The Winter Children (19 page)

Then she started to understand why he was so tenacious with her. He wasn’t used to doing the chasing. He was chased all the time. Now she was making him work. As he wooed her, he dropped
the showing off, the obscure jokes designed to reveal his intellectual prowess, and the tendency to look down on anyone who hadn’t been to Cambridge. Instead he showed a charm and kindness she had not previously
suspected. When she was ill, he sent a courier round with a box of carefully chosen gifts to help her feel better: a packet of Lemsip, a pot of honey, a miniature of whiskey and some lemons, a copy
of a comic novel and a hot water bottle. He turned up himself that evening, having found his way to her flat in Dalston, with a bunch of flowers and the ingredients for dinner which he insisted on
cooking for her. When he left, he made sure she had a cup of herbal tea to take to bed.

Without meaning to, she started to open herself up to him. She treasured their long Sunday afternoons together, lazing in a London park, wandering around a gallery, or watching a play or film
together. She liked the long evenings over glasses of wine, with vigorous debates about things they’d seen. Then one night, as they walked back along the riverside, the coloured lights of
the South Bank gleaming in the blue darkness, she kissed him, and felt the deep inner chime of connection: intimate, physical, intense. After that, they kissed all the time.

As she began to realise that Dan meant something to her, she became afraid. If she loved him, she’d have to deal with the constant feminine attention he attracted, and she feared it would
make her paranoid. Already, despite herself, she felt pangs of jealousy when he was stared at or approached. She was afraid that she’d always worry that someone would come along to take
him away from her. She decided it was too much to live with, and, before she got in too deep, she told him it was over. It had been fun and she liked him very much, but there was no future and she needed to get on
with her life.

She was surprised at the depth of Dan’s devastation at her decision. He refused to let her dump him, doing his best to win her back, slowly but surely. She resisted at first, but the
flowers and letters, the antique gardening books delivered through the post, even poems composed and carefully written out in cards, all worked their magic. She agreed to spend the day with him
and they headed off to Brighton one gusty clear morning. In the afternoon, they ended up sitting on a bench by the sea, gazing out over waves whipped by a tangy coastal wind while they ate hot,
salty-sweet chips from a paper cone. She was cold. He took off his jumper and gave it to her. Its soft warmth melted the last of her resistance and as they laughed and ate together, she knew that
they would spend that night together. They haven’t parted since.

How long ago was that now?
She stares up at the ceiling. The water is cooling around her and she debates whether to add more hot, but the wrinkled state of her toes decides her against
it.
It was sixteen years ago.
She was twenty-nine and he was twenty-five. There seemed to be endless time back then, and she wanted to do so much before they settled down and had children.
Even so, she couldn’t have forecast what would happen: that by the time they wanted to start a family, it was already too late. But of course, it took a few years of trying before they
admitted that it wasn’t going to happen naturally. Then the investigations began, and the reassurances that it would probably be all right. The suggestion, at last, that they ought to begin to consider IVF – as if there was still all the time in the world. Olivia always
clenched her fists tight with anger when she thought of it. They listened so closely to every word the doctors uttered, did exactly as they were told, remained calm and patient when advised to. And
yet, at every stage, when their hopes were dashed again, there seemed to be the implication that the doctors had known all along that this would probably be the case, and what a shame that they had
wasted so much time already, as though it had been Dan and Olivia demanding that things slow down so they could spend another six months going down closed-off avenues. It made her furious to
think of it, so she tried to shut it out of her mind. Then, when the prospect of parenthood seemed so far away as to be an impossible dream, Dan asked her to marry him.

She had never felt the urge to be married but when Dan proposed, she knew it was what she wanted. He was still committed to her. The lack of children didn’t mean their relationship was
worth any less. He loved her, no matter what. It was a joyous day: a London register office, a riotous lunch with friends and family, an evening party with everyone else they wanted to be part of
their celebration. But when the euphoria had worn off, there remained a bleakness below it all. They didn’t know then what a long road there still was to travel, and how many more compromises
would have to be made.

