One Secret Summer (57 page)

She’d had to have an episiotomy and several tiny stitches; it took a few days for it all to heal, and although Harvey brought
the boys in every day to see their new brother, it felt strange returning to the house after almost a week. For some reason,
she couldn’t settle into the routine she’d so carefully built up with Rafe and Aaron. Josh’s cries kept the rest of the house
awake, day and night. As soon as she put him down, he would begin again. Nothing seemed to placate him. Rafe and Aaron were
resentful; who wouldn’t be? Rafe was five and Aaron was a year younger – for four years they’d shared Diana equally. They
were as close as it was possible for two boys to be, everyone remarked fondly. They gave her no trouble at all. Rafe was fiercely
protective of Aaron and Aaron absolutely worshipped his older brother. The arrival of a screaming new baby in the house turned
everything upside down. ‘Why’s he always crying?’ Rafe asked Diana, only a hundred times a day. Diana was tired and irritable
– she ought to have been more patient with him, with them all … but she wasn’t. She couldn’t be. Harvey did his best, of course,
but he was a junior surgeon in one of London’s busiest hospitals … he couldn’t afford to be kept up, night after night.

It was his suggestion. She’d moved with Josh to the attic at first, hoping to give everyone else a break from the noise. But
it seemed to make little difference. Josh’s screams penetrated the walls; on the third morning Harvey had come down to breakfast
with bloodshot eyes and a temper to match. ‘Why don’t you take him down to Mougins for a couple of
weeks?’ he’d asked, lifting his shoulders helplessly. ‘Maybe a bit of time alone together? Mrs Pitcher and I can manage the
boys. I’m not sure I can go on like this, Diana.’

Diana looked at him, her brows knitted together in worry, and nodded. She wouldn’t dare admit it, but the thought of spending
some time alone with Josh thrilled her. She hesitated, for fear of appearing too eager. ‘No, I couldn’t do that,’ she said
slowly, the idea beginning to take root.

‘Why not? Rufus is down there already. It’s summer, the weather’ll be lovely and hot. He’ll meet you at the airport, give
you a hand for a couple of days. Actually, darling, I must confess, it was his suggestion. He’s in between assignments at
the moment, said it would be no trouble at all.’

Diana felt the flush start in the pit of her stomach and travel slowly up her body. At the same time, two floors above them,
Josh began to wail again. In seconds, his screams had intensified.

‘That settles it,’ Harvey said, rolling his eyes. ‘You’re going down, even if I have to take you there myself.’

‘No, no … it’s fine. You’re right. I’ll take Josh. Just for a couple of weeks.’

‘Just for a couple of weeks,’ Harvey repeated, already looking relieved. ‘I’ll phone Rufus in the morning. He’ll be pleased.
He’s been on his own with only Mohammed and Khadija for company for almost a fortnight.’

Diana said nothing. She nodded slowly and then turned and hurried back upstairs. Relief, guilt, joy, fear … the familiar treadmill
of her emotions began again.

The BOAC flight to Nice was a nightmare. Josh screamed practically the entire way. She disembarked into the brilliant blue
late afternoon sunshine almost weeping with relief. Rufus was there to meet them; she saw his dark head rising head and shoulders
above the waiting crowds of mothers, fathers, lovers and grandparents who were there to welcome their loved ones. ‘Rufus,’
she murmured weakly, allowing herself to be folded into his embrace. Miraculously, Josh was silent.

‘So this is the little tyke who’s been causing all the problems,’ was
Rufus’s only comment as he led them away from the arrivals hall towards the car park. Children were not his strong suit, as
he liked to put it. She stowed the sleeping Josh in the back seat, praying that he wouldn’t wake up. They drove out of the
airport and joined the traffic on the E80 heading west towards Cannes. She was too tired to talk; she tucked her feet underneath
her and gave herself up to watching the hot summer landscape slide silently by.

It was just past six in the evening when Rufus turned the car down the track towards the farmhouse. She woke with a start;
she’d dozed off somewhere along the journey and her face was stiff with fatigue.

‘I’ll get it.’ Rufus pulled the handbrake up and opened the door. He unlatched the gate and got back in. ‘Mohammed’s gone
home for the afternoon. Khadija’s just had a baby. Boy, like Josh.’

‘Khadija? Little Khadija?’ Diana was momentarily shocked into wakefulness. Khadija was Mohammed’s only daughter. His wife,
Doha, had died when Khadija was very young. She was the absolute centre of his universe. ‘How old is she?’

Rufus shrugged. ‘Sixteen, seventeen … something like that.’

‘She can’t be, Rufus. She’s only just started high school. She can’t be more than fifteen.’

