Glittering Fortunes (8 page)

Charlie watched her, steady except for a lightning flinch. It was like glimpsing the solution to a profound mathematical equation, only to have it snatched away.

His eyes fell on the desk, as she had known they would.

He picked up the photo of the woman, examined it before replacing it in the drawer. The wood slid back into place with a grateful hush.

‘Get out,’ he said.

She didn’t wait to be told again.

Chapter Eleven

L
ATER
THAT
DAY
he took the dogs up Lustell Steep, the highest point of the cove. In winter, harsh winds thrashed in from the Atlantic, the chalky, salt-encrusted walls of the remote Candle Point lighthouse taking the worst of the poundings. Today, at the height of summer, the tower seemed a different world: a peaceful, patient thimble on a rocky outcrop, the ocean silent and still.

The contrast was one of the things Charlie liked most about being by the water. Knowing it from childhood, he could never consider a land-locked life. The sea was an eternally changing animal; black with fury one day and smiling blue the next.

For years he had taken refuge in the moods of the ocean. It was impossible to imagine not waking to it each morning, the slender ribbon of water a reminder that the earth held mysteries he would never be able to answer. As a child he had spent time at his Uncle Barnaby’s cottage, further down the cove, overlooking the waves: he would sit at the window for hours, gazing at the sheet of iron and waiting, half hoping, for some disturbance to its surface.
We know more of outer space than we do of the ocean
, Barnaby had told him.
It’s deeper than you can imagine
,
and full of wonderful secrets.
It was a half remembered house, and his uncle a half remembered man.

Barnaby had been his mother’s brother. He had left the cove when Charlie was five: he had fallen out with Richmond, though about what it was never discovered. They had neither seen nor heard from him since; his name was never spoken. Where was he? Was he even still alive? Childhood acceptance of his uncle’s dismissal had somehow seeped into maturity. It was just how things were. Charlie rarely thought of him, and pushed him away now. The past was a foreign land.

Comet was sniffing about in the gorse, his tail emerging from a wiry tangle before he heard his master’s whistle and his head shot up, ears keen. Charlie launched a stick and both dogs darted after it across the heath, legs scrambling, and the tussle seemed to tip in Sigmund’s favour before a third hound appeared over the brow and joined the frantic pursuit. Charlie recognised it as the Montgomerys’ young sheepdog, and sure enough Fiona followed behind, shouting her puppy’s name.

She managed to untangle him from the mêlée. ‘Charlie, hi. Long time no see.’

Fiona owned the Quillets Vineyard with her husband Wilson. The winery was renowned for its grapes and was annual supplier to the prestigious Dukestone Flower Show, as well as, many moons ago, to Usherwood. Fiona had become friendly with the Lomaxes, she and Beatrice especially close. Since the tragedy they had fallen out of contact. It was Charlie’s fault, partly—she reminded him too much of his mother. He recalled the women outside on the veranda on late summer evenings, sipping cordial and conversing in shadowy, private murmurs. He had wanted badly to know what they spoke about. After bedtime, pressing his ear to the stuck-fast window, he could see their heads dipped towards one another, exchanging thrills and surprises.

‘Fiona.’ He nodded. ‘How are you?’

‘Oh, fine, fine.’ Her dark hair was escaping from her trapper’s hat, and around her neck she wore a lanyard and whistle. She sounded it to zero effect and shot Charlie a wry grin. ‘Being kept busy with this one.’

‘Is the business going well?’

‘We can’t complain. It’s been a super year for champagne. You must come by,’ she urged warmly. ‘Wilson and I would love to see you at the house.’

‘Thanks. I might.’ But they both knew he wouldn’t.

‘I hear Cato’s back?’

‘He is.’

‘It’s ages since I’ve seen you both. I catch him on TV sometimes—it’s hard to believe it’s the same person.’

‘Oh, he’s the same.’

‘Send him my regards?’

‘Of course.’

She smiled. ‘What about you? Are you still taking photos?’

