Souls in the Twilight Page 3

  Veronica was disappointed in Julie. When the twins came for their summer holidays, she and Julie would spend their days together, and now that mother had bought the pony—the first they’d had since poor Clover died—they were to take it in turns to ride. But Julie, who was nearly fifteen, had become interested in boys. This fatal weakness, which had nothing in common with Veronica’s mature decision to become a mistress since it was based in no strategy for social advancement or for advancement of any kind, had damaged their friendship irreparably. No sooner did a boy appear on the scene—and he did not have to be as good-looking as Tony—than Julie would enter another and more foolish frame of mind. Her voice would rise in pitch and volume, her remarks would become more pointed and public, her gestures would lose their hesitation, and all the sweet obedience of her childhood ways would vanish. Veronica tried hard to forgive her, to go on loving her, to be her true companion. But Julie failed to notice Veronica’s efforts, and the distance between the real and the remembered Julie grew as water grows between a cast-off boat and its mooring.

  Matters had come to a head with Tony. Simon had brought him to stay a week ago, and they had all been excited—Aunt Jerry, the twins, Nanny Draper and even Muddy the terrier who understood that at any moment the world was going to change. Mother had told them at supper time, saying Tony was a special boy who had lost his parents when very little but was so clever that Uncle Simon had sort of adopted him, had paid for his schooling, and was coaching him for Oxford. Uncle Simon, Mother said, was like that, a man who did not wait for others to do good, but stepped in and took charge of it himself. She hoped that the girls would be as lucky as Tony was, since everyone needs a benefactor, especially those who have no father to look after them. Simon had smiled through this speech, making tut-tut noises of a self-deprecating kind, which made Veronica’s flesh creep. She had tried to catch Julie’s eye, so that she could discreetly raise her eyebrows with a “What a phony!” look. But Julie was too excited to notice, and was pumping Mother with questions about Tony’s age, interests, height, colouring and favourite pop group.

  Veronica’s fears were realized. When the boy arrived next day, driven from the station in the bright red Aston Martin that was Simon’s title to devotion, he began a systematic conquest of the women. Charm was his policy; he paid court to Mother, commenting favourably on the summer dress which Veronica deplored since it was cut so low and showed half of Mother’s sun-tanned bust, besides being of a canary yellow colour that suited no one over thirty. He carried things to and fro, volunteered for little jobs like serving drinks or laying the table—jobs that required no great effort but which all the same put him on display as a conscientious guest of the family. He helped Aunt Jerry with the shopping, showed her how to work the video camera, and taught the twins to play “Chop-Sticks” on the piano. He was polite to Nanny Draper, and pretended to understand her when she whispered on about the Bible. And he was so fascinated by Muddy and the pony that you would have honestly suspected he had never met an animal before. In short, he was an invincible intruder, and easily the match in that department for Simon, who encouraged him constantly with silent smiles. Nothing had been said about the length of Tony’s stay, and within a week Veronica felt so estranged from the proceedings that she was considering advancing her departure. The only problem was that she did not think she was ready to be a mistress just yet, besides having serious doubts about the legality of the thing, even in France.

  They were out of the pool now, and Simon was pulling Aunt Jerry by the wrist and leading her out on to the lawn with a loping ape-like dance. She laughed at his buffoonery, while Tony, meticulous in his little courtesies, handed a pair of towels to the twins and ushered them after their mother. Almost forgetting, he stopped in his tracks and turned to Veronica.

  “Coming?” he asked with a smile.

  She made no answer.

  “See you outside, then.”

  He turned and walked quietly after the twins, his bare back swaying on his polished legs. After a while Veronica got up from her chair and went to the glass doors of the veranda. They were on the lawn now, Simon cavorting with Aunt Jerry, and the twins running in circles around them. She wondered why Tony stood apart, his face serious and frowning, as though lost in thought. Thought was not a common attribute of boys as she had known them. And thought had been banished from the house by Simon, whose squeaks and giggles had reduced everyone to happy animals, rushing around and against one another like a pack of excited puppies. How wearisome it had all become, and how interminable.

