One Secret Summer (38 page)

She walked out of the room and down the short flight of stairs to the kitchen and living room, which were on the floor below.
She made herself a cup of coffee and carried it through to the living room. It too was tidy and silent. She wandered over
to the window, absently touching the few ornaments that lay around the room. The wooden bowl from Swaziland that a friend
had given him; the polished silver fruit bowl that lay empty of fruit … the television against the wall, a book on the coffee
table. He didn’t have much. She ought to go out and buy things, fill it up. Put her mark on it too. It was her home now. She
sipped her coffee slowly, watching the signs of life on the street below. No rush, she thought to herself. No rush at all.
She had time … more than she’d ever had. At that moment, it felt as though she had nothing but. All the time in the world
and nothing to fill it with.

JULIA

London, June 1997

Julia hurried along Upper Street, her stomach churning with nerves. She was fifteen minutes late. She hated being late. Especially
now. Tonight. She had a date. With Aaron. After nearly a fortnight of waiting in agonising indecision, he’d come up to her
in the library one Wednesday afternoon and murmured something for her ears alone. ‘Can I see you again? Apart from work, I
mean?’ The relief that flooded through her was so acute it almost brought tears to her eyes.
Idiot
, she hissed at herself under her breath.
Idiot. You’re behaving like every woman you despise
. Well, despise herself she might, but the truth of it was, here she was hurrying along Upper Street to some restaurant he’d
chosen, unable to think about anything other than the
fact that she was late and that he’d barely spoken five words to her in the past two weeks. Yes, she was behaving like every
single lovestruck woman she’d ever encountered, but what could she do? Overnight, it seemed, her feelings had changed and
the strength of the dislike she’d felt for Aaron Keeler ever since she’d clapped eyes on him was matched only by the strength
of attraction.

She saw him sitting to one side, his eyes fixed on her. She tried to slow her pace so as not to appear too eager. As always,
his expression was difficult to read. ‘Sorry I’m late,’ she said, shaking her head as she approached. ‘Katie caught me at
the last minute.’

His smile was slow, but steady. ‘No problem. I was enjoying waiting for you to walk in. I like watching you walk.’

She caught her breath; it wasn’t the answer she’d been expecting. She sat down abruptly, aware of the heat slowly mounting
in her cheeks. ‘I walk like a duck,’ she said, not sure why she’d said it as soon as the words escaped her lips. It wasn’t
even true.

‘Funny sort of duck,’ he said mildly. ‘Definitely not a Regent’s Park duck.’

She laughed. ‘I don’t know why I said that,’ she said, shrugging off her coat. ‘Nerves.’

‘Are you nervous?’

‘Aren’t you?’

‘I’m always nervous around you. You might pick up a bottle and throw it at me.’

‘It was a
glass
,’ Julia protested, smiling. ‘Not a bottle. I don’t know why everyone keeps talking about a bottle.’

‘Everyone?’ He raised an eyebrow.

‘Well, not quite everyone,’ Julia conceded, blushing. ‘Just the odd … you know, person who brings it up.’

‘And who might that be?’ His voice was teasing.

Julia blushed even further. She certainly didn’t want it to sound as though she was constantly talking about him. ‘Oh, no
one, really,’ she said, as offhandedly as she could. ‘Er … what’re you drinking?’

‘Whisky and soda.’ He held up his glass. ‘For my nerves.’

She couldn’t help but laugh. ‘You’re full of it, Keeler,’ she said, picking up the menu and pretending to study it.

‘Full of … ?’

She felt the full weight of his blue eyes upon her. ‘Shit,’ she said calmly, putting down the menu and reaching across the
table for his glass. She raised it to her lips and drained it in one fiery gulp. ‘And don’t pretend you don’t know it.’

His expression changed; under the release of laughter he touched her arm. She looked down at his forearm, at the fine dark
blond hairs and wide hands, skin sliding tightly over tendons, lightly tanned and freckled, a band of slightly paler skin
showing at the edge of his thick black leather watch strap. She felt something inside her turn over.

The waiter came and went; a meal was ordered, a bottle of wine, coffee, some cheese … She ate and drank mechanically, her
whole being concentrated fiercely on the man in front of her whom she’d hated for so long. Lady Barrington-Browne was right.
Love/hate …
practically the same thing if you ask me
. She heard the words as if she’d spoken them out loud. Absurd. Love? How could she love Aaron Keeler? She barely knew him.
But suddenly, she wanted to. Very much.

