Another Woman (9781468300178)

by Vincenzi, Penny

  ‘But Susie, have you really thought what this means? Especially to Rufus. That you’re going to tell him that he’s my child, my son, that you’ve lied to him, to Alistair all these years? Do you think he deserves that, do you think any of them do? Please, darling, please consider terribly carefully.’

  ‘Jamie,’ said Susie, and in spite of herself she felt swayed by his argument, his logic, ‘Jamie, all right, I will think, I will consider. I promise. But you have to promise me something too. If I do decide I want you, that I want to be with you, will you do that, will you be there for me?’

  James looked at her, and she saw it again, that expression in his eyes, the trapped, almost frightened expression, and as she waited for his answer, she knew, even as she shrank from it, what it would be: more prevarication, more equivocation, after all the loyalty, all the years, he was going to fail her when she needed him. And then she heard a sound behind her, and there in the doorway was Rufus, standing frozen still, and she could see perfectly clearly from his face that he had heard every single word.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, gently polite as always, ‘I’m sorry if I startled you. I came over to fetch you, I thought it would save James the trip.’

  ‘That was – very kind,’ said Susie, ‘very thoughtful. Thank you. I –’

  ‘Yes, I can see you’re – busy. Stupid of me not to have phoned first. To check.’

  ‘Rufus, I think perhaps –’ said James.

  ‘James, it’s all right. I’ll just go again. Leave you in peace. No doubt you’ll bring Mum back in your own good time. Is – is Harry around?’

  ‘Well, she is somewhere,’ said James. ‘But I’m not quite sure where – in her room I expect – shall I –’

  ‘No, no, she’s probably asleep,’ said Rufus hastily. ‘Don’t disturb her. Not on my account.’

  There was a silence; then Susie said, ‘Would you like a drink or something, darling? Or a – a sandwich?’

  It was farcical, she knew, she could hear herself sounding like something in a very bad drawing-room comedy, but she had to say something, had to try to distract herself from the awful pain on Rufus’s face.

  ‘No,’ he said, ‘no really, I’m fine. Thanks. Er – I’ll be off, I think. Probably go back to London.’

  ‘Rufus,’ said James, ‘Rufus, I really don’t want you to –’

  ‘Don’t want me to what?’ said Rufus and for the first time there was some emotion in his voice, he sounded alive, angry, ‘tell anyone? Say anything? Well I –’

  ‘Good Lord!’ It was Merlin; he and Janine had come in, smiling, through the back door, they hadn’t heard his car. ‘Looks like a party in here. Pour us both a drink, Jamie, there’s a good chap. No news I suppose? We’ve had the most marvellous evening, haven’t we, Janine, absurd price they charged us for the meal, had a few words to say about that, got a few quid knocked off as a matter of fact, but otherwise, it’s been –’

  ‘Merlin, Janine,’ said Susie, knowing that if she didn’t do something, anything, quickly, she would scream very loudly, ‘would you excuse us, Rufus and me, he’s come to collect me very sweetly and he’s been waiting for ages already, I really do want to get back, I’m terribly tired.’ She went over and kissed them both briefly, then, not looking at James, ‘Rufus, darling, let’s go, we can’t keep Janet up all night waiting for us.’

  And amidst a blur of goodnights, of well-wishing, of admonishments to Rufus to drive carefully, of James’s face, startled, almost ashamed, she walked quickly out of the room, and at last they were in the car, she could never remember afterwards getting there, and Rufus who always drove so carefully, so considerately put his foot down and screeched out of the drive, gravel flying, and up the lane. It was only when they reached the more major road that led into Woodstock that he stopped, lurched to a halt, and put his head on his arms on the steering wheel.

  ‘Rufus,’ said Susie, ‘Rufus darling, I –’

  ‘Don’t,’ he said, ‘don’t please. Say anything. I couldn’t bear it. I can’t bear any of it. Just let me take you back to the Beaumonts and then I’m going to London.’

  ‘Take me with you,’ said Susie, and she was surprised by how much it mattered, how much she wanted it, ‘please. I want to go home. I won’t say a single word all the way, but I want to go home.’

