She dialled the number; Harriet answered the phone. She sounded calmer than she had last night; she had called Tilly when she got back from seeing Theo. It had taken Tilly half an hour to talk her down. ‘I hate him,’ she kept saying, ‘I hate him so much, Tilly, I can hardly bear to think about him.’ And Tilly had made soothing, calming, sympathetic noises into the phone, listening, listening to the half-truth, to the anger, to the passion in Harriet’s voice, and wondered how long it would be before Harriet admitted even to herself how much she still loved Theo.
‘Hi, Harry, it’s Tilly. How are you today?’
‘OK, I think.’
‘No news?’
‘No. My father’s gone off with Theo to Paris. They left at dawn in Theo’s plane. Seem to think they’ll find Cressida still sitting at Sacré-Coeur, waiting for them.’
Her voice was immensely, heavily scornful; her hostility seemed to extend to her father, as well as Theo. Tilly did not, could not pursue that one; she lacked the strength.
‘Well,’ she said, for want of something more intelligent to say, ‘maybe they will.’
‘Yeah yeah. But there is one delicious piece of news. It’s not all gloom and doom here. We have an engagement to celebrate.’
‘An engagement! Don’t tell me Mungo –’
‘No. Why should it be Mungo? Much more exciting. Merlin and Janine. Getting married by special licence, wandering round the garden holding hands like a couple of kids.’
‘Now that is seriously nice,’ said Tilly. ‘That I like. Give him a huge hug from me.’
‘I will. Mind you, I think it was a toss-up whether he proposed to you or Janine. He’s very taken with you.’
‘Tell him it’s mutual. Next time around. No seriously, I think it’s wild. Harry, I’m off to New York.’
‘Now?’
‘Yes, now. I’m signing with Rosenthal and they want to inspect the goods. Or something like that.’
‘Tilly, are you sure it’s a good idea? You know how homesick you get, and what will Rufus say?’
‘Rufus is history,’ said Tilly and burst into tears.
‘Tilly, don’t. You can’t do that. Why, Tilly, why? He loves you and you love him and –’
‘Yeah, and we get married and start hating each other. It isn’t any good, Harriet, really it isn’t.’
‘Oh, Tilly, are you sure? Really sure? Couldn’t you try –’
‘Try what? Becoming someone else? Taking a course in legal wifehood?’ Thank God she’s always made a lot of the differences between her and Rufus, had said repeatedly that their lives could never work together. And anyway, it was true: they never could. ‘There’s nothing to try. Honestly.’
‘Did you tell him?’
‘Yes, I told him. Last night.’
‘And?’
‘And nothing really. We parted. Said goodbye. That was it.’ She groped for a Kleenex, blew her nose. ‘Now listen, I don’t want to talk about that. I can’t talk about that. But there’s something else that I do want to talk about. If you need some money, I mean real money for your company, I can let you have it.’
‘Tilly, don’t be absurd.’
‘I’m not being absurd. I mean it. What do you need, a million? It’s yours. You can pay me back some time. OK?’
‘Tilly, darling –’
‘Think about it. I have to go. Oh, that’s reminded me, that’s why I called really. I’m leaving in a couple of hours, but I’m going to my mum’s house first. Could you’ – she thought fast – ‘could you give her number to your dad?’
‘My father? What on earth for?’
‘Well, it’s kind of complicated. But she has a little – female trouble, and I’m worried about her. He said he’d give me the name and number of the best person in town for her.’
‘Tilly, this is the most extraordinary thing I ever heard. When on earth did you get to talk female trouble with my father?’
‘When we were out in the garden yesterday, you know?’
‘Oh – yes. Yes, all right.’ She was clearly baffled. ‘And you’re going there now, you say?’
‘Yes, to say hallo and goodbye. How’s your mother?’
‘Still asleep. My father gave her a mega shot of something last night.’
‘And when are you seeing Mr Buchan again?’
‘Never, I hope. Unless it’s in hell.’
‘Cool. Bye, Harry. And I meant it about the money.’
‘Bye, Tilly. Thank you, but I really couldn’t. And take care.’
