Summer of Secrets (13 page)

She paused.

‘My mum would have liked you,’ she said softly. ‘Most people just look at a picture, she used to say; only special people know how to search for the message behind
it.’

‘A bit like that project that Mrs C’s given us,’ Caitlin said, nodding.

Summer took a deep breath.

‘I reckon you and me think like Mum did,’ she added, slipping her arm through Caitlin’s. ‘That’s why you’re going to help me find out what really went on when
Mum died. Why my dad got rid of all her pictures and why my whole family carry on like she’s a total unmentionable.’

‘Well, Summer my dear, so at last you’ve brought your friends to see us!’ Sir Magnus Tilney put the jug of Pimms he was carrying down on the table and strode
across the terrace to greet them, kissing Summer on both cheeks and beaming broadly at everyone. It struck Caitlin that this was a different man from the one who’d blasted his daughter over
the phone.

‘Now, you, Caitlin, I’ve met already,’ he went on. ‘And this is?’ He turned to Izzy.

‘Izzy Thorpe,’ Summer said.

‘No relation to that politician fellow? The chap on the world news?’ Sir Magnus guffawed. ‘The one who’s in trouble for enjoying a bit of the highlife . . .’

The colour drained from Izzy’s face.

‘He’s my father, actually,’ she replied. ‘And he’s not––’

‘Your father? Oh, don’t look so worried, my dear, I’m not criticising the chap. The media, though – that’s another matter. Can’t trust them further than you
can throw ’em – I’ve had enough run-ins with the press myself to know that.’

He cleared his throat.

‘Besides, Parliament’s in recess – it’ll all blow over. Something of nothing, I don’t doubt.’

He turned hastily to Jamie.

‘And you are . . .?’

‘Jamie Morland, sir, Caitlin’s brother.’

‘He’s my boyfriend,’ Izzy butted in, thrusting out her chin in defiance. Caitlin and Summer exchanged amused glances.

‘And what do you do,
boyfriend
?’ asked Sir Magnus. ‘Golf? Tennis?’

‘I sail a bit,’ Jamie began.

‘You’re into boats? Wonderful!’ Summer’s father boomed, clapping Jamie on the shoulder. ‘Of course I don’t do as much sailing as I used to – broke the
bloody collar bone and knackered my hip a year ago, but no doubt I could helm while you crew and . . .’

He grabbed Jamie by the arm and led him away, still talking non-stop.

Caitlin touched Izzy’s arm.

‘Are you OK?’

‘Sure I am,’ Izzy snapped. ‘What’s not to be OK about?’

Caitlin felt as if she was sitting in the middle of one of those TV adverts for Italian cars or jars of pasta sauce. A long trestle table had been set up under the trees at the
side of the villa and was laden with bowls of salad, dishes of olives, baskets of garlic bread and jugs of wine. Two barbecues sizzled away at the side, grilling huge shrimps, whole fish and
chicken legs doused in honey and herbs. Sir Magnus had invited friends from the neighbouring villa to the meal, and Caitlin’s ears were assailed with the rapid staccato of Italian spoken so
fast that she couldn’t understand a single word, despite having scanned the pages of
Italian in Seven Days
at the airport. She felt as if any moment now a Fiat Punto would hurtle
through the olive groves, or some fat señora would brandish tomato sauce to background music of
Arrivederci Roma
and pronounce that it was full of Italian sunshine for just two pounds
thirty-five.

Despite her surroundings, Caitlin was disappointed. She had prayed that Ludo would sit next to her during supper, but he was at the far end of the table next to Katrina, the neighbour’s
stylish daughter, with whom he was chatting and laughing with far more ease that Caitlin would have wished. She had Izzy on one side and Summer on the other; and since Izzy – who was quaffing
Prosecco like it was going out of fashion – had eyes and ears for no one but Jamie, and Summer was jabbering away in fluent Italian to Dino, the neighbour’s rather sulky looking son,
she spent most of the meal inside her imagination.

She was just dreaming about unmasking the truth behind the death of Summer’s mother and having Ludo hurl himself into her welcoming arms and expressing his lifelong devotion and gratitude,
when the sound of gunfire caused her to leap right out of her seat.

‘That’ll be Freddie, no doubt,’ Sir Magnus announced. ‘He never could do anything quietly.’

‘Or get anywhere on time,’ Gabriella muttered under her breath.

The sound of a roaring engine followed by the screeching of tyres on gravel made Caitlin realise that it wasn’t gunfire but a motorbike. Already Summer, her dad and Ludo were on their
feet, while Gabriella was dabbing her mouth delicately with a napkin and refilling her glass.

