Chapter 24
After the evening of ‘the photo’, Juliet decided against saying anything else to Léo. When they had seen each other the next day, he drew her into a warm hug, and she hugged him back. This felt enough of an apology not to pursue asking him to explain something she truly believed needed no explanation. She trusted him. She would have rather discussed it, but he was trying to keep his moods lighter, she could tell, and she didn’t want to spoil things now that they were going better again. She shook off the feeling that things were still not quite as easy between them as they had been, and instead put her energies into worrying about the memorial for her mother, which was fast approaching.
‘Jools, have you decided yet if you’re going to create a piece in Mum’s memory?’ asked Martha, on what felt like a daily basis. ‘I want to include the details in the programmes for the afternoon if you have and I must get them printed up.’
‘Yes,’ said Juliet slowly. ‘I have got something. It’s a photographic montage called ‘Memories of Feywood’. Probably a bit sentimental, but I know you wanted me to knock something up.’
‘It sounds lovely. Can I see it?’
‘Sure. It’s in my flat, come and see any time.’
Juliet was trying to resist attaching too much emotion to this work, but the truth was it had drained her. She hadn’t been sure whether to create a tribute or not, but had decided that to go back in time to the days when her and her mother’s relationship had been happy would be the only fitting thing she could do that would honour both Lilith and her. So she had worked hard to produce a photograph of Feywood, taken early one morning recently, and blend in pictures of the family from twenty-five years earlier. It showed them working and playing, enjoying each other’s company and the house. It was joyful, yet atmospheric, and gave her goosebumps when she looked at it. She knew it was a strong piece and was already trying to distance herself from it with her apparently casual attitude. She told herself that she would happily sell it to any bidder but knew it would never leave Feywood. Martha’s reaction when she came to see it almost overwhelmed her.
‘Juliet, oh Juliet.’ She stepped closer to the photo and scrutinised every angle, before moving back to take it in in its entirety. Tears poured down her cheeks. ‘It’s so, so beautiful, I love it. Oh Juliet, this is wonderful.’
‘I’m glad you like it. Bit soppy, but I suppose it’ll do.’
‘I adore it, and Dad will too. And it’s not soppy,’ she added fiercely. ‘It’s incredibly powerful. It knocks spots off what Frankie and I have done. Mine’s just a boring old portrait, as usual, and Frankie has done a rather… unusual sculpture called “Motherhood”, with a lot of strange angles and bulging bits. That probably is motherhood, not that I’m sure I’ll ever know.’
Relieved to move the subject along, Juliet hugged her sister.
‘Of course you will. I have every faith. Now, what’s left to do for this bloody memorial? It’s only two days away.’
Another morning golden with autumn sunshine welcomed them that Saturday, and Feywood was quickly busy with different people coming and going. Chairs were put out with rugs draped over the backs in case the afternoon grew chilly, awnings set up and caterers rushed about setting up the drinks and dishes that were going to supplement the food provided by Léo and Sylvia. Will had worked hard getting the garden looking immaculate – well, thought Juliet rather uncharitably, the bit of the garden that people were going to see. The other parts, including the formal gardens where she had first met Léo, were still messy and overgrown. Even Ava had had a special wash and brush up for the occasion. Frankie had tied a yellow bow around her neck, but the spirited little dog had soon clawed it off, and it now lay in a streak across the perfectly mown lawn.
‘How many people have you got coming?’ asked Juliet, as more chairs and tables were set up.
Martha pushed her hair back from her sweaty face.
‘No idea,’ she replied, looking panicked. ‘Responses were still coming in this morning, half of them from people I don’t even remember inviting. You know what the art world’s like – everyone just passes invitations along and then they all roll up and drink the place dry whether you were expecting them or not. Most of the village is coming, too, so I hope they’ll all get along all right. What if we run out of chairs?’
‘We’ve got all those blankets stuffed away somewhere,’ said Juliet. ‘Why don’t we dig those out and people can sit on them if they need to? Thank goodness it’s going to be dry today.’
‘Good idea.’ Martha looked pleadingly at her sister. ‘Will you find them? And find Frankie at the same time – she’s been no help whatsoever.’
