Chapter 21
Twenty-one
I TOOK A TAXI from the station. Jolly and Obi were arriving the next day.
Victoria assured me that it would be just the four of us, saying that despite her friendship with Stefano (they’d grown nauseatingly pally again since Rome), she wanted me to be able to fully relax without encountering the spectre of my ex-boyfriend around every corner.
‘And the house can be a little scary at night, lots of dark corners and cubby holes. Wouldn’t want him jumping out at you now, would we? ’
I read out directions to the driver from the scribbled instructions Victoria had hastily relayed down the phone to me that morning. When I met him in the car park and told him we were heading for Godwin House, he glanced at my battered rucksack and stifled a smirk.
The building was hidden down a tree-lined track at least a mile or so from the prying eyes of civilization.
As we approached, the house seemed to rear up out of the landscape: commanding, solid and frighteningly magnificent.
My stomach dropped. No, I thought, as my eyes travelled the length of the imposing building and on to the acreage beyond.
This was too much. Victoria had money, I knew that, but this, this was too much.
As the car pulled onto the gravelled driveway, I suddenly felt sick, small and ugly.
I didn’t belong here. How had I ever thought I could belong here?
All this time I’d been under the illusion that, although not quite equals, there’d been a healthy level of competition between Victoria and me.
But now, seeing Godwin, seeing the building that had borne her, I felt the cold blade of truth slice through me.
There was no competition. There never had been. By birthright, she’d already won.
Victoria appeared beneath the stone portico. She was wearing a faded green rugby jersey and denim hotpants. Her feet were bare, and her hair hung loose around her shoulders. She clapped her hands and jumped up and down on the spot as I pulled myself out of the passenger seat.
‘Darling,’ she said, lassoing her skinny arms around my neck so I stumbled.
The driver handed me my bag, the straps worn thin, and I felt inside my pocket for some cash. But Victoria was quicker. ‘Here you go,’ she said, handing him a wad of tens. ‘For the precious cargo.’
GODWIN HAD BEEN IN the family since the sixties, Victoria explained, as she drew me inside the cavernous entrance hall and up the wide stone staircase.
That was when the original occupants went bankrupt, sold all their assets, and Victoria’s grandfather swooped in, eager to establish his own dynasty and couch the family in old-world charm.
‘But ever since Grandpapa died and Dad left, and then me and my brothers buggered off, well, it’s just been Mummy here on her own.
’ Victoria ran her fingers over an ornate carriage clock, its hands at a standstill.
‘Poor thing. She tries her best, but . . .’ She trailed off.
‘Anyway, here, let me show you to your room.’
I crept behind her, my footsteps echoing off the ceiling.
She led me inside a warren of dark, wood-panelled corridors.
‘The building’s a bit of a hodgepodge, to be honest,’ Victoria continued.
‘There’s still some of the original structure from the 1700s, but a lot was added in the nineteenth century. ’
Victoria prattled on while I felt myself shrink smaller at every room we passed, each one grander than the last.
‘That’s Lawrence’s room, I’ll put Obi in there.
That’s Mummy’s room – don’t go in there, she gets mad if anyone goes in.
There’s a bathroom here, but there’s another one off ours.
It’s a bit smaller but it’s got everything you need.
Jolly can go in there. That’s the Maple room, the Sycamore, the Larch, and this is your room.
’ The door swung open. I nodded, trying to appear impassive at the quite simply breath-taking space before me.
The ceiling was high; the room was broad and stately; four long windows cast soft rectangles of light across the carpet; the walls were flocked with delicately patterned sage-green wallpaper; and the squat queen bed, with plump matching sheets and chevroned panels of fabric ensconcing it, looked almost painfully inviting.
‘I hope this will do,’ she said, padding across the room.
‘The east wing’s pretty quiet, and I’m just next door in case you need anything. ’
‘Thank you,’ I said in a small voice. ‘Thank you,’ I repeated more clearly. ‘It’s beautiful.’
Victoria shrugged. ‘It’s home, I suppose. Hey, check this out.’ She unlatched what at first appeared to be a recessed wall panel, but was in fact a hidden door. ‘I’m just through here.’
I followed her down another slim corridor, to the left of which was an incongruously dated 1970s peach and lime-green bathroom.
Just beyond that was another room, a mirror image of my own but burnished in velvety shades of burgundy.
