Matthew had driven her round and they sat outside the house a moment holding hands.
‘I’m feeling a bit nervous,’ she told him. ‘And I can’t think why. I was introduced to the Queen at university and I didn’t feel nervous then.’
‘Were you? You never said. Why was that?’
‘She opened a new wing and a couple of the students were chosen to be presented and I was one of them. I had to learn to curtsey.’ She smiled. ‘She was lovely. A tiny lady in pink. Totally in pink. She has the loveliest smile.’
‘Oh. That’s something to talk about with Mum. She’ll be very impressed. They are looking forward to meeting you,’ he said.
‘Are they? Christ, I wish I could say the same.’
‘Don’t say Christ when you’re with them. It’s not that they’re religious or anything but Dad doesn’t swear and I’ve never heard Mum say anything stronger than damn.’
She laughed. ‘Bloody hell, Matthew, you mean I can’t say fuck in front of them.’
He laughed too. ‘No way. Mum would faint on the spot.’
‘I shall be on my best behaviour, then.’
‘Promise?’
She dropped the comedy. ‘Yes, I promise. I wouldn’t dream of embarrassing you, babe. I shall be Little Miss Goody-Two-Shoes.’
‘Thanks. Now, let’s fill you in. Mum will bring out the nibbles and offer you a glass of wine which she will have bought specially for you. And she will have been cleaning the house from top to bottom all day long.’
‘Oh no, I hope not. I can’t bear fuss.’
‘She’ll like you,’ he said, squeezing her hand. ‘Are you ready? Come on, let’s get it over with.’
At the time she had not taken Matthew to her home, to meet her parents, because she knew the fuss her mother would make and she did not want to subject him to that, not yet, not when they had not long met. Although she had strong feelings already for him, although she had accepted his proposal – sort of – she was not absolutely one hundred per cent sure that it was a goer, that this was finally it. She did not know Matthew that well so it was all to do with shallow stuff, like his being so handsome that other women looked at him in that way when she was with him and it made her feel marvellous.
‘He’s mine, all mine,’ she wanted to say. ‘So back off.’
She was hesitating while there was still time to back out without it being a major deal. It was all very well for her mother to talk, but things were different then, more black and white, and nowadays the colours were smudged and, perhaps because they jumped into bed more quickly than maybe her mother and certainly her grandmother’s generation did, then moving on to the next step – that awful word ‘commitment’ – was harder than ever.
‘Pleased to meet you, Nicola,’ Paula Walker said at their first meeting in the narrow hall of the house. She had obviously had her hair done that day, for it looked incredibly stiff in its short style. She held out her hand and Nicola grasped it, surprised at how little she was, even smaller than the Queen, taking in at a glance the effort the woman had gone to, on a limited budget obviously, to make the little house homely. There was an aroma of baking bread and coffee as if she had the house up for sale and Nicola was a potential buyer.
‘Hello Paula. It’s nice to meet you too.’
She thrust the flowers at her, several bunches of daffodils because it was spring, and Paula blushed and told her she shouldn’t have, before scurrying off to find a vase, leaving Nicola to meet Matthew’s dad, who had come out of the room they called the lounge to greet her. Shaking his hand, a warm full grip, she saw straight off something of Matthew in the older man. The same easy demeanour, he being not the least concerned that she was perhaps a little different from the other girls Matthew might have brought home; whereas Paula’s anxious fluttering and wide-eyed awe as if she was of royal blood was an irritation that was instant and would prove to be constant.
The second time she visited Matthew’s parents, a few months on with the relationship now firmly established and a diamond ring on her finger, Paula did not disappoint and produced the family photograph albums, proudly showing her pictures of Matthew when he was little; an energetic bright-looking child with that same unruly hair and wide smile. As Paula turned the pages, Matthew grew older, school photos galore and then there he was, much more recognizable as a teenager, with a red-haired girl by his side, his arm round her, looking very happy.
‘That’s Chrissie. Just an old schoolfriend,’ Paula explained quickly, turning the page. ‘I don’t know why I’ve still got that.’
And that was that. No further explanation but from the expression on Paula’s face and the one on Matthew’s when she asked about her, she knew that neither of them was in the mood for talking about the girl called Chrissie.
As for his sister Lucy … well, he would not be drawn on that either. Just to say that she died when she was thirteen and that it had devastated his mother.
‘Have you a picture of her? I’d like to see her,’ she asked, recalling that there were none about.
‘I don’t know what Mum did with them,’ he told her shortly. ‘Maybe she got rid of them. Maybe it was too painful to look at them. I don’t know but please don’t mention her. I know it’s a long time ago but it’s still raw for Mum. Christmas Day is a bummer because that was her birthday too.’
‘What happened?’ She needed to know so that she would not put her foot in it but Matthew just shook his head, expression closed and she knew better than to pursue it. She might broach the subject with Alan one day if ever she had the chance but she and her father-in-law were hardly ever alone and to this day the opportunity had not presented itself.
