Free Love Always by Harriet Evans Page A

And apart from that photo of Cecily that Granny had and I saw only once I know nothing else about her. Cecily simply doesn’t come up. What happened doesn’t come up.
    So the three of us stare at each other, unsure how to proceed: we’ve gone down a conversational dead end.
    ‘Natasha’s right, though,’ the Bowler Hat suddenly says, unbending. ‘It was like paradise, Summercove. So laid-back and free. That day we arrived, Guy and I, and you were lying out on the lawn in those great tight-fitting black trousers, remember?’ He smiles, wolfishly. ‘Yes, we were young then.’
    ‘Frank,’ Louisa says, through gritted teeth. ‘That wasn’t me. My shorts ripped, remember? That was bloody Miranda.’
    ‘Your memory, dear,’ Bowler Hat says. ‘Incredible. Hah.’ He looks around him airily. I will not be embarrassed by this mistake, don’t try me .
    ‘Is Guy here? I haven’t seen him yet,’ I say hastily. ‘Though it’s been so long, I don’t know if I’d recognise him.’
    ‘Oh, you would,’ says Louisa. ‘He was at Julius’s wedding. Guy!’ she calls. ‘Guy!’
    Last year, Julius married a Russian girl, a trader he’d met through work. He was thirty-seven, she was twenty-three. It was a smart hotel in central London, in a huge room with gold panelling on the walls, and red-faced, huge-handed Julius and a stick-thin beautiful young woman in acres of tulle posing for endless photos. They had a huge row – at the reception – and she stormed off. Jay says he heard she ended up at the Rock Garden in Covent Garden with one of her bridesmaids, snogging a Russian guy. I don’t believe him, though I’d love it to be true.
    All I really remember about that night is that Oli and my mother got really drunk; they’re a bad combination, those two. Oli managed to offend one of Julius’s ghastly City friends: unintentionally, he can be a bit full on when he’s had too much to drink. I had to take him home. Julius’s wife isn’t here today. Neither’s my husband, though.
    ‘Ah,’ Louisa says. I turn around. ‘Hi, Guy,’ I say, holding out my hand. Again I hear Julius’s words on the train. ‘Bloody good thing Guy’s already there.’ I grip his hand, suddenly angry, and pump my arm up and down a little too hard. Guy is nothing like his brother, he is mild-looking and rather thin, wearing a tatty checked shirt with a corduroy jacket. He smiles at me.
    ‘It’s nice to see you again, Natasha. It’s been a very long time.’ He nods, his grey eyes kind.
    ‘Hi,’ I say. I haven’t seen him for ages. ‘I was in a shop where they were selling your bracelets the other day,’ he says. ‘Nearly bought one for my daughter.’
    ‘I wish you had,’ I say. He stares at me. ‘Guy’s an antiques dealer,’ Louisa says behind me. She crumples a tea towel up in her hand. ‘We thought it’d be useful for him to come to the funeral, you know? Get started on the work ahead. Because of course, there’s some interesting things in the house too.’
    Interesting. ‘Has anyone been into her studio yet?’ I say. ‘It’s locked, isn’t it?’
    ‘Yes,’ Louisa says, her face tight. ‘Your mother found the key and went in, a couple of days ago. She started taking things out, but I managed to stop her. Someone should be making sure it’s all properly done.’
    ‘Arvind wanted to go in,’ the Bowler Hat says. ‘In fairness to Miranda.’
    ‘Well, fine,’ Louisa says crossly, but she doesn’t seem convinced. ‘Anyway, it’s all in there.’
    ‘Like what?’
    Louisa is brisk. ‘A few paintings, which is wonderful. That’s it though. And her old sketchbooks and paints. Why, what were you expecting them to find?’
    I shake my head, feeling stupid. ‘It’s time we sorted everything out.’ Louisa narrows her eyes. ‘Is that Florian leaving? Yes.’ She turns to me. ‘I mean, they weren’t wealthy in other ways, not for years now. But there are a lot of valuable paintings, letters, books, that