Tilly had a shower, dressed (not in the torn cut-offs but leggings and an oversized T-shirt), called a cab, grabbed her big leather Gladstone, and her Gucci leather rucksack that was never really unpacked, just occasionally cleared out, which carried all her needs, money, credit cards, make-up, cigarettes, chewing gum, passport, keys, appointment book, set her answering machine, looked round her flat and went out, locking the door after her. She was halfway down the stairs when she heard the phone ringing; she simply couldn’t go back now, she was running quite late enough already.
‘Tilly, you look terrible,’ said Rosemary Mills. ‘I’m going to make you some camomile tea. It will calm you down.’
‘Mum, I hate camomile tea. And rosehip tea and peppermint tea. They all make me want to throw up. What I need is a seriously strong cup of coffee. Do you have any real or is it all that decaff rubbish?’
‘It’s all decaff,’ said Rosemary, ‘and it will have to do.’
Tilly sat drinking the coffee, studying her mother. She really was looking good. She looked about ten years younger; she was happy, busy, her aromatherapy practice growing fast. She had had a haircut (Nicky Clarke had done it as a favour to Tilly: ‘Pity you don’t know what a fortune you’re carrying about on your head, Mum’) and although she still favoured her rather droopy ethnic clothes, they were at least new and pretty, not bought at jumbles and Oxfam shops.
‘So where are you off to now?’
‘New York. Midday.’
‘New York! Paris yesterday, Mexico the week before. Tilly, I wish you’d settle down a bit. It’s so bad for your body clock, all this.’
‘Mum, my body clock’s fine.’
‘It doesn’t look fine,’ said Rosemary Mills. ‘What about the boyfriend?’
‘The boyfriend’s finished,’ said Tilly, ‘and don’t start, or I shall cry. It wasn’t going to work, Mum, and that’s all there is to it. Now listen, I have something much more important to talk to you about.’
‘What’s that?’
‘James Forrest will be coming to see you.’
‘James Forrest? What on earth for?’
‘He wants to explain a few things to you,’ said Tilly briefly. ‘Like –’
The phone rang suddenly. ‘Excuse me, dear,’ said Rosemary. ‘Peckham 4111. Rosemary Mills speaking. Yes, that’s right. Yes, she’s here. It’s for you,’ she said, holding the phone out to Tilly, ‘a woman.’
‘I expect it’s Felicity,’ said Tilly, ‘or Harry.’
It wasn’t. It was Susie Headleigh Drayton and she sounded as if she had been crying.
‘Tilly? Sorry to bother you at your mother’s. Your agent told me you were there. I thought you might know where Rufus is?’
‘No,’ said Tilly, ‘no, I don’t. I’m sorry. Isn’t he – still in the country?’
‘No,’ said Susie, ‘no he isn’t. He brought me up to London last night. I’ve got to – well, have a little op this morning. Nothing serious, I’m sure. But I’m worried about Rufus. I can’t find him anywhere. Not at his flat, not at Harriet’s place, not in the office – well, I suppose he wouldn’t have been there yet, but –’
‘Oh, I’m sure he’s fine,’ said Tilly, trying to sound as if she meant it. ‘He was fine last night.’
‘So you did see him last night? When was that? I’m sorry to ask you, Tilly, but what with my going into hospital and – well, he was a bit upset about something, I’m afraid. I just wanted to speak to him, make sure he was all r
ight before I went in.’
‘If he was upset,’ said Tilly, ‘it was probably my fault. I – well, we – I told him I thought we shouldn’t see each other any more.’
‘Oh Tilly! Oh no.’ Susie’s voice rose on a panicky note. ‘Not last night.’
‘Yes, but –’
‘That’s not why he was upset, Tilly. Well, obviously he would have been very much more upset then. But there was something – something that happened yesterday. Earlier. Before we left Wedbourne.’
‘He didn’t mention it,’ said Tilly slowly. No, because she hadn’t let him, poor sod, hadn’t listened, had just sat there dealing out body blows. Shit. Fuck … ‘I don’t like people saying fuck all the time.’ Sorry, Rufus, sorry, sorry. For everything.
‘I see. Oh dear. Well, if he does get in touch will you ask him to come and see me? I’ll be in the Princess Diana Hospital. He – well, he doesn’t know. I hadn’t told him. I hadn’t told anyone.’
‘I’m so sorry,’ said Tilly, and meant it. ‘Is it – I mean is it serious?’
‘Oh, I shouldn’t think so.’ Susie’s voice had recovered itself, was its level, slightly husky self. ‘I hope not anyway. Just a little lump. You know how careful they like to be.’