  Her only fear was that Alistair wouldn’t be there, but as she got out of the car, thanked Rufus, made him promise to ring her in the morning, tried to kiss him (but he turned his face away), she saw the light on in the first-floor study, saw Alistair walk over to the window and look out. She ran up the steps, fumbling with her key; by the time she had it in the lock, had managed to turn it, he was there, opening it for her, looking at her surprised, puzzled.

  ‘Darling!’ he said. ‘What on earth are you doing here? And why didn’t you ring me, tell me you were coming?’

  ‘I couldn’t,’ said Susie, ‘well, not easily.’ She walked past him, into the kitchen. ‘I’d love a drink, Alistair. Just some white wine or something.’

  ‘Of course. I presume there’s no news?’

  ‘No, nothing. Well, there was apparently, on Tilly Mills’s answering machine. From Cressida, saying she was fine.’

  God, it seemed so long ago, all that, another lifetime, another life.

  ‘Girl’s cracked,’ said Alistair cheerfully, handing her a glass. ‘Needs her bottom smacked.’

  ‘That’s what Merlin said,’ said Susie, and giggled; the giggle got slightly out of hand, she couldn’t stop. She looked at Alistair and saw he was looking at her rather oddly.

  ‘It’s not that funny,’ he said.

  ‘No,’ she said, ‘no, I know,’ and realized she was crying instead. She struggled back into control, sat down abruptly at the table.

  ‘Alistair, I have to talk to you.’

  ‘Oh dear,’ he said, ‘sounds heavy. Is it?’

  ‘A bit. Yes.’

  ‘Is it one of the children? I wondered why Rufus –’

  ‘No,’ she said, ‘well, not really. It’s – well, it’s us.’

  There was a silence. Then he said, carefully, ‘Do we really have to, Susie? I mean, really have to?’

  Susie stared at him. It was an extraordinary moment; for she saw in it, reading his eyes, his watchful eyes, what she had always suspected: that he had known much of it all along. Exactly how much, precisely what details, she had no idea, but certainly he had never been properly in ignorance, totally deceived. And against all odds she smiled at him, just a little, amazed, awed even, not only that their marriage could sustain such a thing, but that they could so perfectly and tacitly agree that it should.

  ‘Well –’ she said, ‘well, but you see –’

  ‘Susie,’ he said, ‘Susie, let’s not. I’m so very very fond of you, I’ve been extremely happy with you. I’d rather leave it like that if we possibly can.’

  ‘But Alistair –’

  ‘Susie, let me finish please. You’ve been very clever, I think, made a very happy family. Much happier than most. We all love you. Don’t spoil it, unless you really have to. There isn’t any point.’

  Susie drained her glass, poured herself another. ‘There is a bit of point,’ she said quietly. ‘Things have changed today, I’m afraid. I’m sorry.’ ‘It’s Rufus,’ she had been about to say, but decided she must go further back, explain how she had come to be behaving so out of character, so differently from herself. ‘I’m ill,’ she said, and her voice was steady, its old self. ‘That’s the thing. I possibly – probably, actually – have cancer. Breast cancer. I heard this morning. I’m so sorry, Alistair.’

  She meant it; she was sorry. It was going to be a dreadful nuisance for everybody; she would be no use to Alistair, to any of them. All the things he relied on her for, running the house, taking care of the children, entertaining, arranging holidays, she would be able to do none of it. It was a terrible prospect; she didn’t see how they would be able to bear it.

  She looked at him; he wa
s staring at her as if he had never seen her before, his face ashen, his mouth taut. He put out his hand as if to touch her, then dropped it again, sat down heavily in a chair beside her at the table.

  ‘How – how bad is it?’ he said.

  ‘I don’t know yet. Mr Hobson spoke to me this morning. I have to go in tomorrow for a biopsy, first thing. He wants to see you too. Of course. He wanted us both to go in today, but of course we couldn’t. Well, it didn’t seem the best day. Really. So – it’s tomorrow.’

  ‘But it might be – nothing?’

