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‘I want this hat,’ Linnet announced matter-of-factly and snatched Tessa’s large yellow sun hat from the chaise near the easel, placed it on top of her bright red curls and happily marched off, dragging a rubber duck on a string behind her and pushing the hat up as it kept sliding down over her eyes.
‘Bring my hat back at once, you naughty girl!’
When her five-year-old sister paid not a blind bit of notice, Tessa exclaimed to no one in particular, ‘Did you see that? She took my hat without my permission. Well! Her behaviour certainly leaves a lot to be desired. Mummy … Mummy … that child’s spoiled rotten. You and Daddy have ruined her. There’s no hope – ’
‘Pompous, pompous, Tessa’s being pompous, just like Lornie, she’s parroting Forlornie,’ Gideon Harte taunted in a sing-song tone from the relative safety of the pool.
‘I won’t dignify that ridiculous remark,’ Lorne sniffed with hauteur and lowered himself onto a mattress, picked up his copy of Homer’s Iliad and buried his face in the book.
‘Bring my hat back!’ Tessa screamed, stamping her foot.
‘Oh for God’s sake, leave her alone,’ a faintly disembodied voice admonished from the pool, and Toby Harte’s reddish-gold head bobbed up over the side. The ten-year-old grinned at Tessa, who was his favourite girl cousin, and then hauled himself out of the water, being careful not to splash her or her paintings, having no wish to incur her wrath. Reaching for a towel, he added, ‘After all, she’s only a little itty bitty baby, and how could she – ’
‘Not a baby,’ a muffled voice informed them from underneath the large sun hat.
‘ – possibly damage it,’ continued Toby, towelling himself dry. ‘And why do you care so much, Tess? It’s only a stupid old hat you bought in Nice market … a cheap bit of rag.’
‘It’s not a bit of rag! It’s beautiful. And it cost me a whole week’s pocket money, Toby Harte!’
‘More fool you,’ called out Gideon, and with this inflammatory comment the eight-year-old paddled swiftly to the centre of the pool, flipped over, floated on his back, and began to make faces at her.
‘What do you know about anything, Gideon Harte! You’re a CRETIN like my brother. ’
‘Is that the only stupid word you know, Stupid?’ Gideon shouted back and stuck his tongue out at her.
‘Brat! Brat!’ Tessa yelled at him. ‘You’re a spoiled brat, too!’
‘Oh shut up both of you,’ Toby admonished in a bored voice. ‘Listen, Tess, can I borrow one of your old Beatles’ albums?’
‘Which one?’ Tessa asked, suddenly wary, squinting up at him in the bright sunlight, moving a strand of fair hair away from her face.
‘Sergeant Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band.’
‘Oh no, I can’t possibly lend you that one! It’s er … er … it’s become a … classic. When Auntie Amanda gave it to me, she told me it’d be very, very valuable one day, ’cos it’s an early one … she’d had it since before we were even born. But … Well … all right, because it’s you I’ll make an exception, so – ’
‘Gosh, thanks, Tess,’ Toby cut in, his freckled face lighting up.
‘ – you can rent it if you want, it’s ten pence an hour,’ Tessa finished, sounding as magnanimous as she now looked.
‘Ten pence an hour! That’s highway robbery!’ Toby spluttered, his expression indignant. ‘No thanks, Tessa, I’m not going to help you become a capitalist.’
‘In this family, everybody’s a capitalist,’ Tessa declared smugly, with a small smirk.
‘Forget it, I’ll play my new Bee-Gees.’
‘Suit yourself.’
‘Aunt Paula. Aunt Paula … your daughter’s turned into a really nasty little sharpie this summer,’ Toby exclaimed scathingly and threw a disgusted look in Tessa’s direction.
‘Mummy … I’m taking my knickers off, they’re all wet,’ Linnet cried from the depths of the sun hat.
‘You see what I mean about her behaviour, Mummy,’ Tessa sniggered. ‘She’s the only five-year-old I know who still wee-wees in her pants.’
‘I don’t! I didn’t, Mummy!’ a clear voice shrilled as the hat was pushed back and Linnet’s round flushed face appeared.
‘Auntie Paula, may I have one of these ginger snaps, please?’ three-year-old Natalie Harte asked and promptly took one and crunched on it before she was forbidden to do so.
‘Mummy! Look at her now! She’s dragging my gorgeous sun hat in the puddles. Stop it, you little monster. Stop it! Mummy, make her stop. Mother … you’re not listening. If you throw that hat into the pool, I’ll kill you, Linnet O’Neill! Gideon! Get my hat! Quick, before it sinks!’