‘Isn’t he just a total dish?’ Izzy whispered, pushing back her chair and turning to Caitlin for the first time in an hour. ‘Eat your heart out, Johnny Depp!’

Caitlin stared at the guy who was crossing the terrace and waving at everyone. He couldn’t have been more different from Ludo; he was tall and muscular, with dark hair brushing his
shoulders and a gold earring in his left ear. Caitlin could see what Izzy meant; it was as if one of the Pirates of the Caribbean had landed at Casa Vernazza.

‘Hi Ludo, mate, you got here then! How’s things?’

He kissed everyone on both cheeks, grabbed a glass and poured a generous slug of Pimms.

‘And Summer,’ he cried. ‘You’re looking great – how come my little sister got so grown up in just one term?’

Summer pulled a face at him, and allowed herself to be enveloped in a hug.

‘Hi Freddie, remember me?’ Izzy had sidled over to him under the pretext of refilling her own glass as everyone settled down again.

Freddie clearly didn’t. He opened his mouth, shut it again, looked at her and then glanced at Summer, clearly hoping for help.

‘Get real, Izzy,’ Summer said. ‘He’s hardly likely––’

‘Izzy! Of course,’ Freddie cried, throwing his sister a grateful glance. ‘Great to see you again – and you are . . .?’

He turned to Caitlin and Summer introduced her and Jamie.

He was certainly fit, but there was something about him that made Caitlin distinctly uneasy. His eyes were never still – they darted from one person to another, as if sizing up who was the
most desirable for him to pay attention to.

‘Ludo, let Freddie sit by me,’ Sir Magnus ordered. ‘There are things we need to talk about. Everyone, eat up – Gaby’s special dessert is on its way!’

Caitlin knew she had to act quickly. She nudged Summer on the arm.

‘Move – give your seat to Ludo. Please.’

Summer turned, frowning. ‘Why?’

‘Just do it – you want me to help you, right? So this is pay-back time.’

Summer giggled. ‘Oh, I get it! You have got it badly, haven’t you? Hey, Ludo! Sit here – I was just going to––’

‘Help me with dessert?’ Gaby was at her elbow, en route for the house. ‘Angel – you can carry the
pannacotta
while I get the peaches.’

Summer followed Gaby, somewhat reluctantly, towards the house and Ludo perched on the chair next to Caitlin.

‘This is such a beautiful place,’ she began. ‘And to think one day it will all be yours . . .’

She stopped, suddenly realising that she sounded like some money-grabbing fortune hunter.

‘Not sure I want it,’ Ludo murmured. ‘Well, not all the hard work with the vineyard and everything. Anyway, that’s way ahead. I’ve got uni first. Now, about
tomorrow – I thought we could take
Gina
down the coast, moor off one of the beaches and do a bit of snorkelling?’

Caitlin hesitated. She’d never snorkelled in her life and her swimming was rather like that of a small kitten thrown into a water butt. But to say no would be to kill the romance
stone-dead before it started.

‘Sounds great!’ she enthused as Summer dumped a dish of peaches on the table. ‘Ouch!’ She winced as the heel of Summer’s sandal caught her in the shin.

‘Caitlin and I have got plans for tomorrow,’ she told her brother firmly. ‘We’ve got this art project to do––’

‘We don’t have to do it tomorrow,’ Caitlin interrupted hastily. ‘I mean, we’ve got ages.’

‘Too right,’ Ludo said. ‘It’s the first day of the holidays, for heaven’s sake.’

Summer looked decidedly miffed but said nothing.

‘Hey, Ludo, did I hear something about a boat trip?’ Freddie shouted from across the table. ‘That’s a cool idea – count me in. Hands up who’s for a day on the
ocean waves!’

‘Me!’ Izzy cried, and yanked Jamie’s hand into the air. ‘And Jamie.’

‘Can’t you take Dad’s boat?’ Ludo suggested hastily. ‘Mine only really seats six . . .’

‘Oh chill, Ludo,’ Freddie replied equably, pouring some more wine. ‘We’ll squash up. It’ll be a right laugh.’

‘You look exhausted,’ Summer said in an unnecessarily loud voice as Caitlin stifled a yawn for the third time in as many minutes. ‘Me too. Let’s
go.’

She hauled Caitlin to her feet.

‘We’re going to crash,’ she announced to the rest of the table. ‘See you tomorrow.’

‘Thanks for supper,’ Caitlin called before Summer dragged her away.

‘What did you have to go and do that for?’ Caitlin demanded. ‘It’s only nine-thirty.’