  ‘I don’t think it’s nothing,’ said Susie, speaking carefully, ‘and he doesn’t think so either. I know he doesn’t. Well, he said so. He’s drawn off some fluid and looked at that, I don’t quite understand, and done a mammogram, and he’s worried. I can tell. But we won’t know for sure until tomorrow.’

  ‘Does it – are you in pain?’

  ‘No. No, not really. But I don’t feel terribly well. I’m very tired all the time, which isn’t me, and I’ve lost some weight. I’m sorry, I’m not trying to worry you, but it seems best to be honest. In this instance,’ she added and smiled at him, wryly ironic.

  ‘Oh God,’ said Alistair, and this time he did touch her, just very gently, took her hand and stared down at it. ‘Oh God, Susie, I wish you’d told me. I wish to God you’d told me.’

  ‘But why, what good would it have done? I only found the damn thing a week ago and then it might have been nothing, and then you’d have been worried quite needlessly, and –’

  ‘Yes, yes, I know, but you must have been so – well, so – frightened,’ he said. It was not the kind of word Alistair used; he looked, she thought, quite frightened himself. And thought, even in her pain and misery, that he was actually being more thoughtful, more imaginatively caring than James had been. Well, James had had rather more on his mind. To be fair.

  ‘I was frightened,’ she said, realizing with something of a shock that that particular emotion was, briefly at any rate, in the past, ‘but I’m not any more. I feel quite resigned. I’m sure it won’t last though. I’m sure I’ll get scared again.’

  ‘And what did he say, your Mr Hobson, how – well, bad did he think it was, what could it entail?’

  ‘Alistair, he didn’t know, he won’t know anything until he’s done the biopsy. I’m sorry.’

  ‘Oh Christ,’ he said, ‘oh dear Christ, Susie, I don’t like this.’

  He put his arms round her, cradled her head. Susie sat quite still, numb to any emotions of her own, absorbing his fear, his raw, naked terror, without being able in any way to respond to it, and realized properly and for the first time in their lives together that Alistair did actually love her.

  Chapter 20

  Harriet 11pm

  Harriet was doing a cash-flow forecast for the year 2001 (with a discharged bankruptcy and with new backing, staff and premises; she was nothing, she kept telling herself, if not positive) when she heard the phone ringing. She had stayed up in her room ever since she had found the note from the gynaecologist; she couldn’t face sharing it with anyone, not even Oliver, couldn’t face any more emotion, recrimination, theorizing. In the morning, perhaps, she would tell them; not now. She simply wanted to get away from the whole damn thing, to concentrate on her own problems, her own future. She had been aware, but only half consciously, of the occasional car coming and going, of voices downstairs, but she ignored it all. If they wanted her, they could find her, but she had had enough of them; they had worn her out, along with the day. Only the phone call, waiting for its ring, occupied her attention, consumed her energies. The cash flow had been a good idea; it focused her mind absolutely. Reading, watching television, listening to the radio were all futile, she would just have sat there fretting, raging silently over Theo. Well, at least it was distracting her from the duller, more wretched pain of her discovery about her father; that would have to wait, until she could set aside the time to examine it, to grieve, to decide what to do. One thing at a time; one hurt at a time.

  She had been half afraid Theo wouldn’t ring, would continue to avoid her; she was strangely relieved to find she did not have to add cowardice at least to his list of faults.

  She ran down the stairs, seized the phone in the hall. ‘Harriet Forrest,’ she said, hating her voice for its slight tremor, despising herself for the harsh thudding of her heart. Bloody Theo, bloody Theo, how he could–

  Only it wasn’t Theo; it was Tilly.

  ‘Harry, hi. You weren’t asleep, were you?’

  ‘Asleep? I’m still waiting for that bastard to phone. I thought it was him then –’

  ‘Sorry. Listen, something extraordinary has happened. I’ve found – no I haven’t, let me start again. Harry, do you know anyone called Eloise Renaud?’

  ‘No. No I don’t think so. I’m sure I don’t. Unless she’s a supplier or something, but I can’t think of anyone called that. Why?’

  ‘Well, whoever she is, she’s Cressida’s double. Or – something.’

  ‘What? Tilly, what are you on about?’

