When Natalie Moore is killed in a freak accident in France her mother – the very poised and elegant Jessica – knows instinctively there is more to it. However, Natalie’s father – the glamorous, high-flying Charlie – is so paralysed by the horror of losing his daughter, that he refuses even to discuss his wife’s suspicions.
In the end, when their marriage is rocked by yet another terrible shock, Jessica decides to go back to France alone in search of some answers. When she gets to the idyllic vineyard in the heart of Burgundy she soon finds a great deal more than she was expecting in a love that is totally forbidden and a truth that will almost certainly devastate her life…
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Epub ISBN: 9781409021179
Version 1.0
Published by Arrow Books 2007
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Copyright © Susan Lewis, 2007
Susan Lewis has asserted her right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work
Lines from Suite Française by Irène Némirovsky, translated by Sandra Smith, published by Chatto & Windus. Reprinted by permission of The Random House Group Ltd
First published in Great Britain in 2006 by William Heinemann
Arrow Books
The Penguin Random House Group Limited
20 Vauxhall Bridge Road, London, SW1V 2SA
www.penguin.co.uk
Arrow Books is part of the Penguin Random House group of companies whose addresses can be found at global.penguinrandomhouse.com
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
ISBN 9780099492337
To Jenny
My biggest thanks of all go to Raphael Vigneau, who so patiently and expertly guided me through the complex journey of wine-making – from the planting of the grapes, right through to the opening, pouring and tasting of an exceptional Grand Cru. If there are any mistakes in this book, please know they are all mine. I also warmly thank Julian Faulkner for his additional help with the wine-making process, and for the very enjoyable time we spent at his vineyard in the Var.
A very big and warm thank you to Cathy Hubert for the French translations, which give the book so much more colour and authenticity than it might otherwise have had. Again, if there are any mistakes, please be assured they are mine.
There are three people to thank for their invaluable help with the sections on sculpting – first and foremost Maria Gamundi, whose sculptures are amongst the most elegantly beautiful I’ve seen. Secondly, Martin Foot who very kindly showed me around his studio and explained many intricacies of his exceptional work. And thirdly, much love and thanks to my dear friend Fanny Blackburne, for giving me the experience of sitting as a sculptor’s model.
Lastly, I would like to thank my editors, Susan Sandon and Georgina Hawtrey-Woore for all their patience, forbearance, encouragement and support during the writing of this book – it was greatly needed, and hugely appreciated.
‘THERE’S A SECRET hiding place in here,’ the little boy said, leading the way. ‘My uncle showed me where it is. He used to keep all his special things here when he was young, so did my granddad. Even Elodie doesn’t know about it.’
‘Do you think there are spiders?’ Natalie asked, keeping close behind.
‘Oh yes, lots. I can catch some if you like and you can give them names.’
Natalie’s eyes were searching the darkness. ‘There are beds in here,’ she said. ‘Does someone sleep in them?’
‘Only me and Elodie, when we want to.’
The little boy, Antoine, stumbled on the corner of a frayed rug, then stopped in front of a large mahogany chest that was mistily lit by a few rogue rays of daylight coming in through a small roof window. ‘Are you ready?’ he asked as Natalie joined him, his voice resonating importance.
‘You’re not going to do anything nasty, are you?’ she asked. ‘If you do, I shall scream and hit you.’
‘Don’t be silly. Watch,’ and kneeling in front of the bottom drawer he used its fancy iron handles to ease it forward. There was a bump as the drawer fell onto the floor.
Natalie looked down at it, then back to Antoine who seemed swollen with mystery. ‘So? It’s just a drawer,’ she scoffed. ‘We’ve got drawers all over our house.’
‘Yes, but I bet you don’t have one hidden away behind another,’ he said, and reaching into the empty space he pulled another drawer forward.
More interested now, Natalie dropped to her knees to inspect it. ‘It’s empty,’ she said, annoyed and disappointed.
‘Yes, because I took my secrets out before you came, in case you found them.’
Slightly bored again, Natalie looked around the dim attic space. ‘I’ve never been up here before,’ she said. ‘I think Harry and I should sleep here.’
‘You can’t in the summer, it’s too hot.’
It was summer now, and the drawer had no secrets, so they didn’t hang around for long.
The next time Natalie came was at Christmas, so it was too cold for her and her brother Harry to sleep in the attic then, and at Easter, when her grandmother brought her, she was too afraid to sleep there alone. However, she wasn’t afraid in the day, so it was where she sometimes went to write her secrets in her very own diary which she kept tucked away in the hidden drawer.
One rainy morning, as she sat under the roof window, writing down her most private thoughts about Antoine, she heard a car pull up outside, and a moment or two later her grandmother called out for her to come down and see who’d arrived. Quickly she wrote a few more words in her diary, then after sliding it carefully into the secret drawer she went downstairs. The kitchen door was open and because she didn’t mind the rain she skipped outside. She would go back to her diary later, she decided, and write about everything they did today.
But Natalie never went back to the diary again.
A Class Apart
Dance While You Can
Stolen Beginnings
Darkest Longings
Obsession
Vengeance
Summer Madness
Last Resort
Wildfire
Chasing Dreams
Taking Chances
Cruel Venus
Strange Allure
Silent Truths
Wicked Beauty
Intimate Strangers
The Hornbeam Tree
The Mill House
Just One More Day, A Memoir
‘JESSICA? JESSICA MOORE?’
