One Silver Summer Page 19

  A change in the air, and the bed shifted.

  “Sass, open your eyes.”

  She made herself to open them. And smiled. Alex was leaning over her. He took her hand.

  “Sass. You’re safe in the hospital. Here with me.”

  She blinked back sleepily.

  Then she remembered.

  Struggled to sit up.

  “Bo?”

  Alex’s face clouded, and Sass knew then. Just as she’d known when the doctor had told her about Mom. It was the way he’d twisted his hands in his white coat pocket. She’d made him say it three times, poor guy, because hard stuff made you stupid. You had to hear it.

  “Say it?” she whispered to Alex.

  “Sass …” He kissed her face. “Bo’s gone. We couldn’t save her, but I was with her the whole time. She wasn’t in pain at the end.”

  A monitor bleeped above her as Alex bent to kiss her forehead, careful not to put any weight on her body. A bruised angel in a hospital gown. He looked past the black eye and the stitches across her nose. Sass had never looked more beautiful. When he straightened up, he saw that her face was wet with tears.

  “Say it again?” She was crying quietly. Her shoulder and arm useless and bandaged by her side. He stopped the tears on her cheek with his finger. “It was nobody’s fault. We tried but we couldn’t save her.” A whisper to himself. And all of a sudden, he was crying too, gulping and blubbing like a baby.

  They were still hugging when his parents came back. They’d flown down in the night—together. He hadn’t expected that. And they’d faced the press this morning. He blocked the distant clamor outside. He looked across at Jim standing sentry at Sass’s door and felt glad that they’d come. His father coughed politely.

  “I see you’ve found each other. Alex, we don’t want to interrupt, but just to say, we’ll be back tomorrow before you go home … to Trist.”

  His eyes spoke volumes; his father had understood at last.

  Helena leaned on James as he and a uniformed police officer manhandled her through the massed press outside the hospital. She tried to ignore the barrage of shouts and camera flashes; she’d rather hoped they’d all have left after Seraphina and Edward made their statement yesterday.

  No. It seemed they wanted more.

  “What can you tell us about the prince and his girl?”

  So discourteous.

  “When are they coming out?”

  So rude.

  “Are the Prince and Princess of Wales getting back together again?”

  Quite ridiculous.

  And one particularly vile question from a jaded-looking hag she faintly recognized.

  “Was it her that Prince Alex was caught out with? Our tragic holiday girl?”

  Helena stopped. That woman was offensive on almost every level. She gave her the stare that withered grapes on a vine; raisin-faced, the creature stepped back. Helena knocked and went in. Alexander was sitting on the bed; sweet but hardly appropriate. They were coming home today. To Trist, to be precise. It was agreed that Helena could offer them somewhere to recover away from the world’s prying eyes. Extra security had been drafted in. Poor girl, there would be more press, but at least she could be sheltered until the vultures moved on.

  Helena cast her mind back to the dark days of her own broken engagement. 1943. Even then, the scandal had made the papers. They called her The Bolter for dropping an earl for an American airman. When her lighthearted cowboy had plunged his plane into the sea, she’d had no one: utterly heartbroken.

  “Grandma! Come in.”

  Alex grinned up at her. Helena cupped his chin and patted Sass’s good hand.

  “How are we today?”

  “Coming home. We’re not staying in here any longer, are we, Sass?”

  “I see you’re both ready. Be sure to thank everyone.”

  “Gran … please.”

  “James is waiting with the car. There’s quite a crush outside. Are you listening, Alexander?”

  Sass was distracted by the arrival of their security; she had no idea of what was coming. The hospital reception area was the first clue. It was like an explosion in a florist, or teddy-bear shop, with an entire wall devoted to get-well cards. His and hers. It was kind … and kind of odd.

  After handshakes, they stepped outside with Alex’s policeman, Jim, guiding the way, a welcome blast of cool after the stuffiness of the hospital. A black Range Rover stood parked with its engine running and the doors already open. From beyond the main gates, she could hear the faint sound of cheering.

