A Close Connection

by Patricia Fawcett

  ‘Not our thing, darling. The only paintings I care about are those that you can put a price tag on. I don’t care if I never set foot in a museum again but you can’t keep him away from them. Don’t leave me alone with him again. This is a holiday for Christ’s sake.’

  She laughed. ‘At least I don’t have that problem with Paula. Did you talk about anything else, though? Anything more personal?’

  ‘Such as?’

  ‘Did you talk to Alan about his daughter?’

  ‘What daughter?’ Henry was still out on the balcony, in his day clothes, acting as if he had all the time in the world. However, she knew he could be in and out of the shower, shaved and dressed in fifteen minutes flat if he put his mind to it, so she was determined not to nag him.

  ‘Their daughter died and Paula won’t talk about her.’ Eleanor deftly applied her make-up, pleased that her skin was holding up, although she needed a good coating of make-up these days to look her best. She was very careful now with the sun so as to avoid that awful deep-tanned look that used to be so popular. She regretted the hours spent soaking up the sun when she was younger, frying herself to a light-golden colour, but the damage was done and she had to make the best of it. Thank goodness her hair was still as sleek and thick as ever and tonight she had decided to wear it up which was always a fiddle but worth it. ‘I tried to get her to open up about it and I was only trying to help but she clammed up. From my experience it would help her a lot if she would talk about it to a sympathetic listener.’

  ‘It’s not the sort of thing men talk about,’ he said, coming back into the room and sliding the balcony window shut. The noises from the coast road were immediately shut off and the silence was welcome, although the low buzz of the air conditioning was a constant irritation. Henry was still in no hurry, the leisurely way he was taking off his shoes exasperating her.

  ‘You must talk about something when you are together, when you were between museums for instance.’

  ‘We talked about Verona and Veneto if you must know. Old Al is quite the historian. He did well at school apparently and could have gone to university but his father wanted him to go into the family business so he was not encouraged. I got the impression it was a bit of a sore point.’

  ‘I find that hard to believe.’ Frowning, Eleanor reached for her dress and stepped into it, turning so that Henry could zip her up. ‘Perhaps he’s just saying that to impress you. Anybody can say that they could have gone to university.’

  She gave up on finding out any further information about the daughter from Henry but she was not giving up on more probing of her own. She had chosen the wrong moment, that was all, and been rather ham-fisted. A gentler approach was called for. The obvious clamming-up had succeeded in arousing her curiosity, though, and she determined to find out just what had happened. Nicola knew very little about it either which made her think that there was something odd about it. How had she died? Had it been an accident? An illness? Suicide? The latter might explain the reluctance to talk about it although it was too awful to contemplate. ‘Alan doesn’t strike me as the university type,’ she finished, admiring herself in the mirror.

  ‘You wouldn’t say that if you’d heard him going on about Verona. He’s a dark horse, that one. I tell you, the man’s a walking bloody encyclopaedia. He looked it up, he said, before he came because he doesn’t like to come to a place half-arsed.’

  ‘I bet he didn’t say that.’

  ‘Maybe not the exact words but it was what he meant.’

  ‘If that’s the case, then that will be where Matthew gets his brains from,’ Eleanor said, smoothing down her dress and glancing pointedly at her watch. ‘It’s certainly not from his mother. Paula, sweet as she is, is hardly the smartest lady, is she? She was very keen to tell me that she knew about Romeo and Juliet. She knew all about it she said. I expect she’s watched something on television about it for I certainly don’t have her down as a Shakespearian scholar.’

  Henry laughed. ‘You are right there.’

  ‘It’s lucky for Matthew that he’s got his father’s looks as well as the brains.’

  ‘Apart from the eyes. He’s got his mother’s eyes. Have you noticed her eyes?’

  ‘Can’t say I have.’

  ‘People would pay a fortune to have contact lenses that colour.’

  ‘Do you think so?’