Juliet wandered off, glad for a job. She had woken up that morning with very mixed feelings about the day ahead: far more emotional than she had ever imagined she would be. She had been avoiding her own photograph since she created it, but as well as the artworks in tribute to Lilith, Rousseau had put up a large collage of pictures of her from throughout her life in the hallway, and it had almost floored Juliet when she saw it. Photo after photo of her difficult, arrogant, talented, selfish, hilarious, stylish, cruel, complicated mother confronted her, and she saw herself over and over again in the woman’s face and bearing. Were they so similar? Had that been the problem? Had she been unfair, criticising the things in her mother that she recognised and despised in herself? She had been glad when Léo came in and broke the spell, and just as glad when he quickly disappeared to the cookery school, where he would be cloistered away for most of the morning.
At twelve o’clock, people started arriving. At first, it was some people from the village who remembered Lilith with humour and affection; probably, said Frankie spitefully, because they barely knew her. By quarter past, guests were arriving thick and fast. Rousseau was trying to welcome each one personally but was inevitably unable to tear himself away from friends and creating a terrible bottleneck in the hallway as he gathered them into a rapidly growing group.
‘You take this one, Frankie,’ said Juliet. ‘I’m going to go outside and make sure the early arrivals are all still happy. Martha should stay here funnelling people through.’
As she went out into the garden, she could hear her younger sister’s piercing tones ordering their father and his entourage into the garden, with the promise of champagne, and she knew they were in good hands.
‘Hello, Father Benedict,’ she said, spotting the vicar who had so encouraged her bread-making. ‘Thank you for coming.’
‘Not at all,’ he replied, beaming. ‘I was fond of your mother, you know, Juliet, even if she only ever wanted to rebuke me for my belief. I’m glad to have the opportunity to remember her in such lovely surroundings. It looks like it’s going to be quite the party.’
‘I agree. Do let me get you a drink. Champagne?’
‘Oh no, no, not for me. Just something soft would be delicious, thank you.’
Juliet went over to the drinks table and poured some of the elderflower and blackberry leaf cordial that her aunt had made. She was reaching for a glass of champagne for herself when a hand swept in, picked one up and handed it to her and a familiar voice said, ‘Hello, Lettie.’
Cold tendrils of dread wrapped themselves around her. She turned reluctantly to face him.
‘Toby? What are you doing here? Did Martha invite you?’
‘No,’ he said peevishly. ‘Given that I knew your mother well, I was rather hurt that no one in the family got in contact to invite me today.’
Don’t apologise, thought Juliet, desperately fighting down the urge to smooth things over whenever Toby started to show displeasure, for fear of how it would escalate. Don’t apologise and don’t try to explain. She kept her voice light.
‘But you came anyway.’
‘I did. I heard that there was something of an open invitation, and I wanted to come and pay my respects.’
Juliet set her face into a neutral expression.
‘Thank you. Now I must go and give the vicar his drink.’
‘I’ll come with you.’
Juliet shrunk away from him but didn’t want to risk a scene by trying to dissuade Toby from following her. Instead, she turned and walked briskly back across the lawn, hoping wildly that he might be swooped up by a passing eagle, or fall into a convenient sinkhole. No such luck. She felt relief wash over her when she reached the vicar.
‘Here you are, Father Benedict.’ She handed him his drink.
‘Ah, thank you. Hello, I don’t think we’ve met?’
‘Toby Bartholomew.’ The two men shook hands. ‘I’m an old friend of Juliet’s and I just adored Lilith. So sad.’
‘Indeed. She was a very vivacious woman.’
‘She was hilarious. Lettie, do you remember that time we went for drinks at the Lawson? It’s a very smart bar in Mayfair,’ he added, for Father Benedict’s benefit. ‘Our waiter had only started that evening and was completely hapless – couldn’t remember a cocktail order to save his life and kept coming back with the oddest concoctions. Lilith kept veering between wondering in a loud stage whisper about his suitability for the job, my darlings, and patting the seat next to her so he could sit down while she talked him through how to make a Cosmopolitan.’
Juliet’s shock and repulsion at seeing Toby faded as she was taken back to that night. He had managed to dredge up one of the few happy memories as an adult she had of her mother. She smiled.
