‘What about you? What’s up?’
‘How did you know something was?’ CeCe came over and folded her arms around me. ‘Thank God I’ve got you,’ she sighed heavily.
‘So what is it?’
‘It’s hard to explain, but it’s like being back at school, with all the other students bonding and me feeling like I just don’t fit in. Actually, it’s worse than school, because I don’t have you there. I try not to mind, but I really thought that a group of artists would be different. But they’re not. And it hurts, Sia, it really does.’
‘Of course it does.’
‘The tutors criticise my work non-stop. I mean, I know that’s what they’re paid to do, but the odd compliment wouldn’t go amiss occasionally. At the moment, I feel completely demoralised and on the verge of jacking it all in.’
‘But I thought the whole point was the show at the end of the year? That the college shipped in eminent art critics and collectors to see your work? Surely, however tough it is at the moment, you can’t give up on that?’
‘I don’t want to, Sia, but Pa always said that life is too short to be miserable.’
‘He also said we must never give up,’ I cautioned. It struck me that we sisters could adapt Pa’s many words of wisdom however we saw fit now that he was gone.
‘Yes.’ CeCe bit her lip and I was surprised to see the beginnings of tears in her eyes. ‘I really miss him. Thought I’d cope, but there’s a hole, you know?’
‘I do,’ I said softly. ‘Cee, you haven’t been there long. Why don’t you give it more time and see how it goes?’
‘I’ll do my best, but I’m struggling, Sia, I really am. Especially with you away so much.’
‘Well, I’m back now.’
CeCe went up to take a shower and I began to add the ingredients of the stir fry to a wok. And thought that perhaps both of us were destined to be outsiders – two lone wolves with no one else but each other. However much I had recently tried to escape, history and literature were peppered with stories of unmarried sisters who had sought comfort from each other. Maybe I needed to surrender and accept my fate.
We ate dinner together, and for the first time in a while, CeCe’s presence comforted rather than irritated me. And as she showed me photos on her phone of her latest paintings from college, which I genuinely thought were the best I’d seen her produce for a long time, I thought how a change of perception and acceptance might alter everything.
We went to bed early that night, both of us exhausted for very different reasons.
Perhaps we were more similar than I cared to believe, I thought as I stared up at the moon through the window. We were both afraid of the cruel world outside our comfortable nest.
24
For reasons probably to do with the old chestnut called pride, I had not told CeCe I’d been sacked from my job. So, the next day, I got up with her, knowing she left half an hour before me, and went through the usual morning routine.
‘Have a good day,’ CeCe called as she left.
‘You too.’ I waved as I pretended to slurp my coffee down in a hurry.
Once the door was closed, I trawled through my cookbooks to find a cake recipe to make for Shanthi. I decided to plump for something typically English – a malt loaf – but with some added spice as a nod to her heritage. Then I went out to the supermarket to buy the ingredients and some teabags.
The doorbell rang at exactly four, and I pressed the buzzer so Shanthi could enter the building. The fact that someone had taken the trouble to visit me warmed my heart. As she emerged from the lift, I was waiting for her on the doorstep.
‘Star!’ She threw her arms around me and hugged me to her. ‘It’s been too long.’
‘Yes, it has. Come in.’
‘Wow!’ she said as she surveyed the enormous sitting room. ‘What a place. You didn’t tell me you were a trust-fund kid.’
‘I’m not really. My sister bought this. I’m just a tenant.’
‘Lucky you,’ she said with a smile as she sat down.
‘Tea? Coffee?’
‘Actually, I’m going to have water. Or any herbal blend you might have lurking in the depths of your cupboards. I’m on a fast, you see.’
I looked at the malt loaf, plump and fresh, just waiting to be devoured, and sighed.
‘So, how have you been, ma petite étoile?’
‘You speak French?’
‘No,’ she said with a laugh, ‘that’s about the only phrase I know, and it happens to contain your name.’
‘I’m well,’ I said as I took over the tray with her tea, the malt loaf and a pat of fresh butter to spread on it. Orlando’s afternoon cake habit had stuck and I would have some anyway.
‘What have you been up to?’
‘I’ve been working in a bookshop.’
‘Which one?’
‘Oh, one that you’d never have heard of. It sells rare books and we don’t get many customers.’
‘But you’re enjoying it?’
‘I love it. Or at least I did.’
‘You’re not working there any more?’
‘No. I was asked to leave.’
‘Star, I’m so sorry. What happened?’
I debated whether to tell her. After all, I hadn’t even managed to tell CeCe yet. But then, Shanthi had a way of drawing me out. And if I was honest, that was why I’d been so eager to see her. I needed to talk to someone.
‘It’s a long story.’
‘Then I’m all ears,’ she said, as she watched me munching on a slice of spicy malt loaf. ‘Okay,’ she added, ‘I surrender. That cake looks absolutely delicious.’
After I’d cut her a slice, I began to tell her of my odyssey into the Vaughan/Forbes family, Shanthi only occasionally interrupting to double-check she’d got the facts right, until I was at the denouement of my sorry story.
‘So, there we are.’ I shrugged. ‘Once again, I’m unemployed.’
‘They sound absolutely fascinating,’ Shanthi breathed. ‘I always think these old English families have such character.’
‘You could say that, yes.’
‘And you might somehow be related to them?’
‘If I am, I shall never find out now. I doubt I’ll hear from any of them again.’
‘I absolutely think you will, and very soon. Especially one particular person.’
‘Orlando?’ I asked her eagerly.
‘No, Star. Not Orlando. But if you can’t see who it might be, then I’m not going to tell you. And . . . it also sounds as though they’re hiding something.’
‘Does it?’
‘Yes. Something just doesn’t make sense. The house sounds amazing, though,’ she added.
‘It was. I loved being there. Even though my sister told me they were using me and I was worth more . . . I like being domestic and looking after people. Do you think that’s wrong?’
‘You mean in the days of all of us females having to be career women and smash our way through the glass ceiling?’
‘Yes.’
‘I don’t think it’s wrong at all, Star.’