The Secrets Women Keep (6 page)

Rose pushed away her half-eaten pudding.

‘Go after him, Mum. Now’s your moment.’

That spell in therapy had led Anna to believe that she knew what made other people tick, and that gave her the authority to tell them what to do. But Rose, Eve and Terry knew better than anyone
how mercurial Daniel’s moods could be. Quick to come and quick to go, but best avoided.

‘I don’t think that’s a good idea. You know what he’s like. If I go now, he’ll only get more entrenched. We’ll leave it till the morning.’

‘Adam might not be the husband Dad would have chosen for Jess, but he ought to at least give him a chance.’ Anna took a small blue tobacco pouch out of her bag. ‘I’m
never going to get married, if this is what he’s going to be like.’

‘Anyone on the scene?’ Eve leaped at a change of subject.

Rose gave silent thanks for her sister-in-law’s insatiable curiosity.

‘Hardly.’ Anna grinned as she unfolded a Rizla. ‘I’ve been seeing a guy who works in the City, but it was never going to work. He’s well into his suits, his cars
and owning property. He’s even in a choir, and he’s not even thirty-five. And I’m . . . well, I’m not like that. He hated the way I dress and we had different opinions on
everything.’ She looked thoughtful. ‘In fact it’s a bit of a mystery how we got together in the first place. The sex was pretty good, I guess.’ She shredded some tobacco on
to the paper and rolled herself the meanest cigarette Rose had ever seen. She’d prefer Anna not to share quite so much of her personal life at the supper table.

Eve laughed. ‘Sounds like just the sort of guy that Dan would love for his daughters.’

‘Oh, please.’ Anna took her lighter from her bag. ‘A lifetime of missed opportunity, chained to a kitchen sink, clearing up after our snotty kids and hanging on to his arm at
office dos. No thank you.’ She pretended to make herself vomit.

Rose was painfully aware how closely the description fitted her own married life, a life about which, until this morning, she had had no complaints. ‘Anna, don’t.’ She grasped
her daughter’s wrist and pulled her hand away from her mouth, then clasped it in her own. ‘That’s disgusting.’

‘Only to you, mother dear.’ Anna wiped her hand on her skirt and lit her cigarette, the loose shreds of tobacco glowing before they flew into the night.

Rose didn’t need to remind everyone why she’d reacted as she had. Those days when Anna’s departure from the table at the end of a meal was immediately followed by the slam of
the bathroom door, then the distant flushing of the toilet, were – thank God – a thing of the past. But Rose remembered them clearly, them and the crushing anxiety and sense of
powerlessness that used to be her daily companions. Was there anything worse than your child’s life being under threat from an illness you had no power to heal? If there was, she
couldn’t imagine it. Nothing Dan could do would hurt her as badly as that.

Terry coughed.

‘And to you then, Uncle Terry. Sorry. But Eve doesn’t mind, do you, best aunt?’

‘
Only
aunt,’ Eve corrected proudly. ‘But if that’s how you feel, how’s the rest of your life going to pan out?’

Anna filled her glass with water. ‘Oh, I’ve got plans. Men are on hold at the moment while I get things off the ground.’ A secretive look crossed her face, swiftly replaced by
a worrying (to those who knew her) beam.

‘Really? Need any help?’ Terry could be relied on to join in when the conversation took a business turn. He wasn’t an easy conversationalist in company, never had been. He
preferred things one to one. That was something that he and Rose did have in common, although she had learned to be more gregarious.

‘Maybe eventually, but not yet. First I’ve got to convince Dad of their brilliance. And no . . .’ She looked towards her mother; Rose was bristling with alarmed interest, aware
that if she expressed it, Anna would just clam up. ‘I’m not going to tell you anything until they’re more definite. You mustn’t mention anything to Dad just yet. I’m
going to grab him tomorrow when he’s in a more receptive mood.’

Rose felt Eve squeeze her thigh under the table. Eve knew Daniel as well as anyone, and like Rose, she knew what sort of response Anna was likely to provoke if she asked for money again. Rose
groped for her sister-in-law’s hand and squeezed back, grateful to have an ally who understood.

‘But it’s Eve’s birthday,’ she said, grasping at the excuse. ‘And we’re going to Arezzo.’

