The Olive Tree (21 page)

Alexis and Helena helped Christina slowly across the terrace towards the drawing room.

‘How ill is she?’ asked Helena quietly.

‘She says she is tired of living, that her time here on Earth is up. So she will die soon,’ Alexis said, matter-of-factly.

They walked into the recently emptied drawing room, and Helena pointed to one of the high-backed winged chairs. ‘I think she would be the most comfortable in that.’

The two of them settled Christina into it, then sat on either side of her. Her eyes flitted around the room and Helena could see their alertness, which belied the fragility of the body in which
they were housed.

Her gaze came to rest on Helena. She stared unwaveringly until Helena had to avert her eyes; then she began to speak in fast Greek.

‘She says you are very beautiful,’ Alexis said, ‘and that you look very like someone she once knew, who came here to stay very often.’

‘Really?’ Helena said. ‘Someone else said that to me recently. Who was she? Can you ask?’

Alexis held up his hand as he concentrated on what his grandmother was saying.

‘She says a secret is harboured here and . . .’ Alexis paused, and looked down at his hands.

‘What?’ Helena urged him.

‘That it is kept by you,’ he murmured, embarrassed.

Helena’s heart began to pound steadily against her chest. ‘Everyone has secrets, Alexis,’ she said softly, but he wasn’t listening. He was staring at his grandmother, his
eyes troubled as she continued to talk. He said something to her in Greek, shaking his head as Christina continued to babble. Suddenly, the old woman’s energy seemed to dissipate and she
crumpled back into her chair, silent now, and closed her eyes.

Alexis pulled out a snowy-white handkerchief and mopped his brow. ‘My apologies, Helena. She is a very old woman. I should not have brought her here. Come, we must take you home,’ he
said gently to Christina.

‘Please tell me, Alexis, what was it she was trying to say?’

‘Nothing, it was nothing. The ramblings of a confused old lady, that is all.’ Alexis reassured her as he half walked, half carried Christina towards the French windows. ‘You
must take no notice. I am sorry to disturb your evening.
Antio
, Helena.’

As she watched them leave, Helena hung on to one of the doors for support. She felt faint, breathless, sick . . .

‘Darling, are you all right?’ A strong arm supported her round the waist.

‘Yes, I . . .’

‘Come and sit down. I’ll get you a glass of water.’

William helped her to the sofa and while he went to the kitchen, Helena tried to regain her composure. Angus had always said, years ago, that Christina was mad. He’d tolerated her strange
ways for her wonderful housekeeping skills, plus the fact she spoke no English and was therefore unable to repeat gossip from the house locally.

William came back with the water and took her hand in his. ‘You’re freezing, Helena.’ He felt her forehead. ‘Are you ill?’

‘No, no . . . I’ll be fine, really.’ Helena sipped the water he’d given her.

‘What did she say to upset you?’

‘Nothing, really. I think I’m just . . .’

‘Exhausted.’

‘Yes. Give me a few minutes and I’ll be okay. I’m feeling better already, honestly.’ She looked at him and nodded, then stood up. As she did so, her legs wobbled beneath
her and she clutched at her husband’s arm.

‘Right. That’s it. I’m taking you upstairs and putting you to bed. And I don’t want a word of protest out of you.’

He lifted her easily into his arms and carried her towards the stairs.

‘But what about supper? I’ve got to check the moussaka . . .’

‘I said I didn’t want a word of protest out of you. In case you didn’t already know, I am actually capable of putting a meal on the table. And I have a willing band of helpers
who can damn well pitch in, too.’ William laid her down gently on the bed. ‘Just for once, darling, trust me. Pandora’s world is able to turn for a few hours without you. You need
some rest.’

‘Thank you, darling,’ she said, still feeling horribly faint.

‘Helena, you really are pale. Are you sure there’s nothing wrong?’

‘No. I’m just tired, that’s all.’

‘You know,’ he said, gently kissing her forehead, ‘if there was something, whatever it is, I can cope with it. I promise.’

‘I’m sure I’ll feel better tomorrow. Don’t tell the kids anything, will you? You know how Alex goes into a panic the moment I’m not one hundred per cent.’

‘I’ll say you’re having an early night. That is allowed, you know.’ He smiled and stood up. ‘Try and get some sleep.’

‘I will.’

William left the room and walked slowly towards the stairs, knowing that however much his wife denied it, the old woman had said something to upset her. He only wished to God she would open up
to him, tell him what she thought and felt.

There was no doubt Helena hid secrets; for example, the identity of Alex’s father. And, given Helena’s underlying tension and the almost constant presence of Alexis, it didn’t
take a rocket scientist to put two and two together and come up with what the likely scenario was.

That would technically mean his wife was a liar, as she’d sworn she hadn’t seen him since her stay here twenty-four years ago.

Here at Pandora, it seemed Helena’s past had collided with her present – and for that matter,
his
. Surely he now had a right to know?

He’d leave her be for now, but as William descended the stairs, he decided he wouldn’t leave Pandora without knowing the truth.

ALEX’S DIARY

July 19th (continued)

Well.

That was a fun evening.

Dante’s Inferno without the excitement of the Inferno. Everyone sat at the table and looked as if their genitals were about to be barbecued. Granted, we were eating
Dad’s chicken wings (he’d forgotten to take out the moussaka, which burnt to a crisp, and he had to resort to the one method of cooking he knew). But they weren’t that bad, just a
little on the charcoaled side.