‘Yes,’ said Tilly, ‘yes of course. Well, good luck. I really will be thinking of you. I’d come and see you, but I’m going to New York.’
‘Today?’
‘Yes, in a little while actually. I’ve been signed up by Rosenthal. Their new face. You know?’ Now why the hell was she telling her that? Why should Susie care? With a son gone missing and what was clearly a cancer scare? Silly self-centred bitch, Ottoline, that’s what you are.
‘Oh, how exciting, Tilly. Congratulations.’ How did she manage it, thought Tilly, how could she even sound as if she cared about something so idiotic?
‘Yeah, well. It’s all crazy really. I don’t actually want to do it at all.’ Now why had she said that, to Susie Headleigh Drayton of all people? Of course she wanted to do it. ‘Er – I don’t suppose you want to tell me what Rufus was upset about? Just in case I can help?’
‘No. No, I don’t think so. I don’t want to sound rude, but it was – well, quite private. Family business.’
‘Of course,’ said Tilly. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to –’
‘No, I know you didn’t. Goodbye, Tilly. Please come and see me when you get back. I’d like to get to know you. And I hope you didn’t make your decision too hastily. Rufus loves you very much, you know.’
‘Yeah,’ said Tilly. Then, and she really hadn’t meant to say it, she added, ‘And I love him too. Very much. But it couldn’t possibly work. Anyway – yes, of course I’ll come and see you. Good luck. Goodbye, Mrs Headleigh Drayton.’
‘Please call me Susie. Goodbye, Tilly.’
‘Now then,’ said Rosemary Mills, ‘what’s all this James Forrest business. I don’t want to see him, Tilly. I really don’t. It just – reminds me, brings it back. Why is he coming anyway, after all these years?’
‘I met him,’ said Tilly briefly. ‘He’s Harriet Forrest’s dad. Harriet of Harry’s you know? My friend. The one whose sister was getting married yesterday. Only she didn’t. Well, maybe she did. Oh God.’ She lit a cigarette; she suddenly felt very frightened about Rufus. Where was he, what had happened to him?
‘Tilly, dear, you really aren’t making any sense,’ said her mother. ‘Why is James Forrest coming to see me?’
‘He’s coming to tell you some things,’ said Tilly shortly. ‘About – well, you know what about. Beatrice and everything. He wants to make sure you understand that it wasn’t your fault, and –’
‘But Tilly, it was. To an extent. Oh, I hate going over this awful old ground. He was right – I should have gone to the antenatal clinic. And all right, maybe he was incompetent, maybe he had been drinking. I don’t know. He was very kind to me at the time, which was important. He did his best. I just don’t want to drag it all up again, Tilly. Beatrice died, but you lived and we’ve been very happy together, and you’ve done wonderfully well. Why can’t you leave it alone, just drop this dreadful obsession? It’s me that should have the obsession anyway, not you. Now please tell him that I really would rather not speak to him. I appreciate his kindness and generosity, but –’
‘Oh, yes,’ said Tilly bitterly, ‘very kind, very generous. After – what? – nearly twenty years. Bastard.’
‘Tilly, don’t. Don’t spoil everything. You have so much, and so do I now – just let it rest.’
‘Mum, you don’t –’ said Tilly. There was a knock at the door; it was the car to take her to the airport. She gave her mother a hug. ‘You’re the best,’ she said suddenly, ‘the very best. Bye, Mum. I’ll – I’ll think about James Forrest some more –’
‘It would be better,’ said Rosemary Mills, ‘if you stopped thinking about him altogether. And I think you’ve made a mistake about that boyfriend too.’
‘Mum, it wouldn’t have worked,’ said Tilly patiently. ‘I’m too fond of my independence, you know I am. And he’s a white upper-class lawyer and I’m a black working-class girl. Where’s the future in that?’
‘In some beautiful, clever, middle-class children,’ said Rosemary, giving her a hug back. ‘We’re in the nineties, Tilly. You’re sounding very out of date. And he loves you, and I think you love him. And independence is a very lonely commodity. You shouldn’t let love go. It doesn’t often come back. Goodbye, Tilly. Take care of yourself. Eat something now and again, there’s a good girl. And try to –’
‘Yes, all right, Mum. I’ll try. I’ll leave them all here, look.’