She has a flash of memory of the terrible moments in her relationship with Dan, but shakes her head to lose them. They’re over. Gone. They’ve got through the worst. Everything from here will be better.

From the cooling bath, Olivia hears shrieks from downstairs and tenses, listening. They sound harmless. The children must be playing some game of chase. She sighs and smiles. That’s why,
perhaps, she’s never minded the sleepless nights or the relentless hours. Yes, she gets tired but she never minds it, not deep down. Because this is being a parent, something she feared she
would never be, and the hectic, demanding days will pass as surely as everything else. They must be seized and experienced and lived.

As for the twins’ heritage – she never gives it a thought, except vaguely in passing. Plenty of mothers look nothing like their children, and plenty of children have characters that
are not a bit like anyone in their family. No one knows what they will get or what genetic mix will emerge. Sometimes she spots bits of Dan in the children, and she loves to see them. The fact
that nothing of her will ever be seen in them is something she dismisses.
They might learn my mannerisms, my tone of voice. They’ll love gardening because I do. I’ll teach them
about music and good food and how to look after animals and to be decent, honourable people. That’s more important than sharing a hair colour or a gait or something.

She stands up in the bath, water cascading from her as though she’s Venus rising from the waves. She looks down at her body: it’s certainly different now, with its folds of flesh and
added layers of padding. One day she’ll do something about it. Meanwhile, she feels rather magnificent – an earth goddess who has borne children and is now literally greater as a result – and Dan doesn’t seem to mind. She feels so lucky for everything she now has and all the opportunities in
life that still await her further down the line, and she can’t wait to get stuck into it all.

She steps out of the bath and reaches for a towel.

The ladies, each perfectly turned out and polished with glinting blow-dried hair, sit eating salad off white china and sipping mineral water, waiters flitting around them attentively.

‘Well, I think it’s a great shame,’ one says with a smile, looking over at Francesca. ‘You will be missed!’

Francesca gives her a rueful look. ‘That’s sweet of you. I’m so sad about it. But it’s just a necessity at the moment. I’m sure I’ll be back on board in due
course.’

‘But,’ says another, pushing away her lunch of barely touched leaves, ‘I know exactly how it is. When we had our chateau in France to restore . . .’ She rolls her eyes.
‘My goodness, the work involved! It was non-stop for me, for a year or so. So I’m not surprised.’

They are talking in English but there are many different accents around the table. Francesca’s is the only British one.

‘I hope,’ says a blonde German heiress who looks nothing like her fifty years, ‘that you’ll have us all over to see the work. I looked up the house on the internet after
you told us about it, and it is certainly magnificent. But you’ll have your hands full. How many rooms, remind me?’

‘I’m not sure. A hundred and eighty? And around forty bedrooms!’ Francesca laughs. ‘I can’t think of anything nicer than having you all over to visit – when I
have some bedrooms I can actually use, instead of forty useless ones. But until then, you do understand that I’ll be travelling back and forth all the time? It won’t be practical for
me to be on the committee, I simply won’t be around enough.’

‘Of course.’ They are all smiling, all understanding. Most of them have properties across the world and they know that sometimes it’s necessary to devote one’s time and
attention to one or other of them.

‘And Walt?’ asks one of the Spanish ladies, looking particularly fine in a red blazer that sets off her dark, low-lighted hair. ‘Will he be helping?’

‘You know men,’ Francesca says, spearing a pea shoot with her fork. ‘He’s so busy he hardly knows what country he’s in. No doubt he’ll drop in and take a look
from time to time. But it’s frantic for him right now. I’ve barely seen him for weeks. Once the house is done, we’ll take a lovely long vacation there and he can enjoy
it.’

‘Good idea!’ enthuses another of the circle, a Swiss lady with a mink-collared sweater. ‘We all need a little time together, don’t we? To keep the marriage healthy.
It’s only sensible.’