  She had asked Mother what Simon did.

  “It’s difficult to explain,” she replied with that queer look of hers which meant ask no questions and you’ll hear no lies. Then she nodded to a book that was lying on the coffee table. “That’s something he wrote there, so you can see for yourself.”

  But she said it in a non-committal way, as though to imply that Simon was far more important than a mere author—certainly more important than The Wines of Tuscany by Simon Goldcastle. Veronica glanced at the book. It was illustrated with crude line-drawings of Tuscan farms and cypress trees, and every page was headed with the name of a village, and a paragraph of statistics about hectares, hectolitres and grape varietals. It was the kind of book that anyone could put together from official reports, with the aid of a leisurely holiday. Mother and Simon had been to Tuscany in the spring, just after he had been introduced as her newest uncle.

  “Surely he can’t make a living from books like this,” Veronica said.

  “Of course not. That’s just the icing on the cake.”

  A dull cake was Veronica’s thought. But she dropped the subject, not wanting to give the impression that her interest in Simon went further than a passing curiosity. The deeper the interest, the more durable the fact.

  Watching Simon’s gambols, she was struck by the idea that he would not have told the truth about his occupation in any case. Just how she arrived at this idea she did not know. But it came upon her so forcefully that she could not dismiss it. And then—why not?—it would be interesting to unmask him. She went with a new and more cheerful outlook through the veranda doors.

  Tony was still standing apart from the fun, in the shade of the tulip tree at the edge of the lawn. He smiled at her as she passed. She made a grimace at him, and then changed the grimace to a half-smile.

  “When’s your mother back?” he asked.

  She shrugged her shoulders.

  “In time for lunch.”

  She tried not to look at him, but his smile remained and held her eyes. Once, years ago, a man had smiled at her like that. It was in the supermarket where she had gone shopping with Nanny Draper. He had stood by the ice-box, with an empty trolley in front of him, dressed in a bright yellow windproof. He was young, with smooth film-star looks like Tony. He had offered to buy her an ice-cream. Nanny Draper had walked up behind her quickly, taken her hand, and hurried her unspeaking away.

  “Your mother is very good,” he said suddenly. “The way she always cooks for us, and the way—I mean, she doesn’t seem to mind us being here.”

  “Oh,” said Veronica, “she wouldn’t show it, even if she did mind.”

  He looked puzzled.

  “Do you think she does mind then?”

  She wondered whether this question had ever occurred to him before.

  “Oh well, I suppose not. All things considered.”

  “What things?”

  “Simon, for one thing.”

  He laughed.

  “Oh, I know he is someone special for your mother.”

  Veronica sensed the raw, red feeling as it came rushing up through her gorge and briefly boiled in her throat before escaping with a hiss into the atmosphere. She watched it fly aloft, flapping angrily, a great bird now, a bird of prey circling high above them, a dwindling dot, now fixed like a star with its eye on the unsuspecting Simon.

  “He’s not specially special,” she said quietly. “Not so special as you t
hink.”

  “No, I don’t suppose he is,” Tony said hurriedly, with an embarrassed look. He had taken something from the pocket of his shorts, and held it out to her. It was a shiny metallic cylinder.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  “A present. I’ve been meaning to give it to you all morning, only I didn’t want the others to see.”

  Veronica recoiled. The thought of something between her and Tony, which the others should not see, filled her with distaste. She shook her head.

  “Please take it,” he said. “It will help you.”

  “Help me what?”

  “Help you understand.”

  There was a strange beseeching light in his eyes. She tried for a moment to hold out against it. Then slowly she extended her hand. The object that he placed in it was warm with body heat, smooth and heavy like an ingot.

  “It’s a sculpture,” he said. “And there’s another one inside.”