How lightweight that sounded against his brother’s achievements. A while ago Charlie had exhibited at the Round House gallery, to the cove’s unanimous acclaim, but since then he’d become buried by the estate and it had seemed an indulgent pursuit. Someone had to dedicate himself full-time to the running of the house, and it wasn’t going to be his brother in LA. It had occurred to Charlie that this might be a lame excuse, and the real reason he had turned his back was because it was painful; that it brought Penny too much back to life when he had to accept she was dead.

‘Not really,’ he admitted, ‘not any more.’

‘That’s a shame. You always had such a love for it.’

The wind picked up, an eerie whistle as it blew across the grasses. Fiona said, ‘I was so sorry about your girlfriend.’

‘Oh.’ He lifted his shoulders, looked to the ground. ‘It was years ago.’

‘I know. Even so.’

‘Even so.’

‘I kept meaning to come to the house, and there never seemed to be the right opportunity. Time passed and then... After Bea and Richmond, I don’t know, it just seemed too unkind. If I’m totally honest, Charlie... Well, I didn’t know what to say.’

‘That’s OK.’

The dogs rushed over, sniffing the ground. Charlie was relieved at the diversion. Fiona’s pup was begging attention from the others, scampering after their tails, rangy with adolescent spirit.

Perhaps if you cared at all about other people
...

Olivia’s words came back to him. He held them down.

‘Is it true Usherwood’s throwing a party?’ Fiona was watching him brightly, buoying the conversation with what she imagined to be a positive topic.

‘Ah, just an idea.’ He ran a hand across his chin. ‘We haven’t confirmed it.’

‘I overheard the girls at the yacht club talking,’ Fiona explained. ‘There are certainly a lot of eager young ladies out there willing to make up the numbers!’

News travelled fast. And while it pained him, the facts couldn’t be ignored. Charlie had consulted the budget for the coming year, and the party, with its grisly entourage of press attention and media deals, would help no end. He would have to swallow his misgivings and consider the wider picture. It would be one night, and after that only a week before Cato and Susanna returned to the States. Usherwood would become a singular detour in their whirlwind calendars, a diversion they would describe to friends in a fond, patronising way, and life on the estate would resume as before. Only this time, there would be cash at his fingertips. Charlie’s share of the profits would lift the place back on its feet—he had to believe it.

‘I should get home, Fiona. It was good seeing you.’

She paused, as if she wanted to say something more, something important, before changing her mind. Instead she said, ‘We all miss them, you know.’

It looked for a second as if she might reach out to touch him. She didn’t.

‘I know how proud she’d be,’ Fiona said. ‘Of both of you.’

Bringing the dogs to heel, he started up the slopes and didn’t look back.

* * *

U
SHERWOOD
HAD
JUST
slipped into view, a castle on the sweeping horizon, when he spotted a couple of figures mounting a stile, and by the look of it making a meal of the descent. Cato was clad in Charlie’s old Barbour jacket and was jabbing the air with a stick.

‘That’s it, Mole; one leg over, now the other!’

The summons carried across the empty field. As Charlie got closer, he saw Susanna struggling over the gate, one leg dangling in trepidation over a slick of mud.

‘You want me to put my feet in that?’

‘You’ve Wellington boots on, what’s the problem?’

‘I’ll slip!’

‘You will not slip. A bit of muck never killed anyone.’

Daintily she managed to sidestep the bog, falling dramatically into Cato’s arms and gripping his shoulders. Charlie would have preferred to return alone, but this was the direct path, and besides, he’d already been seen.

‘Charles,’ said his brother rigidly.

‘Cato.’

‘What a beautiful afternoon!’ sang Susanna, carefully scraping her boot against a knot of grass in an attempt to get it clean. ‘We’re just out for a walk.’

‘I can see.’

‘I feel so much better now, baby... This really was the thing.’

‘That’ll teach you to drink so much,’ admonished Cato, who had been nursing his own hangover for the majority of the morning.

‘It was the oysters,’ said Susanna testily.

Cato turned to him. ‘Who were you talking to down there?’

‘Fiona Montgomery.’