He was conscious of her hand tucked into his arm as they walked away from the restaurant towards his flat. It was June, though
you wouldn’t have guessed it. The brilliant blue skies of the previous weekend had given way almost overnight to a thick blanket
of grey. At least it wasn’t raining, he thought to himself as they turned off Upper Street and made their way towards Napier
Terrace. There was a second’s brief awkwardness as he unlocked the front door and stood back to let her pass. He stared at
the back of her head as she made her way up the short flight of stairs in front of him. Her hair, which she usually kept pulled
off her face, had come loose and swung glossily from side to side as
she walked. He hadn’t been joking; he did like watching her walk. In fact, he liked watching her, full stop. He’d often caught
himself wondering at the body beneath the smart suits she wore to work. Nice legs, he’d noticed, more than once, it had to
be said. She was tall and boyishly slender but the silk shirt she wore parted just enough to reveal the slight swell of her
breasts. She was beautiful, he thought to himself, but in a restrained, controlled sort of way. All edge, corner, angle …
hers wasn’t the voluptuous softness of most of the women he found attractive. No, Julia Burrows’s attraction was different
– to do with the way she talked; the way she held herself, the distinct, hard-edged cadence of her accent … something a different
sort of person would have been at pains to conceal. Not her.
Take me as I am
. Her pride in who she was had as much to do with who she wasn’t trying to be – a far cry from most of the people he came
across. She had more integrity – yes, that was the word! – than anyone he’d ever known. Without even trying, she impressed
him. And who could he say that about?

‘Nice flat,’ she said as soon as she entered the living room. ‘Not quite what I expected.’

‘What did you expect?’ he asked, taking her coat. It came to him suddenly that he very much wanted to know what she thought.

‘Oh, I don’t know … something a bit more traditional. You know. Chintz.’

‘Chintz?’ He smiled faintly. ‘Me?’

‘Mmm.’ She touched the leather chair. ‘Flowers. That sort of stuff. Who’re these?’ She’d picked up one of the framed pictures
from the mantelpiece. ‘I recognise your mum … is that the rest of your family?’

‘Yeah, that’s Rafe. And that’s Harvey. My dad.’

‘And who’s that?’ She pointed with her finger.

‘Josh.’ He hoped his voice was normal.

‘Who’s Josh?’

‘My brother. My younger brother.’

‘That’s your brother?’ She couldn’t keep the note of surprise
from her voice. ‘You don’t look anything alike. The two of you look just like your dad. But he looks so different.’

‘He’s overseas most of the time.’ Aaron took the picture from her. ‘Anyway, enough about my family. D’you want something to
drink?’

She shook her head. ‘I think I’ve probably had quite enough, thank you,’ she said with a slow smile. ‘Two glasses of wine
… that’s a lot for me, you know.’

‘I thought you northern types could hold your liquor,’ he said, and then held his breath to see how she took the quip.

She smiled – again, that slow, sexy smile that made his heart beat faster. ‘Not this one,’ she murmured. They looked at each
other. Then, just as it had been the last time he’d kissed her, he wasn’t sure who made the first move. Her mouth was soft
and wonderfully warm. The feeling that this was only the beginning of something he’d waited for washed over him slowly. He
felt his hands move of their own accord to the opening in the silk blouse she was wearing; he slid his hand, palm down, across
the firm, tight flesh and felt her body tremble. He was taken aback by his own boldness – Julia Burrows wasn’t the type to
be rushed; he’d known that from the moment he first laid eyes on her, even if he hadn’t understood it. But she was just as
hungry. He could tell by the way her body arched towards him and by the willingness with which she allowed him into her mouth.
The contrast between the cool aloofness of the woman he’d known for the past five years and the heat he seemed to generate
in her now, in his arms, was enough to make him lose his head. ‘Julia,’ he whispered, his words lost in her hair. ‘I don’t
mean to—’

But whatever it was he was going on to say was silenced by the touch of her hands on him, on his belt, sliding his trousers
down over his hips, the way she turned him around until he was sitting on the armchair she’d teased him about. He couldn’t
think of a single thing other than the explosive longing to feel himself inside her. And then, of course, he couldn’t think
about anything at all.