Jessica turned round, half-expecting to see someone she knew, but the flush on the age-crushed cheeks in front of her and the soulful look in the watery old eyes were enough to tell her that she’d never seen this woman before.
Jessica smiled at her vaguely. She didn’t want to be rude, particularly when the old lady looked quite a dear with her fluffy white curls and warming smile, but nor did she want to engage with the air of tragedy that was emanating through the kindness in what Jessica felt to be almost suffocating waves.
As the woman began to speak Jessica continued to smile, and even nodded once or twice, but her mind had quickly switched to another place, another time, where she could no longer be reached.
They were standing halfway down the pet-food aisle in Sainsbury’s on the Cromwell Road. It was odd for Jessica to be there, since there were no animals at home, nor had there ever been. When she was a child she’d been so desperate for a dog that she used to walk around pulling a ball of string behind her, calling it Timmy. The memory flitted through her mind now as softly as a whisper. She was seeing a lonely little girl with no brothers or sisters, a father who was unknown and a strikingly beautiful mother who sometimes wanted her, but usually didn’t. Her grandparents, with whom she’d lived most of the time, would have allowed her a dog, but her mother, from the end of a phone, or during one of her sweeping, gift-showering visits, would never permit it.
‘She’ll be coming to live with me any time now,’ her mother used to gush, all corkscrew curls and cherry-red lipstick, ‘and I’m sorry, but I can’t have a dog too. They’re the worst kind of tie, and with all this quarantine business… What if we go to live abroad? No, no, a dog is just another complication, and that is something I really don’t need.’
They did go to live abroad, she and her mother, for two agonisingly lonely years, during which Jessica had missed her grandparents so much that in the end she’d stopped eating and even speaking. She’d known, in her eight-year-old way, that her mother didn’t really want her there, that she was a liability every bit as inconvenient as a dog, probably even more so, and the man her mother was living with didn’t seem interested in her either.
In the end, her mother and her French-Canadian lover had broken up, and Jessica had been packed off back to Dorset to her lovely gran and big, strong grampy. And that was where she’d stayed, discounting a couple more disastrous attempts on her mother’s part to be a full-time parent, until she and her best friend, Lilian, had left for university at the age of eighteen.
All best forgotten now, though. It was a long time ago, and really had no bearing on today at all.
Feeling a slight pressure on her arm, Jessica looked down to see the old lady’s arthritic fingers touching her kindly. Jessica’s eyes came up to the woman’s gentle gaze. She smiled again, then after whispering a polite thank you, she began wheeling her trolley on down the aisle. For the next few minutes she focused only on what she’d come for: Greek yoghurt, muesli, fresh pasta, artichokes… She’d made a list and most items were ticked off by now, so it only remained to pick up some bread before she could join a queue at the checkout.
It was a Thursday morning in early July. There weren’t many people around, but even so, as she moved quietly about her business she could feel the glances following her like ghosts, seeming to cling to her even after the curious, sympathetic and even embarrassed eyes had turned away. This was one of the very worst parts about being ‘known’: it allowed her no refuge in anonymity, nor any real privacy to call her own. At least not while she was out in public, and this was the first time she’d braved even a supermarket trip since the terrible event that had shattered her life. Had three months really gone by already? Sometimes it felt as though it was only three days, while at others it might have happened a lifetime ago.
Should she get a French stick, or a pain de compagne? She was thinking about Charlie now and wishing she’d let him come with her. He’d offered, but he hadn’t really had the time, and Nikki, their seventeen-year-old, had merely looked at her and shrugged, as if to say, don’t ask me, I don’t know what you’re making all the fuss about anyway, it’s only a supermarket, for God’s sake.
Jessica hadn’t told her she was afraid of breaking down in public. Nikki didn’t need to know that. For a few crazy minutes she’d considered keeping eight-year-old Harry home from school so he could come with her, but apart from being a selfish and even cowardly idea, it would have totally defeated the purpose of this visit, which was to start getting back to normal.
Strangely, now she was here the only thing she really felt was vaguely distanced from herself, almost as if she were another shopper watching Jessica Moore’s progress and wondering what it was like to be her. Do well-known people feel things as deeply as everyone else? Is it easier for them because they’ve got money, or fame, or beauty, or successful husbands, to fall back on?
‘It’s not her,’ she heard someone whispering nearby.
‘I’m telling you, it is.’
‘Who? What are we talking about?’ a third voice asked.
‘Jessica Moore,’ came the reply.
‘Jessica who?’
‘Moore. You know, the one who does the arts programme on Wednesdays, after the news. She’s on the radio too, I think, but I’ve never heard her. It’s terrible what happened. Makes you want to go up and hug her, doesn’t it?’
‘Why, what happened?’
‘Don’t you ever read a paper? Honestly, I wonder if you even know what day of the week it is sometimes.’
Jessica dropped a French stick into her trolley and turned towards the checkout. That was another thing about being ‘known’, people seemed to discuss you as though you were unable to hear.
