The Unwelcome Guest Page 4

  9

  Miles

  You look so attractive in the candlelight, so quirky in your Indian print T-shirt and dangly earrings. No wonder Aiden likes you so much. You’re warm, you’re good fun. He’s lonely.

  I’m so glad my younger brother has become so successful with his business. I always put him in the shade academically, and even though he was sporty, on all the teams, Mum and Dad despaired of his exam results and his teachers’ comments. Look at him now, with his flat in Chelsea, his chalet in St Moritz, his villa on Barbados. My parents had nothing to worry about. Except perhaps his plumpness. Typical sportsman; eating like a horse, even when no longer active, and so piling on the pounds, damaging his once athletic figure.

  Despite stellar financial success, it’s a pity he hasn’t had more luck in his relationships. Things didn’t work out with Julie, but I’m sure he’ll meet someone else. Someone like you, Saffron. He doesn’t mean any harm. He just needs friendship right now.

  You shake your head and your silky hair caresses your shoulders. You smile at me and I watch your Julia Roberts lips stretch across your face. Every time I look at you, I know I’m lucky.

  But then a shadow moves across my mind. Is Aiden still jealous of me, after all these years, despite all his money?

  Perhaps.

  10

  Caprice

  I met my husband Rupert the day I stepped into his office, as his temporary secretary. I wanted the job to become permanent. My mother had recently died of breast cancer. My father’s wood yard was struggling. I needed some cash to help pay our bills.

  Rupert Jackson’s office was untidy, the desk strewn with piles of paperwork, empty coffee cups, full ashtrays, dead packets of Benson and Hedges. Machinery manuals littered the floor. I wove a path between them to approach his desk as he stood up to greet me.

  He wasn’t a good-looking man. His heavy nose was hatchet-shaped, and his eyes bulged slightly. His most appealing features were his full head of copper-coloured hair, and his cheeky grin. I’m not really sure how, with such a heavy-featured father, Miles became so good-looking. It must be my genes he has inherited.

  ‘Welcome,’ Rupert said, in a strong Yorkshire accent.

  Welcome, sounded more like a punch in the air, than a word. I was a sun-ripened southerner, used to people who spoke with drawling vowels, wondering what this Yorkshireman was doing setting up a business in West London. He leant across his desk and shook my hand, his palm strong and warm against mine.

  ‘What can I do to help?’ I asked.

  ‘You can start by tidying up this office.’

  I emptied the ashtrays and washed them. Opened the window to air the fug of cigarette smoke. Picked up the rubbish and arranged the manuals in alphabetical order on the windowsill. He began talking on the phone. Arguing with someone about a shipment of drill bits. Shouting through his straight, wide teeth. His accent seemed stronger than ever. He slammed the phone down.

  ‘The bastard,’ he ejaculated, and looked me in the eye.

  We both laughed. ‘So you don’t like him, then?’

  ‘I love the bastard really, I just need him to pull his finger out on my shipment.’

  I loved his boldness, his audacity. His personality crackled in the air like electricity. When I was around him I felt alive like I did when I was with my father.

  I looked after Rupert in the office, and then later when I married him, I looked after his life. I had so much pleasure doing that and bringing up Miles. And tolerating Aiden. Miles, so sensitive, so intuitive, ever since he was a toddler. Aiden, always a cheeky handful. In Aiden the positive assertiveness of Rupert and my father had transformed into a bossy arrogance. An alpha personality taken a step too far.

  I remember the day I became ill with appendicitis. Fortunately baby Aiden was sleeping. Miles was only two. I lay on the sofa gripping my stomach, moaning and crying. Miles walked across the room towards me, eyes filled with compassion. He rubbed my tummy and said, ‘I’m calling the doctor, Mummy.’

  He went to get the cordless phone, picked it up and frowned. ‘What’s the number?’ he asked. I had to rouse myself and look it up in our address book. I managed to dial the doctor myself, just before my appendix burst. An ambulance took me to hospital whilst our neighbours looked after Miles and Aiden. If Miles hadn’t encouraged me to phone our GP I wouldn’t be around today.

