The Venetian House, page 4
To her dismay Francine was the first person she saw. Victoria had hoped to avoid her but as she was hovering just inside the doorway there was no escape. Normally exuding social self-confidence, Francine looked as alarmed as if she would like to make a bolt for it and had no idea how to greet her hostess. Why did she have to be here? thought Victoria. She must have known she’d have to meet me if she came back to the house – but ingrained social training came to her rescue. ‘Hello, Francine,’ she said politely. ‘How good of you to come.’
After hesitating a moment the other woman made no attempt to embrace Victoria, though she was normally very free with social kisses to people she hardly knew at all.
‘Victoria … I just don’t know what to say to you.’
‘I know. It must be very difficult for everyone. Don’t say anything.’
‘You must absolutely hate me.’
Victoria was taken aback. It was not what she had expected from Francine and she thought it a very inappropriate moment to be forced into a discussion about her own personal feelings over Guy’s marriage.
‘Hate you? You mean because of you and Guy? Your marriage was certainly a great surprise – perhaps it shouldn’t have been but it was – but why should I hate you?’
‘I meant because of Richard.’
‘Because of Richard? What on earth do you mean?’ Victoria was dumbfounded.
‘His reaction to our news – Guy’s and mine. He’d tried so hard to stop us getting married once before and seemed so terribly upset … I just thought … I just wanted to say …’ Francine looked acutely uncomfortable, clearly having said more than she intended, yet leaving things unsaid, which nevertheless hung in the air like menacing clouds before a storm.
What does she mean, ‘he tried to stop us before’? wondered Victoria, and it occurred to her that Francine seemed privy to more information that she was herself. She had a sudden sensation that she was walking over a minefield and that at any moment she might be blown apart.
‘Let’s not talk about Richard at the moment or I might not be able to cope,’ she said. Then, trying to turn the conversation, added stiffly: ‘I’m afraid I haven’t even congratulated you yet. Normally I’d have written, of course … but nothing’s normal at the moment. I had no idea you and Guy had thought of getting married before.’
‘Oh God!’ Francine looked desperate. ‘We … we finally decided this was the right time but we didn’t want a wedding over here. We thought it would save a lot of trouble if we just presented everyone with a fait accompli. And, of course, Richard’s … accident was a coincidence … a terrible coincidence … it had nothing to do with …’ her voice trailed away. Her burnished glamour seemed temporarily to have deserted her. Instead of looking sleek and beautiful she looked almost plain – jaundiced rather than golden – and older than Victoria had always presumed her to be. The two women stood and stared at each other, surrounded by people, yet locked into a private moment.
An extraordinary conversation that she had overheard earlier in the day started to bang and clatter round and round inside Victoria’s head like a mad bird desperately beating its wings against a windowpane in an effort to get out. No! she thought, oh no – this I can’t face!
‘Francine,’ she said, ‘I must talk to you – but not here, not now. Perhaps I could come up to London. If I asked some difficult questions, would you tell me the truth? There are things I need to know.’
There was a long pause, and then Francine said: ‘Oh, Victoria, what a terrible mess. I wish I’d kept my big mouth shut. I guess I’d do my best to answer you – but I don’t think it’s a smart idea. I’m pretty sure Guy won’t approve and I’d much rather not because—’
Francine broke off suddenly and Victoria saw that Guy had come up to join them. She had no idea how long he’d been there or how much, if any, of their conversation he had heard. He wore the shuttered look she knew so well: not so much a look of being closed in on himself as of deliberately barricading other people out. It was the expression she had always dreaded as a child, when Guy, her hero and mentor, the person above all others whom she most wanted to please, would suddenly become inaccessible to her. She had been too proud as a little girl to give him the satisfaction of seeing how much she minded these unaccountable withdrawals – though, of course, he knew – and she had never tried to hang round him or ingratiate her way back into his favour. Rather she had learned to withdraw too, outwardly occupying herself with independent ploys and inwardly waiting for the sun of his approval to shine again of its own accord – as it invariably did. Perhaps that was what Anthony had meant by her inner strength? She thought that only her Greek grandmother had ever truly understood her as a child, and she found herself longing passionately for her company, but Evanthi Doukas had gone down with one of her bouts of pneumonia at Christmas and had not been well enough to travel over for the funeral. As soon as I can get away I will go out to Vrahos and stay with Nonna, she promised herself; I could talk about things with her that I can’t talk about to anyone else.