As she waited to pay she picked up a magazine, opened it and stared down at the words. She didn’t want to catch anyone’s eye, or hear any more whispers, she just wanted to be left alone. If she could, she’d tell them how she was trying to get her life back together, and coming here was one of the first small steps. So please don’t look at me any more, just try to pretend you’ve never seen me before.
She detested self-pity, but she knew that the envy she felt of those around her was rooted in it, for she longed to be free to go about her business in a normal, unnoticed way, untouched by curiosity, barely even registering in people’s consciousness, except as a tall, slim woman in white jeans and a plain T-shirt, who was paying for her groceries in cash, and taking a little too long to pack her bags.
As she wheeled her trolley across the upper level of the car park she could feel the summer sun on her skin and hear the nearby roar of traffic. Then someone whistled – a long, tunefully appreciative note, swooping up, and then down, before ending in a small staccato burst that made those around him laugh.
Though she didn’t look up, she guessed the whistle had come from the scaffolding nearby, where a small group of men with bare chests and hard hats were, apparently, not paying too much attention to their work. Of course, the whistle might not have been for her, but instinct, and the fact that no-one else was around, told her it was.
At thirty-nine she might have felt flattered by the attention, but she didn’t. In fact, it almost upset her to be reminded of how attractive she was. It seemed so superficial and irrelevant, and so very out of kilter with the way she felt inside. Who cared that her lithe figure and subtly exotic looks could still turn heads? Certainly not her. As far as she was concerned nothing could matter less.
As she approached her husband’s Jaguar she caught a glimpse of her reflection and felt a moment’s surprise. Then a small flutter of emotion broke into the numbness of her heart, like the tiny wings of a moth making ready to fly. She’d cut her hair so radically that she almost hadn’t recognised herself. She didn’t mind – she felt she’d like to be a stranger – but it seemed odd to see this different person looking back at her. She wondered if she’d been trying to make herself less attractive by chopping off the sleek blonde mane she’d always had. If so, she wasn’t sure it had worked, because the wispy strands that now curved and curled like feathers around her face and scalp seemed to make her dark, almond-shaped eyes appear even deeper and more lustrous, while lending a new softness to the precise symmetry of her delicately flared nostrils and sumptuously wide mouth.
Nikki had cut her hair short first. In fact, Nikki had gone a step further and totally changed the colour, so now she was a brunette, instead of the scrumptious teenage blonde her father had so adored. It was a rare event to hear those two quarrel, but Charlie had been so upset by Nikki’s new look that he’d been unable to hold back.
‘It doesn’t suit you at all,’ he’d shouted, his pale, handsome face darkening with fury – though Jessica had known it was pain. He didn’t want anything to change, even though everything already had, irrevocably, and suddenly Nikki’s new hairstyle was too much for him to bear.
Was it really only a week since that explosion? It seemed so much longer, but time had lost all meaning since Natalie, their younger daughter, had been so cruelly taken from them.
Because of the way Charlie had reacted to Nikki’s new hair, Jessica had been sure to warn him about her own plans to cut hers. Instead of protesting, as she’d expected, he’d merely nodded, as though already half-expecting it.
‘Just please don’t change the colour,’ he’d said, lifting the hair from her shoulders and letting the cool softness of it run through his fingers. So she hadn’t, but even so, Charlie’s angels, as he’d teasingly called his three blondes, were no more.
As she loaded her shopping into the boot of the car the sound of rap music suddenly crescendoed beside her. She took a quick step to one side, as though to avoid a collision, then half-smiled when she realised it was the mobile phone in her pocket.
‘Hello, Charlie Moore’s number one fan,’ she said into it.
‘Jessica?’ Charlie said. ‘Is that you? Where are you?’
‘In the supermarket car park. Where are you?’
‘At the office, looking for my phone.’
Humour was lighting her eyes. ‘Well, seems you found it,’ she said. ‘You left it in the car when I dropped you off earlier. Sorry, I should have called to tell you.’
‘No problem. Has anyone rung?’
‘No. You’re your own first caller and it’s already past ten o’clock.’
‘No-one’s rung me at all?’ he said incredulously.
‘Seems you’re not quite as much in demand as you thought,’ she responded dryly.
He chuckled. ‘So how did it go? Was Sainsbury’s as bad as you feared?’
‘I’m not sure. It felt odd, but I’m glad I did it. I need to get back to normal. You and the children need me to get back to normal.’
‘You’ve done a lot better than you give yourself credit for,’ he told her. ‘It’s been a difficult time.’
‘For you too,’ she reminded him, while thinking ‘difficult’ had to be the understatement of the year. However, there was no point in trying to put it into words any grander than that, because no matter how descriptive, accurate, or cleverly metaphorical they might be, they wouldn’t lessen the pain, or change it in any way. If anything they were more likely to make it worse, so it was best to keep to the trusty old euphemisms which they were now becoming quite good at.
‘So what are you doing?’ he asked.
‘I’m on my way home. I’ve decided to write a couple of reviews. It’ll keep me busy.’ Her career as a presenter was over. She’d been unable to continue as though nothing had happened, so she’d withdrawn from the limelight completely, though lately she’d realised that for the sake of her own sanity she must do something to help fill her days. Book and art reviews were an obvious choice, but staying focused was hard, so a few days ago she’d applied for a full-time job in TV that would make her part of a team again – behind the scenes though, because nothing in her wanted to return to the public eye. ‘What shall I do about your phone?’ she said. ‘Do you want me to bring it over?’
