One Secret Summer (15 page)

‘Look, I didn’t mean it like that … there’s more than enough for both of us,’ Julia said, her cheeks reddening. Christ, he
was arrogant!

‘Don’t worry, wouldn’t
dream
of robbing
you
.’ He busied himself with finding another pot. Julia was left standing in the middle of the kitchen, wishing she’d shut her
mouth. If there was one thing she couldn’t bear being accused of, it was being mean. Stingy. Ungenerous. She’d never been
stingy in her entire life! And his faint but unmissable emphasis on ‘you’ spoke volumes. He’d rather rob someone else – someone
who could afford it. She felt her temper begin to rise.

‘Look,’ she said hotly. ‘All I meant was it would’ve been polite of you to
ask
, that’s all. I don’t care about the bloody pasta. You can eat the whole packet for all I care! And in fact, whilst you’re
at it – here, you can have the rest of my pesto too.’ She yanked open the fridge door. Her jar of pesto was gone. She whirled
round. It was standing next to the cooker, a teaspoon already stuck inside it. She glared at it, then at him, and then, without
trusting herself to utter a single further word, she stalked out of the kitchen and made her way back towards her room, her
hunger momentarily forgotten. She’d sooner starve than argue with Aaron Keeler over food! She pushed open the door to her
room, slammed it loudly behind her and threw herself on the bed. Her heart was beating fast. She couldn’t help it – there
was just something about the way he was that set her teeth on edge. Everything about him – from his assured good looks to
the
sneer that hovered permanently on his lips.
Don’t worry, wouldn’t dream of robbing you
. Ugh! She glanced down at her hands; they were clenched tightly shut. She let out a small sigh of exasperation. Not only
was she angry, she was hungry too. And unless she waited another hour to make sure Keeler was out of the way, it looked as
though she’d stay that way all night. It was too bloody much! What the hell was he doing back here anyway? A quick image of
him floated up in front of her eyes. He was tanned. She’d been too angry to take it in at the time but he had the telltale
T of slightly reddened skin across his forehead and nose … He’d either been on a beach or on the ski slopes somewhere. Whichever,
he looked alarmingly healthy and … she stumbled across the thought … alarmingly attractive. Urgh! She rolled over and buried
her head in her pillow.

It took a few minutes for the realisation that there’d been a knock at the door to penetrate her consciousness. She raised
her head, wondering if she’d misheard. There was nothing. She got up, still clutching her pillow as if to ward off whomever
might be standing there, and cautiously opened the door. There was no one. The corridor was empty save for the unmistakable
scent of warm pasta and pesto. She stood uncertainly in the doorway for a few minutes – should she go back to the kitchen?
He’d obviously come down the corridor to her room … what was she supposed to do now? Go back after him? She stood there for
a few minutes, catching her lower lip in her teeth, then she turned and walked slowly back into her room. Damn him, she thought
to herself for the umpteenth time. He’d wrong-footed her, and there was nothing she hated more than not knowing how to behave.
Had he come to apologise and offer her a plate of food? Or had he come to gloat? Knowing Keeler, probably the latter. But
that was the problem – she didn’t know him at all. Not really. Not in the way that would answer the question. She opened her
suitcase and rummaged through it until she found her nightdress. She was too tired, too hungry and too upset to think about
it any further. She opened the door again, looked quickly up and down the corridor to make absolutely certain he
wasn’t around and marched to the bathroom to brush her teeth. Enough. She’d had enough. And the second term hadn’t even yet
begun.

What had started out as a silent animosity born largely out of mutual disdain between Julia Burrows and Aaron Keeler had,
by the time Lent Term ended, escalated into an almost full-scale, no-holds-barred war. In the week following the pasta ’n’
pesto incident, as Dom liked to refer to it, Julia had been surprised to see Aaron coming to and from the Balliol law library
with almost as many books as she. Now he was rarely seen in the MCR without his nose buried in a book. Julia was puzzled.
His first term had been spent largely in the bar. ‘Well, that’s because you’ve got his goat,’ Dom told her smugly when she
mentioned it as off-handedly as she could. ‘Look, he’s spent his life coasting on his mother’s tails. Now it’s down to him.
And with your marks shooting spectacularly upwards, my dear … well, it’s no wonder. If there’s one thing those damn Keeler
boys can’t stand, it’s being beaten. Doesn’t matter what it is. Rowing, rugby, reading … it’s all the same to them. I think
you’re putting him under pressure. He looked as though he’d bust a gut when you won that argument in class yesterday.’

‘Me?’ Julia said, hoping the right note of self-deprecation had entered her voice. Although she’d sooner have died than admit
it, the thought of finally giving Keeler a run for his money was immensely gratifying. Immensely.

‘Yes, you. And don’t look so surprised. Even Munro’s had to reassess his opinion of you. You were in quite splendid form this
morning. And don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about, either.’

Julia had the grace to blush. ‘Pure luck,’ she said, as airily as she could.