  She hesitated, rooting through her jewellery and deciding on a simple silver strand necklace. The dress was burnt orange, not an easy colour, and not only because it was damned difficult to get a lipstick to tone, but she had managed it. She watched as her husband disappeared into the bathroom and wondered if she should attach any significance to the fact that he had noticed the colour of Paula’s eyes. It irked her that he had noticed. Men rarely noticed women’s eyes unless there was a sexual attraction, unless there had been direct eye contact. She wondered if Henry would remember the colour of her eyes if anyone should ever ask him.

  As to Paula’s, they were without doubt the woman’s best feature. A subdued mix of green and grey, most unusual, and if she was lucky enough to have eyes that colour she would accentuate them cleverly with discreet eye make-up. Paula did not seem to bother much with make-up, just a touch of the same old pink lipstick and maybe a smudge of foundation but she scarcely needed it because her skin was enviably smooth and wrinkle-free and, to Eleanor’s irritation, she looked considerably younger than her years. Of course the fact that she was so alarmingly tiny helped. From the back when she was wearing flat shoes, she could pass for a 12-year-old.

  She was not too worried. Paula was hardly Henry’s type, although judging by that ridiculous flirting with that little rep today he wasn’t so fussy these days. He normally went for tall, smooth, sophisticated women and she had turned a blind eye over the years to the little infatuations he had had. If you married a man as winningly attractive as Henry, then the odds were stacked against you. Sex, while all right, had never been that important to her, but a comfortable lifestyle meant a lot and Henry provided her with that. She did not think of herself as being entirely dependent on him for she could support herself if necessary. She had had what she regarded as a distinguished teaching career in linguistics and enjoyed it while it lasted, but she also enjoyed early retirement from that and now she seemed busier than ever with all the social engagements she had to attend as well as her charitable events.

  She was chairperson – for her sins – of the Ladies’ Luncheon Group as well as being a previous president of the local WI and various other things. She very much enjoyed her role as one of the senior figures of the community – What on earth would we do without you, Eleanor? – and she never regretted their decision to remain here when they might have moved nearer to London once upon a time. It made sense from a business angle but it was so much easier these days to conduct business from wherever you happened to be; you could do it from bed if you liked from your laptop and certainly do it from the desk in their office at home with the spectacular view of the garden. Of course, they had to keep track of the galleries where they displayed the paintings and the more unusual items, but they had people to look after them and it all ran smoothly enough. She always attended when they had little events when they might showcase one of their artists, for example; champagne and nibbles and homing in on the right people on those occasions: people with money to burn, people who might be persuaded to part with it if they thought they were making an artistic investment. Quite a number of people were putting money into art at the expense of shares and so on and that was why they were bucking the trend and business-wise doing reasonably well.

  She knew that her lazy attitude to sex disappointed her husband, although she could fake it when she had a mind to, so she was not too concerned if he looked elsewhere. All the important ladies of the past had always turned a blind eye to their husband’s infidelities and having a mistress was common practice amongst the aristocracy. Henry could take a mistress if he so desired but she rather thought he was get
ting past all that. The pretence would be altogether too much of a hassle for him because, naively, he was unaware that she knew of the previous liaisons that had all ultimately petered out. She had been extra sweet towards him during those little episodes, working on the assumption that eventually guilt would overpower him and he would end it.

  He always had.

  ‘Ready, darling?’ she called out a little later, for they had agreed to meet up with Paula and Alan in the bar. Henry emerged looking quite perfect, adjusting the cufflinks on his shirt, nodding his approval at her as she did a twirl for him.

  ‘Will I do?’ she asked, holding up her face for a kiss.

  ‘Do?’ he said, his voice a purr. ‘I should say so. You’ll be the belle of the ball as usual.’

  She followed him out. Compliments were lovely but sometimes she wondered if her husband was operating on automatic pilot when he said them. As they waited for the lift, she wondered what pretty little dress Paula had picked out for this evening and what Alan would be wearing too.

  She found Alan a little intriguing especially after what Henry had said about him.

  There was more to him than met the eye.

