True Colours Read online

  Caroline’s expression said it all: Fait accompli.

  How could Sebastian argue with that?

  TWENTY

  ‘Alex how are you? I just heard from Jocelyn, can you believe it?’ Marina’s voice sounded tinny in the confines of the car.

  ‘Hang on, I’m on speaker phone, I need to turn it up.’

  Keeping her eyes on the tractor lumbering ahead of her down the single-carriageway road, its twists and turns and high hedges preventing her from overtaking safely, Alex adjusted the volume on her car kit and tried her best to sound bright and breezy. It wasn’t easy.

  ‘Can you hear me now?’

  ‘Perfectly – I just said…’

  Alex interrupted her, ‘I know, I’m on my way there now.’

  ‘A castle, Alex! It will be a fantastic addition to our portfolio. But how will you manage it? How is Senor Marquez?’

  Relieved at the shift in conversation, Alex replied confidently.

  ‘He’s in great form. I spent the day with him yesterday. We’ve ordered the carpets – he wants the flag woven in throughout so they’ll take a bit longer than originally scheduled, but the man from Ulster Carpets is confident he can deliver on time. And the builders have a problem with the windows. They’re going to be two weeks behind, so we have a bit of leeway.’

  ‘Ooh, two weeks? Senor Marquez will not be pleased.’ Marina was right. They both knew him well, had worked closely with him on the makeover they had performed on Spain’s government offices Alex laughed.

  ‘You could say that, but the problem’s not at our end thank goodness.’

  ‘And it will give you time to do the offices of Venture Capital and this beautiful castle? I found a picture of it on the web; it’s like a fairytale.’

  Alex grimaced to herself, some fairytale.

  ‘Should do. Venture Capital loved one of the storyboards I made up for the office makeover so we’re running with that. I’ve the fabrics ordered, and I’m going to use the same firm of decorators who are doing the Cultural Institute. They’ve got a window now because everything’s held up, so they can start almost immediately.’

  ‘Perfect, perfect. And the apartment?’

  ‘That’s going to be more tricky – I’ve got an idea of what his fiancée wants, but I’ll need to do some 3D simulations to make sure. She’s not the easiest customer.’

  ‘Like Senora de Casso?’

  ‘Worse, much worse!’

  The tractor started to indicate ahead of her. Alex slipped down a gear.

  ‘Got to go, speak later.’

  Thank goodness. Alex glanced at the clock on the dash. If she didn’t have any more hold-ups she should arrive on time…

  The lanes looked beautiful in the spring sunshine, lush with new growth, the first daffodils thrusting out from the tangle of brambles to find the light, snowdrops and dog violets. Just as she remembered them. Alex felt a pang of regret. She’d loved this place from the moment her dad had driven his battered Volvo through the village, her mum in the front seat, her dark hair twisted into a knot, a map unfolded on her knees, the dogs leaping around the back, desperate to be let out after the journey from the city. She had been just sixteen then, nervous about the whole prospect of moving, of swapping her inner city Dublin convent school for the local girls’ school. But the idea of living in the grounds of a castle, of taking the bus to school instead of walking, of fresh air and new friends had filled her with excitement. And they had been so sure the move would be good for her mum, sure it would mark an improvement in her health…

  Little had changed since that first trip. The broad main street of Kilfenora village was just as dusty – cars abandoned, double-parked on both sides along its length; the pale granite church maintaining a watchful eye on the village from its elevated position at the top of the main street, its view of Foley’s pub, of who went in and who fell out the midshipman blue doors, uninterrupted. Since her last visit, before her dad’s accident, the Spar mini-supermarket had become a Eurospar. When they had first arrived, it had been Langan’s Grocers, with magnificent displays of fruit and vegetables spilling out onto the footpath garish signs scrawled with today’s offers. The butcher’s shop was still the same, and the post office, now with a fast food takeaway next door. And there was a bookmakers now, Paddy Power, with its tinted windows and shadowy customers. A snatch of the past, like a half-heard song: Sebastian throwing his arms around her as Love Match had romped home …