‘That’s right, it was funny. Once she’d walked him through the classics, she started moving on to some bizarre combinations, but we drank them up. The headache I had the next day was something else. Didn’t she give him a ginormous tip at the end of the evening?’
‘That’s right, and a glowing endorsement to the manager. She could be so kind, and very generous.’
The champagne was beginning to wind its way through Juliet’s body, and she smiled up at Toby, grateful and surprised that the day was taking a more positive turn than she had expected. Then she felt a hand in the small of her back.
‘Oh, bonjour,’ drawled Toby, and she turned to see Léo, giving her a questioning smile. She stepped closer to him, his presence a balm of comfort, even after the awkwardness over the photo. He ignored Toby and spoke directly to Juliet.
‘The food is all in hand, so I have a few moments and I thought I would find you. How are you doing? I did not know that he was going to be here.’
‘Neither did I, but I think word spread about today; there are lots of people who weren’t actually invited but knew Mum. We were just talking about a funny evening we spent together. Years ago.’
‘Ah. I am sorry never to have met her.’
‘Yes,’ put in Toby. ‘Shared history is so special. We were laughing remembering it, weren’t we, Lettie?’
‘New memories are also special,’ said Léo. ‘And Juliet and I are happy to be making many of those. I don’t think that she wants to rehash the past too much.’
Juliet was suddenly aware that both men were bristling with irritation, and she felt annoyed. Today was meant to be about her mother, but was Léo playing some macho game, coming over and announcing what she wanted, with no reference to her at all? At least Toby had been talking about Lilith, even if she knew better than to trust his motivation.
‘Well, actually,’ said Toby, looking at Juliet, ‘it’s the future I would like to talk to you about. I have a friend who owns a flat in Cadogan Square. He’s moving to Dubai for a couple of years and wants someone to live in the place. He’s keen to get someone reliable, so for a friend of a friend it would be bills only, no rent. I thought immediately of you, Lettie. I can’t imagine that you’d want to stay here with all the opportunities opening up to you in London. Why, it was only last week that the editor of RoundUp was asking after you. When I told her you’d moved here, she wasn’t so interested as she needs someone in London, who is right on the scene of the news and gossip. But if you were thinking of moving back, I’m sure she’d love to meet you.’
‘Petra Sharpe is interested in me?’ she gasped.
‘Very.’
‘Who is she?’ asked Léo.
‘She’s the editor of RoundUp – it’s an online news magazine that moves constantly and has a reputation for being first with major stories and scandals involving politicians – personal and professional. Heaven knows who their sources are, but it’s such an exciting site. I can hardly believe she’s even heard of me, let alone that she’s interested in me working for her.’
‘Well, you should believe it, Lettie. You’re in the perfect position to drive your career forward: independent, childfree, talented and smart. Don’t waste away here at Feywood.’
‘I-I don’t know,’ she stuttered. ‘It sounds amazing, but obviously I am happy here…’
She trailed off and looked at Léo, whose face was uncharacteristically blank. Was she happy here? She had thought she was with Léo, her photography and painting, her owl-shaped bread, her little dog. But the opportunity that Toby was dangling in front of her, if it was real, couldn’t be ignored. The chance to live in London again and to work for such a fresh and exciting company was dizzying. Things with Léo had felt rocky in the past few weeks, and hadn’t she sworn to herself that she wouldn’t let her decisions revolve around a man again? Her gaze returned to Toby, who looked extremely pleased with himself. She recognised that look and it gave her a chill, reminding her of the many times he had ‘sorted things out’ for her and she had been swept along, only to find that his promises were castles in the air and had been designed to keep her exactly where he wanted her: under his thumb. Neither man spoke, and before she could, the tinkle of a knife against a glass cut across the garden.
‘Lunch is served!’ boomed Rousseau, his voice carrying effortlessly through the throng of people.
Relief flooded Juliet.
‘Let’s go and eat,’ she said. ‘I can’t wait to see what you’ve made, Léo.’