‘Okay, I will, but it’ll cost you plenty.’
Tessa ignored this threat. ‘Wait until I catch you, Linnet,’ she screamed after the small, plump figure retreating swiftly in the direction of the pool house.
‘Mother … Mother … will you please tell Tessa to stop screeching like a banshee? I’m getting a frightful headache,’ Lorne murmured languidly from the mattress where he lay reading.
‘Auntie Paula, Natalie’s eaten all of the ginger snaps,’ India Standish gasped and, turning to her cousin, she added in the most dire tone a seven-year-old could summon, ‘You’re going to be sick. Horribly, horribly sick, and it serves you right, you greedy little girl.’
‘Have this, India,’ Natalie said with a winning smile, pulling a half-eaten chocolate out of the pocket of her sundress, dusting it off and offering it to the older girl, whom she adored.
‘Ugh! No thanks. It looks icky!’ India pulled a face. ‘It’s covered in sand. And fluff. Ugh!’
‘Auntie Paula, there’s a dead something at the bottom of the pool,’ Gideon shouted, coming up for air with a splash, triumphantly holding the sodden sun hat aloft.
‘Oh my God, my beautiful gorgeous new sun hat has been ruined! Mummy, she’s ruined my expensive hat. Who’s going to buy me a new one? Mummy, did you hear what I just said?’
‘Where’s the dead something?’ Patrick asked, throwing himself flat on the ground, dangling his dark head over the pool, craning his neck so that he could peer down into the depths. ‘Can’t see it, Gid.’
‘I’ve got to dive for it,’ Gideon explained, running his hands through his wet blond hair, taking a deep breath and instantly plunging underwater again like an agile little dolphin.
‘Patrick, don’t lean over the edge,’ Linnet warned from the door of the pool house. ‘You’ll fall in.’
‘Won’t fall.’
‘Will you take five pence an hour for Sergeant Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band?’ Toby negotiated hopefully.
‘Eight pence … perhaps.’
‘No thanks, Miss Sharpie. You can go and shove it up your … jumper.’
‘Oh Mummy, Mummy, look! A bird. Dead,’ Patrick cried. ‘Oh poor birdie. Funeral. Can we have a funeral?’
‘Auntie Paula, please make Gideon get rid of that foul, disgusting, revolting object,’ eleven-year-old Jeremy Standish exclaimed. ‘It pongs to high heaven and it’s contaminating the air.’
‘No, it isn’t!’ Gideon glared at his cousin. ‘We’re going to bury it, like Patrick wants, aren’t we, Auntie Paula? Auntie Paula, cooee! Auntie Paula, we can bury it, can’t we?’
‘Mummy, can birdie have a funeral?’
‘Mummy, I want some dry knickers.’
‘Mother, look at Linnet now. She’s waving her knickers in the air. She’s a disgusting child. Just look at her, Mummy. Mummy. MOTHER!’
‘For Christ’s sake, Tessa, stop screaming,’ Lorne shouted. ‘How can I concentrate on my Homer with you bellowing in my ears. I’ll be jolly glad to get back to school next week and away from you. Far, far away. There’s never a minute’s bloody peace when you’re around. You’re a bloody little pest, a bloody nuisance.’
‘If Daddy hears you swearing, you’ll catch it.’
‘And who’s going to tell him, Miss Tattle Tale?’
‘I’ve never split on you yet, you MORON,’
‘If I’m a moron, then so are you, TWIN!’
‘Don’t bring that frightful smelly disgusting thing anywhere near me, Gideon, or I’ll punch you on the nose,’ Jeremy threatened. ‘Auntie Paula, please make him stop waving that beastly dead bird in my face.’
‘Auntie Paula! Auntie Paula! Natalie’s being sick! I knew she would be. Look, over there by the tree. Auntie Paula, did you hear me?’
‘Gideon Harte, I’m warning you. Keep your distance or I’ll thump you!’
‘Stop it, Gid, stop being childish,’ Toby ordered loudly.
‘I’m not. He is. Sissy! Sissy! Lord Jeremy Standish’s a sissy!’
‘I’m going to really thump you for that!’ Jeremy cried, jumping up.
‘Gideon, give me that dead bird,’ Toby shouted, racing after his brother, catching him by the top of his wet bathing trunks.
‘Auntie Paula, tell Toby to let go of me!’ Gideon screamed. ‘He’s hurting me.’
