Secrets of the Heart

‘No.’

Agnes fought to give the other woman her due. She knew why Kitty loved this man: for his energy, his gleaming house, his kindness, his knack of making money, his humour. His seriousness. For the lonely child in grubby shorts chipping away at the rock face. She understood precisely because she loved him for these things too.

Julian pressed on, ‘Kitty and I agreed the rules between us.’

‘But is she happy?’

‘On and off.’

‘Are you happy?’

Julian considered. ‘I’ve been too busy to ask.’ He stared at the face opposite him. ‘Don’t be angry.’

‘I’m angry with myself.’ The kitchen in Flagge House was a rotten, dingy place to end anything, let alone this. ‘You must go back to Kitty. You’ve got ten years’ worth of reward points… Anyway, I don’t want to be part of a sort of harem, which is what, I gather, I would be. It isn’t what I want. I feel more strongly about my love affairs than that.’ She looked straight into the face that she had kissed many times only a few short hours previously. ‘I’m sorry.’

He shrugged in a way that told her he was hurt but not showing it. ‘Don’t worry. This is not everything, Agnes. In the end, the flesh and the devil is only a little bit of life.’ She flinched, and he pushed the pieces of paper with Virginia Marie’s training reports over the table towards her. ‘At least take these.’

She picked them up. ‘Thank you.’

The chair scraped on the tiled floor. He stood behind her and she tensed. He lifted the heavy hair from the nape of her neck, pressed his lips to the tendon skimming under the skin and walked out of the room.

Agnes spent the morning searching the house for her uncle’s set of Jane Austens. They had disappeared on the day of his death and she had never managed to locate them. She wanted them back. She checked the books in the document room and searched the drawing room, bedrooms and the boxes in the attic, then returned to the document room for a second look. But they were not there.

Eventually, unsuccessful, Agnes returned upstairs to the bedroom where she picked up her discarded clothes from the floor, stripped the bed, smoothed the bedspread over it and opened the window.

She thought of Julian’s determined, experienced lust, and of her own response, of the drained, vulnerable, sleeping face on the pillow, the soft sigh of his unconscious breath, the tussle between them, and sat down abruptly on the edge of bed.

Some things you can have, some things you never, ever have. That was one of the laws that must be obeyed. Otherwise it was anarchy.

14

A week later, Agnes scooped up the aunts at the airport, plus a collection of plastic bags and suitcases, and drove them home.

As ever, Maud was on the case. ‘Bea had to stay behind on some of the trips. Anyone with medical problems was not allowed up the mountains.’

‘I didn’t mind. I was quite happy resting in the hotel.’ Bea gave an impression of being more than usually placid. ‘The sun was out most of the time and you would have loved the colours, dear.’

‘But the meat at dinner always had hairs on it.’ Maud swivelled round to face Bea in the back of the car. ‘You ate yours.’

Agnes concentrated on turning off the motorway and, this culinary solecism out in the open, Maud returned to the subject of the coach trips. ‘I’m afraid Bea missed a remarkable one,’ she said, with satisfaction, and went on to describe how strong the sun had been, everyone commented on it, it had been almost too bright. Slowly, slowly, the coach had risen above the world up into the mountain, a place of solitude and green, cleansing light. ‘And here,’ the disembodied voice of the guide had declared reverently, ‘is where the opening scenes of The Sound of Music were shot.’

Agnes could not resist it. ‘Actually, Maud, Julie Andrews spent most of the time in a fur coat while they were filming because it was so cold.’

Maud pouted. ‘I wish… I wish I could explain to someone as unimaginative as you are what it was like.’ What exactly she wished to explain Maud was unable to convey, for she had had no practice in the consideration of abstracts. Perhaps it was a sense of rapturous abandon and of purity so lacking in the world? ‘I was quite overwhelmed, if you must know. Particularly at the gazebo where Maria and the Captain kiss.’ She shivered. ‘I think we should light a fire when we get home, I’m feeling the cold.’

Agnes parked in front of the house. The aunts were back. ‘Did you enjoy the holiday, Bea?’

Bea was fussing over her luggage. ‘Oh, yes, dear, I loved it.’

Maud waited for Agnes to help her out of the car. ‘Human relationships are so vexed,’ she said, apropos of not much, leaning on Agnes and limping a little, ‘but a person has to soldier on.’

‘Yes, I suppose a person does,’ said Agnes gravely. ‘Have you hurt your leg, Maud?’

‘My hip. It’s getting worse.’ She limped into the kitchen. Her gaze fixed at once on the draining-board and the two breakfast cups that had remained there since Julian’s visit. ‘Have you had people to stay, Agnes?’

‘Yes, I did.’

‘Overnight?’

‘Yes, overnight, Maud.’

‘I expect it was the nice farmer you’ve told us about.’ Bea began to unpack the bags of duty-free. ‘Talking over your film.’

‘Actually,’ said Agnes, ‘it wasn’t.’

The look Maud gave Agnes was not so much disapproval as envy.

The gazebo was not the only thing to have excited Maud. Over coffee, and the rapturous recollections, the name Freddie was dropped into the conversation more than once. Freddie, apparently, had been a good friend to them and very helpful, but a full explanation as to who he was had not been forthcoming until Maud cornered Agnes in the study.

‘Agnes,’ Maud was unusually polite, ‘we’ve invited someone to dinner tomorrow. Will you be here? It’s Freddie. You’ll like him.’ The ring flashed as she smoothed down the sleeve of her latest cardigan in moss green. ‘You will.’

‘Are you reassuring me or commanding me?’

Maud’s eyelids dropped. ‘You can be very irritating sometimes.’

Agnes regarded Maud thoughtfully. ‘What you are really asking is, will I cook dinner?’

‘Well, yes, since you’re offering.’

Thus Agnes, who had planned to spend the whole of the next day working on the direction for the Hidden Lives film, found herself in the kitchen. As she melted redcurrant jelly into the gravy, she cursed the ancient oven and prayed that it would yield cooked beef. Transparent, ectoplasmic, the jelly swirled in the liquid. She hoped it would taste better than the primordial soup it resembled.

Sounds in the hall alerted Agnes to Freddie’s arrival. She put down the wooden spoon.

In full paste regalia, glittering, Maud led him proudly into the kitchen. Agnes, this is Freddie Loupe. Freddie, this is my husband’s niece. She’s the one who’s making the programme about those letters.’

The blazer alerted Agnes. The material had a sheen acquired from over-zealous cleaning and age, and the buttons were too bright. A poseur, she concluded, possibly one who did not possess much imagination. He was tall, but his well-manicured nails had a blue tinge, suggesting that he had heart problems. But just in case the observer was inclined to write him off, Freddie had dyed his hair an improbable, almost hypnotic, glistening white.

He took Agnes’s hand and peered short-sightedly into her face. She was taken aback, for he had a kind expression. He cleared his throat and said, ‘Your aunt never stops extolling your gifts.’

She did not require the inflection on the word ‘gifts’ to know that he was lying. Maud would be dead before she extolled anyone’s gifts.

During the dinner, he kept up a flow of anecdotes culled from years of package tours. ‘I’m the best of troupers,’