Summer of Secrets (3 page)

‘She’ll be fine,’ Izzy replied confidently. ‘She’s like that – starts to tell you something and then clams up like she’s hiding a state secret. I guess
it’s – well, you know, what with her father and everything.’

‘What about him?’ Caitlin asked eagerly.

‘Well, there’s a rumour going round that he’s got – hang on, she’ll hear us,’ Izzy muttered, and then raised her voice as they caught up with Summer.
‘Hey, how about we hit the shops after school? You up for it, Summer?’

Summer shook her head.

‘No thanks,’ she replied. ‘Ludo’s got tickets for a jazz concert – sorry.’

She pushed past them and headed for a table in the far corner of the dining hall.

‘Who’s Ludo – her boyfriend?’ Caitlin asked.

‘Boyfriend? Summer? Hardly!’ Izzy retorted, grabbing a cheese and tomato roll. ‘If you ask me, there’s something seriously not right with her.’

‘What do you mean, not right?’

‘She’s not into boys,’ stressed Izzy. ‘Or at least, in the whole two years she’s been at Mulberry, I’ve never seen her with one. Is that odd or
what?’

‘You mean, she’s . . .’ Caitlin hesitated, not quite sure how to put it.

‘I’m not saying
that,
’ Izzy said. ‘But she never drools over fit guys in magazines and she’s not very sociable – I mean, she never throws a party or
has anyone back to her place or anything. She’s a real loner. She won’t even commit to coming out with us lot on Saturday night.’

‘So who’s this Ludo?’ Caitlin looked suspiciously at what passed for lasagne, before taking a jacket potato and a scoopful of coleslaw and heading over to Summer’s
table.

‘Her brother,’ Izzy said with a shrug. ‘She’s got two – Freddie, who’s dead cool and Ludo, who isn’t. They’re twins, although you’d never
know it. Apparently they’ve both been bumming round Europe on a gap year, lucky sods.’

‘Hardly bumming in Ludo’s case!’ Summer looked up as they reached her table, apparently recovered from her fleeting fit of pique. ‘Freddie’s the bumming expert
– most of the time Ludo’s been at Casa Vernazza, learning the ropes.’

‘Casa what?’ asked Caitlin.

‘Oh – it’s our house in Italy,’ Summer replied, nibbling on a black olive. ‘We’ve got this vineyard in Begasti – it’s near Monterosso and it used
to belong to my grandparents. Freddie’s not remotely interested, so Dad’s got it into his head that Ludo will take it over one day.’

‘You own a vineyard? That is so amazing!’ Caitlin gasped, anxious to restore normal relations. ‘Just like that movie – what’s it called?
Under the Tuscan
Sun
.’

‘It sounds a lot grander than it is – it hardly makes any money at the moment. It is lovely, though – well, it was until . . . Hey, is that the time? I’ve got to dash
– piano lesson.’

With that she pushed her half-eaten salad to one side and almost ran out of the room.

‘She is
so
lucky,’ breathed Caitlin. ‘Just imagine living in Italy, surrounded by all that history and art and romance.’

‘Like I said, Summer doesn’t do romance,’ said Izzy. ‘Talking of which . . . what time shall I come to yours on Saturday?’

  CHAPTER 2  

‘Something must and will happen to throw a hero in her way.’

(Jane Austen,
Northanger Abbey
)

‘O
H MY
G
OD, IS THIS YOUR BEDROOM
? I
’VE NEVER SEEN
anything like it.’

Izzy flopped down on Caitlin’s bed and gazed at the sand-textured walls, midnight blue canopy over the bed and the candle sconces on the wall.

‘Do you like it?’ Caitlin asked eagerly. ‘I did it all myself. Needless to say, the parents can’t stand it.’

She had been relieved to get Izzy upstairs at last, and out of the clutches of her mother who from the minute Izzy arrived had been plying her with questions, food and instructions in equal
measure.

‘So, Isabella, dear, your mother does know you’re here, doesn’t she? I know what you young people are like for dashing off . . .’