  The rush to the bar verged on unseemly and she left Henry to it, taking a seat beside Alan, who had appeared without his wife. He was wearing smart casual and wearing it well and she thought it odd that medium-priced clothes should look so good on the men when, on the ladies, they mostly looked cheap.

  ‘Is Paula all right?’ Eleanor enquired as she and Alan found a seat in the corner. ‘I thought she looked a bit peaky on the way back. Does she need anything?’

  ‘No, thanks. She’s OK but tired and she has a headache coming on and no appetite. She thinks it’s the heat. She’s sorry but she doesn’t want us to make a fuss. I offered to stay with her but she wouldn’t have it.’ He tapped his fingers on the table, looking around as if checking where Henry had got to. ‘Just a small thing, Eleanor. She gets upset if you talk about Lucy so would you please not ask about her again?’

  ‘Goodness, did I upset her?’ Eleanor clutched her necklace. ‘I’m so sorry if I did but I only thought it might help if she wanted to talk about it.’

  ‘It doesn’t help,’ Alan said in that matter-of-fact way of his. He was very direct and for the first time she detected something of a stubborn nature. ‘We’ve found the best way to deal with it is to try to forget it.’ He looked at her and she was the first to look away, disturbed by the glance for, the more she knew about him, the more attractive he became and she was not sure how to deal with that. If she was not a woman in her fifties, she would say she was developing a teenage infatuation for him. ‘We can’t forget of course, neither of us,’ he went on. ‘But we keep up the pretence to each other. Paula suffers from guilt and there’s nothing I can say to make that better. We stay strong, have done for years, but not necessarily both of us at the same time if you follow what I mean.’

  ‘I do. I do, Alan. It must have been horrible to lose your daughter. A daughter is so special to her father, isn’t she?’

  ‘Very special. She was my little princess. I know everybody says that but she really was. She struggled when she was born, a little fighter, and that fighting spirit stayed with her until …’

  It was the first time she had seen any emotion from the man and even now, even as he uttered those deeply felt words, he kept it under control just about, his gaze steady, eyes clear.

  ‘You poor things,’ she said, her hand so close to his that it very nearly moved of its own accord to touch and offer support. Perhaps he sensed as much, for she saw him look down at her hand and move his away just as her husband appeared.

  ‘Bloody chaotic, it’s like a rugby scrum at that bar even at those prices,’ Henry said cheerfully, interrupting them just when there had been a window of opportunity for her to find out more from Alan. Blissfully unaware of the tension in the air, a tension that Eleanor was acutely aware of, one that you could pluck like a string, Henry handed them their drinks. ‘Are you sure she doesn’t feel up to joining us, Al?’

  ‘Paula is resting,’ Eleanor told him, trying to catch his eye so that she could give him the nod that he was to drop the subject. ‘What did you think of Verona, Alan? Henry tells me you did some research about it beforehand.’

  ‘I did. I knew a bit about it but I needed to know more. It’s always been my ambition to go to the opera at the Arena.’

  ‘Don’t tell me you’re into opera?’ Henry asked. ‘You sly bugger.’

  ‘I do a spot of singing,’ Alan said, the surprise remark dropping into the conversation like a thud. ‘I used to be in a choir but it got too difficult finding time to get along to the practice sessions. I miss it, though. You should try it. There’s nothing quite like singing to lift the spirit.’

  ‘Is there no end to this man’s talents?’ Henry asked after a moment. ‘You kept that quiet, Al. I didn’t know we had a Pavarotti in our midst.’

  Alan grinned, unperturbed. ‘Not quite. You should hear me. But I would like to see the opera, especially performed at the Arena. It must be quite a spectacle. There’s always something special about open-air theatre, isn’t there?’

  ‘Oh yes, we love the Minack Theatre over in Cornwall, don’t we, Henry?’

  ‘It’s all right,’ he said without enthusiasm. ‘Sitting on rocks in the pouring rain is not my idea of a good night, though.’

  ‘That was just on one occasion. When the sun shines, it’s magical.’ Eleanor shot her husband a despairing glance. ‘If only I’d known you were interested in opera, Alan. It’s not going to be easy to get good tickets now, not at this late stage but we could try if you like for later in the week.’