Rufus shrugged again. He brought the car to a halt in front of the farmhouse and Diana fell silent. The sight of it never
failed to soothe her. She got out of the car and stood for a second in the driveway, her eyes roaming over the yellowed brickwork,
the stain of ivy spreading itself up the wall, the roses still in bloom, despite the lateness of the year … it was beautiful
still. She turned and opened the back door, taking care not to wake Josh. She carried him into the house; there was the warm,
yeasty smell of freshly baked bread and coffee, two scents she would always associate with Mougins. ‘I’ll just pop him in
the living room,’ she mouthed to Rufus, who was carrying her bags. ‘He’ll wake up soon, I should imagine. He’ll be hungry.’
Rufus didn’t reply. He took their bags upstairs, the floorboards creaking overhead as he walked.

She was feeding Josh when he came back downstairs half an hour later. She was sitting in the easy chair over by the window.
The evening sunlight was streaming in through the French doors; in the misty light
created by the shaft, tiny dust particles were suspended, floating dreamily around them. Josh was quiet; he’d fallen off the
breast and was snoring gently. For the first time in the ten days since the birth, he seemed peaceful, almost content. She
was tired but it was a different kind of tiredness this time. She watched the light dappling and brimming against the walls
and ceiling, not even bothering to cover herself up again, enjoying the feeling of air and sunlight on her bare skin. The
summer sun could be fierce and relentless in Mougins, but here in the valley, halfway down the hill, it was always cool inside
the house. She turned to Rufus as he walked in and put a finger to her lips. ‘He likes it here,’ she whispered.

Rufus looked at her but said nothing. There was a bottle of wine standing on the sideboard. He poured two glasses; a small
one for Diana and a more generous one for himself. He walked over and handed it to her, brushing aside her protests. ‘It’s
good for them,’ he said brusquely. ‘Isn’t that what they say?’

Diana laid the sleeping Josh down in the wicker bassinet, tucking the blanket carefully under his chin. He slept on, undisturbed.
She was about to rearrange her clothing when Rufus’s hand stopped hers. He reached for her nipple, still wet and engorged,
rubbing it lightly between his fingers. Diana nearly spilled her wine. The electric shock of desire was so strong she had
to close her eyes. It had always been that way – the merest touch of his hand on her skin and her head would begin to swim.
She shook her head in protest. ‘I can’t, Rufus … not now. Not yet.’

‘Shhh.’ He set his own glass on the floor and knelt down in front of her. He pushed aside her blouse and unfastened the ungainly
brassiere. Her breasts, almost twice their usual size, spilled forward. He took first one nipple in his mouth, then the other,
his tongue sliding expertly around the nubs of hardened flesh. She had to clench her fists to stop herself from crying out
loud. Her newborn son slept beside them whilst her husband’s brother skilfully drew the silken, guilty threads of pleasure
from her, one after the other, as only he could.

Over the next couple of days, an easy rhythm developed between the three of them. Rufus always slept late; Diana rose early
and took Josh
down to the pool every morning to sit on the sun-warmed flagstones, watching the light dance across the surface of the water,
listening to the sounds of the garden and the valley beyond. She was right; the very air seemed to calm Josh down. It was
wonderfully warm and sunny in the mornings. At lunchtime, she would pick up the bassinet and walk back up the path to the
farmhouse to prepare lunch. Occasionally she would stroll with Josh up to the village to the open-air market, wandering slowly
amongst the stalls, taking in the weak, sweet perfume of flowers and fruits, the sharp odour of cheeses and the smell of still
slippery fish. She showed off Josh to the market women; they pulled back the white shawl protecting his face from the sun
and made the appropriate coos and sounds of delight. She sometimes sat with him at the tiny espresso bar just by the
place
, eating a piece of spinach tart or a slice of
tarte aux pommes.

One morning, about three days after their arrival, she was lying on the sunlounger by the pool, soaking up the sun. She turned
her head lazily to look at Josh lying next to her in his little bassinet. He was looking up at her with an expression of such
intense concentration that she had to laugh out loud. ‘
Ça va?
’ she cooed at him in French. ‘
Ça va?
’ She bent down and slipped her forefinger into his palm; he clutched it tightly. A thought moved across his face – he was
still too young to smile, but he looked so contented just lying there in the sun that she couldn’t stop smiling herself. She
let the book she was holding in one hand drop to the ground. With Josh still holding tightly on to the other, she turned her
face towards the sun. She was suddenly drowsy; within minutes, she slipped into sleep.

A sudden shift in temperature woke her. A passing cloud had obscured the sun and sent a momentary chill across her skin. She
sat up with a start. Someone had come down the garden path with a wheelbarrow of tools. It was Mohammed. ‘Oh, it’s you, Mohammed,’
she called out, shading her eyes. ‘
Ça va? Tout va bien?
’ There was someone with him, half hidden by the wheelbarrow. It was his daughter.
‘Khadija? C’est toi?
’ Diana smiled at her.