‘And it’s my turn next,’ Jeremy threatened with sudden manic glee.
‘Mummy, Mummy, make the boys stop fighting,’ Linnet shrieked.
Paula threw down her book and angrily leaped to her feet.
She began to chastise them loudly and vociferously, but they heard nothing. Her voice was drowned out by a series of strange booming echoes that reverberated on the warm air, and as the echoes died away, Paula was able to ask, in a tone that rose slightly, ‘What on earth was that?’
‘The gong,’ Linnet said.
‘Gong,’ Paula repeated in perplexity, and it instantly struck her how chastened the children seemed and she stared at them sharply through narrowed eyes. ‘What gong? Whose gong?’
Lorne explained, ‘Auntie Emily’s gong … she bought it – ’
‘From the house up the mountain,’ Tessa quickly interjected, then volunteered to her still-baffled mother, ‘The old lady who owned the house died, and there was a sale. Two weeks ago, just after you left, the last time you were here, Mummy. And we all went with Aunt Emily, she thought we might find some bargains.’
‘But all we found was the gong,’ Jeremy muttered.
‘And where does Aunt Emily keep this gong?’ Paula inquired, her eyes flicking over each one of them with considerable interest.
‘Up there in the gazebo,’ India replied.
‘But why did Emily buy the gong?’ Paula wondered out loud.
Toby supplied the answer, when he said quietly, ‘Mummy uses it to signal us. One strike means that breakfast’s ready, two is for lunch, three is to summon us inside, to get ready for dinner, and – ’
‘When she bangs and bangs and bangs, like just now, it means we’re going to catch it,’ Linnet confided and grimaced. ‘For being bad. For something terrible we’ve done.’
‘I see,’ Paula said and her shrewd eyes swept over the group of youngsters yet again. It was more apparent to her than ever that each child was suitably intimidated – even the most recalcitrant of them. She turned away to hide a smile, thinking how terribly clever Emily was.
‘We’re definitely in for it. Because of the unholy row we’ve been making,’ Lorne muttered, jumping up, edging away.
‘You’re right,’ Toby agreed. ‘Come on, Troops, let’s skedaddle before my mother gets here and starts giving us stupid chores to do, or worse still, starts thinking up idiotic activities to keep us properly occupied.’
Within the space of seconds, the older children had raced after Lorne and Toby, as always the ringleaders, who were heading at breakneck speed for the steps that led down to the beach below the promontory. Only Patrick, Linnet and Natalie remained with Paula in the pool area.
Silence finally reigned.
Paula sank gratefully into her chair, delighted to have peace and quiet for the first time that morning. She had done her utmost to ignore them, had remained aloof from their endless bickering – as she had learned to do over the years – at least until Toby and Gideon had started fighting and Jeremy had seemed about to join in the mêlée. She couldn’t permit that to happen. Anthony and Sally Dunvale’s eldest son had not been well, and the last thing his father had said, before leaving for Ireland earlier that morning, was for them to make sure the boy did not overtax himself for the rest of his stay at the villa. Paula knew that if Jeremy went home to Clonloughlin looking as if he had been scrapping with the boys, she and Emily would never hear the end of it from his mother. Their cousin Sally fussed a great deal about her first born, the heir to the Dunvale title, lands and fortune.
Paula took a deep breath, and was about to give her small daughter a stern lecture about removing her underclothing in public, when she saw Emily hurrying down the path between the lawns.
‘Cooee! Cooee!’ Emily called, waving.
Paula waved back.
A moment later, Emily drew to a stop and she and Paula exchanged looks. They began to laugh.
Emily said, ‘I know it’s noisy, but it’s very effective.’
‘And how,’ Paula agreed. ‘I’ve never seen them silenced quite so quickly. Never. It was an inspired buy on your part.’
‘Yes,’ Emily chuckled, ‘so it’s proved. My God, they were kicking up such a racket, I’m surprised you don’t have a splitting headache by now. I know I could hardly hear myself think when I was in the kitchen, talking to Marcel about the meals for today.’
‘Mummy, I’ve been sick,’ Natalie announced, going over to Emily, tugging at her shift. ‘I frowed up.’
‘Don’t talk like a baby, you’re a big girl. And it’s threw up,’ Emily corrected. She looked down at her youngest child, frowning, and put a hand on her forehead in concern. ‘Are you feeling all right? Are you better now, angel?’
‘I don’t know, Mummy.’
‘It’s because she ate all the ginger snaps,’ Linnet said.
