Love Falls (21 page)

Instinctively Lara put her hand to her own nose, which had a small bump in the centre, just before it curved. ‘You actually did?' was all she could say, reeling with how much it must have hurt. ‘You had a nose job?' and she tried to imagine May without her perfect English rose face.

‘She was very brave,' Piers said. ‘It hurt like hell. Did you know they smash you in the face with a hammer?' and he put his arm round May, as if affronted that she should have had to go through such an ordeal.

For some time Lara lay face-down on her towel, feeling the sun scorch into her back. She could hear the voices of the various groups, the unmistakable tones of Andrew Willoughby, the raucous laugh of Elizabeth and Pamela's oddly mirthless chuckle. Occasionally Hugh would interrupt with a guffaw and even less often she heard her father's serious voice, but his utterances, usually so rapturously received, were dismissed or ignored completely, and Lara's heart ached in the silence after his last word.

Once when he was brutally interrupted by Andrew on the subject of Boswell and his many cases of gonorrhoea, Lara lifted herself on one elbow and glanced over. But Lambert didn't notice her. He was sitting on the edge of the blanket, a little behind the others, and he had his hand stretched out so that, as if by accident, it could brush against Isabelle's arm. Isabelle looked uneasy, listening intently to all that was being said, and occasionally laughing her low laugh as if relieved to have something to do.

Slowly, much more slowly than the others, the older people were removing their clothes. Andrew was stripped to the waist, and Elizabeth had taken off her skirt and was rubbing oil down the long length of her shins. Pamela wore a raspberry one-piece with black piping and matching espadrilles, and Hugh had unbuttoned his shirt to show a ripple of warm flesh and an abundance of grey hair below his crumpled face. Only Lambert and Isabelle were still fully dressed. Isabelle looked cool in her white cotton shift, while Lambert was an island of formality, in shirt and trousers and black polished shoes. He even had his socks on, those fine ribbed silk-mix socks she'd woken to find rubbed up against her thigh on that long-ago train.

‘Oh my God! Oh gruesome,' Tabitha gasped. ‘This one's gone wrong!' And Lara rolled over to find her holding up a full-page picture of a woman, her eyes lifted in permanent surprise, her nose collapsed.

 

 

Eventually lunch was called and Kip, blue-veined with hours of cold, flung himself down beside her. Roland stood on her other side and shook himself, and every female around the tablecloth, including Lara, although she was appalled to have done so, squealed.

‘Who is this man?' Andrew looked up.

‘I'm your son-in-law.' Roland was rubbing at his hair, the muscles of his thighs straining, the sheer black briefs drying in a silhouette around the bulge of his crotch. ‘The father of your about-to-be-born first grandson,' and he looked out from the soft white of his towel and flashed him a grin.

‘I don't remember giving my permission,' Andrew muttered crossly, and he urged everyone to begin.

The food was sumptuous. Artichokes and broad beans, plates of prosciutto, asparagus with shavings of Parmesan, tomatoes chopped with mozzarella and basil, thick wedges of omelette baked with spinach, cheese and herbs. Lara heaped her plate, wondering how you could build up such an appetite lying, doing nothing, on a rock, and she glanced at Kip who was wolfing his down like a greyhound.

‘So tell me.' Elizabeth was the first to speak. ‘Is it fearfully dangerous, jumping down that waterfall?' Her question was really for anyone who'd done it, but her eyes swerved round to Roland.

‘Not at all.' Roland had his mouth full and a slice of mozzarella squelched out from the side. ‘It's the most wonderful fun. Why don't you try it?'

‘I couldn't possibly,' she protested. ‘I'm much too old and anyway . . .' She looked down at the orange halter-neck and the deep-tanned crevice of her cleavage. ‘Everything would come flying out.'

‘Pamela, my darling.' Roland creased his eyes. ‘How about you?'

Pamela shook her head. ‘I decline,' she said formally, but all the same it was clear she was glad to have been asked.