It’s not often I feel like the life and soul of the party, so the fact that I did gives a fair indication of the general mood. I could say it was Jules’ fault, for
wittering on about what a dick she had for an absent husband – which then upset Viola – or that it was down to Rupes sulking because Chloë went off on a date with some chap
she’d met at the airport. Or Sadie, who was having a bad day about her ex, apparently, so decided to share all the gory details with us. Or Dad, whose expression resembled the Grim Reaper as
he doled out his burnt offerings.

I could cite any of these reasons for the pall that hung over the table like the lingering smoke from the barbecue, but none of them would be accurate.

It’s because Mum wasn’t there.

She’s like super-glue, really. She invisibly binds the household together.

Yet you don’t notice this until she isn’t there, and all the bits drop off.

I went to check on her earlier, the minute I’d heard from Dad she’d ‘gone for a rest’.

‘Gone for a rest’ is a patronising euphemism adults use with their offspring, who are meant to accept it at face value.

Mothers do not get ‘tired’. It’s not in their remit. They stagger on until they sink, shattered, into bed at the appropriate time. E.g., after the washing-up.

So, in my experience, ‘gone for a rest’ does not mean my mother is tired. It means anything from too many gin and tonics to terminal cancer.

I studied her closely, smelling her breath as I hugged her and confirmed she was definitely not suffering from overindulgence. As for the terminal cancer, that is a possibility I
suppose, but as I was with her today in the sea, and she was swimming and splashing and looking as fit as a flea, her decline would have to have been miraculously fast.

She might have been pale beneath her tan – but I’ve always wondered how on earth does one see the paleness when one is tanned? Another ridiculous, useless saying, like
‘suck it and see’. Suck what, exactly? And if you did, and it was full of arsenic, you wouldn’t be seeing anything for the rest of eternity.

I digress. My instincts tell me my mother is not about to depart this world, so I’d have to deduce that it was that weird nun who came with Mr Fix-it who said something to
upset her.

That man is trouble with a capital T. I wish he’d keep away from us, but no, he keeps turning up like a bad penny at the merest hint of an opportunity. If I was Dad I’d
be getting seriously pissed off by now. Because it’s obvious what he wants.

And it’s not available.

Helena had given in at midnight and taken a sleeping tablet. She kept two in her wash-bag for emergencies and they’d sat there for the past three years, ever since
she’d been prescribed them just after Fred was born.

Last night
had
been an emergency. She’d lain upstairs listening to her family eating downstairs and felt like a caged animal: trapped with her own thoughts, which paced relentlessly
round and round in circles in her head.

She’d taken the tablet just as she heard William coming upstairs to bed, and pretended to be asleep. Then, finally, she’d fallen into a blissful blankness.

The joy of waking to find the bright light of morning rather than the grey gloom of dawn made her understand how easy it would be to become addicted. She stretched, feeling her muscles
struggling to accept being jump-started, and looked at the clock in surprise. It was half past nine – the longest lie-in she’d had in years.

She saw there was a note on the bedside table, propped up against a mug of tea.

‘Darling,

Hope you’re feeling better today. Cleared everyone out of the house to give you some peace. Make the most of it and NO housework! See you later, W x’

Helena smiled as she folded the note, but as soon as her lips formed the shape, she remembered last night and what the old woman had said to her. ‘Oh God,’ she whispered to herself,
and sank back onto the pillows.

The silence was deafening. No screams or giggles or muffled Disney soundtracks emanated from anywhere in the house. She reached for the mug of tea, her mouth feeling dry, and sipped it, even
though it was lukewarm.

William made her a cup of tea every morning. Despite the fact he could no more work the tumble dryer than take the controls of a spaceship, and watched the cricket on television when he was
meant to be watching the children, in a hundred different ways he tried to show her he cared.

Because he loved her. He’d walked into her life ten years ago and saved her. Helena’s stomach turned involuntarily at the thought. If he knew the truth, he would never forgive her.
And she would lose him and the wonderful family they had created together.

Over the years, there had been months at a time that had passed without her thinking about it. But last night, Helena had felt as though the old woman had looked into her soul and knew what lay
there. As if what had lain hidden was slowly rising, on its way to the surface. Helena bit her lip as tears pricked her eyes.

What should she do? What
could
she do?

‘Get up, for a start,’ she murmured, sensing the whiff of self-pity and hating it. Her family needed her and she must pull herself together.

Deciding to swap her normal half-hour of dance exercises for the exhilaration of twenty lengths in the pool, which might help expel the after-effects of the sleeping tablet, Helena changed into
her bikini and wandered downstairs. Angelina was in the kitchen, clearing up from last night’s supper.

‘I’m sorry, it’s such a mess.’

‘No, eet is what I am paid for,’ Angelina said with a smile. ‘My work. Your husband he say you must rest today. I am in charge. I like,’ she added.

‘Thank you.’

Helena made her way to the pool, dived in and swam up and down, feeling her senses slowly return to her as the repetitive physical motion calmed her. She went back upstairs to take a shower and
noticed the old envelope full of letters that Alex had left on her bedside table when he’d come up to check on her last night.

Picking it up, she went back down to the pool, lay on one of the sunbeds and pulled out a letter at random.

Helena folded the letter and replaced it in the envelope. The lump of emotion the words had engendered felt like a hard piece of apple in her throat. She found it difficult to believe that her
godfather, a man who had seemed so controlled, could have written such a passionate letter. There was something very moving about the way that even
he
had succumbed to the most basic and
uncontrollable human emotion: love.