‘Now, now, Linnet, you know it’s wrong to tell tales out of school!’ Paula reprimanded sharply, scowling at her daughter. ‘And let’s not forget that you’ve been very naughty this morning. First, flinging Tessa’s sun hat in the pool, and then taking your knickers off in public. I’m terribly cross with you, and ashamed of you, Linnet.’ Paula shook her head, trying hard to look appropriately angry without much success, but nevertheless, she added, ‘You’ve disgraced yourself, and the only reason you haven’t been punished yet is because I’m still trying to think of a suitable punishment.’
Linnet bit her lip, adopted a sorrowful expression, and wisely said nothing.
Emily looked from her daughter to her niece and then glanced at Paula. She exclaimed, ‘Why do I do such stupid things? Such as letting both nannies have the same day off, so they can go up to Grasse to buy perfume. And today of all days – the last chance you have to get a bit of rest before you go to New York on Wednesday. I’m sorry, Paula.’
‘It’s all right, really it is, lovey.’
Sighing under her breath, Emily now took hold of Natalie’s hand. ‘Come along, let’s go inside and get something to settle your tummy. And you’d better come along, too, Linnet, for a pair of clean underpants.’
‘Oh thanks, Emily,’ Paula murmured, settling back in her chair.
‘Lunch is at one,’ Emily said, ‘and I’ve booked a table at La Reserve for dinner tonight. Just the four of us.’
‘I should jolly well hope so,’ Paula laughed. ‘And it sounds absolutely lovely. It’s ages since we’ve been over there … it’s one of my favourite places.’
‘Yes, I know,’ Emily replied, looking pleased as she turned away. She took a couple of steps, stopped, and said over her shoulder to Paula, ‘Oh by the way, I’ve got to go into Monte Carlo this afternoon, to pick up a repair from my antique porcelain man. Do you want to drive in with me? I’ll only be a few minutes with Jules, and then we could take a stroll around the town and have tea at the Hôtel de Paris … watch the world go by for a while, like we used to with Gran.’
‘What a nice idea, Emily, yes, I’d like that.’
Emily gave her a sunny smile, then bustled her charges forward, half bending down, talking to them as they made for the villa.
Paula watched the three of them go up the path together, the two little girls walking on either side of Emily, clinging to her hands. Linnet and Natalie bore a strong resemblance to each other, could easily be mistaken for sisters since they had both inherited the famous Harte colouring – Emma’s red hair and vivid green eyes and English rose complexion. They were beautiful. Dazzling children, really. A couple of Botticellis.
Patrick now came to Paula, stood by her chair, touched her arm, stared deeply into her face. ‘Mummy …’
‘What is it, darling?’
‘Mummy … poor birdie. Gid took it. No funeral now.’ The child shook his head and looked sad.
‘Of course we’ll have a funeral,’ Paula said gently, taking his small, rather grubby hand in hers, looking into his angelic face. His black O’Neill eyes were bright and lively for once, not devoid of expression and vacant as they so frequently were. Her heart lifted with joy to see such life in them today.
She gave her son a reassuring smile, and went on, ‘I know Gideon will bring the little bird back, and we’ll ask Madame Solange for one of her old tin biscuit boxes to put the birdie in, and then after lunch we’ll have the funeral. I promise, darling.’
Patrick put his head on one side and studied her carefully. ‘Bury it in the garden?’ he asked, and gave her a slow, tentative smile.
‘Yes, that’s exactly what we’ll do. Oh darling, look who’s coming!’
Patrick swung his head and when he saw Shane approaching his face lit up and he extracted his hand from his mother’s and ran to meet his father.
Paula called out worriedly, ‘Patrick, do be careful. Don’t fall.’
Patrick did not answer. He sped ahead as fast as his little legs would carry him, shouting, ‘Daddy! Daddy! Daddy!’
Shane caught his son in his arms and swung him up high in the air, then placed him on his shoulders, and the two of them laughed merrily as Patrick rode Shane back to the pool area, crying, ‘Gee-up, gee-up. Nice horsey. Gee-up, gee-up.’
‘I’m going to take him for a swim. Is that okay, darling?’ Shane called. He knelt down and carefully lowered Patrick to the ground.
‘Yes, of course,’ Paula called back.
She sat up straighter, so that she could see the two of them better, shading her eyes with her hand.
Shane jumped into the shallow end of the pool, holding Patrick tightly in his arms, and immediately they began to frolic in the water, still laughing, and shouting with glee, and Patrick’s face was bright with excitement and happiness and so was Shane’s.