*
Getting in early from work, Nicola changed out of her work suit into shorts and tee-shirt before making a cup of coffee and, because they were having a good sunny spell, she chose to sit outside in the little patio area at the rear of the cottage. They must do something with the garden, she thought as she tried to relax, but neither of them were gardeners and she could not quite bring herself to employ somebody to do it for them.
They were reasonably comfortably off, for Matthew was doing well and had had a recent pay increase, but she did not earn enough in her opinion and that was a bore. She was used to getting what she wanted when she wanted it and having to save up for something was not coming easy to her. She could still wheedle anything she wanted out of her father but she was less inclined to ask for things these days because she did not want to embarrass her husband. Matthew – and she rather liked this – was an independent soul.
She had no idea how much her father was worth, how successful the Nightingale business was, but she knew that he classed himself as a very successful entrepreneur. He was a fine-art specialist and their trinkets or what her mother preferred to call objets d’art were sold on for huge profits and it still amazed her how much their clients were prepared to pay for stuff that would not be out of place in a skip.
It was her mother who had the eye, her father who balanced the books, but they both had the ability to entertain and woo the clients. Sometimes Nicola had the suspicion that there was an element of The Emperor’s New Clothes about the whole set-up but she found it wise over the years not to argue with the choices her mother made, even if she personally found some of them hideous.
She had stuck to her guns, though, when it came to furnishing her own home, dismissing all advice, well meant but annoying, from her mother, and going for her own look. As it was a dear little cottage, she wanted to accentuate that, the furniture scaled down with a lot of floral cushions and throws, a look that delighted her at first but not for long. How had she ever thought that such a mismatch of patterns and colours would go together? It was like living in a kaleidoscope. Now that she had time to think more carefully, she wanted to go for a much edgier look, modern with a twist although she was not quite sure what that meant but it would not suit this house. Their next house would have room to breathe with space for sumptuous enorm
ous sofas and she wanted a large bedroom with a separate dressing room and an en suite of course, instead of the tiny bathroom here with the fickle shower that was either a trickle or a torrent according to its mood.
After a year, this cottage by the banks of the river was beginning to depress her. It had seemed so sweet in such a romantic location when they first moved in, a little love nest, but now its quaintness was wearing thin and there was just not enough room. Close by the river as it was, there was a whiff of dampness about and it needed a lot of work to bring it up to scratch; it was also remote and she felt marooned here. What she would like was to have neighbours, a woman of her age, somewhere to pop in for a coffee and a chat, some woman she could talk to and grumble at. Ideally she would like to live in a village, somewhere where she and Matthew could make an impact, and she saw no reason why that could not be achieved sooner rather than later.
Men were such a pain, weren’t they? Matthew was work-obsessed and all he could think about was his job and his clients and work-related problems. Aside from having a bash at cooking, he left all things domestic to her, so if she didn’t do it then it simply did not get done, which was extremely annoying. Her mother had offered to pay for a cleaner but she could not get anybody to come as far out as this and, in any case, she did not care to have someone poking around when she was not here. She knew if the tables were turned and she was the cleaner and the lady of the house was out then she would certainly be unable to resist having a quick nosy around. Underneath the smart exterior she presented to the world, she knew she was a bit of a slut with sluttish habits and she did not want a cleaning woman finding out what lurked in her knickers drawer.
Matthew looked on this place as a hotel rather than a home, not interested in doing anything to it, and although she did not expect him to be some sort of do-it-yourself champion, she had hoped he would have got his finger out and done something during the past year. And another thing, when were they going to take a break themselves? No holidays were planned and they had left it a little late unless they did one of those last-minute things. She should just book something and sod him. Inform him when it was done and then he could not make excuses.
She would do that, she vowed, and also whilst she was at it she would ask an estate agent to call round to see what the place was worth now, if there was the remotest chance of them making a skinny profit if they sold.
She got up and, with the estate agent in mind, crouched down and picked out a few weeds from the narrow bed. Perhaps John, her mother’s man, would agree to pop over for an afternoon and do something with it.
No, she would not be going on maternity leave any time soon, she had more or less said yesterday to Mr Gilbert. It had been a hilarious conversation when, discussing future events, he had not quite asked the question and she had not quite answered it. Apparently Emma’s hints about moving back up north were becoming ever bolder and he felt it was just a matter of time. What would they do without her?
‘You can rely on me long-term, Mr Gilbert,’ Nicola said, tugging at her jacket so that he might notice just how smart and professional she looked. ‘I can do this job standing on my head and I would love to be given the opportunity. Emma has been such a wonderful person to shadow and I have valued every minute spent with her.’
Was that overdoing it? Frankly Emma was a pain in the arse, a fusser and a flounderer, but she was not going to say a thing against the woman, not when for some daft reason Gerry Gilbert was half in love with Emma and thought the sun shone out of her large behind. Emma was one of those good-looking overweight blondes, her suits one size too small, but with ridiculously small feet that she squeezed into neat shoes. The size of her own feet, far too large, was the one thing she would change given the chance. Emma was a smiley individual loved by one and all, which did leave a sour taste in Nicola’s mouth because she knew she was not liked half as much, but then people who spoke their minds seldom were.