She was shattered, but being dragged away from Ludo was far worse than missing a couple of hours’ sleep. Besides, she must have looked so juvenile.

‘It’s your own fault. I was going to leave this till tomorrow, but there’s something I have to show you. And with that lot squiffy and unlikely to move, this is a good
time.’

‘What is it?’

‘Come to my room and you’ll see.’

‘Lock the door,’ Summer ordered, crossing the room and opening a large cupboard.

‘That’s one of Mum’s pictures.’ She jerked her head to the picture above the bed as she dragged a sleeping bag off the top shelf, staggering slightly as though it was
really heavy.

‘And so are these!’ From the sleeping bag she pulled two canvases and laid them side by side. ‘What do you think?’

Caitlin gasped. The picture on the wall was of the same scene as the other two – a towering cliff, a pink painted cottage – half derelict and overgrown with weeds – and a huge
tree, under which sat the figure of a woman, her face lifted to the sky.

But there the similarity ended. The first picture was perfectly in proportion, and seemed to have been painted on a misty morning; all the colours were soft and muted – the woman’s
hair was lifting gently as if blown by a breeze and the tree was covered in budding leaves. It was pretty, certainly, but secretly, Caitlin didn’t think it was that amazing.

It was the other two pictures that blew her mind.

‘Oh, wow!’ she breathed, squatting down and looking at them more closely. The colours were vibrant oranges, flame reds, charcoal grey and swathes of purple and indigo. In one, the
tree had been made to look grotesque and menacing, its roots exposed as it clung to the cliff edge; the woman’s anger was tangible as she clawed at the dark earth with her elongated hands
which echoed the shape of the tree roots; the windows of the cottage were shuttered and dark. In the other, the woman dominated the canvas, arms outstretched to the heavens as the wind blew drifts
of wet leaves into a river of mud and rainwater; shafts of lightning illuminated her face, on which there was an expression of sheer joy and bliss. And in the corner, the cottage had been reduced
to the size and shape of a Monopoly house, its roof sliced as if someone had cut into it like a wedge of cheese, the tiles discarded carelessly around it.

‘These are stunning!’ Caitlin exclaimed. ‘And your mum did all three?’

Summer nodded.

‘These are the only ones I managed to rescue,’ she said with a sigh. ‘Mum used to go away a lot on painting trips and most of her best work was done when she was on her
own.’

‘What do you mean, rescue?’ Caitlin asked.

‘Well, she was really generous – she used to give friends pictures as presents – you know, birthdays, Christmas, stuff like that. And she sold quite a few too. When she died,
Dad went all peculiar and started buying back the ones she’d sold and even persuaded people to give back their presents.’

‘What – you mean he so desperately wanted them all so he could hang them up and remember her?’

‘I wish!’ Summer almost spat out the words. ‘He got them, crated them up and sent them off to be stored somewhere. He gave me this one’ – she pointed to the
chocolate-box picture – ‘as a keepsake. I only got the other two because the owner delivered them to the house while Dad was away on a business trip.’

Suddenly, without warning, she broke into great heaving sobs.

‘I miss her so much and I want her back.’

Caitlin put an arm round her shoulders.

‘I never even got to say goodbye,’ she wept. ‘Not properly. It was right at the end of term and I was in America on a school exchange. It was four days before I heard she was
dead.’

She wiped her eyes.

‘They flew her body back to the UK and so by the time I got home to Brighton, she was all nailed up in the coffin. The boys saw her and put flowers beside her and everything, but I . .
.’

She choked on a sob and blew her nose.

‘This is the last picture I’ve got of her.’

She picked up a photograph in a silver frame from her bedside table. It showed a stunningly beautiful woman with dark eyes, golden-blond hair and a generous mouth smiling widely into the
camera.

‘She’s lovely,’ Caitlin said.

‘Three weeks after I took that, she was dead. She went out for a walk late one night in a thunderstorm and never came home.’

‘How come it took your dad so long to reach you?’ Caitlin asked.

‘He said he didn’t want me to miss the chance of playing in the concert at the end of that week,’ she replied. ‘It was the first time I’d been given a solo spot and
he said that he had to think of the living and not the dead.’

Caitlin said nothing as Summer wiped the tears from her cheeks. She had a feeling there was more to come.

‘I should never, ever have gone to the States,’ she burst out. ‘Mum had always said that when I was around, she felt happy and safe and stuff – she said I was her gift
from God, sent to make her happy. She fought Dad tooth and nail to stop me going to boarding school like the boys.’