  Reaching the edge of the village, Alex paused at the T-junction, her foot hovering over the accelerator, fighting the urge to turn right around and go back to Foley’s pub, to hide in the darkest corner of the snug, faded burgundy velvet stinking of cigarette smoke and deep-fried food. How the hell could she look Sebastian in the face, conduct a civilised conversation after seeing that picture? How could he have painted her like that? Alex’s surge of disappointment reached toxic levels, splashing backwards and forwards in her head. She could feel her cheeks flaming all over again, but what could she say? She was the one who had left without a word, the one who really owed him an explanation. And she definitely wasn’t going there…Her stomach turned over, nausea rising. But then she’d always thought she’d never go back to Kilfenora House. And here she was, after all these years, after everything, going back.

  In the past, whenever she had visited her dad, the taxi would turn left here, taking her to the West Gate, to the edge of the park furthest from the house, avoiding everything that lay to the right: the towering eagle-topped entrance gates of Kilfenora House, the long tree-lined drive snaking through the park revealing the castellated stone mansion in all its Gothic splendour at its glorious finale.

  Oh God, what was she doing here? Whatever about the Venture Capital headquarters and then the apartment, but the house? Her head spinning, Alex whizzed down her window, gulping in fresh air. But, she hardly had time to stop now and throw up in the ditch. One way or another she was going to have to get this over and done with – if she was lucky, she might get away with making just this one visit. After all, she knew the place like the back of her hand…The angry honking of a horn behind her brought Alex to her senses. In her rear-view mirror she could see a man gesticulating angrily at her rental car, assuming she was a tourist. Flicking on the indicator, she waved her apologies and pulled out.

  ‘You’re late.’

  Alex hardly had her foot out of the car when she heard Sebastian’s voice. He must have been watching for her, waiting for her pull up. She glanced at the clock; she was two minutes late.

  Perhaps he was feeling the tension as much as she was.

  Leaving her laptop on the passenger seat, Alex closed and locked the car before she lifted her head and answered, focusing on controlling her breathing, on ensuring that when she spoke she sounded unruffled, as if coming back was the most natural thing in the world. But meeting Sebastian’s eye, as he stood there at the top of the steps, the house towering above him, every window staring down at her, disapproving, accusing, was like facing all her nightmares.

  Alex felt her knees wobble alarmingly and reached out to steady herself on the roof of the car.

  ‘The deer are on the drive. I had to wait for them to move.’

  Sebastian nodded curtly, hands in his pockets, his tie lifting in the gentle breeze. He was wearing a navy blue pinstripe suit, that pale blue shirt again, looked every inch the lord of the manor, every inch the aristocrat. He really was born to this; a distant conversation echoed through her mind.

  Before Alex could move, Sebastian turned and disappeared inside. Following him, her high-heeled navy pumps crunching on the gravel, she looked up at the two fluted pillars flanking the huge oak front door, the clipped bay trees on either side. There was a smell of wet paint coming from somewhere, from the Palm House perhaps, which spread out from the house on her far right. Its wooden arches scrolled and carved, supporting hand-blown panes of glass, it was angled to catch every ray of sunshine, to take advantage of the spectacular views: the
lake, the surrounding hills that seemed to cup the estate in their hands. She’d forgotten how impressive this entrance was, how grand. A hundred years ago a guest would have been met by the staff lined up outside, their black and white uniforms spotless, eyes lowered deferentially. But not today. And not for her.

  The steps rose in front of her, worn in the centre where generations of noble feet had gone before, tiny chips of mica in the stone glittering in the sunlight. The last thing she needed to do was trip up and fall on her face. From inside the cavernous hall, Sebastian’s voice again: ‘Are you coming? I’ve got to get back to town for a meeting.’ Then muttered under his breath Alex thought she caught, ‘damned stupid idea this is.’

  The black and white tiled hall was dim even in the spring sunshine. Chill. Disapproving.

  Panelled from floor to ceiling in ancient oak, the portraits of long-dead Wingfields jostling for space, it was huge, opened to the left onto the drawing room, to the right, the study. Behind the sweep of the Grand Staircase more doors led to the dining room, smoking room and billiard room, the morning room and the blue parlour…

  Alex paused on the threshold, the unmistakable sound of claws on marble echoing through the hall as a low-slung rather portly dog lollopped arthritically out to meet her, saliva dripping from its jaws.

