Page 29 of Boy Friends
He snorts. ‘Anna Brandenburg needs no embellishment.’
We turn on to a driveway enclosed on both sides by tall trees and dense hedges. For the first time in my life, the brambles are trimmed, and the ivy that used to rule this wood is nowhere to be seen. Everything glistens, even though the sun hasn’t yet managed to break through.
Dad stops the car on the circular driveway, and that’s when it sinks in. After seventeen years of believing them dead, I’m going to meet my grandparents. Officially. Over food and drinks, like the oddest of first dates. If Graham Brandenburg is anything like the steely man I looked up online, I doubt I’m ready to face him. The flowers I bought suddenly feel silly.
Dad and I are glued to our seats. We take in the tremendous azalea bushes that surround the drive. In its centre, a moss-covered dryad gazes up towards the manor’s towering roof. I don’t know when a manor becomes a castle, but I can see turrets and stained-glass windows and red ivy eating up thewalls. All that’s missing are gargoyles, so maybe that’s where it fails to fulfil the castle requirements.
I open the door, but Dad stops me.
‘Just . . . think of what I said. They are—’
‘Utterly and categorically selfish. I remember, Dad.’
I want to call him overdramatic, but since we’ve reached a truce, I hold back. We walk up to the double doors beneath a stone arch. At its peak a small creature is carved into the stone, but I’m struggling to make out the details.
‘It’s a mermaid,’ a voice says, and both Dad and I jump. We turn, and there she stands, wearing a crimson waistcoat over a white blouse, the sleeves left unbuttoned. Her casual elegance exudes wealth. ‘Rather tacky, if you ask me, but the building is listed, as I am constantly reminded. Follow me?’
She disappears behind the house, and we do as we’re told. When I turn the corner, a wide lawn stretches out in front of me, and beyond it, the sea. We reach a stone patio that overlooks the tennis court and a huge garden, twice the size of Lombard’s town square.
‘I still have to acclimatise to this weather. One moment it’s the Genesis flood and the next you’re at risk of heatstroke. But I set my mind on an al fresco lunch, and I tend to get what I want.’ She spreads her arms towards a set of chairs dotted around a beautifully set table. The tablecloth is blindingly white and flutters in the sea breeze.
‘Show-off,’ Dad says under his breath.
Anna arches a plucked eyebrow. I notice that her forehead barely moves. ‘Don’t mumble, darling. It’s bad manners. As is showing up late.’
Dad opens his mouth, undoubtedly to repeat what hejust said, but before he gets the chance, she approaches me with a dazzling smile. ‘Flowers! For me? How thoughtful.’ Though there’s an air of performance to her every move, her reaction seems genuine. ‘They are gorgeous!’
‘Thanks,’ I reply. ‘Dad chose them for you.’
‘Oh no, I can’t take any credit,’ he says forcefully.
Anna gives us a long look that I can’t read. ‘I’ll ask Susie to find a vase for the dining table,’ she says.
‘Susie?’ I ask, puzzled.
‘The maid,’ Dad explains with a judgemental undertone.
‘My PA,’ Anna corrects him.
‘That’s what I said,’ he counters.
Susie arrives on the patio, interrupting their bickering. Everything about her says ‘neat’, from the kitten heels to the nondescript haircut.
‘Susie, meet my son and grandson, Matthew and Luca. Might as well get acquainted since we’ll be seeing them frequently from now on.’
‘We will?’ Dad remarks, but if Anna hears him, she shows no reaction.
‘Tell my husband the boys have arrived, yes?’
Susie nods politely, first to us, then to Anna, and disappears into the depths of the manor with the bouquet in her arms.
‘Sit, sit,’ Anna urges, and takes the chair at the head of the table. ‘Graham will be with us in a moment. No doubt he’s micromanaging the chef about the correct temperature at which to grill a tomahawk.’
‘I don’t see a barbecue,’ Dad says, and grabs the seat furthest from her.
‘Please, I don’t want such a monstrosity on my patio. It’s in the kitchen, where it belongs.’
I grab the chair between them, facing the ocean, glad to sit down, dizzy as I feel. I don’t know if it’s whiplash from their relentless back and forth, or the unreal situation I find myself in; having lunch in the shadow of a castle owned by my estranged and very posh grandparents. I’ve decided it’s a castle, despite the absence of gargoyles.