‘Apparently the previous owners put Daphne du Maurier in here when she visited,’ Victoria said.
‘I certainly hope she slept better than I do.’
‘You don’t sleep well in here?’
‘Not recently. Too dark. Too many shadows,’ she said, gesturing towards the finger-like branches coming off the tree outside.
After finishing the tour, Victoria encouraged me to take a few moments to freshen up. ‘Come meet me and Mummy in the glasshouse when you’re done.’
I LAY ON THE bathroom floor, feeling the cool tiles against my skin.
Although the day had been oppressively hot, its warmth didn’t seem to reach inside the walls of the house.
I shut my eyes and cursed my stupidity at ever having come here.
How was I meant to approach third year with any sort of confidence now?
How was I meant to show my face at drama school again knowing this was what I was up against?
I let out a groan of frustration and got up.
Victoria and her mother would be waiting for me.
I splashed water on my face and used an expensive-smelling pat of soap to rub the dirt from my fingers.
It was then that I noticed the door to Victoria’s room was ajar.
I dried my face and hands, and peered inside.
On seeing the room again, I was caught by the strange mix of crumbling nobility and turn-of-the-millennium teenager on display.
Gilded aristocrats and muscled horses jostled for wall space beside nineties boybands torn from magazines.
Above the bed was a signed poster: The Sound of Music on tour in venues across the UK and Ireland.
I crept over to the dresser, which was crammed with perfume bottles, old theatre programmes, makeup and framed pictures of her brothers, her parents, a pony, the young Victoria wearing a dirndl with her hair in plaits, then later as a grinning adolescent with her arm around a ruddy-looking girl of a similar age.
I brushed my fingers over the frames and opened an ivory jewellery box; a ballerina twirled on her spring to the tinkling chimes of Mozart.
Inside there was a laurel brooch, ticket stubs, a bracelet woven with mother-of-pearl petals, and a pair of teardrop earrings inlaid with cornflower-blue opals.
I picked the earrings out and held them to my face, where they shimmered like water against my cheek.
They were so pretty; they were so her. I glanced over my shoulder at the room.
Victoria already has so much. Without stopping to think, I slipped the earrings down inside the lip of my sock.
At the other end of the room were two walnut armoires.
I creaked one open to find the aforementioned dirndl, a rack of winter coats, and the stench of mildew.
I rummaged through them like a rat, feeling inside their pockets for treasures: receipts, tissues, buttons, a forgotten pack of gum.
I went to the other wardrobe and ran my hands along the curtain of gowns that hung there.
I lifted one out, a pale lavender slip dress, and pulled it over my head.
To my surprise, it fitted beautifully, clinging to the curves of my body like it was my own.
I turned to admire myself in the mirror.
‘What are you doing?’
‘V – I . . .’
Victoria was standing in the doorway. She narrowed her eyes at me. ‘Are you trying on my clothes?’
I laughed nervously. ‘Sorry. I couldn’t help myself.’
She paused, no doubt weighing up how to use this information, whether to forgive or destroy me. But then her expression changed. She smirked and sauntered over. ‘If you really want to play dress-up later then we can.’ She brushed the silky fabric. ‘So, do you like it?’ she asked.
‘Yes.’ I felt the earrings slip further down inside my sock. ‘It’s lovely.’
‘You can have it if you want. I never really liked wearing dresses, not this one anyway.’ She pinched the material, and my skin beneath it.
‘In fact, my brothers and I used to enjoy dressing up in one another’s clothes and putting on silly little plays on the lawn.
I’m surprised this one’s not been stretched out by Lawrence.
When they left home, I raided their wardrobes.
’ She tugged at the jersey she was wearing. ‘Much more comfortable.’
‘Me and my sister used to swap clothes too.’
‘Oh yeah?’
Without warning, a lump appeared in my throat. I turned to face the mirror. I’d said too much.
‘You never talk about her,’ Victoria said. When I didn’t respond, she prodded my side. ‘Shan?’
‘No.’
‘Why not?’
‘It’s . . . hard.’
‘Were you close?’
‘In a way.’ I paused, not knowing how much more I dared divulge.
I could feel myself floating, drifting. The heat and the shock of Godwin had made me woozy.
It had made me bold. ‘Mum put bows in our hair. Lavender for her, like this,’ I said, stroking the dress, ‘and pink for me. We’d swap. It was like a game.’
‘How marvellous.’