He scoffed. ‘That old crow’s still flapping her wings, is she?’

‘She sends her best.’

‘I’ll bet. You’ve got to watch out for these gossipy bats; the way they see it, if they rub up against you long enough some of the shine might eventually come off.’

Susanna tittered at her boyfriend’s analogy. ‘Darling...’ she feebly rebuked.

‘Believe it or not,’ said Charlie, ‘not everyone requires you to buff them up. Fiona’s got her own business—a very successful one at that.’

‘And a damn sight more successful with my endorsement, no doubt. Don’t think I didn’t see her ogling me whenever I came home from school.’

‘No!’ Susanna gasped. ‘Were you underage?’

‘I’ll say. The hag couldn’t help it. I’ll vouch if you’d left me alone with her for one minute she’d have grappled into my trousers like she hadn’t eaten in a week.’

Charlie was disgusted. He was tempted to remind Cato that far from Fiona making a fictional pass at him, it had in fact been Caggie Shaw who had awarded him his sexual initiation. On Cato’s sixteenth birthday he and the house cook had been discovered in a state of dishevelment, Caggie on her knees in the stables while Cato reclined
in flagrante
across a bale of hay. For a while it had looked as if Caggie might be fired, until Richmond intervened with a disinterested ‘Boys will be boys’ rationale and promises of ‘a stern talking-to’, though whether or not that materialised was anyone’s guess. Cato had been a formidable young man, sly beyond his years, and it was impossible to say from which side the persuasion had come.

Judging by the state of him this morning, old habits died hard. Cato couldn’t help himself. Each time he returned to Usherwood, no matter whom he was with, it was the same routine: he and Caggie were unable to keep their hands off each other. Charlie had his suspicions about why. Cato had never come to terms with the vanishing. After the news he had shot off to France, from France to Hollywood, from Hollywood to the stratosphere. As far as Charlie was aware his brother had never wept. He had never fought it. He had never stared himself down in the mirror and asked the eternal: what if?
Not that depressing nonsense again
, Cato would say, whenever the subject was raised. But the trauma had to escape somehow. Caggie harked back to his childhood. She was a fraction younger than their mother, the same blonde hair and the same green eyes. She signified the world before it ended. She was his gateway to another life. She was his carer, the only one left. She was denial.

‘We’re meeting about the party tonight,’ Susanna trilled. ‘Will you join us?’

Cato observed his brother for a reaction, and gave a satisfied smirk when Charlie consented: ‘I expect it’s best if I sit in.’

‘Knew you’d come around, old chap.’

‘We have to make money, don’t we?’

Cato’s smile faltered. For all his superficial magnanimity, he knew deep down that he wasn’t quite playing ball, and that his millions hoarded in the bank were little but a spiteful ransom. ‘Indeed we do.’

‘In that case, there’s little time to waste!’ Susanna seized her boyfriend’s arm. ‘I think I’ve had enough country air for one day. How about I fix us all a Tom Collins and we get down to business?’

Instead of negotiating the stile for a second time, Cato chivalrously lifted her over, eliciting a squeal of delight.

Charlie followed behind, keeping his distance.

Chapter Twelve

O
LIVIA
SPENT
ALL
of Friday counting down the hours to her appointment with Addy. She managed to clock off early at Usherwood—she’d weeded the verges and deadheaded the Sweet Williams in good time, and Charlie had gone AWOL amid the party planning. That was fine by her. The less she had to see of him, the better. After their altercation she’d been fully prepared for an unceremonious dismissal, but as yet it hadn’t come.

Back at the caravan, she rifled through her chest of drawers.

‘You look lovely in what you’re wearing,’ Flo said from the bedroom door, nettle tea in hand. ‘I shouldn’t think he’s making this much effort.’

‘Come on.’ Olivia gestured at her work clothes, scruffy dungarees hanging from her waist, white vest covered in soil and torn at the hem where it had snagged on a nail. ‘I know the Anchor isn’t quite The Ritz, but even so.’

‘Why are you going?’ asked Florence. ‘He’ll only hurt you again.’