  In her hand lay a fish of yellow metal, which stared up at her with a blue glass eye. The body was cylindrical, with a joint running behind the fins. He took it from her and unscrewed the tail. And when he shook the fish another object slid from it into the palm of his hand. Veronica tried not to look at it.

  “You see? It’s a man who was eaten.”

  The figure was crouching with its chin pressed to its knees. It had a curious melancholy expression on its face, which seemed full of knowledge.

  “It must be very valuable,” she said. “You shouldn’t give it away.”

  He put the man back into the fish and screwed it together.

  “But I want you to have it,” he said. “It’ll help you understand.”

  “Understand what?”

  He was looking away from her to the group on the lawn, who had fallen silent. His face was troubled.

  “What’s been happening here. I mean with me and your mother and Simon.”

  Veronica thought for a moment.

  “Where did you get it?”

  “I found it. One day, when I was out with Simon. We were visiting some people in a big house. Down near Southampton.”

  She wondered why Tony was telling her this, and the suspicion formed in her mind that he had stolen the little sculpture, and was trying to implicate her in the theft. Tony came with Simon, and Simon was bad. Therefore Tony was probably bad too. Veronica shook her head.

  “I don’t want it,” she said.

  He looked thoughtful for moment.

  “O.K. Then I’ll keep it for you.”

  “Why, if I don’t want it?”

  He did not answer, but returned the fish to his pocket, and walked slowly away towards the group on the lawn. Aunt Jerry threw the ball in his direction, and he ran to catch it. How stupid they were. And look at mother, just arrived, all flustered with her shopping bags, and coming straight into the garden. Veronica was ashamed for her, and turned her back on the scene as Simon, who was dancing on one leg, hopped in Mother’s direction for his good morning kiss.

  That afternoon they went on a picnic to Abbotsford. Mother, Muddy and the children travelled in the Land Rover, Aunt Jerry following in the Aston Martin with Simon and Tony. Julie talked all the way about Tony. She knew his favourite colour, football team, pop group and film star. She knew where he went for his holidays, what his parents had done and what they died of. She knew his address and telephone number when he wasn’t with Uncle Simon. And she knew the names of the other boys in his dormitory, all of whom were orphans like himself. During the term, he was at boarding school, and Julie knew the names of the masters, which ones were cool and which ones chronic. Veronica listened in silence, while Anna, who had no time for anyone save Muddy, pressed the terrier’s face against the window, and described for its benefit the fleeting scene beyond.

  Mother didn’t look too happy. She frowned as she drove. Her lips were pursed and the wrinkles gathered in a fan at the bridge of her nose. Something must have happened with Simon, who normally insisted that they all clamber together into the Land Rover, with Aunt Jerry driving, Veronica next to her, and the rest crowded at the back, Simon pressed between Mother and Tony.

  “Have you done?” she said after a while to Julie.

  “Done what?”

  “Selling us Tony.”

  Julie pouted and said she wasn’t trying to sell anyone, just relaying the news. Then they were all silent until the car stopped at the edge of the woods above Abbotsford. Mother sat at the wheel, waiting for the Aston Martin to pull up behind them. Something was wrong, however, for it did not arrive. After a minute or two Mother got out, and they followed. The long road from the vale unwound before them. They could see nothing on it save a slowly moving tractor, which turned off suddenly into a field. Veronica thought about the fish with the man inside. Why had Tony wanted to give it to her? Then suddenly she had an idea.

  “I expect they’ve gone back home,” she said.

  “Gone back home? Why should they do that?”

  Mother looked at her as though it were none of Veronica’s business what Simon and Tony were up to.

  “To case the joint.”

  Veronica said it with a slight American accent, so as to make it sound more dramatic and final. Muddy had begun to bark at the window, hoping to be let out.

  “And you think Aunt Jerry is casing the joint too?”

  “Oh no,” said Veronica. “She’s their alibi.”