‘That’s in the morning.’ Nothing would stop Anna when her heart was set on something. ‘I’ll find a time and then we can celebrate doubly in the evening.’ She
clapped her hands. ‘You’re going to be so excited.’

‘I hope so.’ Another squeeze from Eve. The list of other great ideas that had so rapidly transformed into disasters was already running through Rose’s mind. Every time Daniel
had supported Anna in one of her ventures – the market stall, importing carpets from Morocco, the café– he was the one who came out the loser. Whatever the reason – bad
timing, or Anna’s loss of interest – every foolproof project designed to make father and daughter so much money hit the buffers one after another. After the café, Daniel had
sworn he’d helped her out for the last time, and that was when she’d taken up gardening, tutoring children in English, maths and French to finance the horticulture course.

‘Tell you what,’ Eve suggested. ‘If you’re not going to tell us, why don’t you find the Scrabble while we clear the table? In fact, why don’t
I
do
that, Rose, while you call Jess?’ Eve followed Rose into the kitchen, the baking tray containing the remains of the fig tart in her hands. ‘At least you can head off one drama at the
pass before the next one comes along. And I’d say it was only a matter of hours.’ Then, in an undertone so Anna wouldn’t hear, ‘This looks like it’s going to be an
extremely interesting couple of weeks.’

‘Oh God. Must I call her now? It’s late. All I want is a hassle-free fortnight and for everyone to enjoy themselves. Is that really too much to ask?’ They both put what they
were carrying on the kitchen table.

‘Far too much.’ Facing her, Eve put a hand on each of Rose’s shoulders. ‘You’ve got a conveniently selective memory. A family holiday wouldn’t be the same
without an argument or two. Don’t you remember last year, when Anna almost burned down the garage? Just relax and go with it.’

‘If it weren’t for you . . .’

‘I know. But it cuts both ways. You’ve supported me when Terry and I have had our bad patches.’

‘Because my brother can be such a twit. Sometimes I wonder how you’ve put up with him for so long.’ She darted a look at Eve. Had she gone too far?

But Eve was smiling. ‘Don’t let’s go there. We may regret it.’

Rose thought she detected a hint of sadness. Not Eve and Terry too.

‘Go on. Go and phone Jess. I’ll take your turn if you’re too long.’

Eve’s enthusiasm for Scrabble provided the annual proof of

Rose’s complete ineptitude at the game. Resigned to being soundly thrashed yet again, but delaying the moment, she left Eve to the clearing up and went into the sitting room. Plumping
herself on the red sofa, she looked about her, finding comfort in her surroundings. One day she would read all the Italian-related novels and travel literature, memoirs and history books that
she’d collected over the years. Time, that was all she needed. Or would she? If Daniel left her, what would happen to Casa Rosa? She couldn’t bear to think of the possibilities.

She glanced at the botanical illustrations that she’d completed after the course she’d taken at the Chelsea Physic Garden years ago, inspired by those in the books her father
collected. Her progression from the first shaky single hellebore through to the increasingly confident tulips, irises and roses was striking. As she lifted the phone, she wondered briefly whether
she should try her hand at them again. Such a precise skill and surprisingly time-consuming, but the satisfaction she’d got from doing them had been exhilarating.

She checked the clock over the fireplace. Nine thirty. It would be an hour earlier in England. Dylan should be in bed by now, upstairs in his tiny blue bedroom, mobile churning out a tinkling
version of ‘Greensleeves’. Adam and Jess would be downstairs in the cottage, Jess exhausted after a long day at the hotel, sitting down to a dinner cooked by Adam. Daniel should cut him
some slack. Adam struck her as an attentive and loving husband. What more could a parent want for their daughter? According to Daniel, plenty more. Could he be right about Adam having an ulterior
motive for marrying their daughter? People didn’t really marry for money these days, did they? Wasn’t that the stuff of Jane Austen? Beside, three modest hotels hardly represented a
fortune. But Daniel was so sure . . .

She dialled the number, listened to it ringing. As she straightened the dog-eared editions of the magazines in the basket beside her, she noticed one of Dylan’s board books at the bottom.
Jess must have left it behind when they’d stayed in the spring. She held it on her lap, tracing the outline of the large green caterpillar with her finger, waiting for them to pick up.
Eventually the answerphone kicked in. Adam’s voice invited her to leave a message. The fact that they must be deliberately not answering the phone made her uncomfortable.