‘Bollocks. I’ve hardly seen you all term. You’re always in the bloody library. With Keeler, I might add.’

Julia’s blush deepened. ‘That’s not true,’ she muttered.

‘If you say so. Anyway, that’s not why I’m here. It’s my
birthday next week. Yes, yes … I’ll be twenty-three, can you believe it?’ He looked down at her. Julia resisted the temptation
to laugh. Dom still looked eighteen. ‘Anyhow,’ he continued, frowning, as though he’d read her mind, ‘I’m having a dinner
party. No, not here …’ He waved a dismissive hand around the MCR. ‘At home.’

‘At home? What … in Norfolk?’

He nodded, a trifle sheepishly. ‘Mother insists. She’s fed up hearing all about the people on my course. She wants to meet
you all too. She knows a few people already, of course. From Eton. But she’s ever so keen to meet you.’

‘Me?’ Julia echoed faintly for the second time.

‘Mmmm. I rather think,’ Dom lowered his voice apologetically, ‘that she has hopes. High hopes.’

Julia looked up at him uncertainly. ‘Of what? Oh, oh … I see. Um, well …’

‘Oh, do say you’ll come. It’ll be fun, I promise. We’ll go down on the train on Friday morning and come back on Sunday.’

‘Er, who else is coming?’ Julia asked.

‘Um, well … I did invite Keeler,’ Dom had the grace to admit sheepishly. ‘I
had
to. I know he wasn’t in my year but he’s an old Etonian. Mother would’ve killed me if I hadn’t.’

Julia was silent. A weekend in the countryside with Aaron Keeler? She wasn’t sure she could stomach it. The thought of it
was already making her feel ill. But it was Dom’s birthday and she knew how much he’d like to have them both there … if for
entirely different reasons. She was curious, too, about Dom’s home. He said very little about it, or his parents, whom he
referred to affectionately as ‘Mother’ and ‘Sir’. Hayden Hall, the Barrington-Brownes’ ancestral home, lay close to the sea
in Norfolk. ‘It’s massive,’ he’d said to her gloomily once. ‘And there’s no escape. I’ll inherit the whole bloody lot when
Sir goes. They’re just indulging me at the moment, I’m afraid.’ He’d stared into his half-empty glass of beer with such intensity
that Julia was moved.

‘Indulging you? What d’you mean?’

‘Law. Doing the postgrad year. This is just a pastime, really. When they go, I’ll have to take over the bloody estate. I spend
the rest of my life worrying about how to keep it up. You’ve no idea what it takes to run one of these country piles.’

‘No, I don’t suppose I would.’ Julia smiled gently.

‘I don’t mean it like that. It’s just … well, I don’t seem to want
any
of the things they want for me.’

‘Wife, children, a country pile, stuff like that?’

He nodded glumly. ‘In a nutshell, yes.’ Julia hadn’t known what to say.

She looked up at him now. ‘Of course I’ll come,’ she said simply. ‘Wouldn’t miss it for anything.’

‘Thanks, Burrows,’ Dom said with feeling. ‘It’ll be a bit … well, you know what I mean.’

Julia nodded slowly. She’d never experienced it herself, but unrequited love had to be one of the very worst things to suffer.
Particularly as in Dom’s case there was absolutely no hope of his feelings ever being returned. Judging from the way women
threw themselves at Aaron Keeler’s feet and the way he reciprocated, he probably hadn’t even
noticed
Dom. Or his suffering. She hesitated for a second – she wasn’t the type to go around hugging other people, even if they were
friends – and then tucked a hand in his arm. ‘You’ll have to help me find something to wear, though,’ she said, allowing herself
a smile. ‘I’ve only got one evening dress. It’s yellow. It’s awful.’

‘Ah, yes … the Yellow Meringue, as I believe you called it. Yes, well … I’ll do my best. Black, I think. Mother says, you
can’t go wrong with it.’

‘Help me spend some of my grant money this afternoon, then. I haven’t bought new clothes in ages.’

‘It shows.’ Dom only just avoided her gentle shove. ‘Thanks, Burrows,’ he said again as they headed out of the MCR. ‘Really.
And don’t worry about Mother. Deep down, you know, I think she … er,
knows
.’

‘Mothers usually do,’ Julia said softly. It took her a few seconds to swallow the sudden lump in her throat.

Dom insisted on paying for first-class tickets for himself and Julia the following Friday. Aaron, Peregrine and David – the
three old Etonians at Balliol who’d been invited at Lady Barrington-Browne’s express request – were going down the following
morning by car. Despite her reservations about spending a weekend with Aaron Keeler and her nerves about spending a weekend
on a country estate – what should she wear at dinner on the Friday night? How should Lady Barrington-Browne be addressed?
Which fork did she use for fruit and did she have to drink tea with her little finger sticking out? Dom answered her questions
patiently. ‘Just be yourself. Mother will love you, I promise’ – Julia was excited. For the first time since she’d arrived
at Balliol, she felt as though she’d carved herself a niche. A little on the small side, to be honest – the ‘niche’ consisted
of herself and Dom – but still, it was lovely to have something to look forward to at the weekend other than the law library.
She’d thoroughly enjoyed the afternoon spent looking for a dress, too. In the end, Dom’s ‘infinitely superior taste’ (his
words) won out. She emerged from Selfridges with a simple black dress and a pair of ‘killer heels’ (also his words).