  Mother swallowed slightly, her throat moving up and down.

  “I’m listening,” she said.

  “Tony’s got this fantastic little fish with a man inside,” said Julie suddenly. “It’s amazing. You unscrew the fish and out pops the man.”

  “I mean,” said Veronica, “‘they can get lost somewhere, and one of them double back to the house without Aunt Jerry ever thinking that he isn’t just as lost as she is.”

  “Did you know you have a wicked imagination?”

  “Yes,” Veronica replied, and she felt tense and defiant inside.

  “I mean, did you realize that whenever anything good happens in my life you try to spoil it?”

  Mother’s cheeks had begun to tremble. Veronica and her mother were standing in the air outside. White wind-driven clouds scudded across the hillsides, their shadows moving in the steel-grey grass like ruffling hands. The twins got out too, and went shrieking after Muddy as he ran in the wood. The Aston Martin appeared around the corner in the valley. It was travelling very slowly and jerkily. It seemed strangely out of place in this landscape, like a doodle on a precious painting. Mother was still, too upset to speak. Veronica recalled her father, his smell of tobacco, and the golden fob-watch which used to dangle from his pocket above her as he bent to kiss her goodnight. She did not blame him for dying, but she regretted that he had given no instructions as to how to live thereafter.

  The Aston Martin came up beside them and lurched to a halt. Aunt Jerry was at the wheel, with Tony beside her. They looked very serious, like refugees.

  “Hi,” said Veronica and looked away. Mother was beside her now, anxiously flapping her hands.

  “Where’s Simon?” she cried. “Has something happened? What’s the matter?”

  There was a silence as Aunt Jerry and Tony looked at each other.

  “He went off on his own,” said Aunt Jerry in a solemn voice.

  “Where?” asked Mother. “I mean, where did he leave?”

  “Just back there, at the bottom of the wood. We wanted to go with him. But he said no, we should go on.”

  “What the hell is he playing at?” asked Mother.

  Veronica looked away. How distressing it was—the phoniness, the stupidity. Simon would be back at the house by now, sorting through their possessions. She didn’t mind losing them. On the contrary, most of them gave her the creeps, since they reminded her of Father. The house and furniture were his. And nothing in the drawing room had been changed since the day he died. That’s why Mother never went there.

  “He said there was somewhere he wanted to
visit,” Tony said, “somewhere special.”

  Veronica heard this with an inner sarcastic smile. She looked at Mother.

  “Well then,” Mother said at last, “I expect he’ll join us.”

  “But how will he find us?” Veronica asked.

  “Maybe he knows the way.”

  It was Tony who spoke, with a strange quiet tone as though making a decision.

  “I’m hungry,” said Anna. Aunt Jerry clambered from the Aston Martin. The driver’s seat was so low against the chassis that she had to push with her buttocks while clinging to the frame of the door. Tony jumped out nimbly on the other side and came round to help her. Veronica decided that she had never really liked Aunt Jerry, except as Julie’s mother, which made her inevitable. Mother began to unload the folding chairs, a blanket, and a plastic bottle of sun-cream. She advanced towards Veronica, the bottle extended, a tense expression on her face. Veronica ducked away.

  “No, Mother. I don’t need it.”

  “Reason not the need,” said Mother angrily.

  “I think I must look for Simon,” said Tony, still speaking softly and to no one in particular.

  “You don’t know this wood,” said Mother, “you’ll get lost.” Veronica had a sudden inspiration.

  “I’ll go with him,” she offered, and out of the corner of her eye she caught a glimpse of Julie, who pursed her lips in a petulant way. It was typical of Julie to see her own motives in everyone. It hadn’t crossed her mind that Tony and Simon were criminals and that someone must keep an eye on them.

  But you could see that it had crossed Mother’s mind, for she lowered the arm with the sun-cream bottle, looked unsurely into Veronica’s eyes and said, “OK. Take Muddy with you.”