‘Now, dear, a little carrot cake? Homemade, of course, and all organic and GM free . . .’

‘Isabella, dear, I wouldn’t sit there if I were you – the cat was sick on the cushion this morning and I haven’t got round to washing it . . .’

At that, Caitlin had grabbed her friend by the wrist and dragged her up the stairs, cringing inwardly at what she was sure Izzy must be thinking. Although Caitlin had not as yet been inside
Izzy’s house, driving past it had been enough to give an idea of the lifestyle to which her friend was accustomed – it was an elegant, three-storey Regency town house, overlooking the
seafront at Brighton, with ironwork balconies and bow windows and a general air of being a property just waiting to feature in some lavish period movie. Whereas the Old Parsonage would have been
the ideal choice for one of those make-over programmes that have architects and designers throwing up their hands in horror at the enormity of the task before them. To Caitlin’s artistic
sensibilities, it was an embarrassment – a mish-mash of uncoordinated colours and styles, every room cluttered with objects that her mother assured her she could never part with even though
they appeared to have no practical or aesthetic use whatsoever.

‘This is all a bit – well, Addams Family, isn’t it?’ Izzy queried doubtfully, eyeing the gargoyles stuck to the bedroom wall and black ceiling with coloured bulbs hanging
in clusters.

‘It’s Gothic,’ Caitlin explained enthusiastically. ‘It goes with the view. See for yourself.’

Izzy jumped off the bed, walked over to the window and shrieked.

‘Oh my God, Caitlin – that’s so spooky! How can you sleep with all – well,
them
out there?’

She stared with a mixture of horror and fascination into the neighbouring churchyard, lined with yew trees and scattered with headstones in varying stages of decay.

‘You get used to it,’ Caitlin assured her. ‘It’s haunted, of course, but most of the time––’

‘Haunted? You mean – you’ve actually seen a ghost?’

‘Not
seen
, exactly,’ Caitlin admitted reluctantly. ‘More sort of
heard
them, and felt them. I’m a Scorpio you see and we’re very
intuitive––’

‘And particularly talented at letting your imagination run away with you!’ The door burst open and Caitlin’s mum strode into the room, wearing bright orange rubber gloves with
a none-too-clean apron covering her ample figure. ‘Take no notice of her, Isabella dear––’

‘Mum, I told you, she likes to be called Izzy,’ Caitlin interrupted. ‘And would you mind not eavesdropping on my conversations?’

‘But Isabella is such a pretty name.’ Mrs Morland sighed, ignoring her daughter’s request. ‘Listen, Jamie’s just phoned – he’s on his way back from that
car auction. Thrilled about some spare part he’s found apparently – and he’s bringing a friend with him. Your father’s going to attempt to barbecue––’

‘Don’t tell me Jamie’s bringing a
girl
back!’ Caitlin gasped in mock astonishment, more to wind Izzy up than because she actually thought it was even vaguely
possible.

‘He didn’t go into the gender, dear,’ Mrs Morland remarked dryly. ‘But why shouldn’t he? It would be nice to see him with a steady, sensible sort of
girl.’

‘That rules you out then,’ Caitlin whispered to Izzy as her mother left the room. ‘So, come on, what about this party of yours?’

Although she was trying very hard to sound laid-back about the whole idea, Caitlin was pretty buzzed up at the thought of Izzy’s seventeenth birthday. She couldn’t believe how lucky
she’d been, getting in so quickly with someone who was clearly the Queen Bee of her year; and even though she knew that it was, at least in part, only because Izzy saw her as a fast-track
route to Jamie, she intended to milk it for all it was worth. Izzy was her passport to high society – and high society was where she knew she belonged.

‘I don’t know,’ Izzy said. ‘Last year I had a Bedouin and Belly Dancers, the year before that was Jungle Drums . . .’

‘You mean, it’s going to be fancy dress?’

‘Sure – all my parties are. Only I’m running out of ideas.’

‘Ghosts and ghoulies?’ Caitlin suggested, rapidly trying to think of a costume that wouldn’t cost her an arm and a leg to get hold of.