DIANA

London, June 1997

Diana stared at Aaron as if she couldn’t quite grasp what he was saying. He wanted to bring someone. A woman. To Mougins.
With the family on their annual holiday. ‘What woman?’ she asked faintly.

He had the grace to blush. ‘Her name’s Julia, Mother. I … she works with me.’

‘She’s a lawyer?’ Relief flowed over her.

‘A barrister. Well, she’s just about to finish her second six.’

‘And how long have you … known each other?’ she asked, as delicately as she could. She felt like slapping him. What the hell
was wrong with her sons? Why was she always the last to know, presented with these … these
women
… as if they were unalterable facts. Fait accomplis.

‘A while. Actually, she was at Balliol with me.’

‘At Balliol? And you’ve never mentioned her before?’

He blushed further. ‘Well, it’s not quite like that. We … we didn’t particularly get on. In fact, we sort of hated each other.’

‘Oh. I see. Well, I suppose so. Rafe’ll be there … with Maddy.’ She tried not to let the disappointment show in her voice.
In a way, she was forced to admit to herself, it was a bit of a relief. She’d been wondering what on earth she would do with
Rafe’s wife by her side for all of two weeks. Now at least there might be someone whose company she could at least tolerate,
if not enjoy. A barrister. Better than an actress. A failed actress.

‘You sure?’ Aaron was apologetic.

‘Yes, I’m sure. Of course.’ Diana was gracious. ‘I’m sure she’ll enjoy it.’ She watched as Aaron’s face broke into a smile
of relief. She suppressed the repeated urge to smack him. She hated surprises of that sort. First Rafe with his bombshell
news of an impending marriage, now Aaron. What was the girl’s name?
Julia. Julia Burroughs? She wondered what she was like, which school she’d been to. At least she was Oxford-educated. That
was a good sign, of the sort she liked. God, whatever next? She felt a sudden flicker of nervousness. Only Josh was left …
and God only knew what
he’d
surprise her with. ‘Well, you’d better bring her to lunch next week. We might as well get to meet her before we spend a fortnight
together. Bring her on Sunday. She can meet Rafe as well.’

‘And Maddy,’ Aaron added quickly.

‘Yes,’ Diana said drily. ‘And Maddy.’

‘Mougins? Where the hell’s that?’ Julia asked him the following night.

‘In France. South of France. We’ve got a home down there … it’s lovely. You’d really enjoy it,’ he said, echoing Diana.

‘For two weeks? With you and your family?’ Julia asked faintly.

‘We wouldn’t have to be with them all the time. It’s huge … it’s an old farmhouse. We’ve had it since I was born. We usually
go down two or three times a year.’

Julia was silent. She and Aaron had been together – that old, tired euphemism – for nearly two months and every day there
were things about him that surprised her. Like the invitation to join his family on holiday. Two weeks in the sun in the south
of France. She’d never been anywhere on holiday before. ‘It’s very kind of them,’ she began hesitantly. ‘But I’ve never met
them. Won’t they think it a bit odd—’

‘You’re invited to lunch next Sunday,’ Aaron interrupted her. ‘It was Diana’s idea, not mine,’ he added hastily. ‘She’d like
to meet you.’

‘Me?’ Julia’s mouth dropped open. Diana Pryce wanted to meet
her
? She swallowed nervously. ‘That’d be lovely,’ she said with a confidence she didn’t feel. Her mind was already racing ahead.
Sunday lunch at Diana’s. What on earth would she wear?

Aaron’s family home in north London was lovely in the way only old money can ever be, Julia noticed, as soon as they stopped
outside the house. Tall, elegant, freshly painted but not garishly so; beautiful wooden sash windows, flower boxes and a neat,
well-kept front lawn. There were stone-flagged steps leading down to a basement window and a tasteful arrangement of a rockery,
a few cacti and flowering shrubs to lead and please the eye. The front door was stylishly black; a heavy, well-polished brass
knocker … Julia took in the details with a sinking heart. It was light years away from the home in which she’d grown up. She
held on to Aaron’s hand as he led her up the steps. He opened the front door with his own key and they stepped inside. The
house was cool and fragrant with the scent of cooking.

‘Mother?’ he called down the stairwell. There was no answer, but the sound of classical music floated up the stairs. He turned
to Julia. ‘We’ll go downstairs. They’re probably in the garden.’