‘If you feel giddy, then don’t look down. Fix your eyes on those trees over there instead. See those two squirrels on that branch?’ Eleanor pointed through the foliage spread around them like the panoply of a rainforest. ‘They’re playing tag, I think.’
Evie giggled. She was holding one of her aunt’s hands in both of hers, squeezing so hard the blood was pumping in Eleanor’s knuckles. Through the gaps in the planks under their feet were broken glimpses of Hannah and the puppy, christened Bart and at four months old still filling out like a toddler growing into a romper suit.
‘Barty-Bart. Silly Bart. I’m here,’ shrieked Evie, forgetting her fear in delight at the puppy’s cock-eared puzzlement.
Hannah waved up at them, laughing, her thick brown ponytail swinging, glossy as toffee in the April sun. The sight of the nanny, as well as the rest of her sister’s family, tumbling out of the car that morning had been a shock, until Howard’s quick reassurance that his employee and the dog would be staying with an old school-friend of Hannah’s who lived in Tooting. She was keen to see the friend, but it also meant that she could babysit, Howard had explained cheerfully, while he took Eleanor out for dinner. After a whole day with his lot she would be only too glad of the break, he warned her amiably, directing operations to get the luggage out of the car and into her flat, where the children had hurled themselves onto her blow-up mattresses with the glee of penguins plunging into a pool.
They had gone out for a pizza lunch and were now – at Howard’s request – in Kew Gardens, which Kat, apparently, had always held dear. Having visited the orchid house, they were exploring the tree-line walk, an elevated wooden corridor set among the highest reaches of some of the park’s great trees. After the steamy heat of the greenhouse, the creamy spring air was a joy. Even so, having looked downwards for the exchanges with Hannah and the dog, Eleanor found herself gripping the balustrade with her free hand.
‘Vertigo is actually a fear of throwing oneself off a high place rather than fear of the height itself,’ remarked Howard, eyeing her with interest as he arrived at her side.
Behind him, the two elder children, clearly unperturbed by the height of the walkway or the glories of the view, were playing a vigorous game of tag, dodging other visitors in a manner that Eleanor couldn’t help thinking was a little over exuberant. Since January the changes in them all were striking; thanks to time, counselling, puppies, the entire family was like an algorithm reconfigured. Evie especially, so much taller and fuller faced, her green eyes sparkling with mischief, was hard to link to the pale, tight-faced elfin creature whose fierce, uncomprehending misery had cracked the hearts of a packed congregation five months before.
Most touching of all to Eleanor was how her sister had clearly been absorbed into this new equation; mentioned frequently, easily, Kat seemed already to have become a point of affectionate reference for them all rather than a source of pain. So noticeable was this change that Eleanor had for the first time found herself properly contemplating the strain of living with a wife and mother who was sick, the toll it must have taken.
‘If you are strapped in, say, or held tightly, the feeling goes away,’ Howard continued, shifting close enough for Eleanor to feel faintly disconcerted. ‘Are you all right, sweetheart?’ Howard asked suddenly, crouching down to Evie, who whispered something breathily in his ear. ‘A pee, of course. I am sure that can be arranged.’ Howard stood up, hoicking the child onto his hip and giving Eleanor a what-can-you-do face over the top of her frizzy blonde mop – so like Kat’s hair at a similar age that Eleanor had spent all day drinking it in in wonder.
Eleanor immediately volunteered to help, but then stood, digging for patience, while yet another reshuffle of child and dog-care arrangements was undertaken between Howard and Hannah. It made her think Howard’s remark about needing a break during the course of the visit was not so wide of the mark.
‘God, it’s like keeping plates spinning,’ she murmured, once they were back on the ground and the new arrangements were in place at last with Hannah to be left in charge of the elder two while she and Howard tracked back to the toilets at the main entrance. Evie skipped ahead of them with Bart, who lolloped and tripped like a cheerful drunk. ‘For what it’s worth, I think you are doing brilliantly.’
