One Silver Summer Read online

  Cressida had taken the call from the fruitily named Plum Benoist and was on her way to Cornwall. A new royal angle at last. Teeth clamped around a cigarette, she negotiated the final stomach-curling hairpin bend in her black Gucci Fiat 500 with its go-faster green-and-red stripe. She screeched as an inch of ash fell in her lap. Flinging her poison stick out, she narrowly missed the windshield of a knackered old Bentley that had pulled over to let her pass.

  Her new assignment had begun on Prince A and Miss B. The girl had been most forthcoming, letting slip with the subtlety of a scalpel that she’d be visiting her boy today.

  Cressida had sent a photographer ahead, a smooth-talking paparazzo called Silvio on a Ducati. She was stuck up the road from the ancestral pile at some dreary pub: the Smugglers, or the Strugglers. Someone would swing for it, if there wasn’t any Wi-Fi. Sightings of the young royal were rare. She knew because she’d followed him for long enough. Photos of the handsome young pup “in love”? Worth a bomb. All grown up now: he was fair game.

  Alex pulled on beach shorts and a wrecked T-shirt. It was too hot to ride. All the horses were out and the yard was deserted, except for Susan, who was fast asleep in the shade. He walked up to see the foals in the cool of their walled paddock; it had been a kitchen garden once. Alex had seen grainy photos of under-gardeners holding up pineapples, back before the First World War. There had been no pineapples since. No under-gardeners either. And no prizes now for guessing which foal was Bo’s. She was the color of a storm cloud with her flash of white, and the cheekier of the two. All legs and ears, and a stubby tail. Quality, he noted. He expected nothing less.

  The foals stuck together, jostling for position. At six months, they’d been weaned from their mothers. Hard at first, but they soon got used to it. Alex remembered how, when he was seven, he’d shivered in the dorm on his first night at prep school. In the end it hadn’t been that bad; it was later that he hated it, when his friends began to treat him differently. He’d stuck with the few mates he’d known all his life, but it wasn’t exactly fair on them. Who wanted to hang out with him and his policeman?

  With a playful squeal, Bo’s filly nipped her field mate and charged to the end of the small paddock. With a watch-me toss of her head, she trotted back as if treading on air. She made him smile. Shook him out of his apathy like someone else he could think of. Sass. Alex grinned and leaned against the fence. What should he do today if he wasn’t seeing her? She’d come into his life and mucked it about, and he liked it. Resting his head on his arms, he rolled a stone with his toe. This feeling … These mixed-up feelings he was trying to work out. He composed himself with effort. What he felt for her was like nothing else.

  The Porsche purred past the tombstone-like sign to Trist and through the ornate, rusted gates.

  “Ow!” moaned Plum as she bumped her head on the hood for the millionth time that journey.

  “Shut up, can’t you!” hissed her sister, loud enough to be heard back in London. “We’re here now.”

  “Whoa,” said Cee-ce’s boyfriend at the wheel: Brad, an American, who worked in finance. Plum craned her neck but couldn’t see anything, praying that the house was more impressive than its entrance.

  They crawled up through a park of overgrown fields until they turned a wide curve and she saw it for the first time. Shabbier than she’d imagined, with a worn-out face that look liked it could do with a lift.

  Brad revved the engine and parked in a spray of gravel.

  “That’s awesome,” Brad said, while Plum pressed her temples; the beginnings of a headache. Her sister had totally lied about how much Brad earned, if he was this fixated already.

  They got out, Cerise making a thing of pulling up the handle of her suitcase like it was time for them to leave already. Plum looked around. The place looked abandoned, or haunted, and where was Alex? She’d sent him a text and he still hadn’t replied.

  “Can I help you?”

  She glared straight into the un-made-up face of a girl about her own age, maybe older, seventeen or eighteen. She wasn’t much taller than Plum and had a definite farmer’s tan. It stopped at the neck and arms of her too-tight polo top that had shrunk in the wash. Worse, she had sweaty patches under her armpits, a pigtail of strawberry-blonde hair left to bleach in the sun, and she was wearing filthy jodhpurs, and Crocs, the ugliest shoes ever invented. A stable girl? Phew. Hardly competition.

