Page 54 of Annabel and Her Sisters

This took my breath away. A nasty voice in my head said– ‘in more ways than one’, thinking of Mum, which was horrid, but I couldn’t help it.

I wondered if Clarissa knew about the friendship between our mother and Piers.

No. It was more than a friendship. It was a relationship.

A glance at her face told me that she did.

Ginnie must have told her. Or– actually, no, of course not, how arrogant of me; her father had told her.

Maybe some time ago, over lunch, perhaps even when Mum was still in London.

The fact that Clarissa should be in the loop before me and Ginnie and privy to this sort of secret was, again, anathema.

There was a shocked silence as it dawned on Ginnie as well.

We’d been the ones completely in the dark, as yet another tale had unfolded.

‘We would very much like to meet him,’ Ginnie said warmly, and I shot her a grateful look.

‘Yes, we really would,’ I agreed, without missing a beat.

‘For Mum’s sake, as well as mine, you mean,’ observed Clarissa astutely.

‘Yes.’ I was taken aback by her perspicacity. ‘For both your sakes. He is definitely part of our family.’

I believe at that moment all our minds flew to Daddy.

Of course they did. And then our eyes too, to the black and white photo on the dresser: he was fly-fishing on the Spey in his waders, rod extended, mid-cast, an absorbed, contented look on his face.

The most heavenly man you could ever wish to meet.

There was a picture like this in every sister’s kitchen.

‘He’d have wanted it too,’ I said gently, at length.

We all nodded, still gazing at the photo, knowing this to be true– my father didn’t have a bad bone– but our eyes were full of tears.

‘And I’d like to see Mum on my own,’ Clarissa said firmly. ‘Without the pair of you. To tell her that you know about me, and also about her closeness to Piers, and that you both approve of meeting him. Is that OK?’

‘Oh, one hundred per cent!’

‘God, definitely!’

We chorused this in unison, and it was true.

This was Clarissa’s show. It belonged to her, Mum and Piers.

Ginnie and I understood that. We were peripheral, for a change.

Surplus to requirements. A good thing. It struck me that although Clarissa was the one who looked strong and controlling, she obviously hadn’t felt it: had felt deeply insecure.

Despite outward appearances it had been Ginnie and me leading the charge, with our bossy elder sister paddling furiously in our wake.

A deep and necessary sea change had taken place.

‘Does Derek know?’ I asked her.

‘Of course.’ She looked surprised. ‘Derek knows everything.’

Ginnie and I nodded, relieved. We’d all had that, thank God. Happy, marriages with no buried secrets. But we were quietly astonished, nonetheless. Or at least I was. Derek… knowing all of this, at every family event, every Christmas.

‘I told him before we got engaged. But not the boys.’

Ginnie and I nodded, wordless. Golly, Ed and Rob would be surprised.

As would my children, too, and Ginnie’s.

All the cousins. But intrigued, too– ours, at least– and sort of thrilled with the drama.

Not Ed and Rob, obviously. But they were very straightforward boys.

They’d take it on board, digest it privately, then perhaps discuss it together, before going off on exercise to Salisbury Plain, the Brecon Beacons, Iraq, where Rob was now.

And it wasn’t their parents, after all: it was their grandparents; it had all happened so long ago, it would in some respects feel like a story from the past, even to them.

I imagined Polly and Lara, though, who were very close, being fascinated, maybe even cornering their grandmother: ‘Granny, please, from the beginning, how did you meet him? Did you love him very much? And who was it said he couldn’t marry you?

’ They’d be gripped. I’d have to tell them not to do that.

That if they had to ask anyone, to ask Joan.

Although that might not yield much fruit.

Pammy, perhaps. Blimey, that would have it dropping from the trees.

‘Well then.’ Clarissa heaved up a great sigh from her large black court shoes.

They were plonked far apart, under the table, somewhat incongruously.

I was so used to seeing her in boots they made me smile.

‘We’ll have to arrange it. After I’ve spoken to Mum, of course.

Some sort of… family gathering. I’m having lunch with Piers today.

I’ll tell him. That’s what I call him, by the way– Piers, not Dad, that would be odd.

I only have one Daddy.’ She glanced at her watch.

‘I’d better get off, actually. I’m meeting him at the Delaunay. ’

The Delaunay. Flipping heck.

‘Right,’ said Ginnie faintly, clearly even more taken aback than I was, not just at the meeting, but at the classy metropolitan venue.

‘Clarissa, can I just quickly paint your nails?’ Ginnie burst out suddenly. ‘Polly’s bound to have some stuff upstairs.’

Clarissa and I looked at her in astonishment, then down at Clarissa’s nails, clasped around a mug. They were filthy. She’d probably been mucking out a stable this morning. She had the grace to smile.

‘No. You can’t. But if you’ve got a nailbrush, Annabel, I’ll use that.’

‘In my bathroom,’ I told her with a grin. ‘Pop up and help yourself.’

She got up and went upstairs, and I even wondered if she’d find her way. I couldn’t remember her ever coming to my house– I always went to hers– but she must have done at some point. It also gave her a moment, should she need one, to compose herself alone.

‘Golly, a family gathering,’ gulped Ginnie softly. ‘And Annabel,’ her voice quavered, ‘Mum and Piers… d’you really think…’ Her eyes were wide with fear now that Clarissa was out of earshot.

‘I don’t know.’ I realized she was terrified at the concept.

More so than me, perhaps. I think it had helped that Giovanni had told me, had set the scene, and I realized I should have painted more of a picture for her, on the phone.

But I also wondered if being a widow myself helped.

If that took me further down the path of understanding.

‘But Ginnie, how awful that she ran away to escape her feelings for him. To hide behind her children’s lives, to be an old lady forever. ’

‘Is that what Giovanni said?’

‘Pretty much.’

‘Yes, that’s so sad.’ Her blue eyes became huge and limpid. ‘If only I didn’t love her and Daddy so much. But… why shouldn’t she enjoy what remains of her days?’

‘That is precisely what he said, honestly,’ I told her earnestly. ‘The arrogance of youth was also mentioned. If not by him, by Pammy.’

‘Youth?’ She blinked. ‘Blimey, you speak for yourself. I feel about a hundred today.’ She ran a hand through her hair.

‘Oh God, me too.’ I glanced down at my phone, which I’d finally turned on. Still nothing. ‘Me too, Gin.’