She thought Francine looked surprisingly agitated for someone normally so collected, and it occurred to her that Guy’s wife might be more vulnerable than she had imagined. I might have grown to like her once if I’d known her better and things were different, Victoria thought in surprise. She turned to Guy and said: ‘Francine’s been telling me about your wedding. I still can’t believe you didn’t tell me about it yourself.’
Guy gave her an unfathomable look. ‘You had rather a lot of other things on your mind,’ he said drily, ‘and of course I would have talked to you about it eventually. But now I’ve come to take my wife back to London. I don’t think I can do much for you at the moment. I wish I could – but I can’t. Later, perhaps.’ There was great misery in his eyes. Suddenly he stooped down and enfolded her in a tight embrace. ‘Don’t give way, Vicky,’ he whispered. ‘I’m so desperately sorry about everything – you can’t know how sorry – and I’ll be in close touch. Good night.’
For a brief moment they clung together, then Guy straightened up. ‘I think we should be getting back, Francine,’ he said. ‘Let’s say goodbye to my parents and be on our way.’
Victoria watched them go, and question marks seemed to dance before her as though they had been hung in front of her eyes on some irritating mobile, too flickering to pin down yet defying her to ignore them. I can’t take any more shocks at the moment, she thought, and, anyway, I’m probably over-reacting – imagining things.
I won’t think about it now, she decided – and she determined to blot the nagging uncertainties from her mind.
Chapter Three
After the departure of Guy and Francine other people started to leave too. Victoria stood near the door so that she could say hello as well as goodbye.
Meriel Hawkins, Richard’s elder sister, made her way purposefully over to Anthony and Toula. ‘We need to talk,’ she said in what was meant to be a low tone, though unfortunately that particular register had always been missing from her voice. ‘What are we going to do about Victoria?’
‘In what particular way?’ asked Toula. She couldn’t stand Meriel but had promised Anthony that she would try to keep her aversion in check. ‘Do try to be civil to the Hawkinses,’ he had said as they had left their own house for the family lunch at Manor Farm before the funeral.
‘I’m always civil,’ she had protested, ‘not perhaps friendly but certainly civil – and really, Anthony darling, I can’t suddenly start to like Meriel because Richard’s dead.’
‘But you could try to disguise your feelings a bit better. This whole affair is dreadful for her too, remember.’
‘I do feel sorry for her – really I do – but disguise isn’t my best thing.’ Toula had rolled her magnificent eyes and thrown her arms in the air. She was always gesticulating about something or other. Anthony maintained it was like living with a windmill and said it was a waste that his wife’s whirling gestures could not be harnessed to the National Grid. ‘I’m not letting her browbeat Victoria and turn her into one of her dreary good causes,’ said Toula, ‘but if it makes you feel safer, you old pacifist, I will try to avoid her as much as possible today.’
This, however, was no longer an option. Meriel had a way of pressing very close to anyone she was speaking to, thrusting her face into theirs and blocking escape routes with her considerable bulk; people were apt to back away rapidly if they saw her advancing, but today she had succeeded in penning the Winstons in a corner with all the skill of a prize-winning contestant on One Man and his Dog.
‘We must discuss Victoria’s future,’ she announced ‘and Jake’s too. I’m very concerned about them both. I’m sure you’ll agree they can’t stay on here. It’s far too big.’
‘Don’t you think it’s a bit soon to think about that? Victoria needs to recover from the appalling shock she’s had – and so, of course, will you,’ said Anthony diplomatically. ‘You can be sure we’ll do all we can for her. She and Jake are bound to need time before any major decisions are taken. And you’ve got enough on your hands looking after your father. How much longer are you staying with him?’