‘Jess, it’s Mum.’ She hesitated, not sure what to say next, not wanting to make things worse, aware they might be listening. ‘Do call and let me know when you’re
expecting to get here. Love you . . .’ She hung up. That was enough. Better to pretend nothing was wrong and then everything might just fall back into place by itself. A coward’s way
out, but, she reminded herself, sometimes the way things worked best.

She lay back against the cushions. The effort required to get up and rejoin the others seemed suddenly overwhelming. Keeping up the pretence that nothing was wrong was already taking its toll.
But if she didn’t, Eve’s suspicions would grow and she’d have to admit what was wrong before she was certain. With that thought, Rose pushed herself to the edge of the seat and
stood up, despite her weariness.

On her way to join the others, she was passing the door of Daniel’s study when she heard his voice. There was something she didn’t recognise in the way he was speaking, quietly,
confidentially, but with an undertow of something else. Anxiety? Nervousness?
Miss. Love. Come back
. She found herself straining to make out what he was saying. ‘Never,’ she
heard, then, after a moment, ‘We can’t.’ Her stomach lurched.
We?
If she hadn’t read the text, she would have thought nothing of such a conversation. Now she was
looking for another meaning in everything he said.

The feelings she had been trying to ignore roared to the front of her mind, fury taking the lead. Wasn’t this her moment? Wasn’t their marriage more important than anything else? All
she had to do was throw open the door and challenge him. Caught in the act of talking to ‘S’, Daniel would have to admit the truth. Then the affair would be in the open and they’d
have to deal with it – together. She rested her hand on the solid wooden door and prepared herself.

‘Mu-um! Are you coming?’ Anna’s shout stopped her. Her arm dropped to her side. No. However much she was hurting and wanted everything in the open (though she dreaded it too),
she would hold to her original plan. She was frightened of a confrontation, because . . . then what?

As she bent to pick up the board book, which had slipped from her hand, the door flew open. Daniel watched as she straightened up to face him. Was that a flicker of guilt in his eyes as he
stared at her in surprise?

‘I thought I heard something. What on earth are you doing there?’

‘I’m just going out again, but I dropped this.’ She passed him the book and saw his face soften. ‘I called Jess, but there was no reply.’

The tenderness in his expression disappeared as he handed the book back. ‘I’ve got a few other things I need to do before I go to bed. I’ll see you up there.’ He turned
back into the study. ‘Wouldn’t mind a cup of tea, if there’s one on the go.’

‘I’ll make you one.’ Her routine response; even through gritted teeth, it was one of the many familiar patterns of behaviour that made up the tracks on which their marriage had
run so smoothly.

‘Thanks, darling.’ And the door shut between them.

Had he been talking on the phone to
her
? Were the words that she’d heard significant? In all the years they’d been together, she had never imagined there was a duplicitous
bone in his body. As far as she was aware, he had always insisted on fair dealing in both his personal and professional lives.

Rose marched through the kitchen, ignoring the kettle and the ceramic jar of tea bags, the coloured mugs hanging from the hooks on the dresser, and went out to join the others where the Scrabble
board was set up with a couple of words already on the board:
LIES
criss-crossed with
RELATE
. Terry was puzzling over his letters, Eve clucking with
impatience for her turn. Anna was staring out towards the mountains, smoking, no doubt dreaming about her latest scheme and how best to worm the support she needed out of her father. Someone had
poured Rose another glass of wine. She sat down and took a gulp. Daniel could make his own bloody tea.

T
he back of Daniel’s ears had deepened to a dark red and his fists were white-knuckled on the steering wheel. ‘Bloody tourists,’
he muttered. ‘We should have known.’ He pulled into yet another side street crowded with parked cars, not a space in sight, reversed into an opening, gears crashing, and turned around
to go back the way they’d come.

They’d left home early that morning to take the scenic route to Arezzo through vineyards, fields of overripe sweetcorn, dying sunflowers and rows of tomatoes ripe for the picking. Finally
they joined the spaghetti of arterial roads close to the city. Following the signs, they’d driven towards the centre, only to discover their usual car park full. Roadblocks and diversion
signs had sent them into a confusion of residential streets where they were now lost. Daniel stopped the car, ignoring the shout of a man guiding a van out of a gateway beside them.