Odette protests no more and takes up the position given toher. Lydia seems pleased, twittering about the studio, arranging the flowers, considering the golden light that pours in.
At last, she comes to Cecilia with a folded and sealed piece of paper. ‘And while my body is hot let this letter be put in my right hand, and my hand bound fast with the letter until that I be cold.’
Cecilia takes it and lies back, lets her hair float loose. If she stays still, it is tolerable. The temperature of the water becomes familiar, almost pleasant, as though it has warmed to her body – or her body cooled down to match it. She cannot see Lydia at the easel, but she can hear the sounds of brushstrokes and small metal tubes of paint being opened and squeezed.
A little numb now, dreamy and soft, she cannot feel her feet or the hand that drifts beside her. Cecilia is loosened, opened, stepping out of herself and into something more beautiful, more certain, more simple. It is a gift, this other life, this world inside her mind. Odette is the only one who will step through with her. They move and think in harmony, one shared mind, and never need trouble themselves with the cruel, cold world of others.
A faltering, then. A speck of rain falling from a blue sky. The turn of rot at the centre of the fruit.
This might end.
Claudine has come and changed everything, so subtly – a single flat note played in a great, swelling chord.
Odette’s hand slipping from hers, her own cold, bare palm grasping nothing but night sky.
One day, this could all be only a memory.
And then, what will she do?
7
Odette
GREAT CLOUDS OF INSECTSrise off the stagnant moat, here and there flecked with the iridescent blue of dragonflies feasting. The roses and hydrangeas in the garden tumble and riot across the flowerbeds, and in the fields, the sheep bleat against the relentless sun. The whole household retreats inside, shutters closed.
‘Where’s my father?’ Odette asks Leo, when she finds him trotting downstairs in a fresh change of clothes after his ride.
‘Gone to his study, I think.’
Odette turns to go, but Leo stops her.
‘You’re off to Cambridge then.’
‘Yes.’
‘You think you’ll be all right there, on your own?’
Odette wrinkles her nose. ‘I think I can manage.’
Leo coughs, shifts his weight. ‘I’m sure you can. You’ve always been better at the practical stuff than Cessy. What I mean to say is—’ He coughs again. ‘Look, the fact is I would feel as though I hadn’t done my proper duty if I didn’t tell you that you can always write to me, if you get into any sort of trouble.’
Odette flushes. ‘Leo—’
‘Let me finish. I know we haven’t been all that close recently, and I’m not your brother, but in another way I am, you see, so I thought I’d best make that clear.’
He looks at her with such an awful earnestness that Odette feels a flush of guilt. It has not occurred to her that perhaps the closeness that has grown between her and Cecilia has had the effect of shutting Leo out from a sense of belonging he once had.
She squeezes his hand. ‘I do know that. We’ll both be fine. I promise.’
He nods, pleased to be dismissed.
Odette tracks her father to the island of his desk.
‘Mother did well today,’ she says lightly. ‘I think this new piece will be a triumph.’
George continues to read the letter in his hand but acknowledges her with a brief glance.
Odette considers sitting, but it feels too formal, so instead she browses the shelves of books, the bound issues ofThe Westminster ReviewandThe Athenæum, volumes of Catullus and Seneca that she has copied out too many times to recall, sat in the corner of his office like another object to display. Her father would always place her on her own chair at her own writing desk, tell her how good it was to see her, then bend his head to his own tasks. He is so busy, of course, she should be grateful for the scant time he gives her, and it is something special to be his companion, his helpmeet. She knows she was a good daughter, quiet and studious and never childish or demanding. She is proud to have managed what so few children do, smug, even, that she so quickly cast off her naivety.