‘Hi, Mrs Sheldon,’ Carla said, her big brown eyes curious as she looked from Joy to Lewis. ‘What can I get you?’
Carla was not as friendly as usual despite the fact she was almost family. Joy and her mom, Rosa, had been best friends at high school, and Joy had known Carla since she was a baby, yet she was definitely acting a little cool towards her.
Joy looked down at the menu. ‘I’ll have a Buster Brownie ice cream please and a black coffee.’
‘I’ll take the Spectacular Banana Bowl and a coffee too,’ Lewis said.
Joy felt herself blushing slightly as Carla took in her companion.
‘This is Lewis Bell, Carla. He printed Heather’s wedding invites,’ she blurted out, as if that was a good enough reason for them to be in the Sugar Bowl together.
Carla frowned. ‘So she’s going ahead with the wedding?’ she asked Joy, tapping her notepad against her skirt.
‘Of course she is, Carla. Aren’t you her bridesmaid?’
Carla shook her head. ‘No way,’ she mumbled, scribbling down their order and heading back towards the kitchen before Joy could say another thing.
Joy felt floored. She couldn’t believe Carla’s attitude. She knew Carla hadn’t thought the wedding a good idea, but what she was picking up here was more than that. Heather and Carla had been friends their whole lives, even before they’d started school. Carla, like her mom, had been the only mixed-race kid in the class. Moreover, Rosa was a single mother. Most of the other mothers had been wary of her and behaved as if she might snatch their husbands away. Joy wasn’t sure whether their prejudices had been based upon the fact that Rosa wasn’t married, or that she was Mexican and her child’s father was from a Native American family. Some of these women had been Joy and Rosa’s former classmates, so it was even more shocking to see how pointed they were in their determination not to let their children mix with Carla. As a consequence, Carla and Heather had stuck together the whole way through school.
The girls were opposites in almost every way. Heather had inherited her fair, pretty looks from Eddie’s mother, and she was sporty, but not very academic. Carla, on the other hand, was a dark, sultry beauty, a knockout combination of genes. She was also clever, consistently scoring the highest grades. Yet, despite their differences, the two girls had been inseparable. What Joy had liked about Carla was that she seemed unaware of her own beauty, and the effect she had on others. She had never known her to even date. Her own daughter, she knew, was not so humble, and sometimes Heather’s vanity embarrassed Joy, yet her daughter had a big heart and that was what mattered the most. But it disturbed Joy that two such good friends were now at loggerheads over Heather’s marriage to Darrell, and she knew Heather would be devastated if her best friend wasn’t beside her on her wedding day.
‘Everything okay?’ Lewis asked her. He was still wearing the glasses he had put on to read the menu. She thought he looked rather distinguished in them, like her idea of an English professor.
‘That’s my daughter’s best friend. They’ve had some kind of falling-out over Heather’s wedding. But I don’t know why.’
‘Maybe she doesn’t like her bridesmaid’s dress. They’re usually hideous,’ Lewis said, slipping his glasses into his shirt pocket.
‘I wish it were just that,’ Joy said, dropping her voice as Carla reappeared with their sundaes.
*
‘This is delicious,’ Lewis exclaimed as he dug his spoon into the mound of bananas and vanilla.
Lewis realised that he’d never really eaten a dessert since he was a child and found that he was relishing every sweet spoonful of it.
‘So how long have you been living in America?’ Joy asked him.
‘Too long,’ he said, taking another scoop of ice cream. ‘Sorry, I don’t mean to be insulting, but Arizona couldn’t be more different from London.’
‘I know, my son Ray says it all the time.’ She sighed. ‘He lives in London at the moment. I don’t think he’ll ever come back now if he can help it. He’s in love with the city.’
‘Oh yes,’ Lewis said, feeling a wave of nostalgia. ‘To be young and in London can be quite intoxicating! You should go visit him.’
‘I will. I’ve already got my passport sorted.’
Lewis studied Joy, glad to hear that she was going on a trip. Surely her son would take her to the sea in Essex or Kent?