  And Miles was super bright of course. I wasn’t one of those mothers who boasted at the school gate. I didn’t need to. Everyone knew how intelligent he was. He could count to twenty by the time he was two. No wonder he is a professor now.

  There are two types of people in life: givers and takers. Miles is a giver. And you, Saffron, are the selfish kind. But Julie is a giver, so like Miles. Julie has the right attitude. Unfortunately for her, she chose the wrong brother to marry. The difficult one. No wonder she left him; he was more interested in making money than spending time with his wife. Not like Rupert, who made money and really, really, loved and cherished me. My mind and body ache for him still.

  I suppose it’s never too late for things to work out. Maybe one day Miles will see sense and find a suitable life partner. Maybe one day Miles and Julie will get back together. He’s only thirty-nine years old. It isn’t too late. He just needs a little push in the right direction. The sort of push only a mother knows how to give.

  11

  Hayley

  I moved in two weeks ago and the Jacksons have already invited me to join them for their family Sunday lunch. Apparently Aiden, Miles’ younger brother, joins them at Wellbeck House every Sunday.

  We’re sitting around their ornate glass and marble table, tucking into lamb tagine made by Caprice, who is sitting at the head of the table, resplendent in co-ordinated shades of cream. Her white-blonde hair shimmers to golden, in the sunlight streaming in from the window behind.

  Actually, only some of us are eating tagine. Ben and Harry are guzzling chicken nuggets and chips, smothered in ketchup. Saffron has a vegan dish.

  ‘Aren’t you going to try the tagine, or my curry?’ she asks her sons.

  ‘No, Mummy. I’m fine, thanks,’ Ben says.

  ‘What about you, Harry. Would you like a spoonful of what I’m eating?’

  He shakes his head vehemently. ‘Granny said we could have this for a treat.’

  Caprice winces as he says the word Granny. Saffron purses her lips.

  ‘The tagine is delicious, Mother,’ Miles says.

  Caprice beams across at him, almost purring.

  ‘It is. Thank you,’ I add, to be polite, but in truth I find it heavy and unsubtle; laden with too much cinnamon.

  I look across at Saffron, pushing her vegan curry around her plate with a fork. So slim, so fragile, as if she hardly ever eats anything. Her skeletal figure emphasises the sharpness of her cheekbones and her enormous eyes. Aiden can hardly keep his eyes off her. Why do men seem to admire physical fragility in a woman? Does it make them feel protective?

  ‘How’s business, Saffron?’ he asks between mouthfuls.

  ‘Good,’ she replies with a curt smile. And somehow I sense she doesn’t mean it. ‘And yours?’

  ‘Profits are up. My main problem is how to enjoy spending them. What do you reckon? New car? Boat? Long, self-indulgent holiday?’

  Saffron’s eyes light up with envy. Everyone’s eyes are glued to Aiden. Except yours, Miles. Your eyes catch mine and my heart skips a beat. Dark topaz eyes. Kind and caring. The children put their knives and forks together.

  ‘Please can we leave the table?’ they ask, wide-eyed and in unison.

  ‘Of course,’ Caprice replies.

  They sidle away. No one asks them where they are going. I guess they’ve gone to watch cartoons, or play on the Xbox. I think about following them, but don’t. They’re not my responsibility today.

  Saffron’s mobile rings. She pulls it from her pocket, looks at it and springs up from the table.

  ‘Got to take this.’ She returns a few mi
nutes later and stands by Miles. ‘I’m sorry, I have to fly to Athens to see Aristos. It’s urgent,’ she says.

  ‘When?’ you ask.

  ‘Tonight.’

  Your face falls. ‘How long will you be away?’

  She shrugs her shoulders. ‘As long as it takes, but I guess for a few days.’

  ‘Where will you stay?’

  ‘Aristos’ place.’ There is a pause. She grimaces. ‘I need to go and pack.’

  ‘I’ll come and help you.’

  You put your arm around her as you walk away.

  As soon as you are both out of earshot, Caprice says, ‘I sometimes wonder whether she’s having an affair with Aristos.’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous, Mother. Surely after all these years you must realise Saffron isn’t like that,’ Aiden says.

  I take one look at Caprice’s eyes, flashing with determination, and guess she doesn’t have Saffron’s best interests at heart.

