had meant to.
‘Who are you? This is private property.’
The man came a few steps closer, his smile broadening, and Juliet started to panic, wondering if he was going to hurt her. God knows, since the time Toby had lost his temper and grabbed her, his hand raised as if he was going to hit her, she was wary of it ever happening again. The man seemed to sense her fear and stopped, holding up both his hands.
‘I’m sorry,’ he repeated. ‘Please, let me explain. My name is Léo Brodeur.’ He pronounced it Lay-o, in the French manner, which explained the accent. ‘I am staying here, working with Sylvia to open a cookery school. I had come out on this lovely morning to collect some apple blossom for a recipe we are developing.’
Relief washed over Juliet.
‘Oh, of course, yes, Aunt Sylvia did tell me. I’m Juliet.’
He beamed now.
‘Ah, the sister who lives in London and draws such witty cartoons for the newspapers. Enchanté.’
Juliet gave a small smile, and he continued.
‘Some birthday flowers arrived at the house for you this morning – is today the actual day?’
She stiffened. Did he know that she had asked Sylvia to throw them away? Was she going to have to explain that they were from her horrible ex-boyfriend, and even the thought of them made her feel sick? Her eyes darted around the garden as she tried to think what she should say next, without telling this stranger her private business. But then she looked back at Léo and saw no malice or nosiness. Breathe, she told herself. It’s an innocent comment, he’s not trying to trip you up, and he’ll think you’re mad if you start rambling on about a bunch of flowers. Forget the flowers. She forced a smile and spoke casually.
‘Mmm, yes, it’s my birthday today, but we thought Saturday was a better day for the party.’
He nodded.
‘Oui, it was quite the party last night, was it not? I helped Sylvia with some of the food, but I do not think you remember seeing me.’
His eyes were amused, and Juliet tried to draw herself up, fighting a fresh wave of nausea that came with the movement.
‘No, I don’t. Sorry.’
He raised one eyebrow.
‘No matter. I myself am sorry to see that you still suffer after the excesses of the party. I have an excellent drink I would be happy to make you; it will make you feel better.’
Was he laughing at her? Juliet could feel the irritation rise in her tired body. Who did he think he was, interrupting her peaceful reverie to make fun of her hangover?
‘I’m perfectly fine, thank you,’ she said stiffly. ‘I just need to have a shower and get changed; I have a meeting to get to, so if you’ll excuse me.’
She stood up too quickly, causing the blood to rush to her head, and felt herself swaying. Clutching at thin air, she thought she was going to fall over and complete her humiliation, when she felt a hand grasp her arm and another wrap firmly around her shoulder. The brown eyes were now so close to her that she could see the warmth in them, tinged with concern, but also unmistakably amused. Because of her.
‘Are you all right, Juliet?’ asked Léo. ‘Maybe you should sit down again?’
She pulled away from him and tightened her jacket around her slender body. To her horror, she felt tears pricking at the backs of her eyes, a culmination of her hangover, her confusion at being back at Feywood and her humiliation in front of this handsome French chef.
‘I’m fine,’ she said shortly. ‘Thanks.’
And she stomped off in as haughty a manner as she could summon up, given her weakened condition. Léo’s voice floated after her across the garden:
‘I hope to see you later, Juliet, and that you will be feeling better.’
She didn’t turn, or answer. She hated being seen like this, unkempt and unwell, and his obvious amusement at her sorry state had compounded things. She very much hoped she would not see Léo later, or ever again, preferably.