‘Get a life,’ Izzy retorted. ‘I’m hardly going to look sexy wrapped in a sheet. I want to be alluring, smouldering, gorgeous . . . You do think Jamie’ll come,
don’t you?’

‘Not if it’s fancy dress,’ Caitlin had to admit. ‘Getting him out of oil-stained jeans is hard enough. Trust me, I know.’

Izzy looked crestfallen.

‘But he
has
to come . . . well, I mean, it doesn’t really matter, but––’

Her final words were drowned beneath the sound of scrunching gravel and squealing tyres in the lane behind the privet hedge at the bottom of the garden.

‘What on earth . . . ?’ Izzy flung open the window and peered out just as a stocky guy clambered out of a silver Mazda. ‘Who the hell’s that?’

At that moment, a second car, backfiring wildly, drew up by the gate.

‘Well, that one’s Jamie – you can tell by the noise. And you’re safe. His mate’s clearly a guy.’

Caitlin grinned at the look of relief on Izzy’s face, a look which was followed by a dash across the room to Caitlin’s huge pewter-framed mirror.

‘Don’t you dare mention the party!’ Izzy insisted, flicking her hair behind her ears and peering critically at her flawless make-up. ‘I’ll kind of introduce the
subject subtly when the moment is right.’

She paused, and turned to face Caitlin.

‘That other guy he’s with – does he look fit?’

Caitlin peered out of the window again as car doors slammed and the garden gate swung open.

‘Average,’ she reported. ‘Arms too long, and he walks a bit like an orang-utan . . .’

‘
Arms
? You are just the strangest person . . . what’s his butt like? I go for backsides in a guy.’

‘Can’t see, he’s gone out of sight,’ Caitlin replied. ‘Pretty cool car though. Anyway, I thought it was Jamie you’re after.’

‘I am not
after
him,’ Izzy protested, glancing out of the window. ‘I’m just . . . oh, never mind. Let’s get down there – like, now.’

‘
You?
What the hell are you doing here?’ Izzy stood stock-still in the door of the kitchen, gawping at the stocky guy with sandy-coloured hair and a generous
mouth who was leaning against the breakfast bar, picking from a bag of crisps.

‘I don’t believe it, it’s Muffin!’ the guy exclaimed in amazement.

‘Don’t call me that!’ Izzy hissed, glaring at him.

The guy grinned from ear to ear and thumped Jamie on the arm.

‘So this is your mystery girl!’ he said and turned to face Izzy. ‘He’s been going on and on about this mate of Caitlin’s––’

‘Tom, shut it!’ Jamie flushed scarlet and avoided Izzy’s now-smug smile.

‘Well, you don’t have to worry about getting the inside track on her,’ Tom said with a laugh, ignoring his embarrassment, ‘because there’s nothing you need to know
about Izzy Thorpe that I can’t tell you!’

‘You don’t know
anything
about me,’ Izzy snapped.

‘Come off it! I lived with you off and on for three years,’ Tom replied. ‘I’ve seen you drunk, throwing tantrums – and who gave you your first proper
kiss?’

Izzy’s face turned scarlet.

‘Lived with . . . ?’ Jamie began.

‘Tom’s my mum’s godson,’ Izzy explained, throwing Tom a look of pure disdain. ‘His parents were overseas with the Foreign Office, and we got lumbered with him in
the holidays because his mum and mine are old school friends.’

She turned to Jamie, her expression lightening.

‘How come you know one another, anyway?’

‘Gap year,’ Jamie mumbled, viewing the floor tiles with some interest. ‘Sailing in Australia.’

‘Sailing? Oh, that is so my thing,’ Izzy enthused.

This was news to Caitlin and judging by the disbelieving smirk on Tom’s face, he wasn’t convinced either.

‘Anyway, don’t listen to a word Tom says,’ Izzy burbled on. ‘He loves to wind people up. So, how was the car auction?’

‘Ace!’ Tom butted in before Jamie could reply. ‘I bought a dream of a car – goes like the wind. OK, so the paintwork needs a bit of touching up
and––’