‘No. If anyone rings, just tell them I’m at the production office all day, so they can get me here. Unless you want to bring it, and I’ll take you for lunch.’
‘You have time for lunch?’ she teased.
‘No, but I’ll make some if you want me to.’
She was touched by the offer, not only because they didn’t always find it easy to be together these days, but because his commitments to the news channel, as well as to his own independent company, meant that he rarely had time to grab a sandwich in the middle of the day, never mind break for lunch. She was about to respond when she realised she was being watched, and her expression instantly sobered. She was afraid the woman in the next car would be thinking that someone in her position should have nothing to smile about – unless, of course, it was true that celebrities, even minor ones such as Jessica Moore, simply didn’t feel things as deeply as the rest of the world.
The sun suddenly seemed too hot, burning into her skin with the same scalding intensity as the guilt that all too often blazed in her heart. Then the blessed numbness returned and sliding into the driver’s seat, she said to Charlie, ‘I’d love to have lunch with you, darling, but that would hardly make it a normal day, and as that’s what we’re trying for now, I shouldn’t duck out at the first opportunity.’
She wasn’t sure if he’d heard, until he came back on the line and said, ‘Sorry, Carl just put his head in. So, was that a no I heard? You’re turning me down?’
‘Try not to sound too relieved,’ she chided. ‘Are you in the studio tonight, or will you be home for dinner?’
‘Definitely home for dinner. I’ll try to get Nikki to join us. It’ll be nice for us all to sit down together.’
Would it? No, of course not, because one of the angels was missing, creating a hole in their lives and an empty space in the house that nothing would ever fill, but since it was all about getting their lives back on track, and somehow accepting that they were four now, instead of five, perhaps it was a good idea.
After ringing off Jessica drove carefully out of the car park, onto the Cromwell Road, then turned up towards Kensington High Street. There were closer supermarkets to their home in Notting Hill than this one, but it was the Sainsbury’s she’d come to know while she was working, so it had seemed easier to go back there for her first venture out alone.
As she turned into the crowded shopping street full of trendy boutiques, mobile phone shops and open-top buses, she was mulling over Charlie’s invitation to lunch and wondering if he’d guessed the real reason she’d turned him down. Probably he hadn’t given it a second thought, but if he had, he’d be likely to realise that it was his fame, much more than her own, that was making her head for home instead of an expensive eatery in Knightsbridge or Soho. As a newsreader his face appeared on television screens on an almost daily basis, so he could go virtually nowhere without being recognised, and whilst he seemed to handle the attention perfectly well, even now, after ‘the tragedy’, Jessica was growing increasingly resentful of the consequent intrusions into their lives.
‘I’m just not cut out for fame,’ she’d informed him on several occasions during the last few years. ‘I never was. In fact, I could almost be tempted to give it all up and become a full-time housewife. Or better still, I’d like to go back to Dorset to live the same kind of normal, uncomplicated life my grandparents had.’
‘If that’s what you want,’ Charlie sometimes replied, ‘let’s get a house there and go as often as we can.’
His answer could be annoying, because it showed that he’d failed to understand that no matter where she went with him, recognition would always be theirs. Or maybe he deliberately avoided the issue, since there was really nothing he could do about it, for not even changing jobs would allow him to blend in with the crowd now.
Their home in Notting Hill was a four-storey townhouse in one of the white stucco crescents that made the area so desirable. They’d moved in a little over eight years ago, from a much smaller end-of-terrace in Chiswick, mainly because Charlie had fallen in love with the place. And who wouldn’t, when it was so stylish and spacious and full of light, even on the gloomiest day. Of course it had cost a fortune, and they’d only been able to afford it because Charlie’s mother, Rosa, had died, leaving them her large house in Kew. It was where Charlie and Jessica had lived for the first six years of their marriage, with Rosa taking care of Nikki while her youthful and ambitious parents made a start in the world. Jessica missed Rosa a lot, probably as much as her grandparents who’d both died before Nikki was three.
Since Notting Hill was where many of the up-and-coming were setting up home these days – and the Moores were certainly part of this elite – it had come as no surprise to Jessica when Charlie had focused his search there. And it wasn’t that she didn’t love the house too, or the glittering social life that had come with it, she’d just never really felt as comfortable with it all as Charlie seemed to. Perhaps if she could have bonded with one or two of the women, or seen something worthwhile in their astonishing need to be considered important, it might have helped her feel more at home, but she never quite managed this. Charlie, on the other hand, had no problem fitting in at all, though he insisted it was because he had no need for any bonds beyond the one he had with her and the children.
‘But I understand it’s different for women,’ he readily conceded. ‘I know how much your friendships mean to you, so I won’t take offence that you need something more than me.’ Could she have been so generous, she wondered, if she’d felt he needed something more than her? Once, she knew she’d have found it hard to take, now it was different.