‘Addy and I have unfinished business.’ She yanked out a grey silk top. ‘And if you don’t mind me saying, that business is none of yours.’

‘All right, sweetheart, no need to be sensitive.’

‘I’m not. I just wish you’d keep your opinions to yourself.’

‘I’m only concerned for you.’

It was no secret that over the years Florence had taken against Addy.
He’s terribly vain
,
isn’t he?
What does he think he is
,
God’s gift to women?
By Flo’s judgement Addy had once been a lovely boy; it was when he’d taken work at the Blue Paradise that things started to go wrong. Girls swarmed to him like bees to honey. Suddenly his plans to go travelling had evaporated, his ambitions for the future dismissed. Addy had become solely concerned with how many customers he could secure dates with in one day, and the honing of his immaculate reflection in the surf shop’s full-length.
Goodness knows how many he’s been with
, Flo would comment, twisting a knife in Olivia’s heart.
He’s not the same person he used to be.

It was kind of understandable. After all, it had been Flo who had wiped the tears after every Addy knockback throughout her teens; each time he’d swaggered on to the beach with the latest in a catalogue of beauties, all gamine girls with long legs, streamlined stomachs and chests so flat that if you arranged them into one of Flo’s more ambitious yoga positions you could use them as an ironing board. Olivia couldn’t blame her for being wary, but she wasn’t in the mood for a reality check.

‘If I’m going to be living here,’ she said, ‘I have to do things my way. You brought me up to think for myself, didn’t you? So that’s exactly what I’m doing.’

Florence held a hand up in surrender. ‘OK. Just don’t say I didn’t warn you.’

* * *

T
HE
A
NCHOR
WAS
a traditional seaside pub at the westernmost point of the cove. On the beachfront terrace an arrangement of picnic benches looked out on to the water, while inside it was buzzing with locals. She spotted Addy in a booth, nursing a pint and as usual scanning his phone. His forearms were tanned against the white of his T-shirt. He looked impossibly hot, his golden hair rumpled and sexy.

‘Hi.’ She slipped in next to him, wondering why out of all the men in the world he had to be the only one who turned her knees to jelly.

‘Hey. Wow, you look nice. Want a drink? I didn’t know what you wanted.’

‘A glass of wine, please.’

‘Red or white?’

‘White. Thanks.’

Addy scanned the bar. ‘I just spent bloody ages queueing for mine—do you mind going up? I’ll give you a couple of quid.’

‘Don’t worry, I’ll get it.’

‘Sure? You’re a legend. Oh,’ he caught her as she departed the table, ‘maybe get another of these?’ He lifted his pint. ‘Saves me going up again...’

When she came back ten minutes later he greeted her with a grin. Since the beginning of time she’d been addicted to it—would she ever grow out of Addy Gold?

‘So,’ she smoothed her top, ‘this is nice.’ It was such a banal thing to say but she couldn’t come up with anything else. They had been friends for so long—why couldn’t she talk to him normally, about normal things? They had tons of interests in common, didn’t they? They must do. She just couldn’t think of one right now.

‘I’m quitting the Blue Paradise,’ he blurted.

She nearly spat out her wine. ‘Why? You can’t quit!’

Addy lifted his shoulders. ‘I’ve been at it for years, Oli. I’m bored. I need some... I don’t know, some excitement in my life. Maybe it’s time I actually
did
something instead of bumming round the cove chasing the next wave.’

She went to object but the summary was succinct.

‘What will you do?’

‘Not sure,’ he mused. ‘I’ve got a few ideas, stuff I meant to get round to but never did... You know how life catches up and then you wake up one day and look around and think: Shit, man, is this it? Well, wake-up call, Addy!’ He did a flustered little jig as if an alarm clock had fired off nearby. ‘Maybe it doesn’t have to be.’

She swallowed her selfish reservations. It was great that he was finally taking charge of things. She should try to be supportive.

‘Well,’ she managed, ‘it sounds like a brilliant decision.’

He took a frothy sip of his beer. Olivia watched the foam on his top lip and wanted to kiss it off. ‘Actually,’ he said, blue eyes twinkling, ‘how’d you fancy helping out a mate?’