  12

  Caprice

  Saffron, your new nanny is an interesting creature. Much more observant, more attractive than any of the previous ones. A little je ne sais quoi about her; wholesome in an earthy way. So opposite to you, with her curvy figure and strong square face. Emma Watson looks, but with bigger breasts.

  I see in her eyes, as she glances towards your husband, that Miles is a man she wants. But then he is a man any discerning woman would want; gentle, sympathetic, empathetic. Not to mention his looks.

  You had better watch out, Saffron. Your arrogance and condescending attitude will lead you into deep water one day.

  13

  Miles

  Early October, Saffron is away again, and I’m left with the children, Hayley, and Mother. The boys are in bed. It took me ages to settle them, reading eons of Harry Potter, which I love. But, even so, from time to time when I’m tired I feel as if I need a break from childcare. Hayley has disappeared to her sumptuous boudoir. Aiden has returned to his flat in Chelsea. He didn’t stay long after Saffron left.

  Mother and I are in the drawing room sharing a bottle of wine. Saint-Émilion. I take a sip. It is so heavy it almost sticks to my tongue. I prefer a lighter red; Mother chose this.

  ‘Don’t you get fed up of Saffron abandoning you for another man?’ she asks, voice waspish.

  ‘She’s doing her job,’ I reply.

  She leans forwards and her eyes pierce mine. ‘Dropping everything for Aristos has been going on for years. Surely she needs to rein him in?’

  Silence falls, except for the ticking of the clock on the mantelpiece. I pull my gaze away from hers and cut through the silence. ‘Aristos is her major client.’

  ‘But … but why does she always have to go at such short notice?’ Mother splutters.

  If I have told her this once, I’ve told her a million times. I sigh. ‘It’s what he pays Saffron for. To be at his beck and call 24/7. He pays her very generously. And that’s the whole point of private client work. When the client asks you to jump, you jump.’

  Mother’s eyes narrow. ‘As long as he isn’t jumping her.’

  Anger pulses through me like lightning. ‘Mother, how dare you imply that.’

  She raises her eyes to the sky. ‘Look, Miles, face facts; a job like hers is an excellent cover for an affair.’

  ‘I trust my wife,’ I say, voice clipped.

  ‘You trust a woman who is always having to fly off to stay in luxury accommodation all around the world at short notice?’ she pushes.

  ‘I repeat, I trust my wife.’ I pause. ‘And she’s not always flying off. Just sometimes.’

  Mother sighs. ‘You and I have a different understanding of the word sometimes.’

  I put my wine glass down on the coffee table in front of me. ‘Times have changed. Not all relationships work like yours and Dad’s. Most women work these days.’

  Mother leans back in her chair and crosses her legs. Her eyes fill with tears. ‘Don’t criticise my relationship with your father.’

  ‘Calm down, Mum.’

  ‘There’s work and work. Saffron regularly abandons her family,’ she continues.

  ‘Abandoning me for another man. Abandoning her family. Is abandon your word of the day?’ I ask.

  ‘Today, and every day, when I consider Saffron’s behaviour—’ she smiles a slow stretched smile ‘—abandon does seem to be appropriate.’

  I take a deep breath. I must be patient. Mother is still adjusting. She lost Dad five years ago and still hasn’t come to terms with his death. His massive heart attack was such a shock. She returned from book group to find him dead in bed. Since then she has tried her best. She helps with our children. She plays bridge twice a week, with a group of widows. But life as she knew it stopped.

  And just sometimes, she takes it out on me and Saffron.

  14

  Saffron

  As my taxi pulls up at the airport, I admit to myself that I lied. Despite my protestations to Miles, I am pleased to have been dragged away. You are really pulling me down, Caprice. At least when you lived in your own quarters we had some time apart. I am finding it very difficult having you silently preside as head of the family at every mealtime. Spending more time than ever with the children. Altering my sons’ attitudes. Feeding them too much unhealthy food. Allowing them to watch cartoons whenever they want, even when they haven’t finished their homework. Allowing them to play on the Xbox almost incessantly, so much so I fear they have become addicted to it.