  ‘Sorry, Harry, but this is very hard to make any sense of. In fact it’s seriously strange. I –’

  ‘Tilly, please,’ said Harriet in agony, ‘start at the beginning or something. What’s happened, who –?’

  ‘OK, OK, Mick McGrath just phoned.’

  ‘From Paris?’

  ‘Yeah, from Paris.’

  ‘What’s that got to do with Cressida?’

  ‘I’m trying to tell you. Just listen.’

  ‘I’m listening.’ Harriet sat down abruptly on the hall floor, cradling the phone on her lap.

  ‘Mick went into the Figaro offices this evening. He had some pictures to deliver. He was waiting to see the picture editor and there was a load of stuff on his desk, you know, that hacks had brought in.’

  ‘Yes, yes, I know. Get on with it, Tilly, for God’s sake.’

  ‘I’m trying. Well, anyway, there was one picture of a couple running down the steps of Sacré-Coeur. It was really sweet, he said, she was in a wedding dress, and laughing, and the pigeons were everywhere, and everyone round them was staring at them and smiling. Very Robert Doisneau.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Robert Doisneau. You know, the guy who did that famous picture of the boy and girl kissing in the middle of Paris, it’s everywhere at the moment –’

  ‘Tilly, what’s that got to do with it?’

  ‘Well, nothing, except the poor schmuck who took it thought that was why it might get published. Anyway, Mick suddenly realized that the girl was Cressida.’

  ‘Cressida! In her wedding dress in Paris. But –’ The room whirled. Tilly’s voice down the phone seemed to be ebbing and flowing. Hang on, Harriet, she thought, this time you really do have to be dreaming, you’ll wake up in a minute. She waited, staring ahead, holding her breath, she wasn’t sure why, waiting for an awakening; but only heard, still in the same strange whirling space, Tilly’s voice in her head again.

  ‘Harry, are you all right, are you there?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said, her breath coming out in a rush, ‘yes I’m here. I think. Tilly, was he sure? Really sure? He wasn’t on anything?’

  ‘He was quite sure. Well, he was sure until he looked at the caption on the back. Which said the girl was Eloise Renaud. After her wedding at Sacré-Coeur today. It didn’t give the guy’s name.’

  ‘But Tilly, it couldn’t have been. It just couldn’t. I mean – well, Mick doesn’t know Cressida very well. It must be a mistake.’

  ‘Of course he knows her. Well enough to recognize her anyway. We all had dinner a few weeks ago, for Christ’s sake. Only problem is, of course, she isn’t called Eloise Renaud.’

  ‘No,’ said Harriet. ‘No she isn’t. Oh God. God, Tilly, I really think we’re all going mad. She’s driven us mad.’ She felt horribly near to tears; she took a deep breath, tried to steady herself.

  ‘Look, can you get somewhere where there’s a fax?’ said Tilly. ‘Because M
ick took one of the prints, he can fax it to you.’

  ‘Well, I don’t know. I could go up to London, I suppose. Bit of a long way …’

  ‘What about a hotel? They all have them now. Couldn’t you bribe someone to let you use –’

  ‘That’s a brilliant idea, Til,’ said Harriet slowly. ‘I’ll do that.’

  The Royal Hotel at Woodstock certainly contained a fax. It also contained Theo Buchan.

  She was halfway out of the kitchen when she realized she had lent her car to Mungo. Shit. It was going to mean taking her father’s, and she would have to tell him at least. Then he’d want to know why, and – ‘Oh God,’ said Harriet aloud. ‘Oh God.’

  ‘Got a problem?’

  It was Merlin, his blue eyes particularly brilliant, sparkling at her. He had a glass of whisky in his hand. ‘Wanted a drop of water to put in this. Can I help?’

  ‘Well –’ said Harriet, ‘well, you could. But I don’t know if you would. It’s a huge favour.’

  ‘Try me. Feeling pretty good as a matter of fact.’

  ‘You look good,’ said Harriet, smiling at him, distracted from her anguish briefly by the sheer happiness radiating from him. ‘What’s happened?’

  ‘Tell you what’s happened,’ said Merlin, ‘gone the same way as the birds and the bees and the educated fleas, that’s what.’