She wasn’t his usual type. She was petite, curvaceous, with a heart-shaped face and navy blue eyes. He felt safe to look at her so openly. They’d both made it clear that they were married, although he found it hard not to flirt a little. He still had this feeling that he’d met Joy before. Maybe it was her Irish looks: dark hair, like Marnie, yet a different kind of dark. Marnie’s hair had been such a deep chestnut it shone like polished mahogany whereas Joy’s was as inky blue-black as the darkest night.
‘So why did you come to the States, and of all places here?’ Joy asked again.
His normal reticence deserted him. He wanted to tell Joy about his life.
‘My wife’s family lives in Scottsdale. We came for a visit over twenty years ago. It was only meant to be short- term but we never went back to London in the end.’
‘Do you have kids?’ she asked, scooping ice cream and brownie into her mouth.
‘No. We tried, you know, but I guess it just wasn’t meant to be.’
‘I’m sorry,’ she said.
‘And you? I’ve heard about Ray and Heather of course . . . any more?’
‘No, that’s it. Both grown up and nearly flown the nest. It’ll be just me and Eddie after Heather gets married.’
*
Lewis was wiping his mouth with his napkin and looking at her in that way he had looked at her earlier in the library. It was an admiring look, and it made her blush. She glanced down at the table and noticed that he had very beautiful hands. Long, elegant fingers with neat, short nails. His shirtsleeves were pushed up his arms, and she could see the golden hairs on his forearms, a splattering of freckles. For some reason she was possessed with a desire to touch his arm. She wanted to feel the warmth of his skin, its texture.
She looked away, down at her ice-cream sundae. She was stuffed, and yet she scooped up another spoonful and shoved it into her mouth.
‘I keep thinking we know each other,’ Lewis said.
‘Maybe I look like someone you once knew. Your girlfriend from Ireland perhaps?’
‘No,’ he said. ‘You don’t look a bit like Marnie.’
‘So who do I look like then?’ she asked, her curiosity making her bold.
‘I really don’t know,’ he said, putting down his spoon. ‘It’s bugging the hell out of me.’
‘Maybe I just have one of those faces.’ She shrugged. ‘I look like a thousand other people.’
‘No.’ He shook his head. ‘I wouldn’t say that, Joy.’
There was something so intimate in the way he said her name. She immediately felt guilty to be eating ice cream with this elegant man who wasn’t her husband.
‘Do you miss London?’ she asked, steering the conversation away from the subject of herself.
‘I miss it so much,’ he said, surprised by the strength of his feelings. ‘Everything about London. Even the noise, the pollution, the rain. I really miss the rain. I miss those smoky cafes where you can get an English breakfast and a proper mug of tea. I miss roast beef and Yorkshire pudding and British pubs. I miss the quirky shops down Carnaby Street, and the music in the clubs, and all the art. I know it’s different now. I’m sure it’s all changed. I mean, it’s Thatcherite Britain. Not the same at all. But I’m stuck in my memories of the past, and I wish I could travel back.’
‘The world is changing,’ Joy said. ‘Look at Eastern Europe and what’s happening behind the Iron Curtain.’
‘Old ways are crumbling,’ Lewis said. ‘Soon none of us will recognise the world.’
He was overwhelmed by a need to show someone the postcards. His obvious choice should have been Samantha
, but of course his wife was the last person he could show them to.
‘The thing is,’ Lewis said, pulling the cards out of his jacket pocket, ‘I’ve been getting these postcards from Marnie, the girl I used to know in Ireland. I haven’t seen or heard from her in over twenty-one years and now these . . .’
He flung the cards down on the table.
‘What does she say?’ Joy asked.
‘Take a look yourself.’
She picked the three postcards up and he watched her read each card one by one.
‘Eventually the truth will come out,’ she read aloud. ‘Am I your shining star? It’s time.’
‘I know they must be from Marnie because they’re private messages. The things she writes are words that she and I would know have significance for us . . .’ He took a breath. ‘What do you think it all means?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Joy, putting the cards back down. ‘I think she wants you to get in contact with her.’
