The Peacock Emporium(102)
A few minutes later she carried it through to the annex, then made up another with a teapot and four mugs. When she returned to the kitchen, Suzanna was looking out of the window. The sadness on her face made Vivi feel suddenly depressed, and conscious that this was an emotion she had felt too often, for too long. There was no such thing as happiness, she thought, if one of your children was miserable. She wiped her hands on her apron and hung it on the back of the door, fighting the urge to put her arms around her daughter as she just had her husband. “Did you have any more thoughts, darling, about whether you wanted us to keep Athene’s picture up in the gallery?”
“No,” said Suzanna. “I haven’t really had time to think about it.”
“No, of course not. Well, if you’d like another look, you know where it is.”
“Thanks, Mum, but not today.”
Vivi, hearing the frozen, subdued little voice, wondered if she was still grieving for her friend. The death was still relatively recent, after all. She remembered the impact of Athene’s dying—the shock of it reverberating through their families, the limited number of people who knew the truth about Athene’s “extended holiday abroad.” Even though Vivi probably hadn’t been as sad as she might have been (who had? she thought guiltily), she still remembered the crushing shock of someone so young and beautiful—a mother—having been wrenched so brutally from life.
She wondered, with the familiar sense of inadequacy, what she could do to alleviate some of her daughter’s pain. She wanted to ask her what was wrong, to offer some remedy, to support her. But she knew, from bitter experience, that Suzanna would talk only when she was ready. And that was quite likely to be never.
“Lucy should be here in a minute,” she said, opening the linen drawer and pulling out napkins. “Ben’s just picking her up from the station.”
* * *
—
Vivi hadn’t been going to sit in on their little meeting: she knew what was going to be said, after all. But Douglas had said he would like her there, so she placed herself at the back of the room, leaning against the bookshelves, enjoying the sight of her three children’s heads in front of her with a vague maternal satisfaction. Ben’s hair had gone quite blond over the summer, working outside all day, and he looked like a parody of a corn-fed farmer’s son. Lucy, to his right, was tanned and fit, having just returned from one of her exotic holidays. Suzanna could not have looked more like the odd one out, with her pale, milky skin, dark hair, and shadowed eyes. She would always be beautiful, Vivi thought, but today she looked like someone trying not to be.
“I was going to ring you, Suze,” said Ben, as he stuffed a sandwich into his mouth. “Tell Neil I’m getting a list ready for that first shoot. I’ll have a place for him if he wants to come.”
“I’m not sure we’ve got the money,” she said quietly.
“I didn’t intend him to pay,” Ben said. His indignation sounded forced against his natural sunny demeanor. “Tell you what, if he’s worried, tell him he can pay me back in cleaning out the old pig sheds.”
“Or tidy your room,” said Lucy, nudging him. “Can’t see there’s much difference. When are you going to move out, Mummy’s boy?”
“When are you going to get a boyfriend?”
“When are you going to get a girlfriend?”
“When are you going to get a life?”
“Hmm,” said Lucy theatrically. “Eighty thou’ a year plus bonuses, an office overlooking the Thames, my own flat, membership of two private clubs and holidays in the Maldives. Or pocket-money wages from Mum and Dad, the room you’ve had since you were twelve, a car so useless that you end up borrowing Mum’s all the time, and your best night out at the Dere Young Farmers’ disco. Hmm, wonder who really needs to get a life?”
It was the way they reintroduced themselves to each other, Vivi knew, and reestablished their bonds. But as Lucy and Ben continued their good-natured squabbling Suzanna said nothing, just glanced at her watch and then at their father, who was scrabbling among the papers on his desk.
“So, what is this, Dad?” said Lucy, eventually. “King Lear? Do I get to be Cordelia?”
Douglas found his spectacles, placed them carefully on his nose, and eyed his younger daughter over the thin silver frames. “Very droll, Lucy. Actually, I thought it was time I consulted you all a little more about the running of the estate. I have altered my will so that while the estate will be run by Ben you will each have an eventual financial interest in it, as well as some say in its future. I think it’s better if, before anything happens to me, you have some idea of what is going on.”
Lucy looked interested. “Can I see the accounts? I’ve always wondered how much this place earned.”
“I doubt it’ll take you to the Maldives,” her father said dryly. “I’ve made copies. They’re over there in the blue folder. I’d just ask that you don’t take them anywhere. I feel more comfortable knowing that all the financial information is in one place.”
Lucy made for the table and began to study the spreadsheets that Vivi had always found impenetrable. She knew some farmers’ wives acted as their husband’s bookkeepers, and had warned Douglas at the beginning that she couldn’t tell the difference between a debit and a credit.