Maternity leave? What a ghastly thought! She was nowhere near ready for all that and in fact, she was not sure she would ever be ready and, after a year of marriage, her mother was starting to drop not very delicate hints. She wanted to be a grandmother before she got too old to enjoy it and she was desperate to spend money on her first grandchild. He would want for nothing. Already, ridiculously, she was starting to think about possible schools for the as yet imaginary child, insisting that she would of course foot the bill. That was laughable because there was no way Matthew would agree to such a thing. He was proud of his school roots, of the ordinary innercity school at which he had excelled, becoming head boy and the best performing student in his year which, coupled with a burning ambition to be the best, had led to his prestigious place at Oxford. If that school was good enough for him, then something of a similar vein would be more than good enough for his child.
Paula had not said a thing about children, never dropped the slightest hint, at least not to her but then their relationship was not close. To her, Paula always seemed one step removed, awkward with her, keeping something from her, smiling on the surface but not within. Maybe she had not mentioned children because she just assumed it would happen eventually.
If so, it was a dangerous assumption.
She did not think of herself as maternal, able so far to contain the cooings and mummy-like face contortions which the average woman seemed unable to avoid when confronted by a baby but, when she and Matthew talked about it in general terms, a far-off family, she did not tell him that she was so frightened about the whole messy business of giving birth that she could not contemplate it.
She hated needles, hospitals, the indignity and most of the all the agony. She had seen those women on television writhing about screaming their heads off and it scared the shit out of her. She was no good with pain and unless she could be knocked out completely during the process she was not going to put herself into that unenviable position – legs apart, pushing until the slithery thing slipped out all covered in blood and looking like nothing on earth.
No, thank you very much.
She could, she reckoned, put Matthew off the idea for a number of years yet. After all, a lot of women these days did not become pregnant until their forties so there was ages to go, and by the time she was approaching forty they would be set in their ways and probably decide that it would be much too much of an upheaval. By then, they would be doing well in their careers and they would have a home somewhere by the sea to be proud of. She would end up like her mother; comfortably off and able to afford whatever she wanted, content enough with her husband – although making do with him might be a better description.
Married barely a year and already the excitement had dimmed, the thrill of being together all the time had fizzled out and they had settled into a routine, as she supposed all married couples did sooner or later. Sex with Matthew was good, as good as any she had experienced before anyway, and there was most definitely a spark between them.
She really did love him and she knew that other women must envy her for having such a handsome husband.
As to children, the jury was out. She supposed she might succumb sooner or later because it did not seem quite fair to Matthew to deny him a child, but just now the only person who would be remotely disappointed about the non-appearance of children would be her mother. But that was only because she wanted to be seen as a glamorous grandmother.
But she would get over it and it would save her a fortune in school fees.
Chapter Nine
ELEANOR WAS GETTING ready for dinner that evening on the fifth day of their holiday. They did not get back until late from the trip to Verona through the manic Italian traffic, which gave them a shorter time than usual to get ready. Eleanor liked to take her time – scented bubbly bath, a rest with her feet up, then time spent doing hair, nails and make-up – so she was not in the best of moods.
She was in two minds whether or not to make a complaint to that useless tour rep, who ought to be aware by now just how long the journey back from
Verona took, and in addition ought to take into account the fact that some people would always be back at the coach later than the appointed time. There had been a sarcastic round of applause when the latecomers had arrived, but although it was good-natured – for after all they were on holiday – it just wasn’t good enough and she made sure from the glance she gave them that the couple knew her thoughts on the matter as they scuttled past her.
Arriving back eventually and throwing them out of the coach, dusty and dishevelled, with barely an hour before their dinner reservation, was just not good enough either. However, on balance, she decided to give the girl another chance as she did not wish to draw attention to her. She was annoyed with Henry, who had flirted outrageously with the poor girl as they waited in Verona for the last of their party to arrive at the coach station. It had been just a touch embarrassing as she was sure that Paula had noticed. What was he thinking of? The girl was younger than Nicola for heaven’s sake. However, she was not going to make a thing of it because it was just his way and it was going nowhere. She and Paula had seen little of the men that day, only meeting up again back at the coach where she had stored away her shopping; some gorgeous silky items from a boutique in Via Mazzini.
‘What on earth did you two do all day?’ she asked her husband.
‘What did you ladies do? Other than shopping of course.’
‘We had a lovely time. We had lunch and a wander round. Paula loved it all.’
‘I’m knackered. Alan dragged me all around the bloody place. He had a list of things he wanted to see. We went to an ancient church and the old Roman theatre and some museum or other and then we climbed to the …’ He touched his head. ‘Can’t remember the name but we did have a good view from there and then I persuaded him to stop for lunch and we finished off with a few beers and then afterwards we looked at some paintings and statues in a gallery.’
‘That must have been right up your street.’
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