  “Yes, I’m looking for … Alexander.” She dispensed with his title. In her head, they’d gone beyond that. “Is he home?”

  “Yeah, he’s up with the foals, but I expect he’ll be down soon. Her Ladyship is out.” The girl eyed her with the sort of lazy look boys liked.

  Plum eyed the cobbles. “Shall I wait here? Or go straight up to the house?” She wasn’t breaking an ankle on those.

  “Plum!” Alex came striding over. “What on earth are you doing here?” He went to kiss her cheek, but she wobbled at the wrong moment, and he missed.

  “Thought I’d surprise you. Aren’t you pleased?” She flipped her hair to one side.

  Behind his back, Plum widened her eyes at her sister, cringing when Brad rushed forward without waiting to be introduced, his hand outstretched like a paddle. Alex shook it with a slight tightening of his jaw.

  “We’re on our way sailing,” she fibbed with practiced ease. “And thought we’d pop by.” She flapped a hand in Cee-ce’s direction. “This is Cerise … and Brad. It’s his boat.”

  Her sister arched an eyebrow and smiled sourly in reply, tapping her watch at Plum when Alex wasn’t looking.

  Plum glanced at her prince. He had the same dead-eyed smile on his face that she’d seen at the ball. He didn’t seem at all happy that she was there.

  “Right,” he said, making a special effort to be polite. “I see you’ve met Amy?”

  Alex smiled gratefully in the other girl’s direction and she smiled back. Plum felt a sudden urge to slap her, but made do with studying Alex instead.

  He looked tanned and his hair had grown. It almost curled at the sides. He was looking good, nicer than she remembered, but her plan wasn’t working. She hadn’t expected him to whip off his shirt and lay it across puddles, but he could look slightly more enthusiastic.

  Urgh. A hairy muzzle thrust its way into her crotch. A slobbering dog. She kneed the wet nose away, her white jeans ruined.

  At least Alex seemed to cheer up.

  With an infuriating small smile, he clicked his fingers to call the dog away. “My grandmother’s out, but I expect I can rustle up some tea. Follow me.”

  He led them through a back door into a vast, scruffy kitchen where an old range simply radiated heat. Cee-ce looked like she might pass out.

  “It’s our cook, Mrs. C’s, day off: Saturday, you see,” Alex said, as if that explained anything. Back in London, their housekeeper, Marta, worked 24-7.

  “I think there’s cake in the tin.” He pried off a rusted floral lid.

  “No, really!” She and Cerise both shrank back from a sweet waft of strawberry and vanilla. Bad carbs and sugar: an absolute no-no.

  “Sure. Don’t mind if I do.” Brad the bear that needed feeding.

  Plum crept up to Alex while he filled the kettle. “You didn’t answer my texts.” Tugging gently at the edge of his T-shirt.

  “I’m afraid we don’t get a signal down here. And I …”

  “No Wi-Fi?” Plum was shocked.

  “No hot water, actually.” Alex replied. “If you want a shower down here, you have to catch the boiler unawares.”

  Plum felt a little faint. It was the hottest day of the year. She had a headache and had been perspiring all morning in the back of a Porsche. She did her best to pretend that it didn’t matter, channeling what she’d learned from her sisters.

  “But you do have lots of lovely fresh air.” The fat black dog slumped at her feet whiffed loudly, with a rumble that sounded like thunder.

  “I thought you hated the country?” Alex looked at her. The intensit
y of his gaze was confusing. She was used to boys looking at her in awe, but this was different.

  “What’s not to like?” she lied.

  “Milk and sugar?”

  “No, no. Green tea if you’ve got it?” She reached forward and plucked a piece of straw from his hair. It stuck to her fingers. Eew.

  “I think we’re all out.”

  “Earl Grey?” She was trying to be helpful. Alex handed her a mismatched cup and saucer, and it was then that she saw what was written on his palm.

  He hadn’t seen her looking, his hand falling to his side.

  But she’d seen the name: Saskia Chapel.

  It twisted like a pinch. Who was she? Not the girl she’d just met? No, that was an Amy.