‘Thanks.’ Howard shot her a grin. He walked purposefully, with a loose easy gait that matched her own naturally long stride, one hand thrust into a trouser pocket, jangling change. ‘And so are you, come to that,’ he said warmly. ‘You look good, Eleanor. Tremendous in fact.’
‘Do I? Goodness.’ Eleanor dropped her gaze to let the blush work its course. She had bought a new pair of white flip-flops that made her feet look faintly tanned. She watched them crush a path through the lush spring grass, thinking of how carefully she had trodden on the ground by the swing during her Christmas visit to Sussex. Kat was everywhere anyway, she mused, marvelling at how her grief seemed to be turning into something more akin to pure love. She thought too of the quiet thud of her letter to Nick landing in the postbox three weeks before, the sense of a weight lifted. She had told him everything, asking him not to reply, and he hadn’t. It had left her feeling free in a new way. The dress she had bought on the same day as the flip-flops swirled round her ankles with each stride. She had spotted it through a charity-shop window, sporting the princely price tag of ten pounds. It was made of black cheesecloth, trimmed with pink stitching – sleeveless, tight across the chest and then flaring out from her ribcage. It was a fantastic dress, flattering, comfortable. The clement spring weather had warranted the purchase, but she would have bought it anyway for how good it made her feel.
‘So, the book’s going well, I take it?’
‘The book?’ Eleanor squinted at her brother-in-law. They had emerged from the canopy of trees and the sun was high and blinding. Since finishing Trevor’s memoir, she had a new writing project on the go which she had not mentioned to anyone. It was about two little girls, sisters, raised in a home full of adult secrets. Her ambitions for it were growing so fast that all her instincts told her to keep a lid on them. Falling asleep after a recent late-night work session, she had, rather to her surprise, found Jane Eyre tiptoeing into her mind, wanting to play a part.
‘The life of that actor-chap – I thought you said it needed editing?’
‘Oh, yes, that’s all done…’
They were interrupted by a shout from behind. They turned to see Hannah sprinting towards them, her long slim legs in their dark blue skinny jeans at full stretch as she emerged from the cluster of trees. She was waving both arms, clearly panic-stricken. Eleanor saw Howard’s face go taut, the jawbone clamp, the marshalling of inner strength.
‘Keep an eye on Evie, could you?’ he ordered quietly, setting off at a jog to meet her halfway.
Eleanor swivelled back to check the main tarmac path some twenty yards away, where Bart was receiving attention from an elderly woman in a purple coat. Evie was chattering and patting the puppy, the urgency of her call of nature clearly forgotten.
Within a couple of minutes, Howard was back at her side. He was out of breath, grim-faced. Hannah had taken off again, back through the trees.
‘What is it? Has something happened?’ Eleanor was aware of a strange metallic taste spreading inside her mouth, a taste she dimly recognised as fear.
‘Yes. Not good, but not a disaster. Luke’s done something to his ankle. Fallen on the steps chasing his sister. Bloody boy. It’s blown up like a balloon, Hannah said. We’re going to have to get him to a hospital.’
‘Oh dear, oh dear,’ said Eleanor, but her heart hammered with relief. They could all deal with that. A broken ankle was easy.
Eight hours later she and Howard were nonetheless seated opposite each other across a sea of crisp white damask and gleaming tableware, awaiting the arrival of their starters.
‘This should be quite nice,’ Howard murmured, twirling the stem of his wine glass with the confidence of one secure in his own tastes. He stuck his small nose deep into the balloon and then took a sip, taking his time before nodding approval to the sommelier, who had been hovering throughout the ritual, sporting an expression of professional concern.
Eleanor watched in something of a trance as her own glass was filled.
‘Aren’t you going to try it?
‘I will soon.’ She took a swig of water. The gin and tonic aperitif Howard had insisted on was still pumping in her head – much needed after the dramas of the day, but she wanted to pace herself. Luke’s ankle had been sprained rather than broken, but the diagnosis had taken several long hours in Richmond Hospital, during which time there had been the needs of the other children to attend to, as well as much bolstering of Hannah, who, for once, had shown some flakiness, repeatedly blaming the mishap on her own lack of vigilance.
