One Secret Summer (55 page)

He took his glass of wine upstairs to the sitting room and sank into the comfortably soft upholstery of one of the couches.
It was wonderfully quiet after the bustle of the previous two weeks in LA. These days, he reflected, his life was mostly a
succession of airports, aeroplanes and hotel rooms – not that he wished it any other way. The cosy domesticity of Harvey’s
life was not for him, thank you very much. He liked the fact that he had no real fixed address. Aside from the Paris flat,
which he rarely went to these days, he lived out of a suitcase. His career, of course, made it all possible – he was in such
demand as a conference speaker and lecturer that there was no point in even attempting to settle anywhere. In fact, the small
break he’d managed to take in between conferences would be his last for a while. The
following week he’d be in Beijing for a fortnight; then Saigon for a week and then Tokyo for almost a month. He loved it:
the constant buzz and thrust of new-yet-familiar places; new people, new ideas, new experiences. Although, he gave a short,
wry laugh, at nearly sixty, ‘new’ wasn’t what most men his age sought. Or perhaps they did, but were too circumspect to admit
it. Certainly amongst his colleagues, once they’d had a few drinks and were in cities away from home, wherever or whatever
that was, there was a streak of wild abandon that never ceased to surprise him. Sometimes the most unlikely of them, too.
He recalled a particularly debauched evening in Bangkok several months earlier with the two finance directors of a large multinational
– he could no longer remember which one. Their appetites had amazed even him. Girls, drink, drugs … they’d been insatiable
and unstoppable. He, Rufus, knew where to draw the line, but perhaps that was because he’d never fooled himself – marriage,
kids, a house in the suburbs … no, that was not for him. He’d always been honest with himself and that as the difference between
him and most others he knew. Granted, there were exceptions – his brother was one. But it would have killed Harvey to know
that his wife wasn’t. He smiled to himself. Diana. How long had it been going on? Forty years, probably more if you counted
those silly childish games they played. Cowboys and Indians. Hide and seek. Doctors and nurses. Thinking about Diana could
still produce an erection in him almost spontaneously. What was it about her? She was pretty, certainly … and as she’d grown
older, and especially after marrying Harvey, her prettiness had matured into a cold, aloof beauty that he found difficult
to resist. The more successful she became, the more pleasurable it was to unmask her. He’d lost count of the number of hotel
rooms they’d been in where the cool, unflappable barrister had transformed herself into a wanton, screaming, panting bitch
in heat. He shifted uncomfortably. Blast it. His erection was digging into his thigh. He gave a short, rueful laugh. There
would certainly be no pornography in
this
house that he could use for relief. And it was too late to call
any one of the girls whose numbers he’d memorised … or was it? He glanced at his watch. It was almost eleven. Would any of
the neighbours notice? He didn’t care if they told Diana, but he would hate to have to explain himself to Harvey. Fuck it,
he was tired. He had a long journey ahead of him. He was nearly sixty, for crying out loud. Surely he could use the rest.

DIANA

Mougins, June 2000

The green silk dress fitted her perfectly, like a shimmering second skin. Diana sat in front of the mirror in her dressing
room, listening to the sounds of preparation downstairs, her stomach tightening pleasurably at the thought of the decor, the
food, the wine, and the family she’d managed to bring together. She’d asked one of the girls from La Mas Candille, the wonderful
hotel up the hill, to help Mme Poulenc with the dishes and with serving the food. The garden had been strung with tiny paper
lanterns; there were giant citronella candles in bamboo spikes to keep the insects at bay. The glass hurricane lanterns that
she and Harvey had bought in a little shop in Antibes and transported in four separate trips were all lit, casting beautiful
dancing patterns across the patio. The living room had been turned into a dining room with two long tables, elegantly dressed
in linen; wine in heavy crystal decanters on the sideboard; champagne in the fridge; roses from the garden in every room and
those wonderfully pungent giant white lilies that Harvey liked in the hallway, gently releasing their fragrance into the house.
Yes, everything was well under control; it would be beautiful and lovely in the way only she knew how to ensure. It was Harvey’s
sixtieth – it ought to be special. She was
suddenly overcome with a wave of tenderness for her husband. She’d never known anyone with greater integrity and compassion.
Oh, that wasn’t to say he was a saint – far from it at times. He could be moody and grumpy and impatient, just as she could.
He didn’t suffer fools lightly. There was a growing list of junior doctors and nurses who could attest to that! But he possessed
some other, keener sense of justice that awed and humbled her. She could only shake her head at it. He had an inner moral
compass like no one she’d ever come across. Ironic, really. She, the barrister, the guardian of the law … she was rotten to
the core. She looked down at her shaking hands. She didn’t know what it was this time that was causing so much introspection
and anguish. Perhaps it was the fact of the birthday? Or the fact that they were all here together in a way they hadn’t been
for more years than she could remember? Or the fact of that blasted interfering old cow, Leonora Simmonds, who’d suddenly
appeared out of the blue and set all sorts of questions in motion. Damn it, she mouthed at herself in the mirror. She had
half an hour to get ready – the last thing she needed was a moment of weak, self-pitying self-analysis. She picked up her
blusher brush and began to apply powder in strong, regular strokes.