  “I’m sorry, Plum,” Alex began, looking uncomfortable. He tugged her to the corner of the room. “I’m sorry that you’ve come all the way down here. I never meant to lead you on. You’ve been … um … more than a good friend to me. A brilliant cox. And you look fantastic … I mean, look at you, you could have any boy and they’re all jealous as hell, but I’m not the one for you.”

  Plum twisted her hair; the disappointment in her chest was surprising.

  “Silly! I never thought that for a moment. I’ve always known we’re just … teammates.”

  She leaned up on tiptoe and brushed his cheek with hers, her nails curled tight, tight, in her palms. When she unclenched them in the back of the car later, they bled a little. An important lesson. If anything in life goes wrong, take it out on someone else.

  When Cressida Slater’s message came later, Plum was ready to kiss and tell.

  Sass’s jaw dropped. The car parked outside the church was very big and sleek, and some old guy in a peaked cap stood holding the door open. She looked around. If he was waiting for the bride, he’d gotten the wrong girl. She slid into the backseat, which creaked softly, the cream leather worn smooth, noting a velvet carpet on the floor that she hoped not to get sick on. On the opposite side from her, the old lady stooped and got in too, with the driver’s hand at her elbow. She looked across at Sass.

  “I realize you must have no idea who I am.” She smiled drily. “How very rude of me to presume. Please call me Helena.”

  Up close, eagle eyes took in hers. Helena’s face was lined, but still very beautiful. The car swept out of the churchyard in a crunch of stones and turned smoothly onto the country lane. Behind them, the wedding party was closing in a noisy ring of bright confetti and camera flashes.

  “Thank you so much,” Sass said. “I think my uncle and his girlfriend thought a wedding would be fun.”

  “In my experience, and I have only ever done it once myself, weddings are nothing but a necessary nuisance. A public show. Secrecy is so much more exciting. Now, my dear girl, where am I taking you?”

  Sass felt utterly tongue-tied. Who was this extraordinary woman? She sounded like a Hollywood star from one of Mom’s old black-and-white movies. Maybe she was one, once?

  “Honestly, you don’t need to drive me all the way. I like to walk.”

  “Really, it’s no trouble. Humbug?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Travel sweet. To settle your stomach?”

  She held out a small round tin.

  “Sure … thank you.” Sass sucked hard on the mint candy, wishing for all she was worth that she was alongside the driver with the window wound down, because a car like this wasn’t meant for these roads, or for old movie stars in tweed; you could keep it for rock stars and royalty.

  Plum and her poisonous sister had left half an hour ago. Alex had seen them off down the drive and kept walking. Head down, arms pumping. Plum had put him in a stinking mood. Okay, he’d disappointed her. He felt bad, but it wasn’t as if he’d encouraged her. Just seeing her was a jarring reminder that the summer would soon be over, and then it’d be back to real life, whatever that meant.

  He reached the front gates, his “permitted” limit unless he wanted the hassle of a new minder sooner. Coming up the road was the unmistakable growl of a powerful car. Not the Porsche back again? His heart sank. Instead, Gran’s old Bentley swept past: a gleam of racing green heading for the village. It was only a glimpse, but he could have sworn that Sass was sitting in the back. No, that was ridiculous. He was seeing things. Sweat in his eyes. He furiously wiped his face on his arm.

  His request at dinner about wanting to ride out with a friend had met with a disapproving silence. Gran had made it quite plain that was never going to happen. No girl, he suspected, was good enough for him in his grandmother’s eyes, and certainly not one he’d just met. Ironic, given that his mother wanted him to meet every girl in Vogue, so long as she was suitable.

  He’d choose his own friends, or none at all.

  Alex squinted against the sun and tried to imagine a scenario in which Sass came back to London and they could be together. He could show her the sights; they could ride the red buses and be tourists for a day.

  And that, he knew, was the lie of it. The difficult but inescapable truth was that hidden in Cornwall, they could be themselves, but nowhere else. He didn’t doubt that she was right for him, meant for him even, but beyond this summer, others would get in the way; people would talk and she wouldn’t fit. Wrong class, wrong voice, wrong look, wrong nationality. It was the way things were.

  He strode on, the heat of the tarmac burning through his thin flip-flops, the air thick with insects: dozy wasps and the whine of flies. The press would follow her, and she’d hate it. Not like Plum, who’d suck it up like an ice-cold Coke through a straw.