‘Only tonight. Junie’s going to stay on for another week. Fortunately she hasn’t got as many commitments as I have. That’s why I thought we should talk now – I’ve had an idea.’
Anthony could see Toula’s nostrils flaring. She looked like a Stubbs painting of a particularly dangerous horse that may lash out at any moment.
‘Oh well, I’m sure you’ll be coming to see your father again soon,’ he said hastily. ‘I know how devoted you are to him. Bring him to dinner with us next time you’re down, when we’ve all had time to think things through more calmly and tried to assimilate the effects of this awful tragedy. In the meantime we’ll make a point of doing what we can to keep an eye on him. We’re very fond of Bill.’
‘That’s really kind of you,’ said Meriel, not to be diverted, ‘but perhaps I should tell you my idea so that you can be brooding on it. I shall talk to Victoria, of course, but I thought you could help me get it over to her. She’s so impractical and I’m afraid she’s going to find it specially hard now because Richard always looked after her.’ She took a deep breath, which swelled her bosom so alarmingly that Anthony flattened himself even further against the wall.
‘Well,’ continued Meriel, ‘I’ve been talking to Peter Mason about Richard’s affairs. I don’t think things are going to be easy for Victoria financially. That’s one problem. Then, as I said, this house will be far too big for her – she and Jake would rattle about in it. Stafford and I both think she’d much better make a break. My father’s going to be dreadfully lonely because he and Richard were so close, and he’s not getting any younger either, so that’s another difficulty. Funnily enough I was talking to Richard about it the last time we saw him and telling him it was high time Daddy had someone to live in, for all our sakes.’ She paused.
‘So-o-o,’ said Toula pulling the word out like a thrush with a worm, ‘so-o-o, Meriel, you’ve hit on the idea that Victoria and Jake could move in with your father?’ She eased herself sideways by moving a chair, and shot Anthony a look of triumph as she managed to break away from the wall. ‘Umm. I can see that could be convenient.’
Meriel looked gratified. She had not expected to have an easy time with Spiridoula Winston over any suggestions she might make. An overbearing woman at the best of times, and – worse, in Meriel’s book – so flamboyant; but of course one had to remember she was foreign and make allowances for that Mediterranean temperament. Meriel was always aware that despite her English education her sister-in-law was a foreigner too. She had never been able to understand Richard’s affection for that disconcerting Greek grandmother of Victoria’s, who looked like an unfriendly old tortoise, though apparently, according to Meriel’s father, she’d been a renowned beauty in her day. Hard to imagine that now. And that awful gloomy family house in Corfu that Victoria was so mad about! Not Meriel’s idea of a holiday villa at all. She remembered how she’d hated it when she’d been sent to fetch Richard home from one of his many childhood visits, and how much of an outsider she’d felt – a sense of being the only onlooker when everyone else was inside a charmed magic circle. She’d tried to persuade her father that it was bad for Richard to spend so much time with Guy and Victoria and old Mrs Doukas, but it had suited him to have Richard occupied. A pity Jake had inherited Victoria’s dark looks, she thought, instead of Richard’s Anglo-Saxon fairness, but there it was. Her own children were all most satisfactorily fair-skinned – she’d always had to use an extremely high factor sun cream on them.
‘Yes,’ she said now, giving Toula a nod of surprised approval, ‘yes, that’s exactly what I had in mind. My father’s always been really fond of Victoria,’ she made this sound quite an achievement, ‘so I’m glad you think it’s a good plan.’
‘And what have you planned for this house?’ asked Toula.
Anyone more sensitive than Meriel Hawkins might have felt the ground beneath their feet quake a little, but she crashed on comfortably confident that she had everyone’s best interests at heart.
‘Well, it just so happens that we might be able to take it on ourselves. It’s owned by the family trust, you know – it didn’t belong to Richard. With four children and all their friends it would be just the right size for us so I thought that might suit everyone.’