Eleanor had assumed their dinner would be called off, but Howard had insisted on going ahead with it, taking care to cheer Hannah with lots of warm reassurances and giving her a wad of money to cover a Chinese takeaway. They had left the entire crew encamped among the mattresses and sleeping bags in front of Eleanor’s small telly, awaiting the delivery of their meal; Luke and his bandaged ankle and crutches occupying prime position on the sofa and Bart stretched across the laps of the two girls.
Out in the street, a taxi had been waiting, ordered by Howard while Eleanor had showered, swiping a brush through her ragged hair and dabbing some concealer across her nose and cheeks in an attempt to quieten the pink left by the morning sunshine. They had swept across Chelsea Bridge to a restaurant tucked away in a cobbled mews, where Howard was greeted like a lost friend, and the dining area had the air of a private sitting room, so hushed and salubrious that for the first few minutes Eleanor had found herself speaking in a whisper. To be brought to such a place reminded her with something of a jolt that Howard was a wealthy city banker. Not a bad-looking wealthy city banker either, she told herself. If it was security they were all after in this Kat-less world, then maybe a closeness with her widowed brother-in-law would be one sort of right answer. For one fleeting, despicable moment, Eleanor even allowed herself some hint of poetic justice: two decades on, the Big Sister who was robbed of her first love, levels the score.
Howard seemed troubled by her untouched wine. ‘But you might hate it.’
Eleanor smiled wryly. ‘Somehow I think that unlikely.’ She had glimpsed the wine list, marvelling both at its exorbitant prices and at Howard’s willingness to pore over such a relatively short document for quite so long.
‘You were fantastic today, Eleanor,’ he said quietly, ‘bloody brilliant in fact. In the gardens, at the hospital, helping organise and entertain everybody, and then this evening.’
‘This evening? Really? What did I do?’ Eleanor’s mind drifted to the brief ecstasy when it had come to her turn in the bathroom, the respite of being properly alone after the long day.
‘All that stuff with Luke about your laptop and phone. Taking his mind off his ankle.’
‘Oh that.’ She laughed again, starting properly to relax. ‘That wasn’t me taking your son’s mind off his poorly ankle. That was me being a ruthless aunt. I have a new smartphone I don’t understand. I want to open a Twitter account and don’t know how, and I am thinking of starting a blog. Luke got me further in twenty minutes than I would ever have managed on my own in days. He was fantastic – a mine of information…’ She broke off because Howard was giving her one of his new odd looks, as if he was watching her mouth move rather than actually listening to what came out of it.
‘What sort of blog?’ he asked after a pause.
‘Oh I don’t know.’ Eleanor was aware of striving for a levity she did not feel, both because Howard’s intensity was making her nervous and because her blog idea was cherished but still very hazy. ‘The challenges of teaching idle teenagers. Why reading matters. Stuff like that. Dull probably.’ She took a swig of wine by way of escape, only to find herself gasping out loud. ‘Oh wow… that is… my goodness… truly delicious.’
Howard’s face lit up. ‘So you do like it. Good.’
A waiter arrived with their starters, setting down the plates and then proceeding to describe what was on them in such detail that Eleanor had to stifle a childish urge to giggle. With Howard so earnest and the place so grand, she had a sudden uncharitable wish that she was eating out with someone more relaxed and normal – someone like Trevor or Megan, who would have been only too ready to see the funny side.
It was some fifteen minutes later when she had forgotten all about being on her guard, that Howard, chopping at the slithers of pink duck breast he had ordered as a main course, announced solemnly, ‘There is something I need to tell you, Eleanor, something I am hoping you might have guessed.’
Under the flap of the tablecloth, Eleanor was all at once vividly conscious of the proximity of her brother-in-law’s legs, his knees and shins, inches from hers. She dropped her gaze to her plate, where three scallops, fat as scones, sat on a colourful cocktail of salad and vegetables, surrounded by spirals of a buttery yellow sauce. In spite of everything, her mouth flooded with saliva.