She returned his smile. ‘With what?’

‘Life at Usherwood... It must be a kick being around film stars all day, huh.’

‘Yeah, they’re OK. Charlie’s doing my head in though.’

Addy smirked. ‘He always was an arrogant twat.’

‘You were never friends, even at school?’

‘Are you kidding me? Lomax thought he was some hot deal, made up his own rules and everyone else could piss right off.’

‘Sounds about right.’

Addy’s eyes strayed to the bar, where a blonde was digging into her purse for change. ‘I remember this one time,’ he drawled, ‘we had this cricket match against Rudgeley Boys. Rudgeley was, like, the most interesting thing that happened all year; their team was the best in the county but we were totally on it to take the trophy.’

‘I remember! You used to go to the Farley Ground for playoffs.’

‘Yeah, that’s it. Anyhow Lomax had it in for the Rudgeley captain, this brick-shit-house fat kid called Sedgwick, because Sedgwick used to call him to his face all the things we called him behind his back: toff wanker, posh prick, that kind of thing.’

Addy laughed. Olivia considered that Addy’s own family wasn’t that badly off, in fact none of the boys who attended Towerfield were exactly poverty-stricken.

‘So Lomax bowled this totally vicious ball against him. It got Sedgwick in the nuts and Sedgwick freaked. The two of them started beating the crap out of each other. The master had to drag them off. There was blood everywhere. Lomax got smashed in the face and Sedgwick was staggering about like he’d been winded. Sedgwick was mashed up good; only he was so fat that when he fell over he kind of just rolled, like a massive squidgy meatball. It was pretty entertaining, but we were all majorly fucked off at the time. The match got cancelled, and since it was Lomax who started it, Rudgeley took the trophy and we got banned from ever playing in the tournament again.’

‘Shit. You must’ve been gutted.’

‘Sure was. I mean, not me personally, I wasn’t playing anyway—I’d put my shoulder out that season, remember?’

‘Oh. Yeah.’

There was a pause. She had something she wanted to ask him.

‘Did Thomasina Feeny set you up to this?’

‘To what?’

‘This...’ Olivia gestured to the table, as though the Feenys had taken to selling cut-price furniture. ‘Tonight.’

‘Why would she do that?’

There was a trace of humour in his voice. She could never quite tell if he was joking or not, like when he used to tease her about being a gypsy because she didn’t live in a proper house, or because her clothes were from charity shops, or because they used an outside loo, but then before she could take it seriously Addy would grin and give her a playful nudge, his blue eyes sparkling, and promise her he was only being affectionate.

She’d clung to that word—
affectionate
.

‘Never mind.’ She smiled. ‘Just a hangover from school, you know?’

Addy wouldn’t know. His adolescent experience had been entirely different to hers. He’d always been cool, and popular, the one everybody wanted to be friends with. As teenagers Taverick Manor had endured socials with the Towerfield boys, insufferable episodes geared solely towards securing that first kiss and that longed-for first fumble. All the girls had flocked to Addy, while Olivia looked on, dejected when he had pretended not to know her. Afterwards she saw it made sense—she was a couple of years below, she’d purposefully distanced herself from the handbag crew and besides, Addy had a reputation to protect. Instead she had danced with a boy called Steven who had worn a tangerine sweater and had bangs, and had wedged his fourteen-year-old erection between her legs for the duration of a Radiohead song.

‘Those Feenys are trouble,’ Addy observed, and she didn’t press him because she had no desire to find out just how naughty he knew one or both of them to be.

‘Usherwood’s work.’ She returned to safer ground. ‘I need the money, so in that respect it’s a job like any other.’

He scooted a little closer to her on the bench.

‘Jez and Simon said they saw you at Saffron the other night, like it was a family outing or something.’

‘Believe me, it was anything but.’

‘Bet Cato fancies you.’

She laughed openly at that. ‘Right.’

‘What? You’re gorgeous. I’ve always thought so, ever since for ever.’