‘Except perhaps Victoria?’ suggested Toula, silky sweet.
‘But it’s Victoria that made me think of it.’ Meriel looked puzzled. ‘As I told you …’
‘Well now, let me tell you something.’ The glitter in Toula’s eyes was more than enough to act as a warning signal to anyone who knew her well, and at this point her husband deemed it strategic to create a distraction by knocking over a small table and spilling his tea. In the kerfuffle that followed, with Mrs Banham and Violet both rushing to help, cloths and dustpans to be fetched, mopping-up operations undertaken and apologies made, the awkward moment was broken – as well as several of the borrowed Parish Room teacups. Money well spent, thought Anthony, as he insisted to Mrs Banham that he must pay for replacements.
Luckily Stafford Hawkins came up at this moment to collect his wife and say that June Cunningham thought their father needed to go home.
‘Goodbye, Meriel,’ said Anthony. ‘So sorry about my clumsiness. I do hope it hasn’t marked your dress. We’ll certainly think over all you’ve said, but it might be wiser not to mention it to Victoria just yet. Give her time.’ He watched the Hawkinses leave with a sense of having averted a crisis – for the moment.
Victoria, still standing in the doorway, could hardly bear the look of despair on Bill Cunningham’s face as he left. They looked at each other wordlessly as they kissed. There was nothing of comfort to be said.
When Peter Mason said goodbye to Victoria he gripped her by the shoulders and massaged them with his thumbs. He’d always thought his godson’s wife a damned attractive girl – bit thin for his own personal taste perhaps, but definitely a looker with a certain indefinable something about her, though he was never quite sure what.
‘Well, young woman,’ he said, ‘we’ll have to have a business session soon. Come up to London and I’ll give you lunch. Sorry about all this – bad business – that goes without saying.’ Victoria made a mental note to save this last utterance to tell Guy: Peter Mason had never let anything go without saying a great deal too much about it. She wondered if she would still be able to share private jokes with Guy without upsetting Francine. She couldn’t imagine how his marriage was going to affect her relationship with her cousin, something she had always taken for granted. She noted with astonishment that it was still possible to find things funny even though her world had crashed. How strange it all is, she thought.
She extricated herself from Peter Mason’s clutches, managing to give him a polite kiss and retreat out of range in one skilful movement. ‘Thank you so much, Peter,’ she said. ‘I do need to come and see you. I must know exactly how things stand for Jake and me. Give me a few days to sort myself out and I’ll give your secretary a ring and make a date. And thank you for your address this afternoon. Now don’t delay because you’ve got a beastly drive ahead of you and apparently there’s going to be a blizzard.’ She hadn’t the faintest idea what the weather forecast was but this prediction certainly did the trick. She could hear Peter’s voice in the hall warning other departing guests of the snow hazards ahead, and caught her uncle’s eye. Anthony gave her a surreptitious wink and made a thumbs-up sign.
The vicar had slipped off early, promising to be in touch and saying that his wife had left a cottage pie and an apple crumble in the kitchen for Victoria and Jake to have sometime when they were on their own. ‘Catherine particularly said to tell you they’re fresh so it can all be frozen if you want,’ he said, and Victoria was touched by such practical and unobtrusive kindness. Farewells were said to Mrs Banham and her team of helpers and much gratitude expressed for all their hard work. Violet was appeased about Mrs Banham’s attitude to her silver cleaning, and Jeff and the men from the farm thanked for managing the car parking so efficiently.
It was a relief when everyone except her aunt and uncle had finally gone.
‘Usual clutching from Peter Mason?’ asked Toula. ‘Shocking old lurcher.’
‘Lecher,’ murmured Anthony. His wife’s idiosyncratic use of English still gave him enormous pleasure after forty years of marriage.
‘Oh, Anthony!’ Toula rolled her eyes. ‘I wish Peter wasn’t Richard’s lawyer. Poor old Bill looked dreadful I thought. How he and Julia – who used to be so pretty and such fun – came to have such deadly daughters I’ll never understand.’