  Having a new nanny will help me keep an eye on your tricks. But I need to build up a good rapport with her. I need our relationship to work. Just like I once so wanted ours to work, Caprice. Do you remember when I treated us to a bonding spa day together? It should have been special, but you hardly spoke to me. Luxuriating in the Turkish baths, the jacuzzi. Sitting next to one another wrapped in seaweed. Drinking champagne over a healthy lunch. Nothing I have ever done to try and help us become close has ever made any difference. But since you moved into our home, the situation has become even worse. Any indifference or complacency I ever experienced because of your coldness has transcended into resentment and anger.

  As I step out of the taxi and walk across the airport concourse, I admit to myself that, all in all, Aristos’ call couldn’t have come at a better time. A day on his yacht will suit me just fine. He’s sent the papers I need to read by email, and I’ve printed them off. When I’m up in the air I’ll take a closer look. If everything is OK I’ll witness his signature tomorrow.

  I sit on the plane. First-class seat, glass of champagne in hand, perusing his latest movement of money through different tax jurisdictions. I think he needs to speak to his investment adviser and spread his money more widely, but this doesn’t seem legally complicated. This time he hasn’t actually broken the law. I finish my champagne, stretch my legs and sleep.

  We land at Athens airport. Aristos has sent a limousine from his fleet to meet me. A surly but smartly dressed man, in a stiff cotton shirt and blazer, is waiting in Arrivals holding up a sign with my name. I introduce myself and he tells me his name is Andros. I fall asleep again as soon as I get into his limo. The next thing I know, we are pulling through the narrow cobbled streets of the port of Monemvassia, where Aristos’ superyacht, The Spirit of the Sea, is moored.

  The tender to The Spirit of the Sea is waiting at the dockside, captained by a young man who introduces himself as Yanni. He is wearing senior crew uniform: a peaked cap and a jacket with fancy gold fringed epaulets. Yanni powers up the engine and steers me towards The Spirit of the Sea. She looms in front of us, a shimmering oasis of light and beauty, so impressive I catch my breath. The night presses down on me, silent except for the hum of the engine and the lapping of the sea. The engine reduces. As we approach Spirit, and pull alongside, two crew appear from nowhere to catch the bow and stern lines. Yanni throws them with casual confidence, making boat handling look natural, as if he was born at sea.

  I am helped on board and led to my cabin by another uniformed membe
r of staff whose name I do not catch. He escorts me up a deck, to a cabin on the portside. It is small but beautifully appointed with its own en suite bathroom, resplendent with gold taps and a miniature jacuzzi bath, which doubles up as a shower. Even though it’s late I cannot resist sitting outside for a few minutes to admire the view on my private balcony. I look across at Monemvassia castle, standing proud in the moonlight, reminding me why I have always loved Greece. But I’m so tired. I step inside, kick off my shoes and collapse onto the bed.

  Two hours later at 6 a.m., I’m on the sundeck with Aristos, attending our breakfast meeting. No one else is present. I look across at my client, over freshly brewed coffee, and freshly squeezed orange juice. He has a large egg-shaped belly, a round head and oval eyes. A child could draw him in a series of rugby ball squiggles. His generous smile, brown eyes and flamboyant curls soften his appearance. Whatever the peculiarities of his shape, he has been through enough women – wives and mistresses.

  He pours us both a coffee. ‘What did you make of my paperwork?’ he asks.

  ‘It’s fine. You haven’t got anything to worry about. All above board in each jurisdiction. I just need you to sign the relevant papers and that’s that. I’ll take them back home and post them.’

  I stand up and place the papers in front of him, pencil marked where he needs to sign and I need to countersign. It only takes a few minutes. I place them carefully in a folder in my briefcase and sit down opposite him again.

  Aristos takes a slug of coffee. ‘Do you hate me for making you come all this way?’

  I smile my best smile. ‘Of course not.’

  A waitress in a black dress with a white starched apron saunters across the sundeck carrying a silver tray. She leaves a plate of warm vegan bread rolls filled with roast vegetables on the table in front of us.

  I am so hungry after my long journey yesterday, I help myself and take one. The bread and roast vegetables are so delicious, they melt in my mouth. ‘When’s your flight back?’ Aristos asks.