Harriet Evans - Love Always

‘Why don’t they want it?’

‘Lots of reasons, I suppose,’ Frances said, after a pause. ‘They’re poor. It’s the wrong time. There’s something wrong with it. The man has run off and left them. The girl didn’t want to have sex, sometimes she was forced into it.’

‘Rape?’

‘Yes,’ Frances said. She glanced up at Cecily, but her daughter’s face was impassive. ‘This is an extremely pleasant conversation for a Thursday morning, isn’t it? Prostitution, rape and abortion. Now, stay stil . I’m nearly finished.’

A faint voice floated high up to the sunny studio at the top of the house. ‘Cecily, if you want to come, we’re leaving in a couple of minutes.’

‘Fine,’ Cecily cal ed, her long legs twitching on the stool, swinging wildly from side to side. ‘Coming.’

‘You know, because I real y don’t want to be late for Frank,’ the voice continued. ‘Cecily?’

‘Yes!’ Cecily yel ed back. ‘Oh, Mum,’ she said softly to Frances. ‘I know I shouldn’t say this, but Louisa is turning into a real bore .’

Frances hid her face so her daughter couldn’t see her expression, and then she looked up reprovingly. ‘You can go, darling. Thank you. Be nice to your cousin.’

Cecily jumped up, hitching down her blue Aertex shirt, and came and kissed her mother. ‘I am nice, Mum, I’m the nicest of the lot, honestly.’

She paused, and said dramatical y, ‘Apart from Jeremy. Jeremy’s really nice. I like him.’

She opened the studio door and charged down the stairs, her shoes clattering erratical y as she cal ed, ‘Louisa, Jeremy! Don’t go without me!’

Frances picked up a cloth and started cleaning her brushes, half-heartedly, the silence of the big glass and concrete room echoing in her ears.

She looked down at her tanned, slim hand; there were flecks of vermilion paint drying on her arm. She picked them off, her fingers tracing the smooth, freckled skin, up and down. Frances closed her eyes, enjoying the sensation of her own touch, feeling the whorls of each fingerprint lightly brushing the hairs on her arm . . . She breathed in. It was hot, and she was tired, that was al . There were new people coming this afternoon. That’d help. Two young men, to vary the party a little, add some excitement again, push the feeling of being trapped here in this glass studio away again . .

.

She stood up and went over to the window, gazing out at the garden, down at the gazebo, where her husband sat reading a book. She stared at him. She was forty-two, but she felt as if she could be twice that age. She was tired of it al . One day, she promised herself, she’d leave them behind and just walk down to the sea by herself, slip into the clear, cool water, and swim away.

She gave a snort of laughter as she heard the car drive off. One day.

Chapter Thirteen

‘Archie’s been looking at me again,’ Louisa said, as Jeremy’s blue Ford Anglia (for which he had saved for two years and of which he was inordinately proud) trundled slowly away from the house, towards the less direct coastal road that led to Penzance. They were taking this road at Cecily’s request, bowling through the rol ing green countryside with its hedge-rows ful of orange kaffir lilies, blooming pink and purple rhododendrons in every garden and driveway, and palm trees visible in the distance, down towards the sea.

It was hot in the car, and the engine made an ominous spluttering sound which shook the frame.

‘What’s happened with Archie?’ said Cecily, from the back. In the front, Louisa ignored her. ‘What shal I do? He’s disgusting, Jeremy.’

Jeremy eased the car around a treacherous bend. He was silent for a moment; Jeremy was often silent. ‘Are you sure?’

‘Sure about what?’

‘Sure he’s been . . . peeping.’

Louisa laughed. ‘Of course I’m sure. I caught him at it once. I can hear him. And he smiles at me. These disgusting smiles, like he knows I know. As if it’s our little secret.’ She shuddered. ‘Horrid . . . I hate him.’

‘What are you talking about?’ Cecily demanded. ‘I can’t hear properly in the back. What’s Archie doing?’

‘Archie’s annoying Louisa,’ Jeremy said loudly. ‘Nothing to worry about, Cecily.’

Louisa’s sharp, pretty face appeared suddenly between the seats. She said viciously, ‘Your brother kneels on the floor outside my room and looks through the keyhole to watch me while I’m . . . getting undressed. I’ve caught him doing it twice now. And when I’m getting changed to go swimming.’

‘Oh,’ said Cecily quietly. ‘Oh.’ She paused. ‘That’s not very nice of him.’

Louisa ignored her again. ‘It’s the way he looks at me, Jeremy.’ She lowered her voice even more, and Cecily made an annoyed sound. ‘That’s what I can’t stand. Can you do something? Have a word with him? Especial y with Frank and Guy arriving.’ She sighed and bit her little fingernail. ‘I have to say, I always forget how jol y odd they al are, but it’s worse this year. Arvind’s mad and darling Franty’s in a strange mood this summer, I don’t know what’s up. I don’t want the Leightons thinking we’re part of it. Don’t you agree?’

‘Er . . .’ Jeremy paused. ‘Sort of. Look,’ he said, trying to sound cheery. ‘Don’t worry, old thing. Archie’s been away at school for too long, he hasn’t seen enough girls. He’s just . . . wel , he’s a curious chap.’

Cecily, watching Jeremy, opened her mouth to say something, and then shut it quickly again. Louisa made an exasperated sound.

‘You can say that again. He’s a – a pervert .’

‘I mean he’s curious about the world.’ Jeremy blinked. ‘Perfectly natural. But yes, you’re right. Shouldn’t be spying on people, sneaking around.

It’s not on.’

‘You shouldn’t be talking about people behind their back,’ said Cecily loudly. ‘Especial y when you’re guests in their home. I’m going to put it al in my diary.’

‘Oh, shut up, you little idiot,’ said Louisa. ‘What do you know? Nothing.’ She wound down the window and adjusted the metal ic side mirror, so she could see her reflection.

‘Here, I say,’ said Jeremy. ‘I can’t see what’s coming if you do that.’

‘Just for a second, Jeremy.’ Louisa took out a rose pink lipstick and expertly applied it, winding a stray blonde curl around one finger as she did. She pushed the mirror back into place. ‘There,’ she said, leaning back in her seat and closing her eyes. ‘Gosh, this day is exhausting already.

I’m quite nervous, I must say.’

She was young and beautiful, reclining in her seat, and she knew it, the wind rippling through her hair, her lightly tanned smooth skin, her long slim thighs clad in apple-green linen shorts.

Cecily was watching her. She said admiringly, ‘You do look lovely, Louisa.’

‘Thanks,’ said Louisa, who knew this to be true. ‘Like a princess – hey, look at the Celtic cross!’ Cecily shouted suddenly, and Louisa winced.

‘Someone’s hung a garland on it, isn’t that strange? Jeremy, can we get out and see?’

‘No time, Cecily, not if you want to change your book and go to Boots,’ Jeremy said, as they drove through a little green val ey and the turn-off to Lamorna Cove, busy with daytrippers and cars turning in towards the beach. A car hooted at them as they passed by, people waving gaily. The weather was infectious.

‘Some people,’ Louisa said, annoyed, as if modern civilisation were on the verge of col apse.

The fields off to their left marked the beginning of the stark, wilder moorland of northern Cornwal , rich in tin and coal. In the distance was a chimney stack, a remnant of the once-great tin-mining industry that was al but extinct these days.