‘
Oui, madame
.’ Khadija smiled back shyly. She was holding
something – a bundle wrapped in white. Her baby! Of course … Rufus had mentioned it the day they’d arrived.

‘
Ah, c’est ton bébé, Khadija. Félicitations!’
Was it the right thing to say? She didn’t know. Khadija was barely out of her teens. She stood up, holding out her arms to
take the little bundle from her. Beside her, Mohammed looked on. It was hard to tell from the expression on his face what
he thought of it all. Should she ask after the father? Khadija gingerly passed the baby to her, reluctant to let go of him,
even for a second. Diana peeled back the shawl and took a peep at the sleeping infant. There was a sudden shock of recognition
– a physical shudder that ran through her as she registered the baby’s features. He was the spitting image of Rufus, of Harvey
… and even more bizarrely, of Josh. She looked up; the knowledge of what she’d recognised was there in Khadija’s face. And
in Mohammed’s. She looked from one to the other. There was a moment of stunned silence as they all took in what could not
be said.

‘How could you?’ Diana’s voice was a muffled shriek. ‘She’s a child, Rufus! A fucking child!’

‘Don’t be ridiculous! She’s no more a child than you are.’

‘Have you lost your mind?’

‘Will you just shut up?’

They stood there in the bedroom, glaring at one another, Rufus’s face dark with anger. Diana couldn’t stop shaking. It wasn’t
the fact that Rufus had slept with someone else – Jesus Christ … if that were the issue, she’d never have a moment’s peace
of mind. No, it was the fact that he’d done it with Mohammed’s daughter, Khadija. She was the apple of his eye, the daughter
he’d been so proud of. She was a good student; she’d had dreams of going to university … What the hell had Rufus gone and
done? ‘She’s a child,’ Diana repeated, her breaths turning to sobs. ‘Now you’ve gone and got her pregnant … what the hell
is she supposed to do?’

‘Oh, for fuck’s sake … you and your bloody moralising! She wanted it as much as I did, you stupid cow! Why do you women always
make such a bloody fuss?’

‘We women?’ Diana was speechless. ‘Who the hell are you talking about?’

‘You, her mother … Listen, she wanted the fucking child, not me!’

‘Of course she wanted it! They’re from a different culture, Rufus! She had no choice, can’t you see that?’

Rufus slowly clenched and unclenched his fists. He was climbing into his anger. ‘Look, I’m not discussing this any further.
It’s pointless. She’s had the child, it’s over … that’s all there is to it.’

‘And are you going to support it? Your child, I mean?’

‘Of course I am. Christ, what sort of a person d’you think I am?’

Diana was suddenly silent. She couldn’t bring herself to answer. She knew exactly what sort of person he was – she knew it
because she was the same. She lifted her hand wearily. ‘It doesn’t matter,’ she said finally. ‘What matters is that you’ve
ruined that girl’s life whether you pay for the child or not.’ Rufus glowered at her. There was a tense, angry silence as
they faced one another, and then he turned on his heel and walked out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

Josh gave a small cry; he’d been lying quietly, listening to the argument going on around him without a sound. Now that there
was silence, he threatened to fill it. Diana hurried over and picked him up, holding him to her. She still couldn’t get over
the sight of Khadija’s baby – she didn’t even know its name – lying there in her arms, the spitting image of Josh. A bit darker,
perhaps … that was Khadija’s North African blood … but the features were essentially the same. The Keeler genes. Even though
Josh was dark-haired, like she was, he took after Harvey, not her. She looked at Josh’s tiny face; the delicately scrolled
nostrils and mouth and the fine, downy dark-brown hair that had already grown since the birth. He was an extraordinarily beautiful
child, she thought to herself proudly. Both Rafe and Aaron had been so fair at birth that their features were vague, almost
smudged. There was nothing vague about Josh. Everything about him was clear and precise. She looked into his eyes; they were
dark, aubergine-coloured, with a film that reflected the light the way oil sometimes reflects the rainbow. What did he see?
she wondered, as the expression on his face changed again. She put out a hand and touched him lightly on the cheek. He turned
his head towards her, seeing her outline. His face broke into a tentative
smile, so fleeting that she thought she might have imagined it. She felt her heart lift ridiculously. Impossible; he was a
fortnight old. It had taken both his brothers twice that time! She pressed him to her, suddenly, thinking of all she had and
could offer him. The best schools, the best homes, holidays all over the world, his older brothers to look after him … Poor
Khadija. Poor Mohammed. Most of all, she thought, as she unbuttoned her blouse to feed Josh, that poor child. Would he ever
know who his father was? She doubted it. She’d known Rufus all her life – even she couldn’t tell who he really was.