  ‘Dodo!’ Ruffling the spaniel’s head, for a moment Alex forgot all the tension, a cacophony of memories ringing in her ears. She bent down to hug the dog, oblivious to the long white hairs that would inevitably transfer to her navy linen trousers, to her crimson linen jacket. Dodo woofed, a joyful sound, magnified by the double height of the hall, and pulled away from her, leaping with newfound youth, looking for a game.

  ‘She remembers you.’ Sebastian’s voice was strange, hollow, the words poignant. Alex looked up sharply, meeting his eye for a split second before he turned away. But in that second a charge seemed to pass between them, a jolt of electricity so strong she almost staggered. Had he felt it too? Apparently not. He had his foot on the stairs before she could answer.

  ‘We’d better get moving. The ballroom is the main room that needs attention, but all the guest bedrooms need a good going over, and the morning room. I’ve already got a team in to do the Palm House so you won’t have to worry about that.’

  It was a huge job. Just the type of thing Impromptu Design needed in order to really get a foothold in the Irish market. But…Wordlessly, Alex followed Sebastian, the stairs creaking beneath their feet, gossiping like a pair of housemaids, Dodo following, sticking close to Alex’s side. How many times had Alex followed Sebastian up this staircase? How many times had he chased her through the ballroom to the backstairs? It all looked the same, but so much had changed.

  Reaching the balconied mezzanine that ran around three sides of the entrance hall, she saw that the ballroom double doors were already open, inviting them in, the inlaid wood-block floor stretching away to the huge fireplace, to the floor-to-ceiling sash windows that overlooked the magnificent lake reaching out towards the gentle hills behind the house. Empty of furniture now, as if in readiness for dancing, the ballroom spanned the width of the house, the ceiling corniced, dripping with ornate plasterwork. In its day, it had hosted splendid parties; the legendary Midsummer Ball, a band playing all night in the minstrel’s gallery, struggling to compete with the laughter and chatter of 350 guests in fancy dress. And outside, hundreds of bright Chinese lanterns bobbing along the drive, ice sculptures, fireworks exploding over the boating lake.

  ‘I don’t know what you’re going to do in here, but it needs a good lick of paint for starters.’

  ‘When was it last decorated?’ Trying to sound business-like Alex ignored the fact that Sebastian had gone ahead of her to stand in the centre of the room, a lonely figure flanked overhead by two colossal Waterford crystal chandeliers, the dust thicker on their crystal tears than on the floor – as far away from her as he could get? Dodo flopped down heavily between them, looking expectantly from one to the other, like she was part of the conversation.

  His hands back in his trouser pockets, Sebastian frowned for a moment, focusing on the toe of his loafer, trying to answer her question. Avoiding her eye?

  ‘Must have been May 1953, for the Queen’s coronation. Grandfather threw a party to celebrate.’

  He would have done. It was a bitter twist of irony; showed just how different they were. As head of one of the oldest Anglo-Irish families in the country, Lord Kilfenora would have called on his fellow peers to attend that party. While the last thing your average Irish person would have been celebrating was the British Queen’s coronation. They had little to thank the British for – a bloody occupation and a five-year famine during which a million perished and million more left the country, never to return. A famine during which the only crop that failed was the potato and Irish children cried with hunger while the British reaped a bumper grain harvest.

  ‘Of course.’ Fighting to keep the sarcasm out of her voice, Alex slipped her briefcase off her shoulder and pulled out her notebook. ‘Do you want it this colour again?’ She looked up at the faded turquoise paint, peeling in places where damp had crept in. Even the white highlights on the panelling, the cornicing, had yellowed with age, ‘or do you want to go back to the original colour?’

  ‘Which was what?’ Sebastian almost said ‘smart arse’; she could hear it in his voice.

  ‘I won’t know until we get a sample of paint back to the lab, but we can lift the various layers until we find the original, match it. It’s not rocket science.’ Alex couldn’t resist the dig. Sebastian ignored it, contemplating his shoes for a second.