If only Lilian hadn’t moved to Paris. She’d never needed her best friend more than she had these past months. Of course Lilian was always there, at the end of the phone, and whenever she could she’d talk for hours, but she was generally so busy and anyway, it wasn’t the same as having her here. However, she mustn’t begrudge Lilian her new life, for if anyone deserved to be happy it was her, even though it could be said that were it not for Lilian’s new life none of it would have happened. She wouldn’t allow herself to think that way though, because when Lilian had married Luc Véron, last Christmas, she couldn’t possibly have known what a terrible route fate was opening up for them. No-one could have known, which was why no-one was to blame. Jessica told herself that over and over. It wasn’t anyone’s fault that Natalie had died – but still the guilt ate at her like a cancer, for she knew in her heart that she should never have allowed her mother to take Natalie to France. If she hadn’t Natalie would still be with them, she was in no doubt about that, because she of all people knew how selfish and irresponsible her mother could be, how incapable she was of putting a ten-year-old’s needs before her own.
So why, dear God, why had she agreed to let Natalie go? It didn’t matter that Natalie had begged to show her grandmother the quaint little village where Lilian and Luc had married, to be able to stay in the same grape-picker’s cottage they’d occupied for the big occasion that Natalie had loved so much. What Natalie wanted and what was wise for her to do were two different things, and being put into the care of her maternal grandmother was definitely not wise. Which was why, in spite of Charlie’s support for the scheme, she, Jessica, should have put her foot down and refused to let Natalie go.
And she might have, had it not been a convenient answer as to who was going to take care of Natalie during the first part of the Easter break. Both she and Charlie were working, Nikki was studying for her A levels and Harry was going camping with the school.
So Jessica had put her job before her daughter, farmed her out to a woman she knew she couldn’t trust, and now, God help her, she would never see her little girl again.
‘Who was that on the phone?’ Jessica asked, coming in from the garden just as Harry went on tiptoe to put the receiver down.
‘It was Dad,’ he answered, turning his impish, freckled face up to her. With his deep blue eyes and unruly mop of sandy hair, he could be no-one else’s son but Charlie’s, he even pulled the same expressions as his father and was fast developing, Jessica had noticed, a similar sense of humour. ‘He said,’ Harry continued, trotting back across the kitchen to his art homework, ‘that he’s just picked up your car from the garage and he’ll be home… Um, I forget what time he said. No, I know, he said in about ten minutes.’
‘Did he mention if Nikki was with him?’ Jessica asked, starting to rinse the handful of tarragon she’d just picked from the herb pots she kept on the patio.
When she received no answer she glanced over to the long, ten-seater table that took up most of the kitchen’s conservatory extension and smiled to see how engrossed Harry was in the choosing of another crayon. They were spread out all over the place, along with his pencil cases and a drawing pad, while for once his Gameboy lay idle on top of his school bag beside him.
The conservatory, with its tall succulent plants and assortment of toys, was where the children ate their meals, often did their homework, occasionally watched TV and threw boisterous parties for friends on their birthdays. When they were just family Jessica and Charlie generally ate there too, since it was much easier than carrying meals upstairs to the formal dining area that was part of the large, elegantly furnished drawing room that ran from front to back of the house.
Harry’s head suddenly came up. ‘Did you say something?’ he asked, frowning curiously.
‘I asked if Nikki was with Dad?’
He shrugged. ‘I don’t know.’ His frown deepened. ‘Is she going to be reading the news too?’ he asked.
Jessica smiled. ‘No. She’s just helping out at the studios to earn some money for the summer.’
‘Oh,’ he said, then put his chin in his hand and stared thoughtfully into space. ‘Mum?’ he said after a while.
‘Yes,’ she answered, selecting a knife from the heavy wood block to start chopping.
‘I’ve been thinking.’
‘What about?’
‘Getting married.’
‘Really?’ she replied. ‘Do you have anyone in mind?’
‘No, but it’s up to me to carry on the family name, because I’m the only boy. So if I’m going to have children I have to get married.’
‘There’s no rush,’ she assured him.
He was clearly still deep in his reverie. ‘I think I’m probably into older women,’ he said, quite seriously.
Jessica choked back a laugh. ‘Why do you say that?’ she asked.
He shrugged. ‘Girls my age are just stupid. I mean, Sophie Towers is all right, sometimes, and I suppose Elinor Curtis is OK, when she’s not picking her nose or trying to make me say I love her…’ His dark eyes moved to his mother’s. ‘I want to marry someone like Natalie,’ he declared. ‘She was the best person in all the world, when she wasn’t beating me up, and locking me out of the bathroom. And I didn’t really mind when she bossed me around. And that’s what wives do, isn’t it? They boss their husbands around, and then the husband lays down the law and they have a fight. You know, like you and Dad.’
Jessica laughed through the tears in her eyes. ‘You think I boss Dad around?’ she said.
He nodded earnestly. ‘All the time. I think he’s a bit scared of you, actually.’
There was such a light of mischief in his eyes now that Jessica dropped the knife and went to scoop him up in her arms. ‘You are a terrible little rogue, Harry Moore,’ she told him, hugging him hard.
‘That’s what my teacher said,’ he cheerfully replied, hugging her back.
Jessica’s eyes closed. ‘And what did you do for her to say that?’ she enquired, standing him on his chair so they were eye to eye.