Hugh leant over and reached for a bottle of wine. ‘We're all too old and cowardly,' he said, splashing red into a cup. ‘You'd better leave us alone.'

Lara saw her father look up at the cliff. He shifted uneasily and she felt her stomach contract. ‘I'll have a go.' His eyes were steely, and Lara had to stop herself from calling out.

There was a silence while everyone waited for Roland to dissuade him. ‘You're on,' Roland grinned. ‘But I'll bet you a fiver you won't go through with it.'

Lambert raised his eyebrows. ‘We'll see,' he said, and he let his hand trail along the length of Isabelle's bare arm.

‘For God's sake, man, let your lunch settle first.' Roland spiked a red curl of prosciutto, and he lay back to wait.

The remainder of lunch was subdued. Lara ate what she could and regretted having served herself so much. What would happen, she thought, if he got to the lip of the pool and then panicked and had to be helped back down? She glanced across at Isabelle, willing her to intervene, but Isabelle was busy urging Hamish to eat something, anything green, even offering to lick the salad dressing off a bean if he agreed to try.

All around them others were eating too. It was the Italian hour for lunch, and families and groups of young people sat like them, around a central feast of food. But unlike the Italian families who accepted that after lunch was a time of repose, Hamish, Allegra, Kip and Antonia threw themselves back into the water as soon as they'd had enough.

‘Hamish!' Isabelle called. ‘Wait five minutes at least,' but in the face of other influences she let her voice trail off.

Lara thought she caught disapproval in the murmuring of women in flowered pinnies and in the half-closed eyes of fathers already preparing for a snooze. Men with short legs and round taut stomachs, old men the same age as Lambert.

Lara looked over at her father and saw he had undressed. He was standing staring at the water wearing only his blue trunks. His legs looked narrow and pale, but his chest, his neck and arms were strong. Maybe he will do it, Lara allowed herself to hope, and she purposefully looked away from the vulnerable bald spot on the back of his head.

‘Right!' Roland stood up and stretched, beating a quick tattoo on his full stomach. ‘Ready when you are.'

Lambert was already walking away, climbing, navigating the shallow footholds in the rocks that rose steeply to the top.

Roland winked at the others. ‘We have a champion in the making,' and he clambered after him.

There was silence as everybody watched. For God's sake, Lara wanted to shout, leave him alone, but it was impossible to take her eyes off Lambert as he climbed. Lara hardly noticed when Kip stood close beside her, couldn't feel the electricity that usually sparked between them.

And there he was, standing, silhouetted against the sky. A moment later Roland stood behind him, so stupid, Lara thought, her heart in her mouth, that he would actually be capable of pushing him off the edge.

‘Old fool,' Andrew Willoughby muttered. ‘Go on then!'

Lambert began to step out along the rushing stones of the waterfall, his arms outstretched for balance. He stopped in the middle, just as the others had done. And waited. Lara felt sure she could see him measuring with his eyes, and she thought she heard Roland shouting out instructions to him over the roar, but Lambert didn't look round.

‘Here he goes,' Kip said, forgotten, beside her, and it was true Lambert was leaning forward, his body tensed, and he was falling, shooting out with the spray, his body braced against the torrent, and everyone, for all Lara knew, everyone in the valley, gave a cheer. But he wasn't falling like the others. Kip, Roland, even Antonia, had leapt out from the water, had jumped rather than been taken, and now she saw her father was falling too close to the cliff.

‘Shit!' Antonia said, and just at that moment he hit the water and disappeared.

Like a streak Roland jumped from above. He hit the water, bobbed back under, and while the others were still paralysed on their rock, he rose to the surface pulling Lambert with him.

Lara ran down to the water. ‘Dad,' she called. ‘Dad?'

Roland had his arm around him.

‘Bring him up here.' Isabelle was running with a towel.

