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PAULLINA SIMONS
RED LEAVES
Harper
An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street London SE1 9GF
First published in Great Britain by Flamingo an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1997
Copyright © Paullina Simons 1996
Paullina Simons asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
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Source ISBN: 9780006550570
Ebook Edition © MARCH 2015 ISBN: 9780007396689 Version: 2015-03-09
For my Kevin,
and for Bob Tavetian, you’re in our hearts
Contents
CHAPTER FOUR: In the Woods and on the Wall
CHAPTER SIX: Disposition of the Estate
CHAPTER SEVEN: Constance Tobias
CHAPTER EIGHT: Once Upon a Time in Greenwich, Connecticut
At Greenwich Point Park, where the saltwater air from Long Island Sound fused with the earthy smell of fallen leaves, two children climbed stairs leading to what once was a castle. They were alone.
Earlier they had walked past the parking attendant, who seemed to know them well and waved them on with a smile. The park was large and it was a long walk to where they wanted to be, but the sun shone and it was still warm. The girl carried a white-and-red paper bag, while the boy carried his baseball cap and a kite. They walked around the western end of the bay and found a picnic table near the beach. The girl immediately wanted to take off her shoes and feel the smooth stones under her feet, but the boy said no. He wanted to eat first. She sighed and sat down. They ate. The girl didn’t sulk for long; she was happy to be here.
Afterward, she kicked off her white canvas shoes, stood, and happily headed for the water. Many of the stones were covered with slimy moss, but she didn’t mind. She picked up some of the scattered mussels around the beach and inspected them. She threw down the open ones, remembering what her father had told her: ‘If they are open, it means they are dead and no good.’ She put the closed black shells in her bag. The boy brought over some crabs, and she put them in her bag also.
For fifteen minutes, they tried to figure out if the moving ripples in the bay about fifty yards away were waves or otters. The girl said they were otters, but the boy laughed. Waves, he told her, just waves. She wasn’t convinced. From a distance, they looked like they had black backs and were diving in and out of the water. They dove in place, so maybe he was right, though she didn’t want him to be right. He thought he was always right. Besides, it would be fun to think they saw otters in their park.
The girl headed back up to the path. He ran past her, pulling her hair along the way. She moved her head away from him but hastened her step, trying to skip on the stones.
She was a pretty girl. Her short hair clung neatly to her head. Her impeccably tailored white blouse was starched, and her jeans were ironed and creased. Her white jacket didn’t have any grime on the sleeves as is common for children her age. Her