He was a picture of innocence. ‘I don’t know,’ he answered, ‘she just said it.’
Jessica regarded him suspiciously.
‘Honest,’ he cried. ‘I didn’t do anything.’ A moment later his eyes went down. ‘Well, it might have been because I told her she should stand in the corner for swearing. She said bloody, Mum, and that’s swearing, isn’t it?’
‘It could be, depending on the context.’
Harry’s eyes opened wide with indignation. ‘She said that we were all going to visit the Bloody Tower next term. Honest, that’s what she said. So I put up my hand and told her she should stand in the corner.’
Jessica watched him and waited for the grin. It wasn’t long in coming. ‘You knew very well she wasn’t swearing, didn’t you?’ she said, starting to tickle him.
‘She thought I was serious though,’ he laughed, and yelped as he tried to break free. ‘Let me go, or I’ll fart,’ he cried.
Jessica laughed again and pulled him into a bear hug. ‘You are such a boy!’ she told him as he howled with laughter. Then suddenly he was leaping to the floor as the front door slammed upstairs. ‘Here’s Dad,’ he shouted. ‘Dad! Dad! Guess what?’
As he thundered up to the hall Jessica turned back to the chopping board, still smiling, but aware of the constant heaviness in her heart that she knew would never go away. Natalie should be running up there with him, fighting to get to her father first, the way she always had. Then, hearing Charlie’s shout of triumph as Harry told him how many runs he’d scored in cricket that day, Jessica found herself almost resenting the way they were able to behave as though nothing bad had happened to their family at all.
Looking up as Nikki came into the kitchen, she said, ‘Hi darling, how did it go today?’
Nikki was scowling down at her mobile phone, then her cheeks suddenly turned crimson as she shouted, ‘Dad! Did you send this?’ She spun round as Charlie came down the stairs behind her.
‘Send what?’ he asked, all innocence.
‘It was you,’ she cried, laughing in spite of herself. ‘Oh Mum, he is like soooo embarrassing.’
The fact that Nikki had stormed off in a strop this morning, without even saying goodbye to her mother, was clearly forgotten, and Jessica found herself smiling at the twinkle in Charlie’s blue eyes as he looked at his daughter. As usual he seemed to be filling the room, not only with his imposing physique, but with the very energy of his presence. She’d often thought how everything felt safe when he was around, and almost anything seemed possible. That was before, of course, because now almost nothing felt safe. However, that still didn’t change the fact that he was a strikingly good-looking man, with strongly defined features that even in repose showed his inherent good nature, while the unruly thickness of his lustrous sandy hair was the delight of many a cartoonist – and apparently an irresistible magnet to female fingers, an imposition Jessica had been forced to live with over the years, to the point that she barely even noticed it any more.
‘What is it?’ Harry was demanding, jumping up and down as he tried to grab the phone from Nikki’s hand. ‘Let me see.’
‘No way.’ Her deep brown eyes darted back to her father. ‘That is so not true,’ she told him.
‘What isn’t?’ Harry wanted to know. ‘What did he say?’
‘It’s got nothing to do with me,’ Charlie informed her.
From his expression Jessica knew that whatever it was, it had everything to do with him.
‘How do you know that, when I haven’t even told you what it is?’ Nikki challenged.
Jessica laughed as Charlie staggered back. ‘I walked right into that,’ he conceded, his eyes full of mischief and his smile as roguish as his son’s.
Nikki banged his arm with her clenched fist. ‘It is so not true,’ she said through her teeth.
‘Then what are you getting so worked up about?’
She blushed again. ‘I’m not. When did you send it? Oh my God, no-one saw you taking his picture, did they? Dad, please tell me no-one else knows, or I’ll never be able to go back there.’
‘I was very discreet,’ Charlie promised.
‘But he’s looking straight at the camera!’ Nikki protested. ‘He must have known you were taking it.’
‘Of course he did. I told him it was for me.’
Nikki’s head fell back as she groaned. ‘That is it. I’m never setting foot in those studios again. Mum, he’s totally out of order this time. You’ve got to speak to him. Look!’ she demanded, shoving the phone at Jessica.
When Jessica saw the heart-framed picture-text of Freddy Crossland, the new trainee reporter on the programme Charlie presented, though she understood Nikki’s embarrassment, she had to smile. ‘He is pretty gorgeous,’ she said, handing the phone back.
Before Nikki could take it Harry grabbed it. ‘That’s Freddy!’ he declared. ‘He’s really cool, Nik. I think you should marry him.’
Charlie’s eyes were brimful of laughter, but as they met Jessica’s she couldn’t help noticing how they sobered again. Was her expression unwelcoming, she wondered, or had the pain stolen into her eyes without her realising? He hated to see it because it reminded him of his own, and though she had not a moment’s doubt about how much he was suffering, he was becoming quite practised now at avoiding it. In fact, they almost never talked about what had happened, at least not in a direct sense, and it sometimes scared her to think of the grief he had bottled up inside, for he had still barely allowed any of it to come out.
‘Hi, honey, I’m home,’ he drawled, in a bad American accent.
‘Cue the gin and tonic,’ she replied, rolling her eyes.
‘Don’t forget the pipe and slippers,’ he reminded her, as Harry darted to the fridge to dispense some ice.