‘Hey, are you sure you wouldn’t prefer a glass of white with those?’ Howard urged, breaking the moment.
Eleanor assured him she didn’t, seeking refuge in a hefty swig of the delicious red to demonstrate the point. He was understandably playing for time, she decided, his courage faltering. She must be kind, that was paramount. She sliced off a wedge of scallop and started eating. The taste was sensational; firm on the teeth, but soft as marshmallow, the flavour salty-sweet. She stole a glance at Howard, chewing his duck and looking tormented. All she wanted was a decent friendship, an avenue to her sister’s children. Yet sometimes men were drawn to women who didn’t overtly need them, as she knew only too well from the wild years after Igor. She swallowed and cleared her throat. ‘You were saying?’
Howard threw down his knife and fork. ‘You must have noticed something,’ he urged softly. ‘It’s hard to hide. Insane of course. Hopeless.’ He shook his head wretchedly. ‘And the very last thing I had planned. Or expected.’ He pressed his fists to his temples, moaning. ‘Eleanor, tell me you must have noticed a certain… closeness—’
‘Well I have…’ Eleanor swallowed.
‘We have to be so careful because of the children,’ Howard burst out, all the composure in his face dissolving. ‘And I want your blessing on it, Eleanor. I need your blessing.’
‘My blessing?’
‘On me and Hannah.’ He held up both hands to stop her speaking. ‘I know, I know – it’s far too early. And she’s young – far too young. But we… there is such…’ His face twitched with emotion. ‘It’s like it was meant to be,’ he said at length. ‘She came through when I needed her. The children adore her, and not surprisingly, because she is brilliant with them…’
‘And the dog,’ offered Eleanor feebly, groping through her astonishment for something to say.
‘Oh yes, Barty too – she’s a marvel with him.’ Howard laughed the loose easy laugh of one who has divested himself of a great burden. ‘She has all of us, the whole gang, eating out of her hand. But…’ He shook his head, his expression clouding, ‘I am not a complete idiot. I know it is too much too soon. Hannah knows it too. She might be young, but she is no fool.’
Eleanor was tempted to seek clarity on the exact age of the nanny but feared this might appear unfeeling. Amid her own private flood of relief, she also found herself fighting a surge of outrage on Kat’s behalf. Six months dead, and her husband had fallen for the au pair.
‘It doesn’t in any way diminish what I felt for Kat,’ said Howard quietly, perhaps having seen more in her expression than intended. ‘Like I say, it was not planned. I fought it – we both did. It has just… emerged.’
A look of such sheepish happiness had overtaken him, softening the pointy features of his face, that Eleanor couldn’t help smiling. Life did just happen.
‘And because of that – because of Kat – I want your approval,’ continued Howard doggedly. ‘I need your approval, Eleanor.’
Out of the corner of her eye, Eleanor could see their waiter pondering whether to make an approach to clear for the next course. ‘Well, I’m not going to give it to you.’
‘Because you think it’s wrong.’ It was a statement not a question, delivered in the grim tone of one hearing what had been expected.
‘Oh no, not because of that.’ Eleanor hesitated. A small wicked part of her was starting to enjoy herself. The whole situation was indeed insane, as Howard himself had pointed out, but Kat, with her wildness, might even have liked that, she decided suddenly. Most importantly, Hannah would do her best to look after Howard and the children. And love wasn’t about choice, she reminded herself. In that sense it could never be ‘wrong’. ‘What I think,’ Eleanor went on carefully, ‘is that when two people connect, really connect, in whatever circumstances, it is rare and to be treasured.’
Howard let out a sharp laugh of relief. ‘So, you are okay with it?’
‘Only you have to be okay with it, Howard. You and Hannah. If you two are happy, then that is all that matters. I’m not going to judge you.’ Eleanor sat back smiling. ‘I hope that is what you needed to hear.’
In reply he leant across the table and kissed her cheek.
On the way home in the taxi, Howard suddenly asked if Kat had been faithful to him. ‘That you know of.’