  ‘No, that’s fine. I’m not too keen on the opera that’s on just now. Perhaps another time. I’m hoping I will persuade Paula to come back here, maybe next year. Isn’t opera your thing then, Henry?’

  ‘Hell, no. All that screeching gets on my nerves. I don’t mind a decent tenor but those bloody sopranos set my teeth on edge.’

  ‘Henry has no musical appreciation whatsoever.’ Eleanor cast an annoyed look his way. The fact that Alan sang had rather floored her. She would love to hear him sing but not just now. ‘I adore opera of course and I do persuade him to go up to London occasionally.’

  ‘You only do it to be seen, my darling, and to have an excuse to stay in a smart hotel and buy a new frock,’ Henry said with a short laugh that infuriated her.

  ‘I do not,’ she retorted but not before she had seen Alan’s scarcely concealed smile. Did the two of them discuss their wives when they were together? She hoped not for Henry was not known for his discretion. She knew Henry thought her cold sexually and she hoped to God he had not said as much to Alan. It suddenly mattered that Alan should not get that impression.

  She finished her drink and stood up, annoyed with her husband for that ‘opera’ remark and giving Alan a very warm glance just so Henry would notice. Henry might be a little taller and broader than the other man but there was something about Alan that, just at this very moment, made Henry pale into insignificance. ‘Shall we take our drinks through?’

  She caught the return glance Alan gave her before spinning round on her heels and making a beeline for the restaurant. She knew she looked her best this evening and she knew, without a word being said, that Alan had noticed. It was a long time since another man had paid her any attention, not in that way, and it felt good, even if it would never amount to anything, for if ever a man was happily married, it was Alan.

  If there was a little swagger in her movement, a little feminine hip swaying, then so be it. She was hotly aware of that glance and knew exactly what it meant. It was a long time since she had flirted and it was rather fun and it certainly wasn’t her fault if Paula was being a wet blanket this evening – headache indeed!

  As to Henry … if he thought he was going to make love to her later tonight, he could think again.

  After dinner, they ended up on the hotel terrace where
a pianist was playing background music. It was a balmy evening, the heat of the day lingering still, although Eleanor was glad of the feather-light shawl draped around her shoulders.

  ‘Do you need to get back to your room to check on Paula?’ she asked Alan. ‘It’s fine if you want to do that. We don’t mind, do we, Henry?’

  ‘She’ll be asleep by now,’ Alan said. ‘She’s not a night bird. She sometimes goes off to bed by ten at home.’

  ‘Good God, does she? It’s usually midnight for us, isn’t it, darling?’ Henry said. ‘And these days I can’t bloody get off to sleep as often as not and no …’ He stole a glance at Eleanor. ‘I am not starting on sleeping pills. That is the kiss of death. Now, if you’ll excuse me I’m off to the little boys’ room and if you like I’ll order us some of their special coffees on the way.’

  ‘That would be lovely. Thank you.’ Eleanor watched as he disappeared.

  Alone with Alan it felt awkward suddenly.

  ‘You look nice tonight,’ he said at last. ‘But then you always do.’

  ‘Thank you.’ It was not exactly a fulsome compliment but it warmed her for unlike Henry, this man meant it. It also surprised her for she knew it was not something he would have said had his wife been present.

  ‘Paula’s enjoying it,’ he said and there was something in his voice that concerned her. ‘I’ve been trying to get her to do this sort of thing for years but she’s always been so against it. It’s as if she’s frightened of enjoying herself.’

  ‘I can understand it. Not everyone enjoys travelling and she doesn’t like flying much so it can be a bit of an ordeal.’

  ‘Are you and Henry OK?’

  ‘Yes, of course. What on earth do you mean?’ She looked at him, startled, for it was a strange question.

  ‘Sorry. I just wondered.’

  ‘He’s not the easiest person but we get on well enough.’

  ‘How long have you been married?’

  ‘Just over thirty years.’