‘If you really smoked a pipe I’d leave home,’ Nikki told him. ‘I think they’re revolting.’
Charlie was opening the drinks cupboard as Jessica filled a bowl with nuts. ‘It’s time you left home anyway,’ he told Nikki. ‘You’re eighteen next month, and I can’t afford you any more.’
‘Take no notice of him,’ Jessica said, unable to tolerate even a joke about Nikki going.
‘Mum, what am I going to do about this picture?’ Nikki wailed, her lovely gamine features drawn and desperate. ‘If Freddy knows Dad took it for me… Oh God, I can’t bear it. I mean, I am like so not interested in him…’
‘Oh yes you are,’ Harry informed her, plonking a bowl of ice down next to his father. ‘I heard you telling Sonya the other day how fit you think he is…’
‘You little devil, you’ve been eavesdropping again!’ Nikki cried, advancing on him.
‘I was not,’ he shrieked, running round the table. ‘Your bedroom door was open, so I couldn’t help hearing. Mum! Mum! Get her off, she’s going to kill me and I can’t help it if she’s in love with Freddy Crossland, can I?’
As he dashed out into the garden with Nikki hard on his heels, Jessica took the drink Charlie was passing her, saying, ‘Well, what do you know? She seems to be speaking to me again.’
Charlie smiled and touched his glass to hers. After they’d both taken a sip he said, ‘She’s in the throes of first love. Remember what that feels like?’
‘Mm, I think so,’ Jessica responded, looking at him.
To her dismay his eyes moved away, showing again his reluctance to engage with her, so going to put her arms around him she said, ‘Don’t I get a kiss?’
As his mouth came to hers she was aware of how tense he was, but he didn’t try to pull away, nor did he protest when she tightened her embrace, he merely held her and kissed her until she broke away.
‘So is Freddy interested in her?’ she asked, turning to watch Nikki rolling Harry about on the grass.
‘When she bends over in front of him like that, exposing a pink lacy thong and all that ripe young flesh,’ Charlie answered, ‘I think it would be hard for him not to be.’
‘So you decided to help things along?’
‘Let’s just say I sensed he was having a bit of a problem with me being her father, so I thought I’d set him straight. I took the picture, told him she’d asked me to, and now he knows I’m cool with it he’ll probably get round to asking her out.’
‘Subtlety was never your strong point,’ she commented, turning aside to check the chicken she had slowly poaching on the hob. ‘Anyway, I thought you were at your own office today, not the studio.’
‘I was, I just popped across the road to pick up Nikki when we’d finished.’ Then, eyeing her critically as she bent over to put a bowl in the dishwasher, he said, ‘Have you lost more weight?’
‘I don’t know,’ she said, straightening up. ‘Do I look as though I have?’
He shrugged, and took another sip of his drink. ‘Incidentally, I ran into Pru Janssen outside. She invited us over for supper tonight, if we want to go. Just a few of the gang. Impromptu, dead casual.’
Jessica turned to him in surprise. ‘I thought you wanted to have dinner as a family,’ she said. ‘I’ve started preparing it now.’
‘It’s OK. I told her we probably weren’t free,’ he replied. ‘It was just if you didn’t feel like cooking…’
‘Do you want to go?’ she said, feeling herself starting to tense.
‘No. I’m just saying…’
‘If you want to go, I’ll happily eat with the children.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous. Of course I don’t want to go without you.’
‘But you do want to go.’
‘Just leave it, Jessica. We’re having dinner as a family and that’s fine. God knows we get little enough opportunity, with my schedule and the children’s social lives.’
Jessica was shaking her head in confusion. ‘I’m sorry, but am I missing something here? It was your idea. You asked me earlier…’
‘Mum!’ Harry shouted, racing in the door. ‘She’s confessed. She really, really likes him and she wants to snog him, you know, like they’re going to eat each other all up, the way you and Dad do…’
‘I’ve got to be out of my mind ever to tell you anything,’ Nikki declared, coming in behind him. ‘You are totally incapable of keeping a secret.’
‘I know,’ he answered cheerily.
Nikki’s smile suddenly drained as her eyes moved from her mother to her father and back again. Then grabbing her phone from the table she stalked past them, heading for the stairs.
‘Nikki, what’s the matter? Where are you going?’ Jessica demanded.
‘It’s you!’ Nikki cried, spinning round. ‘You think I’m stupid, don’t you? Well, I know what’s going on here. You can’t hide it from me, so you’re wasting your time trying.’
‘Darling, don’t talk to your mother like that,’ Charlie said. ‘No-one’s trying to hide anything from you…’
‘She is!’ Nikki shouted, pointing at Jessica. ‘She thinks I don’t know what’s going on in her head, well you’re wrong, Mummy dearest, because I do. You’re planning to go back to work, aren’t you?’
Jessica’s eyes darted to Charlie.
‘I didn’t say anything,’ he assured her.
‘He didn’t have to. It’s all over the studios, and now you’re blaming him because they don’t want to give you a job. Well, it’s not his fault. It was your decision to give up your own programme, and now you’re trying to push your way into his and you shouldn’t be doing it, because we all know what happened the last time you were working. Don’t we?’