The lunch, though informal, was delicious, and Juliet was glad when she remembered that she was expected to sit at a sort of top table, comprised only of family members. Up until now she had been dreading this arrangement, wishing she would have Léo’s comforting presence beside her through the lunch and speeches, but now she was glad that her father had insisted on it being only himself, Sylvia, the three girls and Lilith’s brother, their Uncle George. It gave her an opportunity to think about what had been said, without either Toby or Léo giving their own opinions on the matter. She half listened to the speeches, only three and mercifully short, as her mind roamed across the years, from the hilarious cocktail evening to her previous life in London to how things were now. She mulled over the concepts of happiness, contentment, fulfilment, but had come no closer to any clarity when Rousseau announced:
‘And now, please raise your glasses to Lilith, and enjoy the rest of the afternoon with the kind of gusto she would have appreciated.’
Everyone clapped and cheered and quickly filled their glasses up again just in case the champagne ran out, but it never seemed to at Feywood, no matter how rickety the roof became.
As the golden light of early evening permeated the garden, Juliet saw Léo emerging from the cookery school. Softened by champagne and gladness that the event had been better than bearable, she walked over to him.
‘It went well today. Thank you for the lovely food. I think everyone’s hoping Dad might pop off soon so that we can do this all over again.’
Léo’s smile was tired.
‘I do hope not, although it has been a marvellous day.’
‘Have you finished now?’
‘I think so. I sent Sylvia to sit down as she was looking very tired, but the caterers did most of the cleaning up, so it hasn’t been too bad.’
‘Would you like to get a drink?’
‘Oui, that would be good.’
They collected some fresh glasses and went to sit by the side of the pond, where it was deserted. Juliet knew she had to broach the subject.
‘I’m sorry for that weirdness with Toby today. I suppose that’s why he’s been trying to get hold of me recently.’
‘What do you make of his offer?’
‘I don’t know. I don’t know if it’s even real. And if it is, whether it’s what I want.’
‘If it’s for real, then it’s an amazing opportunity, Juliet, very special. I would not be surprised if you went, I would not blame you. In fact, how could I do anything but encourage you?’
She stared at him.
‘Are you saying you want me to go?’
‘Not exactly. What I mean is that I want what is the best for you, and what Toby described…well, maybe you would be happier than stuck here.’
‘But I don’t feel stuck here, not anymore, you know that,’ she cried, surprised and hurt by his easy acceptance of the idea of her leaving. ‘I’m happy here, you know I am. Happy with my work and…’ She faltered, her courage almost failing her. ‘Well, happy with you.’
‘But is it happiness or acceptance? Your talent, Juliet, it deserves the very best audience.’
‘I would stay, just for you alone, Léo. No one…’ She drew breath. ‘I haven’t ever felt about anyone like I do about you. I thought you knew that. But also, I have my book coming out, the cookbook as well, and I’m still working for the paper. And with the other things I’m learning…Do you think I’m squandering myself in some way?’
‘Non, of course not. And I feel so much for you too, Juliet. I just don’t want you to, uh, a cheval donné, on ne regarde pas les dents. I don’t know how you say this in English – a horse that is a present, don’t look at his teeth?’
Juliet laughed, and the mood lifted.
‘Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth. As long as it isn’t a case of timeo Danaos et dona ferentes – I fear the Greeks even when they bring gifts. This could be a big old Trojan horse of Toby’s.’
‘Well, perhaps it is a risk you have to take,’ said Léo stubbornly, and the atmosphere grew heavy again. ‘I am not going to advise you, Juliet. I cannot do so freely, given my feelings.’
Juliet gave a small smile.
‘You have skin in the game.’
‘I have la peau dans le jeu?’ said Léo, looking confused for a moment, before his face cleared, and he grinned. ‘Ah, yes, I have an interest in a certain outcome, that is true. But that interest is mine. You must be sure, you and you alone, Juliet. Look, Sylvia is calling me, I must go, but we will speak later, yes?’
He walked away towards the house while Juliet stared into the water, shivering slightly. What was Léo trying to tell her – that he wanted her to return to London? That was very much what it felt like. Or was he trying to trick her in some way, manipulate her by refusing to reveal his feelings? Maybe he thought that this ‘new’ Juliet was boring, provincial, that she should strap herself back into her austere clothes and accept that ‘old’ Juliet was the truer version. She sighed and stood up. Maybe there would still be a few profiteroles left over; some sugary comfort was just what she needed.