‘But if she wanted me to contact her, surely she would put her address or phone number on one of the cards?’
Joy looked thoughtful.
‘They’re odd messages because they’re not exactly . . .’ She paused and chewed her lip. ‘Well, they’re not very romantic, I guess. The star one maybe, but the other two are a bit like threats.’
‘Do you think I should go to Ireland and look for her?’
She looked at him in astonishment. ‘You would do that?’ she asked. ‘What about your wife?’
He shook his head. ‘I know it’s wrong to want to go. It’s just things between Sam and me aren’t great at the moment, and I can’t help thinking about Marnie . . . I mean, maybe I picked the wrong woman all those years ago.’
He looked down at the table in shame. ‘I really don’t know why I’m telling you all this. You must be appalled.’
To his surprise, Joy put her hand on his. It felt so soft and light, and he was reminded of the flutter of birds’ wings.
‘Of course not, but maybe these cards are a sign, not about Marnie, but about Samantha. Whether Marnie wants you to contact her or not, isn’t it more important to make sure things are right with your wife?’
‘Yes,’ he said, astonished by her clarity. ‘I’m being a fool.’ He put the cards back in his pocket and grinned at her.
Joy couldn’t help thinking what a lovely smile he had. She’d never desired another man in all her years of marriage, never dreamed of it. But Lewis was so different from all the cowboy guys she knew round here. Like a breath of cool air refreshing her on a hot summer’s afternoon.
‘Well,’ she said, glancing at her watch, ‘I’d better get going. I have to cook dinner.’
‘I don’t know how you’ll eat anything after that giant sundae!’ Lewis exclaimed.
‘True, but Eddie will be hungry.’
‘What does your husband do?’ Lewis asked, standing up and offering her his hand.
‘He’s a realtor. He works really hard.’ She found his gesture incredibly charming and blushed to have him help her out of her seat.
‘Well, have a nice evening, and thanks for listening to me, Joy.’ He shook her hand and the touch of his fingers made her shiver inside.
She let Lewis leave the Sugar Bowl first, making the excuse that she needed to use the restroom. Then Joy went up to the counter to hand Carla her tip.
‘Hey, that Buster Brownie was the best.’
‘Yeah, it’s a killer for the waistline,’ Carla said, hands on her own neat hips, her black hair pulled back off her face, her dark skin smooth as if polished. Somehow she managed to look beautiful even in the gaudy Sugar Bowl uniform.
‘You should come round and see Heather. She misses you.’
Carla frowned. ‘I can’t.’
‘Did you girls fall out?’
‘It’s not that,’ Carla said, looking uncomfortable. ‘It’s just easier this way.’
‘But why don’t you want her to marry Darrell?’ Joy persisted. ‘I thought you liked him. You were all friends at high school.’
‘I do like Darrell. It’s just . . . well, do you really think Heather is being true to herself, Mrs Sheldon?’
As Joy drove home she couldn’t get Carla’s words out of her head. What did she mean about Heather being true to herself? She knew Carla thought Heather was too young to get married and that she should go to college like her, but there was more to it than that. She saw it in the other girl’s body language. Carla was hurt. Too hurt for it to be about her best friend’s wedding, because Carla had never showed herself to be judgemental before. She was like Rosa, her mother. Equanimity was in their blood.
Joy pulled up at the junction on Goldwater and 2nd Street, and suddenly she remembered something. A moment she wasn’t sure she’d actually witnessed. It had been about four months ago, when Carla had been staying over and the girls had offered to do the washing-up. She had been in the front room watching golf on the TV with Eddie, but she had been so bored that she’d decided to join the girls in the kitchen. As she had walked into the room she had seen her daughter trailing her soapy finger down the side of Carla’s face, and they had been looking at each other in a certain charged way.
They had jumped apart as soon as she’d walked in, yet Joy hadn’t imagined it, for the bubbles from the washing-up liquid had left a line of love all down the side of Carla’s face.
The realisation hit Joy with full force. Of course! She sat at the junction unable to move on, oblivious to the horn blowing from the car behind her. Carla was in love with her daughter. No wonder she had never had any boyfriends – she wasn’t interested in men. And Heather, what about her?