They took the train to Paddington and then a black cab across the city to Liverpool Street, where they boarded a second train
to Norfolk. A driver would be waiting for them in Swaffham, Dom told her. From there it was a half-hour drive to Hayden. As
the train pulled out of Liverpool Street and began to gather speed, Julia’s excitement grew. How long had it been since she’d
had fun … real,
proper
fun? She couldn’t remember, which in itself was a sign of sorts. The countryside around Cambridge rose up around them in
swathes of light and iridescent green; the banks of gorse showing the first yellowish haze of flowers. The wide, open Norfolk
skies were blue and clear; after the gloom of Oxford Julia suddenly felt more alive than she’d done in months.
She sat in the plushly comfortable seat, her nose pressed against the window, not wanting to miss a single detail.

At Swaffham, a uniformed driver met them off the train. With her mouth hanging open, she followed him and Dom out of the small
station and into a splendidly shiny black car whose cavernous interior reminded her of the train. ‘Is this yours?’ she mouthed
at Dom, unwilling to let the chauffeur see just how impressed she was.

‘Well, it belongs to the family,’ Dom said, looking slightly discomfited. ‘I hardly ever use it myself.’

Julia turned to look out of the window. She’d had no idea Dom came from quite such wealth. They were almost halfway to Hayden
when she noticed the low wall running along one side of the country lane. ‘Don’t tell me that’s your boundary wall,’ she said,
half joking.

Dom looked even more discomfited. ‘Um, yes. I told you … it’s a leech of an estate. You’ve no idea how much it costs to run.’

‘No, but I’m beginning to,’ Julia said primly. She turned her head once more. They’d been driving for about fifteen minutes
at roughly forty miles an hour. She made the swift calculation. At least ten miles, with another twenty-odd to go … She swallowed.
Hayden Hall was bigger than all of Elswick. As they finally entered the gates and she saw the majestic line of oaks standing
like furry light green sentinels along the sweep of the driveway, she was rendered speechless. There was a blinding flash
of sunlight reflecting off the car’s bonnet as they turned into the enormous circle and pulled up in front of the pale gold
façade of the Great Hall.

‘Here we are,’ Dom cried, opening the door. The chauffeur came round to Julia’s side and opened hers, helping her awkwardly
on to the ground. ‘At last!’

‘I’ll bring the bags up, sir,’ the chauffeur murmured as he closed the door behind Julia.

‘Thanks, Neil. Come on, Mother’s waiting. She’ll have been waiting all afternoon, I promise you.’ Dom held out an arm.
With her mouth still open, Julia took it and together they climbed the many stairs.

‘Dominic!’ A woman’s voice rang out as they walked down what seemed to Julia to be an endless corridor filled with paintings,
furniture, doorways and yet more paintings and sculpture until they finally turned into a private sitting room at the end.
Lady Barrington-Browne rose as they entered. She was tall and exquisitely slender, dressed in a quilted skirt and jacket that
Julia dimly recognised as Chanel – though quite how she recognised that was beyond her. She kissed her son carefully on both
cheeks and then turned to Julia. ‘And you must be Julia. How lovely of you to come.’ She held out a hand. Julia didn’t know
whether to shake it or to curtsy … Lady Barrington-Browne solved the matter by clasping her hand warmly. Her blue eyes regarded
Julia with evident sympathy. ‘Dominic tells me you’re an orphan. How dreadful. Dominic is
so
very fond of you and I must say, I can see why. Welcome to Hayden Hall, my dear. You must make yourself at home. Immediately.
Come.’ She led the way to three of the plushest, most comfortably upholstered sofas Julia had ever seen. ‘Will you have some
tea, my dear?’ Without waiting for an answer, she rang a small silver bell and seconds later, as if by magic, a maid appeared
with an equally silver tray. Julia took her cup with hands that shook only a little. Despite the enormous gulf in class between
them, there was a warmth in Dom’s mother that she felt herself responding to. When, half an hour later, Dom’s father appeared
in the doorway and greeted them both in a distant, formal way, it was clear which one of his parents had had the greater influence.
There was a gentleness in Dom that was entirely his mother’s; his father barked out a couple of routine questions – all going
well up there, I take it? When are you back for good? – and, having gulped down his tea, rose and announced he was off to
his study. ‘Do come down for dinner, won’t you?’ Lady Barrington-Browne said to his rapidly departing back. There was a grunt
of a reply and then he disappeared. She turned to
both Julia and Dom and beamed. ‘I think that was a no. Well, I’ll just have to have you both to myself. How
lovely
.’