From this distance, her son seemed like any normal seven-year-old; the problem was that he would always have the mind of a seven-year-old. His body would grow and age, but his mental capacities would remain as they were now for the rest of his life. He would never be any different; they had given up hope of that. When they had first discovered Patrick was retarded, Paula had blamed herself, believing she carried some flaw in her genes which had been inherited from her grandfather. Paul McGill had had a legitimate son, Howard, by his legal wife, Constance, in Australia, and the boy, who had been dead now for a number of years, had been retarded. She had so convinced herself that this was the case, she had told Shane she dare not risk having any more children. But Shane had immediately pooh-poohed her theory, and he had insisted they see Professor Charles Hallingby, a leading geneticist.
They had both been tested and the results had proved conclusively that neither she nor Shane had passed on any kind of deficiency to their son. Patrick’s condition was inexplicable, simply a terrible fluke of nature. Professor Hallingby, having studied their family histories, had pointed out to Paula that her grandfather’s son may well have suffered prenatal damage because of Constance McGill’s heavy drinking during her pregnancy, a possibility her mother, Daisy, had mentioned innumerable times. She had finally conceded that the professor and her mother could be right. Not unnaturally, the knowledge that Professor Hallingby had imparted had helped to ease her mind. Shortly after, she had conceived again, and when Linnet was born she was a perfectly normal baby.
Paula loved her children equally, and tried not to have a favourite, but deep down in the innermost regions of her heart she was aware that Patrick was special to her, that he had a unique place in her affections. There was a terrible fierceness about her love for her afflicted child, perhaps, in part, because of his affliction, which made him so vulnerable and dependent.
His siblings also loved him dearly, were patient, and took great care with him, and for this she was thankful. Often she thought how heartbreaking it would have been if they had despised him or treated him badly or shunned him, as sometimes happened in families where there was a retarded child. But Lorne, Tessa, and even little Linnet, were as protective of Patrick as she and Shane were and, in fact, so were his many cousins. Not one single child in the family had ever made Patrick feel that he was in any way different to them. It was an awful tragedy that her little Patrick had not been born a perfect child, that he was damaged in the way he was. But Paula recognized that his inherent sweetness, his gentle nature, and his loving disposition compensated for so many things and endeared him to the family, and certainly he brought out the best in all of them.
An afflicted child is like a bruise on the heart, one never quite gets rid of the aching pain, Paula thought, and she sighed under her breath and held herself very still, pressing down on her sadness, continuing to watch the two dark heads bobbing around in the water. Her husband, her son. Oh how she loved them both, and with a love that was heartstopping at times.
It did her good to see how much they were enjoying their nautical games. Shane could be very gentle and tender with Patrick, or roughhouse with him, as he was doing now, and from the joyous shrieks and the whoops of delight filling the air, she knew the little boy was having the best time with the father whom he worshipped. A great rush of happiness filled her to the brim, displaced the sorrow she had felt a moment ago.
Paula lay back and closed her eyes, feeling a measure of contentment, but she lifted her lids almost immediately and sat up at the sound of Winston’s voice.
He walked into the pool area carrying a large tray of plastic tumblers, and trotting dutifully behind him was his nephew, Giles Standish, second son of his sister Sally, the Countess of Dunvale. Giles was carefully holding a large jug of lemonade with both hands.
‘Bonjour, Tante Paula. Voilà! Ici citron pressé pour toi,’ the nine-year-old Giles said, showing off his little bit of French, as he had been doing all through the summer. He was having special tutoring in the language and made a point of speaking it whenever he could, much to the irritation of the other children, who were not as fluent as he was becoming. But their constant ribbing rolled off his back; he was independent by nature, so he paid no attention and went on speaking French whenever he felt like it.
Giles put the jug down on one of the tables in the shade, and politely stood aside to make way for his uncle.
‘How delicious it looks, Giles dear,’ Paula said. ‘Just what I need, I’m getting quite parched from this heat. Did your parents get off all right?’
‘Yes, but Nice airport was jammed, wasn’t it, Uncle Winston?’ Giles said, reverting to English.
‘It was bloody awful, Paula,’ Winston asserted, pouring lemonade into a tumbler and bringing it to her. ‘Chaotic. I’ve never seen so many people. Sally and Anthony were thankful they were returning on Shane’s private jet, and I must say, that plane’s turned out to be a real godsend. I’m certainly glad Emily and I will be able to use it to get the mob back home at the end of the week. Now, Giles, do you want a glass of this?’