In that fleeting moment, it had been her daughter who was touching Carla, not the other way around.
London, 13 April 1967, 12.57 p.m.
Did George know about their secret affair?
Lewis was helping Marnie on with her coat just as their boss appeared in his office doorway, head cocked to one side.
‘Are you two going for lunch together?’
‘No, I’m just helping Miss Regan on with her coat.’
‘The perfect gentleman as always, eh, Lewis?’
George leaned against the doorway and drummed his fingers on the wall. ‘Well, my dear, I’m afraid I have to call you back,’ George said to Marnie. ‘I have a letter I need typed urgently.’
Marnie obediently slipped her coat off and draped it on the back of her chair.
‘The Plough,’ Lewis whispered as she whisked past him, shorthand pad in hand.
George patted Marnie’s bottom as she went into his office and winked at him. Lewis felt the urge to punch his boss in the face.
He strolled out onto the street, pulled up his collar against the rain and tried to dismiss the image of George’s hand on Marnie’s bottom. He told himself that his boss was like that with all young women, but he knew that George might keep Marnie the whole lunch hour. He tried to focus on ideas for the Phoenix Airlines logo, but all he could think of was either the stupid cactus or the cliché of the phoenix rising from the flames. He needed Marnie’s help.
Yet Lewis didn’t panic. Sometimes he believed that his quota for misfortune had been filled when he was a child. Even then he’d had a knack of turning things round to his advantage. He believed in luck. And, more importantly, he believed he was lucky. Just like now, for who should be walking towards him but Eva Miller, laden with shopping bags, one of which was stuffed with a huge bunch of daffodils. He was saved. There was no way that Eva would let her husband spend his lunch hour alone with Marnie.
Eva smiled when she caught sight of him. ‘Well, hello there,’ she said. ‘Are you off to lunch?’
‘Yes, I am, Mrs Miller. Where did you get all the daffodils?’
‘In Covent Garden. I love daffs – they remind me of home.’
Eva was too old for him, and yet he could appreciate her beauty. George had made quite sure they all knew that David Bailey had once asked to photograph his wife.
Lewis took out his cigarettes, offering her one.
‘So how’s the big boss?’ Eva asked him.
‘Working hard as usual,’ Lewis replied, lighting her cigarette. Up close he could see the fine dusting of powder on her cheek, the lacing of black mascara on her lashes.
‘Well, his lordship is going to have to put down his pencils for an hour at least. He promised me that we would go for lunch today. I need a Campari after all this shopping.’
She threw her unfinished cigarette onto the pavement then twisted her patent scarlet ankle boot over it.
‘Don’t tell me he has your Marnie working through her lunch hour again?’
The rain had eased off and Eva unbuckled her coat. She looked him right in the eye, and he could feel his cheeks redden. She knew about him and Marnie. How on earth had she worked it out?
‘Oh don’t worry.’ She grinned, patting his arm. ‘George hasn’t a clue. He doesn’t pick up on those sorts of things, but I have a knack for it. I could see it from day one.’
‘I don’t know what you could mean, Mrs Miller,’ he said, embarrassed by her familiarity.
She leaned forward and gave him a little shove with her gloved hand. ‘Oh, what a charmer you are! You men really are something.’
He took a final drag of his cigarette. ‘We are?’
‘I always know when George is having an affair. He thinks he gets away with it, but I just let him away with it.’ Her eyes darkened for a moment, the smile wiped off her face. ‘There is a difference.’
‘But I’m not married,’ Lewis protested, not sure quite what he was saying.
‘I know,’ Eva said. ‘But a girl like Marnie is special.’
‘I’m sorry, Mrs Miller, but I think you misunderstand – really there’s nothing going on –’
‘Just be careful, darling,’ she said, laughing lightly as her coat flapped open and Lewis saw the outline of a black bra beneath her chiffon blouse. ‘Don’t abandon her when you’ve had enough,’ she said with a flick of his tie before sauntering off.
The Gravity of Love Page 12