In the room above Diana, Niela was also getting ready. She stood up and walked over to the wardrobe; inside was a full-length
mirror. She looked at her reflection. The long white evening dress she and Anna had seen in the window of Next on Oxford Street
had been a good buy. She’d thought it a little plain but Anna, as always, was full of practical advice. ‘You’ll never have
as much money to spend as the rest of them,’ she’d advised. ‘So keep it simple.’ She was still looking at herself when the
bathroom door opened and Josh walked into the room. He’d just come out of the shower; he wore a towel wrapped around his waist
and was still dripping water over the floor. Niela looked at him in the mirror. She could never quite get used to the sight
of his naked body, despite its growing familiarity.
She
would
certainly never walk around in front of him like that, she thought to herself, trying not to stare. Josh, of course, was oblivious.
He was as comfortable in his nudity as he was fully dressed. ‘Boarding school,’ he’d once told her, smiling. ‘You get used
to it.’ Well, she never would.

He came up behind her, his body still damp from the shower. She felt her own body begin to flush with that peculiar mixture
of desire and embarrassment that looking at Josh always produced. He smiled at her, resting his hands lightly on her shoulders.
‘You’d better get dressed,’ she said, wriggling out of his damp embrace. ‘We’re supposed to be downstairs in ten minutes.’

He rolled his eyes. ‘Pity. You know, I was sort of hoping …’ He reached for her suddenly and pulled her towards him.

‘Josh! No … I’ll wrinkle my dress,’ Niela half-squealed. ‘And you’re still wet. No … look out! You’re dripping all over me!’

‘Take it off,’ he murmured against her ear. ‘Or it really will get wrinkled.’

‘Josh … no … don’t …’

But it was pointless and too late. She stood still whilst he unzipped the dress and let it fall to the ground. He picked it
up, one hand still on her waist, and with the other tossed it on the bed, straightening it out quickly before turning back
to her. ‘Is the door locked?’ she whispered as his lips made a snail’s trail of light kisses across her neck and shoulder
blades. He shook his head but didn’t break his stride or his concentration. ‘Should I lock it?’ He shook his head again.

‘No one’s going to come in,’ he murmured. ‘Stop worrying. We’ve got ten minutes. I’ll be quick. And I know you will be.’ Niela
suppressed a smile. It was something of a joke between them. He only had to touch her and she was ready, and the ease with
which he coaxed pleasure out of her was astonishing to them both. She turned until she was fully in his arms. It took him
less than a second to expertly dispose of her bra and for her to step out of her panties … he pushed her back gently until
she was lying on the bed. Her whole body was flushed with desire. He laced the fingers of one hand through hers, pinning
her arm above her head. He let his other hand trail down the trembling line of her stomach, touching her lightly, stroking
the soft wetness between her legs. He lay beside her for a moment, then turned her body towards him until she was lying on
top of him. He knew it embarrassed her to be on top, but he seemed to delight in her shyness. She shook her head in half-hearted
protest but he was insistent. She slid on top of him easily; he closed his eyes and the sight of his face almost brought her
to the edge of her own pleasure. He thrust into her slowly, his fingers never letting go. She let her body lean towards him,
her nipples barely grazing his stomach, and was rewarded by a groan. ‘Niela …’ His voice hung in the air as his breathing
grew deeper and stronger. He thrust again, once, twice … She felt a cool rush of air against her back as he exploded inside
her, but her eyes were closed, and when she opened them again, the coolness had disappeared.