As Jessica’s face paled, Nikki pounded up the stairs, leaving a stunned silence behind her. Jessica started after her, but Charlie pulled her back.
‘I’ll go,’ he said. ‘She’s obviously got hold of the wrong end of the stick, so it’s for me to straighten her out.’
Still shaken by the outburst Jessica stood aside, then seeing Harry’s bewildered expression she put on a smile and went to fold him in her arms. ‘It’s all right,’ she soothed, as he hugged her back. ‘Nikki’s just a bit overwrought. Like Dad said, she’s misunderstood something…’
‘Yes, she always does that,’ Harry said, clearly wanting to cheer his mother up. ‘You mustn’t take any notice when she gets angry. It’s probably the time of the month.’
Jessica had to laugh. ‘Who on earth told you about that?’ she asked, tilting him back to look into his cheeky face.
‘You did,’ he reminded her. ‘Remember the little chat you had with Natalie, before, well,’ a flush spread under his freckles, ‘you know before… You let me join in too, remember, even though I’m a boy, because you said it was important for me to know about girls.’
As a lump formed in Jessica’s throat she said, ‘You’re right, I’d forgotten about that.’
‘So what I want to know,’ Harry said, ‘is if I can have a time of the month too.’
Again Jessica laughed. ‘You, my darling,’ she told him, ‘can have anything you like.’
‘Oh cool! Can I make a list?’
‘As long as it only covers one sheet of paper.’
In a flash he was back at the table, and as he opened up his A3 drawing pad Jessica stood smiling down at him, watching him write as fast as his clumsy little fist would allow. She was barely registering the words, however, for her mind was still full of Nikki’s outburst, and the shock of finding out that her job application had been turned down. She hadn’t mentioned it to Nikki, because she’d judged it wiser to break it to her once she knew what she’d be doing. That way she’d be in a much better position to calm Nikki’s fears, and reassure her that no matter what her commitments, Nikki and Harry would always come first.
Well, there didn’t seem to be an issue now, did there, at least not of the kind she’d expected. She put a hand to her head and pressed her temples. It had never even occurred to her that the news channel would turn her down, not only because of Charlie, but because Melissa Kingsley, the executive editor, was a close friend of theirs who’d frequently said what a great asset she’d be to their schedule. So what had changed? It was true she hadn’t offered herself up as an on-screen presenter, which was what she was known for, but her skills as a producer and interviewer would be just as valuable behind the scenes, so she couldn’t think why Melissa had taken a negative decision. More to the point, at least right now, was the fact that if Nikki knew she’d been turned down for the job then surely Charlie must have known too, so why was she finding out like this?
‘I DON’T KNOW what else to say, except I’m sorry,’ Charlie told her later.
By then dinner was over and Nikki had gone to take a shower, while Harry was revising for a spelling test the next day. ‘I didn’t expect it to come out like that, obviously,’ he continued. ‘Christ, it didn’t even enter my head that people would talk about it…’
‘How did they even know?’ Jessica demanded, embarrassment heating her anger. ‘Whatever happened to confidentiality?’
His eyes sharpened as he looked at her. ‘I hope you’re not accusing me…’
‘Don’t be ridiculous, but someone must have told them, and as Melissa was the only one I spoke to…’
‘She’s not a gossip and you know it.’
‘All I know is that she led me to believe there was a job waiting for me any time I wanted one, so I asked if she’d consider me as a producer, or even a researcher, something low key and not on camera, and as far as possible, not on the same shift as you. I have to get out of this house, Charlie. I’m driving myself crazy, sitting here thinking and hurting and longing for her in ways I can hardly even begin to describe.’
His face immediately paled, the way it always did when any mention was made of Natalie. ‘I know, and I understand,’ he said, ‘which is why you’ve got my full backing…’
‘Really?’ she challenged. ‘Because frankly I don’t think you want me to go back to work any more than Nikki does. In fact, you probably blame me too, for putting my job before Natalie.’
At that he jerked up from the table and stormed over to tear open the fridge. ‘I’m not going there again,’ he growled angrily. ‘No-one blames you…’
‘You know damned well Nikki does.’
‘Because you put it into her head. You’ve got to stop this, Jessica. You’re punishing yourself for something you had no control over…’
‘But if I hadn’t put my job first she’d still be here…’
‘And now you want to work again,’ he cried, throwing out his hands.
‘You see, you do want me to stay at home.’
‘No, I just don’t understand your reasoning. You keep reminding me of how it’s too late for Natalie, but there’s still Harry. He needs you too.’
‘Which is why I asked Melissa for something undemanding and flexible, something I could even do from home if need be.’
‘What about your own programme? I’m sure Derek would give you a job producing, instead of presenting, if you asked.’
‘How many times do I have to tell you, I can’t go back to how it was before,’ she exclaimed. ‘It would be as though nothing had happened, and though you might be able to carry on like that, I can’t. Besides, it wouldn’t be fair to Felicity. She’s done a fantastic job stepping into my shoes. It’d make her uncomfortable to have me around and she doesn’t deserve that.’
Charlie took a deep breath, and bringing the wine back to the table he refilled both their glasses. ‘There are other options,’ he reminded her, sitting down again. ‘I know the radio show’s off the air until October, but there are still reviews you can write…’