Tristan! Watch this,” Hugo yelled. He was pointing toward an impressive-looking haybale in the field that he, Tristan, and Alice were crossing on their way back toward St. Cecilia’s. They’d chosen this route to make the most of the mild, sunny afternoon. The sky was only slightly hazy, with a few stubborn streaks of cloud clinging to the top of the dome.
Making sure the others were paying suitable attention, Hugo sprinted toward the hay and, taking a flying leap, sailed over it. He skidded onto his ass.
“He soars, he clears it!” T cheered, breaking into applause. “Nicely done, Roach.”
Hugo flung his arms into the air in the shape of a victory V. Nearby, a grazing horse bobbed up its head, mid-chewing, to stare at the commotion.
Normally, Alice would have thrown herself into the action. She’d always loved spending time with Hugo and T, ever since they were toddlers and used to chase each other round the Rochesters’ garden in Kensington. It was so endearing, the way Hugo emulated Tristan, and the way T treated Hugo as his equal despite the fact that they were two years apart at Hasted House. Even that nickname, Roach—T had given it to Hugo last year, when Hugo had been so determined to learn to roll perfect joints. These days, he signed all his e-mails that way.
Right now though, all Alice could think about was getting rid of her little brother—a problem, since Hugo wasn’t exactly a master of subtlety. He’d never been known to take a hint.
But, with every step they took, they drew nearer to St. Cecilia’s—and then Alice’s window with Tristan would be shut. She had to do something.
“Hugo!”
Her brother glanced up from the cigarette that he’d begged off of T. “Yeah?”
“Would you do me a favor?” Alice cooed in her most wheedling voice.
“What is it?” Hugo looked at his sister suspiciously. Al had probably forgotten something in the restaurant and wanted him to run back and get it. She was always sweet-talking him into doing annoying stuff like that.
“See those wildflowers over there? I’d so love to have some for my room but I’m afraid of the stinging nettles. Would you pick some for me? Pretty please?”
“No! You’re such a girl. Get them yourself.”
Then her brother perked up. “Nettles…,” he repeated. “Actually, that’s a wicked idea. I’m going to collect some for Rattles.” He shoved the cigarette back at Tristan.
“Rattles?” T raised his eybrow. “What does he want with stinging nettles?”
“Nothing,” Hugo said. “That’s the whole point. I’ve got to get even with him for that prank he played last week. Don’t wait for me, you two—I’ll catch up.”
T grinned as Hugo took off for the far side of the field. “I’m fucking glad I’m not fourteen anymore. The lower years at Hasted are so vicious. It’s like dog-eat-dog.”
“It’s worse for girls,” Alice said. “They’re so much meaner to each other than boys.”
“Oh, go on. Look at what Hugo’s doing. Can you imagine waking up with a bed full of stinging nettles?”
Alice shrugged. “Some people would probably prefer that,” she said.
Playfully, Tristan caught her eye. Then he looked away, suddenly realizing that they were alone for the first time since…
Shit. He cast a glance at Hugo, who was now a small dot at least 100 meters away. How the hell had he got into this situation? He was silent for a few steps. Then he cleared his throat. He had to find out if Alice knew.
“So,” he said, “I noticed you and Dylan were looking quite pally when I arrived at St. Cecilia’s before lunch.”
Alice stared straight ahead. Dylan, Dylan, Dylan. Couldn’t T ever talk about anything else?
“Are you two friends now?” he asked.
There was something funny about Tristan’s tone. Alice bent down to rip a clover from the grass. Maybe he knew this was a stupid conversation.
“Oh, I wouldn’t call it friends exactly,” she said. “I never talk to her. I just felt sorry for her—she was looking so desperate.” Alice glanced at T, twisting the clover in her fingers. “It’s such a shame that no one’s really warmed to her. Though, quite frankly, I can see why. How come you care?”
“Me?” It was all T could do to hide his relief. “I don’t care in the slightest. I was just interested in how you’ve been, that’s all.”
“Oh, I’ve been brilliant. Totally. Tals and I went to Paris, you know. It was so amazing. Hang on a minute.” Alice halted and tossed away her flower. “Do you mind if I lean on you while I take off my shoes? They’re such a pain on this grass.”
Tristan hesitated. “Er, yeah. Sure.” Stiffly, he took a step closer. Alice laid a hand on his taut shoulder, and with the other reached behind herself and slipped off one of her platforms. She did the same with the other.
“Thanks.” Without her three-inch heels, her head barely came up to T’s chin. But she didn’t care. It might mean he could smell her grapefruit-scented shampoo. He’d told her he liked it once, while they were kissing—he’d taken a handful of her hair and let it fall across his face.
The blades of grass felt smooth and clean under Alice’s bare feet as she walked. She craned her neck toward the sun, savoring the coolness of the ground and the warmth of the sky.
When she looked down again, Tristan was gazing at her, his face lit by a half smile.
“I forgot how much you like the countryside,” he said.
Alice shook her head. “How could you forget? We’ve been messing about in the country together since we were, like, four years old.”
She brushed her toes, their nails sparkling with silver paint, over a cluster of late daisies. “Remember when we used to make chains of these and wear them round the garden as crowns? You were King and I was Queen. I had that pink silk nightgown. And Hugo used to serve us plates of worms he’d dug up.” She crouched on the grass and started picking the blossoms.
T laughed, tumbling to the earth next to her. “Now, that I do remember.” He nodded across the field, to where Hugo was still huddled over a snarl of nettles, stuffing his plastic bag. “Not much has changed.”
He observed Alice in profile as she threaded together the flowers: the dark curve of her lips, her thin, rather severe nose, her deep-set eyes charcoaled in by long, delicate lashes. She’d slipped her hair out of its clip and was letting it flow freely about her shoulders. Its luxuriance framed her face.
They sat in silence for what seemed like years. T couldn’t think of a word to say.
To do it or not to do it?
Suddenly, Alice turned to him and draped her circle of daisies over his head. “There. King again.” Lightly, she touched his chest, straightening the chain.
“Al.”
She lifted her eyes, her face right next to his. “Yes?”
“I… I wanted to tell you…” He leaned in closer.
“T!” Footsteps pounded up next to them. “Why are you wearing that silly daisy chain? You look like a complete dickhead.”
Tristan sprang to his feet as if the ground had turned boiling hot.
Hugo was next to them, clutching his nettle collection in one hand and Alice’s wildflowers in the other. “Here, Al.” He thrust them at her. “Don’t let them die.”
“It’s about time you got back,” Tristan teased. “We were starting to bed down for the night.”
He lifted the daisies over his head and handed them back to Alice. “Keep it.”
She watched the two boys walk ahead together, the strand dangling from her fingers.