“Our mum’s British,” Lina explains. “She’s from Hertfordshire.”
“Really?” says Callum. “So’s our dad.”
I notice him blushing slightly—and Lina does too.
Mabel gives Angelika a basket of figs to say thank you for the Harry Styles tickets.
“Klasse!”Angelika gushes. “I love Willie’s figs!”
She drops the basket off in the kitchen, then leads us down to the pool, shielding her face from the sun with her lace parasol. She asks if we enjoyed the concert and Mabel and I tell her all about it as the kids strip down to their swimwear and I apply Archie’s suncream. This time, Callum and Mabel come to me to offer up their backs. Mabel’s bikini—a purple sporty number—is making its debut appearance and she doesn’t appear to be self-conscious wearing it. Callum, too, is holding himself more confidently: while he’s still skinny, his chest stands proud. I also notice Lina checking him out when she thinks nobody’s looking.
“It seems to me that Callum’s making quite an impression on my granddaughter,” Angelika comments under her breath.
“I think Lina’s making just as big an impression on him,” I mutter back.
We share a smile and sit down at the table. A bottle of Prosecco is standing in an ice bucket, next to a crystal sphere of raspberry liqueur and two empty champagne flutes, which Angelika fills without any discussion. We slip off our sunglasses and bring our glasses together.
Angelika asks how the house renovations are going and I run her through our plans. “The kitchen and second bathroom will be finished by the end of this week, which means the only room left is the bathroom in the cottage. The builders are already getting on with the damp proofing and changing the electrics, or should I say there are holes and trenches in the walls and wires hanging everywhere. I don’t quite understand what’s going on and I’m not sure I want to.”
Angelika releases a bracelet that’s caught on the side of her kaftan. “Quite right, darling. You and I are far too fabulous for that kind of thing. When we renovated this place, I left it all to Edgar until they were done with the plastering. Now, tell me your plans for the décor.”
I take a swig of my drink. “We’re going to stay authentic sowe’ll probably paint the walls in warm, earthy tones. I need to start thinking about that, although I’ve already bought a few bits. And I put up some photos the other day.”
I tell her about the passport photos we found of Wilf and Arnaldo—and the difference between these and the stiff, posed shots that stood on the shelves.
“I’ll look forward to seeing them,” says Angelika. “You know, Willie and Arnaldo didn’t like to show affection in public—even when I knew them, when they could go down to the village and people were friendly. I think they just got used to holding it in and it became second nature.”
I look at Callum and Lina, who aren’t engaging with the others but sitting on the side of the pool, swinging their legs, chatting. Their faces are animated and their eyes sparkling. It wouldn’t occur to them to worry about their attraction towards each other being seen—apart from maybe not wanting their siblings to wind them up.
“That’s sad, isn’t it?” I say to Angelika.
She lets out a sigh. “It is, darling. You know, the only time I ever saw Willie and Arnaldo expressing affection was when I turned up unannounced at the house once and caught them kissing on the lawn. Willie wasn’t embarrassed in the slightest, but Arnaldo was.”
We’re distracted by a loud, theatrical giggle coming from Lina. Callum is smoothing his fringe and chuckling. At the other side of the pool, Mabel and Freya seem to be getting on well, trying out different dives. But Archie is left out, sitting on the steps, playing with Captain America. I excuse myself and go over to ask if he wants me to throw the house key into the water so he can find it. His face lights up and he tosses Captain America away. I direct him to turn his back and—knowing he’s a good swimmer—throw the key into the deep end.
“What was he like, Arnaldo?” I ask Angelika, once Archie’s searching the pool. “We hardly spoke about him the other day—it was all about Wilf.”
Angelika screws a cigarette into her holder and lights it with her gold-plated Zippo. “He was quite restrained and buttoned-up,as you Brits say—much more subdued than Willie. I think his family was very religious. I remember once telling him about working on an airbus—where they used to have a private room for the crew—and walking in on two of my gay friends having what the British crews used to call a flying fuck.”
I cackle loudly.
“Working for an airline was wild in those days.” She takes an extravagant drag on her cigarette and blows the smoke over her shoulder. “Arnaldo didn’t disapprove but I could tell he was uncomfortable with anything explicit. Willie, on the other hand, loved my stories.”
I grin at her. “In that case, I know where I get it from.”
I excuse myself again and go over to check on Archie. He’s spotted the key at the opposite end of the pool and is swimming over. Lina, meanwhile, has got in the pool and is throwing a ball high in the air so Callum can catch it as he jumps in.
“So they were very different, then?” I ask Angelika. “Wilf and Arnaldo?”
“In some ways, yes. And their relationship wasn’t perfect. Arnaldo could be very proud.”
“What do you mean?”
She takes a swig of her drink. “Well, if they had a row, he wouldn’t say sorry—he’d just brood. My Edgar was like that, so I sympathized. Arnaldo saw himself as a traditional man, the head of the household, so Willie did all the housework and the cooking. I wasn’t sure it was a fair division of labor but it seemed to work for them. And they were very much in love. Willie was devastated when he died.”
I watch as Archie dives down for the key and reemerges with it in his hand.
“That’s brill, Archie!” I shout. “Well done!”