Julia shut the door as quietly as she could with her eyes tightly closed. Her heart was thumping. She backed away from it,
almost too afraid to turn around in case someone had seen her. She could hear footsteps coming up the first flight of stairs;
she remained where she was, frozen with embarrassment and fear, until they’d died away. She wanted to run from what she’d
just seen. She’d come up to Niela’s room just to see if she was ready, or if there was anything she needed … no, that wasn’t
quite true. She’d come to see what Niela was wearing and to check her own outfit against hers. Aaron had gone downstairs to
help Diana, so she’d nipped upstairs in her bare feet, hoping for a quick look at Niela’s dress. She’d opened the door and
it took her a second to work out what she was looking at. Josh. His face looking directly at her over Niela’s unseeing form.
She’d taken in the smooth, dark brown line of Niela’s back, her perfectly rounded buttocks and thighs, and realised – too
late – that she’d walked in on them having sex. She’d backed out so quickly and quietly that Josh didn’t even have time to
register that it was her, or so she hoped. But the sight of his beautiful face contorted in
its own secret lust was enough to send a corresponding red-hot flash of desire through her that almost completely hollowed
her out. That was why she’d backed away so quickly.
That
was why her heart was racing and her palms were clammy. Josh … She gave a small groan of despair and fled as quietly as she
could back down the stairs. To her horror, Aaron was coming up the first flight directly towards her.

‘What’s wrong?’ he asked as he gained the landing. ‘What’s the matter?’

‘N-nothing … I … I just needed a … a safety pin,’ she lied. ‘I just went to see if … if Niela had one, that’s all.’

‘Oh. You look awfully hot,’ Aaron said, looking at her with a puzzled expression. ‘Have you been running or something? Your
face is bright red.’

‘Must be the shower … it was boiling.’ Julia hated herself for lying, but what could she say? ‘I’ll be back in a minute.’
And before Aaron could ask anything further, she ran past him and into the bathroom as fast as her dress would allow.

Diana was on her way to the kitchen to make sure Eloise was ready with the silver trays of canapés when she heard Harvey’s
great shout of surprise. ‘Rufus!’ She almost dropped the two bottles of wine she was carrying. She caught herself just in
time, dumped them on the sideboard and practically ran to the front door. No – it couldn’t be! Rufus? What the
hell
was he doing here? She saw him walking towards the house holding a small overnight bag in one hand and a bottle of champagne
in the other. Harvey was standing in the doorway, his arms outstretched in welcome. She watched in horror as the brothers
embraced. She wanted to turn and flee, but Rufus had already caught sight of her.

‘Diana.’ He turned from Harvey and opened his arms to her. ‘Why didn’t you tell me you were coming here for his birthday?
I had to track you down!’

She struggled to keep her voice even. ‘Rufus,’ she murmured,
hating the sweep of familiar desire and anger that his presence always provoked. ‘We didn’t know where you were.’

‘I can’t believe you’re here!’ Harvey’s pleasure was genuine. ‘How bloody fantastic!’

‘Wouldn’t have missed it for anything,’ Rufus said smoothly, releasing her. ‘Didn’t have time to get you a present, I’m afraid,
old boy.’

‘Oh, don’t be ridiculous. Just the fact that you’re here is marvellous. Come in, come in … the boys’ll be thrilled to see
you. They’re all here.’

‘Even Josh?’

‘Yes, even Josh, can you believe it? I can’t remember the last time they were all here together. And only one little disagreement
so far!’

‘So far,’ Rufus echoed, smiling. ‘There’s always tonight.’

‘God, I hope not.’ Harvey smiled back. ‘Come on, let’s get you a drink. I’ll take your bag upstairs … the small bedroom at
the end’s still free, I think.’

The two brothers walked in ahead of her, arms still on each other’s shoulders. Diana followed them into the hallway, her mind
racing. She felt physically ill. How was she going to get through an entire evening with Harvey on one side and Rufus on the
other? She burst into the kitchen and barked out a string of orders – another place setting at the table; fresh sheets and
towels to be taken upstairs to the remaining spare bedroom. Damn him, damn him, damn him.