  They got in the car and Sass sank into her seat, her left arm now in plaster, her shoulder well strapped. As the car made its cautious exit, they were greeted by hundreds of waving people. She shrank back. Who were they?

  Alex, by contrast, sat forward. His leg jiggled next to hers, but he was smiling and nodding so much that Sass just wanted to hunch.

  “What are you doing?” she asked, feeling hot and cold.

  “All these people have been waiting to see us for the last few days. We can’t just sneak out the back. It’s nothing, it’s just waving.”

  He glanced across at her, his eyes intense, looking for a sign that she understood. Sass didn’t, but she’d try. If only for him.

  The car crept forward, joined by a flashing police escort on motorbikes, and they were about to move off when Alex did something that Sass would never forget.

  He opened the door.

  “Alex, no!”

  The car slammed to a halt. Alex got out, swiftly followed by his bodyguard, only for them both to be swallowed by a whole heap of people. Sass watched as, awkwardly at first, Alex smiled and shook hands. Soon he was waving with both hands and working the crowd. He strode forward, posed for selfies, and ruffled babies’ hair, his policeman, James, beside him, holding his ear and muttering into a tiny mouthpiece.

  Sass sat rigid, hoping that no one would notice her sitting in the corner.

  A small girl did.

  She tapped on the window and waved a posy of flowers. Sass smiled politely as the little girl tried to tell her something. With difficulty, Sass slid across the seat to Alex’s side and rolled down the window, her good hand cupped to her ear. The child wriggled her way around to the side.

  “Are you a princess?” she asked, thrusting the flowers in Sass’s face.

  “No, but don’t tell anyone. Are you?”

  “Nah, don’t be silly.”

  “Are these for me? They’re lovely.”

  “Yes, I picked them in Granny’s garden. My name’s Lizzie. Lizzie Bunnage. I’m six.”

  “Wow, six? I’m sixteen. Almost. Is that for me too?” She pointed at a hand-drawn card that Lizzie was holding, bound up with Scotch tape.

  “It’s for the hurt on your face.” She pointed at Sass’s stitches.

  “Thank you, that’s sweet. The hurt’s getting better. I’m Sass, by the way.” She leaned forward and whispered it in Lizzie’s ear.

  The child beamed. “That tickled.”

  Sass smiled. It was true; she was still herself. She was okay. It tickled. And this little kid meant her no harm, just the opposite. She made Sass feel good inside.

  Alex fought his way back to the car and opened the door. He caught her hand and pulled her gently to him, keeping her close. He murmured in her ear and kissed her on the temple to the cheers of the crowd.

  One final wave and then that was it, they were ushered back by bodyguards. They were done; the crowds parted and the Range Rover rolled away. Sass breathed out, a long, long sigh, and rested her head by the window and watched as the leaf-green blur rushed by.

  And fell fast asleep.

  Alex watched her. A loose strand of hair was sticking to her bottom lip. Her skin was so pale now that he could join the dots that freckled her nose. The cut was beginning to heal over, stitched with tiny spiderlike blue threads. He imagined a nurse deciding on the color. He reached down and picked up her hand: “Good waving, girl,” he murmured, kissin
g the sore knuckles.

  No “exclusive” either for Cressida Slater. If she was out there somewhere, she wasn’t making money this time, because every other photo would be better. He’d won this round in the ring. Alex leaned back in his seat. It was a hollow victory, but a charge of energy flowed through him. This was a game he could play. His whole life stretched ahead. He had to learn it sometime. Sure, he needed space, he needed fresh air, but he could do this now, he knew it. Not the old way, but maybe in his own way.

  The crunch of gravel woke Sass from her nap. The car was pulling up. She looked out the window and saw a long shadow lift from the face of the house, as the cloud made way for the sun. Trist was a sight she would never take for granted.