‘Absolutely. That I know of. Not that she would have told me. We didn’t exactly share confidences, remember?’ she reminded him dryly. ‘Why do you ask anyway?’
Howard absently traced a finger over the red light of the door-lock. ‘I found this letter – an email, printed out – from a man called Nick Wharton. It was at the back of her desk drawer, folded up. He was turning forty and wanted to know how she was.’ He paused, frowning. ‘I remember the name, vaguely, back in the day. One of the many conquests before me.’ He chuckled quietly, with what sounded like pride.
Eleanor gripped her knees as her heart rate quickened, glad of the darkness of the cab; one name and still her heart started a stampede. After all that had happened. It was pitiful. She was no better than one of Pavlov’s dogs, she decided gloomily, reacting to a bloody bell.
Howard was still talking. ‘I checked back in her inbox, but there was no thread that I could find. It just made the fact of printing it out seem a bit odd. It got me wondering whether maybe she had embarked on some sort of correspondence I didn’t know about. Everyone’s at it now, after all,’ he went on cheerily. ‘Facebook and Friends Reunited – hooking up with old pals. I’ve had several old acquaintances get in touch with me in recent years, mostly the ones I didn’t want to hear from.’ He laughed dryly.
Eleanor’s heart had settled back into a normal pace. ‘Oh, but I can tell you all about Nick Wharton,’ she assured Howard breezily, ‘there’s no mystery there.’ She went on to impart the gist of the Nick history between her and Kat, liking the way it sounded, so distant and over. ‘That email arrived when I was visiting Kat that very first time after her op – back in January last year when we… when I… still thought that she was going to get better.’ Eleanor faltered as one of the aches of loss ebbed inside her, knowing that, as always, Howard felt it too. ‘Kat got me to print it out,’ she went on more quietly, ‘and then ordered me to help compose a jolly reply. You know how bossy she could be.’ She sighed, the sadness still strong. ‘It was just a laugh. All very above board.’ Howard smiled at her looking somewhat relieved.
The taxi had pulled up outside her flat. Eleanor scrambled out first to beat Howard to the task of paying, only to be told it was on a company account. Upstairs, it was immediately clear that Hannah had known all along the mission behind the dinner date. She avoided Eleanor’s eye, fidgeting with her thick curtain of hair, which hung loose for once, and scooping up her belongings as they exchanged pleasantries, hasty and whispered on account of the sleeping children.
‘The taxi is waiting to take you on,’ Howard told Hannah, smiling at the nanny in a way that blazed his true feelings so clearly that Eleanor wondered at her own dimness in not having noticed. ‘I’ll come with you. I’ll be an hour max,’ he promised Eleanor, scooping up the puppy, who blinked sleepily, staying limp with trust in his arms.
Eleanor followed them to the top of the stairs, handing over a set of keys and shooting Howard a look designed to communicate that he could take as long as he liked.
‘I’m pleased for both of you, truly,’ she whispered, giving Hannah a hug.
The girl muttered a thank you and darted after Howard down the stairwell, only to reappear a moment later, pulling a thick cream-coloured envelope out of her shoulder bag. ‘God, I nearly forgot. This came. Your neighbour said it had got into the wrong box downstairs. She was about to put it under the door as the Chinese arrived,’ she explained, before racing off again.
Eleanor let the envelope rest in her palm for a moment, feeling its heaviness. Stepping carefully between the sleeping children, she shut herself in her bedroom and sat on the bed. The address was typewritten, the flap sealed so securely it took some ripping to get it open. Inside was another envelope, much smaller and slimmer, with her name on it, and a letter from a firm of London solicitors, grand enough to have a coat of arms under their name. She was the beneficiary of a will, the letter said. The jargon was blinding. Eleanor read it and re-read it, not believing what it seemed to be saying. It appeared she had been left a house. A house on the outskirts of Oxford. A house she had once known intimately because it was where she had worked and made love once or twice a week for almost a decade. A decade of waste and hanging on, as she had always seen it, ended by her lover’s return to his wife.
The smaller envelope also contained a line in Igor’s spidery hand.
My dear girl, for the best years of my life.