  ‘Find out what it was. It would be great to go back to the original. But how about the curtains? If you’re going to restore it accurately, how do we find out what they looked like?’ He nodded to the cream and gold brocade drapes, foxed and fading, the deep gold tassel running along the box pelmet beginning to detach itself, hanging precariously in places, twenty feet from the floor.

  ‘I can go back through the original records, cross-reference them with contemporary documentation, diaries, bills of sale from similar houses built at the time, find a fabric that would be in keeping.’

  ‘Okay.’ He paused for a moment watching her closely.

  She certainly knew her stuff; he had to give her that.

  For a moment, Sebastian felt like pinching himself, was she really here in the flesh after all these years? Standing in that shaft of sunlight, her red jacket glowing like a ghostly Hussars tunic, the golden lights in her hair illuminated, dust particles dancing around her in an aura, Alex looked like an apparition, a manifestation from his dreams.

  ‘And the bedrooms?’ Sebastian tried to keep his voice level, to hide the maelstrom of emotions that were welling up inside him like a geyser, the pressure making his head pound.

  Why did you go? Sebastian ached to shout it out to her across the room, to listen to the echo of his voice reverberating round the cornicing, through the years that separated them.

  ‘Same applies; we can take them back to the original or as close as possible to it.’

  ‘That sounds good. Mum redecorated them years ago; lots of Laura Ashley floral prints. The guest rooms aren’t too bad but they need to be brought up to date.’

  I know, Alex bit it back, nodded instead.

  ‘Do you need to see upstairs?’ For a second Alex felt his eye linger on her, like an x-ray, running from her patent court shoes to her white silk t-shirt, sucking the air out of the room all over again. Upstairs. The two of them. Alone?

  ‘Helloooo, Sebastian…’

  The sound jolted them both. Caroline. Her tone unmistakable.

  Tossing Alex a wary glance, Sebastian strode across the floor, his footsteps unnaturally loud. Out through the double doors, out to the balcony, Dodo at his heels. Alex took the moment to try and put away her notebook, fumbling helplessly with the flap on the outside of her briefcase, unable to make the notebook fit into the outside pocket, unable to fo
cus. If she had felt dizzy before, now she was positively reeling.

  ‘We’re up here, in the ballroom.’

  ‘See, I knew he was here somewhere.’ Sweet, cloying, like a precocious child.

  With the notebook finally stowed, Alex slipped her briefcase decisively onto her shoulder, and summoning all her reserves of control, followed Sebastian out onto the landing, her own heels clicking on the boards, vaguely aware that Caroline must be talking to someone downstairs, the distinct tones of several voices reaching her.

  ‘Here he is!’ Alex heard Caroline kissing Sebastian as he reached the bottom of the stairs, steeled herself as she crossed the mezzanine to the top of the flight. She couldn’t see them until she swung around the ornate finial of the main banister, a smile fixed in place. But at the top step she stopped dead, one foot hovering uselessly in the air. Below her, Caroline, this time wearing pale pink jeans and stiletto-heeled pink suede boots, the flounces on her oyster silk blouse lifting gently as she moved, was bending over an elderly man huddled in a wheelchair, a red tartan rug tucked in tightly around his knees. Alex’s heart skipped an entire beat.

  Guy Wingfield. Lord Kilfenora. Sebastian’s grandfather.

  Alex suddenly realised she was holding her breath, unsure whether she was more shocked by seeing him, or by the fact that he was in a wheelchair…looking so old, so helpless. She hadn’t seen him for sixteen years and he’d been in his seventies then, so he must be almost ninety now. Somehow, Guy Wingfield was fixed in Alex’s mind just as she had last seen him; it had never occurred to her that he could have aged so much. It was like meeting up with an old friend who has had a baby – suddenly the child is reading and writing and you’ve entirely missed the passage of time.

  ‘Now young lady, tell me what your plans are when you’ve finished school, what is it you’re planning to do with your life?’ his voice echoed back to her through the years , soft, paternalistic; the smell of the leather in his study; beeswax polish, spinning around inside her head like an insane merry-go-round; so friendly back then…