‘I'm perfectly all right.' Lambert was limping, and he tried shrugging Roland off, but as his foot touched down pain shot through him and he nearly fell. ‘I felt it crack,' he said, and he turned away and retched. There was a white gash along the side of his foot, filling up with blood, and his little toe was hanging loosely. ‘I'm fine,' he said again, recovering himself, and he waved away the glass of wine that Elizabeth offered. ‘I just didn't . . .' He made a sort of measuring movement with one hand. ‘I didn't quite clear it.'

‘But almost . . .' Isabelle was beside him, dabbing at the blood with a napkin. ‘It looked marvellous at first  . . .'

Lambert leant into her encircling arm. ‘Yes . . . it did feel marvellous. Rather like flying and swimming all at the same time.'

He sank down then on the towel and Lara, who was sitting by, saw his face was pale.

‘Is he all right?' she whispered to Isabelle, as he closed his eyes. She wanted to touch him, to put her hand on his forehead, but that wasn't how it was. ‘Dad,' she whispered instead. ‘Can I get you anything?' But he only moved his lips in a little breath of no.

‘He's shivering,' Pamela said, and relieved to have something to do the women shook the crumbs from a large soft rug and tucked it over him.

‘Dad?' she whispered urgently, but he answered her only with a faint smile.

‘He's tough as anything,' Andrew said irritably. ‘It's the shock. Leave him alone. Let him rest.'

‘There's no fool like an old fool, eh?' Hugh shook his head and with a celebratory pop he pulled the cork from another bottle of wine.

Lambert sat back against a rock, his leg raised a little on a bed of towels. His foot was already starting to swell, puffing pale-purple around the toes, and every time he moved it Lara saw him swallow in a concerted effort to control the pain. What if he'd fallen differently? If he'd hit his head, broken his neck? Lara felt herself quake, and she thought each time she looked at him that he was paler. For the first time it occurred to her – and it seemed idiotic that it never had before – that she knew almost nothing about him. She'd accepted his reserve and refrained from asking even the most natural questions. Did you have brothers and sisters? What happened to your parents? Why did you never fall in love? She said it now in their silent conversation, but of course he didn't answer. Why had she been so obedient? Why had she stuck fast to his rules? She put out a hand and touched his shoulder but he only flinched.

‘I think we should get him back,' Lara said, speaking only to Isabelle, and without waiting for the others she began to gather up their things.

‘I'll drive you,' Isabelle agreed and, with Andrew's cold eyes resting on her, they hoisted him up, one on each side, and helped him towards her white car.

 

 

‘How was it?' Caroline came out to them, eyes raised at the unexpected vehicle.

‘Lambert's a little hurt,' Isabelle called to warn her.

‘I'm fine,' he shouted, swinging open the door, and as if to prove it he began to limp, the blanket still draped round him, his foot and leg streaked with dried blood.

‘One invalid not enough for this household? Is that it?' Caroline shook her head, and she went in to call the doctor.

‘There's no need,' Lambert insisted, but Ginny came out, and seeing him hurt she literally began to squeak. ‘Oh no, oh no,' she repeated in her high mouse voice, and she manoeuvred him into a chair.

‘Whatever happened?' Caroline was back.

‘Well. It was . . .' Lara wanted to blame Roland.

‘It was just bad luck.' Her father cut her off. ‘I was foolish.' He winced. ‘I didn't jump out far enough. I felt it instantly. My toe. It just went snap. I'm so sorry.'

‘My dear . . .' Caroline soothed. ‘The doctor will be here soon.'

‘I'm perfectly all right.' He looked up at her. ‘It's only a toe.'

‘Yes,' she agreed. ‘Of course it is.'

‘It's not as if I'm a footballer. Or a jockey. I'll still be able to write.'

‘But do you think . . .' Caroline bent down to him. ‘That you'll be recovered by next week, for the Palio?'

‘Of course. I'm well enough already.' Lambert reached over for his paper. ‘Which horse am I riding again?'

‘Dad!' Lara laughed, and she wished that she was still allowed to touch his hand.

Isabelle waited until the doctor had examined him.

‘I imagine,' Caroline said, ‘they're all waiting to hear the news at Ceccomoro.'