  David and Jessie stood on the front steps waiting. Helena had explained about the need for extra security till the end of summer. They’d understood, Sass hoped. She sat up and peered closer, her heart bumping; was that Harry scrabbling to get down? Harry her little tough guy. She got out of the car and he shot straight out of David’s arms and up into hers. With a gulp and a smile, Sass folded herself into a family-sized hug.

  Afternoon tea, which Corbett set down on a tray on top of a huge, squishy footstool that Helena called an ottoman, was in the confusingly named morning room. Sass smiled at David, who joked that it could “fit a-lot-o-men.” Behind the stiff white linen was a silver teapot; four china cups and saucers; a pot of sugar lumps with a tiny pair of tongs; and a sort of carousel of sandwiches and sponge cake. It didn’t take too long to eat it all.

  After David and Jessie left, Alex reached for Sass’s hand.

  “Come with me,” he whispered, “there’s something else I want to show you.”

  “Oh?”

  He tugged her past the yard. Neither of them yet ready to face Bo’s empty box.

  “One last thing that we’ve been keeping from you. Not in the secretive sense; it just never came up at the right time. Grandma was going to show you, but what with …” He frowned and toyed with her hand.

  He took her through a painted-brick archway that Sass always assumed led to where the gardener, a crusty old guy named Roberts, kept his stuff. Her hand trailed across the yellowing stone that whispered of olden times; past cobwebby brick flowerpots, a neatly coiled pipe, and a pair of chipped green watering cans. All the way through to an enclosed, walled garden.

  Once a place to grow flowers or vegetables, it was now a corral, open to the stars with ankle-deep grass: the perfect place of safety for a pair of … foals!

  The two of them looked up, ears pricked. They jostled closer. The braver one was almost smoke blue and snorted down her nose like a baby dragon. The silver buckle on her tiny head collar glinted in the late afternoon light. The second was the color of tea leaves, bashful as he snuck in behind his girlfriend.

  Alex ducked under the gate and went over to them.

  “Hello, you two. I’ve brought someone to meet you.” Alex scratched behind their ears. Stumpy tails flicked appreciatively.

  “They’re beautiful …” Sass’s spirits rose. She reached out her open palm to the nearest one.

  “They’re the reason you found Bo in the summer meadow.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The dark gray nuzzling your hand is her foal, born seven months ago. Gran had been weaning her, giving her mother, Bo, the summer off.”

  “A foal? I had no idea. You never said.”

  “There are so many things I should have said earlier.”

  Alex stubbed the toe of his boot in the ground.

  “But wasn’t it awful, splitting them apart?”

  “They’re horses, Sass, not humans.”

  “Still …”

  “It’s fine. It’s nature and she’s got a friend.”

  Sass turned to Bo’s filly and patted her mane, a thick, fluffy ruff of black.

  “She doesn’t look much like her mother. She’s not nearly as white.”

  “She’ll lighten. She already moves like a dream. Look at her clean, straight limbs.”

  “She’s all big ears and feet to me.”

  “Too right. But she’s got it all. You wait.”

  Bo’s foal was the more alert of the two. Beautiful and yet it seemed to Sass that her shining eyes were mirrors of sadness that she couldn’t possibly feel. Could she?

  The baby answered her with a naughty squeal and a pirouette, her tail whisking like a feather duster. Sass was pleased. She was bright-eyed, not sad-eyed after all. Sass looked across at Alex, who was leaning against the gate with his head down, his face hidden for a few private moments. Sensing her, he looked sideways.

  “What would you call her if she was yours?”

  “Bo’s foal?”

  “Yes.”

  “How about … Bucky? Gem? Munchie or Fruit Loop?”

  Anything to make him feel better.

  “You are joking?” He half smiled.

  She answered with a small nod.

  “I’ve got a suggestion, then.”

  His face was serious once more.

  “Go on …”

  Alex paused. “How about … well, you know the saying, every black cloud has a … ?”

  “Silver lining,” she finished. “I like it. I mean, I love it. What will your grandmother say?”

  “I think she’ll like it too. It’s not too gloomy, is it?