Her tongue wound itself in a knot.

‘Fair to say you’re getting close to them...’ He started playing with a beer mat—how she loved his hands, the fingers long and strong and slender. ‘Right?’

‘When I first turned up, there was this thing that happened—-just an accident. The Lomaxes taking me out was an apology, that’s all.’

‘What accident?’

‘It doesn’t matter.’

Addy looked unconvinced so she added: ‘You’re right about Charlie. I don’t know if it’s because Cato’s here or if he’s always like that. He hates everyone.’ She gulped the wine. ‘He definitely hates me.’

Addy watched her. ‘You’re sexy when you’re angry.’

‘I’m not angry.’

‘You are, a bit.’ He leaned in. She noticed he’d barely drunk half his pint, and his eyes moved slowly, very slowly, down her face and towards her lips.

‘Hey, man.’

Addy’s friend Dax interrupted them. Even at this hour he was still wet from the ocean. Dax spent so much time in the water he was practically amphibious.

‘You surfing tomorrow?’ He moved to sit down, then paused, looked between them, and Olivia sensed but didn’t see Addy’s expression of:
I’m in the middle of something here
,
buddy.

‘Ah,’ said Dax, ‘right on. Catch you later, dude.’

‘Where were we?’ Addy pressed when he’d gone. Olivia could feel his thigh against hers, the heat of it, and drank more wine.

‘Usherwood,’ she mumbled.

‘Yeah.’ He put a hand on her leg. ‘D’you think I could get an introduction?’

The question threw her. ‘What?’

‘To Cato.’ Addy cocked his head and delivered that smile again. ‘Or Susanna—either, really.’ He stretched, and with the movement came that intoxicating aroma of salt and sweat. ‘I’ve always seen myself as getting into Hollywood—hanging around movie sets, going to functions, looking sharp all the time, acting a bit... I used to get told I could model, y’know, and aren’t actors kind of just models who learn lines? So I figured that’s what I wanted to do, only I don’t know how to get
into
it, like, where you even begin, and now Cato’s turned up and it’s like a sign. I’m thinking, if I get to speak to him then maybe he could get me mixing with the right people?’

‘I don’t know...’

‘I’ve tried with Charlie, but he totally blanked me.’

Olivia frowned. Addy caught her expression and tacked on, wide-eyed: ‘Hey, I wouldn’t want to put you on the spot, if it was awkward.’

She recalled Charlie’s words:
This house owes you nothing
...

‘Well, they are having this party,’ she began. ‘You could come if you want.’

Addy jumped on it. ‘For real?’

‘I’m not sure who they’re inviting, but if I say you’re with me—’

‘OK.’

‘I mean, not like that—’

‘Why not like that?’

‘Because we’re not... I mean, we’re not... You know—’

And then, like magic, his mouth was on hers. His lips were soft, hot, insistent, fitting to hers as neat as a glove and she reached up to touch his face, making sure it was really there, really him, and felt his tongue wrap deliciously around hers.

‘You’ll let me know when it is?’ He took a slug of his pint.

‘Sure,’ she breathed, stunned. ‘Sure I will.’

They stayed until the pub closed, Addy treating her like a queen, hanging on to every word she said and gazing deep into her eyes. Every so often he would squeeze her hand, or claim another kiss, and the whole night felt like walking on air.

When it was time to leave, Addy pulled her close against the chill.

‘Come down to the beach,’ he urged. ‘I’m horny.’ He held her hand and they ran through the darkness towards the water. At the shore he kissed her again.

‘Let’s go in,’ he murmured.

‘It’ll be freezing!’

He was already peeling off his T-shirt. His jeans followed, and then he was bounding into the sea, splashing through the white-capped baby waves as they broke and lapped around his ankles, knees, waist, the sky above bursting with stars. Through her drunken haze Olivia thought he looked just like a painting.
Boy
,
Sea and Sky
, he’d be called.

‘Come on!’ he yelled. ‘What are you waiting for?’ He dived into the swell, arms churning, and surfaced seconds later with a dog-like shake of the head.