The wealthy wives nod in understanding. They all know the importance of a well-nurtured marriage and the comfort and security it brings.

Back at home, Francesca packs carefully, in between checking messages and stopping to fire off emails. It’s only a week or so since her trip to Renniston but she’s heading back
there as soon as she can. All she needs is the excuse, which is why she’s arranging for the Preserving England man and the architect to come to the house, and for builders who specialise in
conservation to come and give her quotes. She’s already had a few round to inspect the work, but it can’t do any harm to have more. After all, there has to be a good reason for her to
spend a few days at the house.

She has to resist the impulse to pack up mountains of things for the children. That would not be wise, given Dan’s state of mind. She can’t pay too much attention to the twins or do
anything to make him defensive in case he decides to move the family out and somewhere else beyond her reach. There is still the option of returning to Argentina, and she has to be sure that it
isn’t taken. As it is, she is probably going back a little sooner than she ought to. But it already seems an age since she was with the babies and she misses them with a hunger she
hasn’t felt since her own children were tiny. It’s so invigorating to feel this rush of maternal need; it takes her right back to the time when she had that yearning to be near
Frederick and Olympia, when she herself was young. That is nearly sixteen years ago now.

Thank goodness for the children.

They took the pain away, or at least, most of it. Their presence and her ability to lose herself in her love for them removed the devastation of what had happened before their arrival, before
her marriage to Walt. It was such a dark time that she’d done her best to forget it almost entirely. It wasn’t as though she had to talk about it – only one other person in the world knew, after all – and there was
nothing to remind her about it, unless she chose to remember. And for the most part, she let it go and looked to the future and the choice she had made.

Only once has she been ambushed by its sudden and unexpected resurgence. Six years ago, Dan rang to tell her that he and Olivia were getting married. It was not a surprise, when they’d
been together so long and had shown all the signs of considering themselves a permanent couple. Before the engagement, when she’d asked Dan why there was no wedding, he’d said that
Olivia didn’t believe in marriage, a statement that made her prickle, as though her own choices were being judged and found wanting.

‘Why not?’ she’d asked.

‘Oh, you know,’ he’d said vaguely. ‘She doesn’t think a piece of paper makes a difference to how we feel about one another.’

Francesca had thought of all the wives she knew who cherished that piece of paper and the security it gave them as time marched on and made them vulnerable to being replaced.

Still
, Francesca had thought,
if Olivia doesn’t want to marry Dan, all the better.

It was just not a position she could ever imagine taking herself.

She heard of the engagement with resignation tinged with a hint of bitterness. She sent a card of congratulations and awaited the wedding invitation that came in due course. She was surprised by the card inviting her to Olivia’s hen party, held on a hot day in London, with a big lunch at a restaurant
and drinks in a pub with a beautiful garden, and then dancing in a nightclub. At the lunch, Francesca felt out of place. Most of the people there were Olivia’s friends – from school,
her gardening career, her writing world – and there were a few from a side of Dan’s life she didn’t know. One or two of the Cambridge crowd were there, or their wives or
girlfriends. Everyone seemed vivacious and interesting but Francesca found it hard to engage. She was struggling with her emotions about the whole thing. They were celebrating the imminence of
Dan’s marriage, and that was something she couldn’t bring herself to think too much about.

‘Have you seen this?’ It was the woman to her right, a merry, dark-haired person – Alex, she thought her name was. She passed Francesca a white leather album. ‘It’s
so cute! You need to write in it too.’

She saw that it was a record of reminiscences and the thoughts of Olivia’s friends on the occasion of her forthcoming marriage, looking back to the past and wishing her all the best for
the future. Some people, forewarned, brought photos to be stuck in, or drew little pictures on their page. The lunch was already at the empty-plate-and-refilled-glasses stage. Francesca took her
time flicking through the pages, learning more about Olivia than she had ever known before. She’d been cautious about being too pally with Olivia before now, not knowing what Dan might have
told her. An entry in the book caught her eye.