Tilly tipped sixty Marlborough out of her bag onto her mother’s kitchen table. ‘Throw them away. I won’t buy any more.’
‘Promise?’
‘No,’ said Tilly, thinking gratefully of the two full packs in her rucksack. ‘I don’t make promises unless I know I can keep them. But I will try.’
‘And think some more about Rufus.’
‘I wish I could stop,’ said Tilly.
Chapter 26
Susie 9am
Susie thought how odd it was, how relevant, that her heart and her breast, situated so conviently near one another, should both be aching so much. She wasn’t quite sure which was worse, only that the confusion was somehow helpful. She was surprised that the breast should be so sore; she had always heard that cancer, in its early stages, was painless.
She said as much, hopefully, to Mr Hobson, as she sat up in her room at the Princess Diana Hospital; they were waiting for Alistair who had disappeared briefly to make a phone call.
‘I’m afraid it doesn’t really mean very much either way,’ he said, ‘it’s wrong to read anything into it. If there is inflammation of any kind, the result can be discomfort. Simple as that. How are you feeling?’
‘Oh, wonderful,’ said Susie, ‘absolutely wonderful,’ and burst into tears. Mr Hobson, who had never seen the serene Mrs Headleigh Drayton in any kind of disarray, but who was used to his patients becoming emotionally labile, sat down on the bed and took her hand. ‘Hope Matron doesn’t catch me doing this,’ he said. ‘Absolutely not allowed. Now you have a good cry. It always helps. I’m not going to come up with any bloody silly nonsense about not worrying and all that, because of course you’re worried. You’d be a fool not to be. I’m worried, we’re all worried. But the sooner we get this over and know what we’re actually up against the better.’ He handed her his handkerchief. ‘Blow hard.’
‘Yes I know,’ said Susie, blowing obediently, ‘thank you. It’s just that I’ve tried so hard to be brave, but I have other problems, other worries.’
‘Oh, really? Want to tell me about them?’
‘Um – no, I don’t think I can. Well, I’ve lost Rufus. My son,’ she added. ‘I’m a bit worried.’
‘And how old is Rufus?’
‘Well – he’s twenty-seven,’ said Susie, feeling suddenly foolish.
‘And where is he? In the Himala
yas or wherever it is they all go these days?’
‘No, no, he’s in London somewhere,’ said Susie, ‘but I don’t know where. And he’s very upset about something.’
‘I think,’ said Mr Hobson, ‘that if he’s twenty-seven he can handle a bit of upsetness. Worried about you, is he?’
‘No, no, he doesn’t even know. There was some – some family thing yesterday –’
‘What, this wedding? Dreadful things weddings, always get people churned up.’
‘No, not the wedding. He – well, he found something out. And –’
‘Mrs Headleigh Drayton – or may I call you Susie –?’
‘Yes, of course. I’d like that.’
‘I think you can let your little twenty-seven-year-old boy take care of himself, and concentrate all your energies on yourself. If he’s reached that age and not been badly upset yet, he’s very lucky. You could even say it’s time he learnt a bit about real life. All right?’
Susie was about to argue with him, to protest, to say that Rufus really couldn’t take care of himself, not in this instance, when she found that not only did she not have the strength, she felt Mr Hobson might just possibly be right. She thought of herself at twenty-seven, dealing with most complex emotional matters, quite competently; was Rufus, her son, the most like her of all her children, really so different? She blew her nose again, smiled at Mr Hobson weakly. ‘Maybe.’
‘That’s better. Now you don’t want to be crying when your husband comes in, do you? He’s quite worried enough. You’re very lucky to have a husband who loves you so much, after such a long marriage, you know. Quite rare. Lucky and clever I’d say you were, Susie. In equal proportions. Ah, Mr Headleigh Drayton. Good morning. Do sit down. I’d offer you coffee, but your poor wife is thirsty enough without having to watch us drinking it. Now, I just want to take you through her case as I see it thus far, so that at least we all know what we’re talking about, and don’t have any misconceptions …’
Susie looked at Alistair and wanted James so much she could hardly bear it. She closed her eyes briefly, then smiled at him and took the hand he held out to her. Lucky and clever, was she? With a son shocked into disappearance, a lover who had deserted her in her hour of great need, and a husband who knew she had been unfaithful to him for most of their marriage. Dear God. Very lucky, and very clever.
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