  His mouth ran dry as he remembered the last time he’d made headlines. The First VIII had qualified for the Nationals in May, the biggest school rowing event before Henley. As stroke, it was his job to set the pace while Plum steered the line and the rest of the guys pulled like fury.

  Hands, body, slide.

  Except that he’d set a rate they couldn’t possibly keep up, as if he’d had something to prove. He remembered the strain in his arms, shutting his eyes with the effort, and the sudden disastrous skew as he caught “a crab,” his blade stuck in the water, his oar wrenched above his head. The boat had rocked to an awful stop in the wash of their rivals.

  “Nice one, Alex,” Gully had grunted. “Epic. Nearly tipped us in. We’re out of it now.”

  The headlines had been balder: NATIONALS DISASTER. NO HEIR IN THE TANK. PRINCE BLOWS UP!

  Alex looked up at the sky; a dark cloud was edging out the blue. He wanted to be with Sass. They were good together, but he had to think. Common sense and duty demanded caution. Besides, she wouldn’t want to be with him for long. She just didn’t know it yet.

  At the crossroads, instead of heading back to Trist, he found himself hacking his way down an overgrown shortcut to the beach. Slashing at the nettles and ferns. He wanted waves; he wanted water. He wanted to feel the cold pull of the sea.

  And then he’d decide what to do.

  When the car reached the top of the hill, Sass had insisted palely on getting out. She’d spent the last few minutes of the journey under Helena’s firm guidance, breathing in through her nose and out through her mouth.

  “Thank you for the ride, but I’m okay now. I can walk the rest of the way.”

  “If you’re sure, my dear … I suppose a walk will do you good.”

  A quiet understanding had passed between them.

  Sass stood in the narrow lane. It was so hot. Frills of giant ferns lined the steep roadway, sprouting from dry-stone walls that must have taken hundreds of years to build. From where she stood, Sass could taste the sea, a sharp tang of salt above the clammy air, but she wanted to see it too. Feel a breeze come and meet her. A farm track on her left led up to higher ground. She took it, her silk dress clinging to her legs.

  It continued up across a wheat field, and it was from the top of the slope that she saw him in the distance, or rather, the back of him. It was Alex, wasn’t it?

  He was about half a field in front of her and
striding ahead. Tall and tanned, his shorts low slung. She called out to him, but he was too far away to hear her. She forgot her nausea as Helena’s words snuck into her head: “Secrecy is so much more exciting.” She’d follow him and catch him by surprise.

  It was a struggle to keep up. Sass wasn’t dressed for stalking. The coarse grass, spiky gorse, and brambles snatched at her dress. Just when she’d had enough, they came out on the coast path and Sass recognized where she was. Below her stretched the beach. Their beach. It was smaller now, shrinking with the incoming tide. Not that she’d ever understood the tide thing. How could so much water come and go because of the moon? Some stuff was way bigger than she was.

  Sass looked ahead, shading her eyes from the glare. Alex was still marching along. When the path wound down to the sand, he kicked off his flip-flops. First one, then the other, hopping to keep his balance. Then he began pulling off his shirt, chucking it to one side as he headed for the water. Watching from the shore, Sass’s eyes crept across his back. Lean and smooth-skinned, his arms and back were tight-knotted like wood, and gleamy with sweat. With a last burst of speed, he ran into the water, the waves rushing up to meet him.

  Alex ran straight in and dived into the swell. He came up gasping at the sudden cold. It felt good. He swam on his back for a few strokes, kicking hard. Putting his feet down, he looked back at the shore.

  “What … ?”

  He wiped his face and looked again, and shoved his hair out of his eyes, which were stinging from the sea. Sass was there on the beach, standing in the shallows holding up the hem of her dress from the surf. His heart beat harder, his chest going in and out, until all thoughts of ending things were washed from his mind. He knew he had to find a voice from somewhere.

  “Truth or dare?” he called, delivered with a coolness he didn’t feel. He cupped a hand to his ear for her answer, but it came back loud and clear.

  “Dare!” She was smiling. Hand on hip now, slightly lopsided, her hem trailing in the water.