  “No, it’s perfect, but she’ll have to have a nickname.”

  “Think of one, then.”

  “How about Summer? Storm would be right, but it’s way too soon, and a summer is what Bo has given us. A happy time,” she said firmly. “I guess that’s what the saying means.”

  “Then Summer she is. And there’s another reason I’ve brought you here. After Grandma got to know you, before all this, she wanted to … And I know it’s a day early, but … Summer’s your sixteenth birthday present.”

  Alex took her hands and shook them out a little. Sass couldn’t speak, her heart was so full.

  “Do you think we can be happy again?” Alex asked.

  “Sure I do …”

  There was no other choice.

  He bumped his forehead to hers. “Then … I do too.”

  The light was fading when Alex took Sass back to the house. Soon it would be time for dinner, but first, he wanted her all to himself.

  In the old servants’ basement, he kissed her. They kissed again in the scullery. He kissed her in the boot room and against the wall of the pantry that led to the kitchen where he stole matches and a silver candlestick, and led her upstairs.

  Half walking, half running, he tugged her hand down the long gallery to the closed off double doors at the end.

  “Where are we going?” Sass asked, her voice softer in the darkness.

  “To see the house by candlelight. The way it was meant to be seen.”

  With fumbling fingers, Alex struck a match, which flared as it touched the wick of the candle. When he pushed open the doors, Sass felt herself gasp as the quivering light curled over scarlet-silk walls and cornices of twisted gold.

  At the window, Alex parted the red velvet curtains, and they gazed past their reflections all the way to the sea. It felt like the cloak of England was laid out before her.

  Alex spun her gently around. He was pointing up at a wall of pictures, his hand tight at her waist.

  “Meet the rest of the family.”

  Sass gazed up. Long faces looked down. Kind of haughty. All except one.

  “That’s your grandmother? She looks so young.” She thought of the Helena she knew with the same sharp eyes and unmistakable cheekbones. She tilted her head to look more closely. There was a flush to the face, an anticipation, unless it was a trick of the flame? Sass could imagine Helena’s foot tapping as she sat for the artist.

  Alex read her mind.

  “Some scandal broke not long after this was painted; we never talk of it.”

  “Don’t you want to know?” Sass knew she would.

  “Of course, but it
’s private. Anyway, it was way back in the war.”

  Sass remembered her own conversation with the countess: “Secrecy is so much more exciting.” Why was that? And was it good or bad? Were secrets so innermost that you hugged them stupidly to you, or was the opposite true; it was the risk of being found out that made them feel so dangerously good?

  A glint caught her eye: this time a crystal-framed wedding photo on a side table. Sass reached over and picked it up.

  “And you met my parents at the hospital …”

  It looked like the fanciest wedding possible. A royal wedding. She almost dropped it. Alex’s father stood stiff-backed in uniform while his mother shone in a pool of silver lace, clutching a vast bouquet of roses, her flower girls trailing adorably. A tiara sparkled in her upswept hair.

  Alex pulled at her sleeve, sensing her sudden discomfort.

  “Listen, this isn’t me, or what I would choose, but it’s what I have to become. It is my duty, I suppose.”

  “But not now,” Sass whispered, squeezing his hand.

  “Not now.” He smiled. “One day.”

  Alex took her up the back stairs, to the door of the bedroom beneath his own. There were sixteen others he could have chosen, but this was the closest that Gran would allow. Just a floor between them, when all he wanted was to hear her breathing.

  Downstairs in the hall, the old grandfather clock struck seven.

  Sass gazed around the room. “Alex … it’s beautiful. The walls … they’re painted twilight.”

  Alex laughed. “It’s not the grandest room, but it’s not too shabby. It gets the sun at the end of the day.”

  “And it’s near to you; just a layer of plaster and floorboards away.”

  “That’s true, I’ll hear you sleep-talking.”

  “Snoring, more like.”

  And Sass leaned in and hugged him until he was afraid that she’d break.