by S F Hopkins
Lovers in Their Fashion
By
S F Hopkins
© S F Hopkins 2013
The author asserts her moral right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work.
Other books by SF Hopkins
The Binding
The Unquiet House
The Transformation of David
The Dream
Chapter 1
Alice approached the woman on the information desk. Moments later, the announcement echoed round the Gatwick arrivals floor: “Will David Tucker meeting Alice Springer off the Denver flight please contact the Information Desk in the Arrivals Hall.”
Alice looked round in expectation. Nothing. She waited three or four minutes, then spoke to the woman again. “Will David Tucker meeting Alice Springer off the Denver flight please contact the Information Desk in the Arrivals Hall.”
Still no sign of David. Alice glanced enquiringly around—and froze. Her heart pounded as though it would burst. She stared, incapable of movement, as the only man she had ever truly loved walked out of the past and back into her life.
It took a huge effort to speak. She would not, she would not, she would not let him see how completely the mere sight of him had thrown her into utter confusion. ‘John. What a lovely surprise. But what are you doing here?’
He stood before her, ten years older but as handsome as he had ever been. ‘I heard the name and I couldn’t believe it. Of course, I knew it couldn’t be you. But I had to check. And it is.’
Alice nodded, helplessly. ‘It is,’ she agreed, knowing as she spoke how foolish she must sound.
‘Denver!’ John said. ‘When I knew you, you never went further than Frinton.’ Or Paris, he could have said, or Madrid, Lisbon, Rome or Prague – but only when I took you there. I, your mentor and first love.
Alice allowed herself to bridle. ‘I’ve moved on,’ she said. ‘In a small world, perhaps, but people in that world know who I am.’
John smiled that gleeful smile she remembered so well. ‘I always knew you had it in you. And David Tucker? Who should be meeting you off the Denver flight? Who is he?’
Alice drew herself up to her full height. Her soft brown eyes sparkled. ‘It’s been ten years, John. You don’t storm back into my life and start asking questions just like that. A little courtesy, please.’
John bowed deeply. ‘My dear,’ he said. ‘Forgive me.’ He turned to the woman on the information desk, who had been watching the exchange between him and Alice with rapt attention. ‘When Mister David Tucker presents himself, please direct him to the bar.’ He pointed to the place he meant. The woman unconsciously touched her hair. Alice smiled to see the power her erstwhile lover could still exercise on the women who came within his ambit. ‘Of course, sir,’ the woman murmured.
John seated Alice at a table, went to the bar and returned with a straight malt for him and a daiquiri for her. Alice felt exasperated at the easy assumption that he knew what she wanted.
‘Ten years, John,’ she said again. ‘What makes you think I still drink what I drank when I was fresh out of college?’
‘I don’t,’ he replied. ‘I bought that for old times’ sake.’ He settled his large frame into a chair. Alice noted with approval that he was still the fit, muscled man she had fallen so helplessly in love with. ‘And now,’ he said. ‘Tell all.’
Despite herself, Alice found that she was telling John her story. Not all of it, of course. She confined herself to the job, to how she had risen from dogsbody through the ranks of buyer and senior buyer to her present dizzy heights of Retail Director. She didn’t tell about the raging grief that had consumed the whole year after she and John had parted, or how often she had regretted the secret she had been unable to share with him – the secret that had led her to feel she must end their relationship. She didn’t tell how she had rejected every man who approached her (and they had not been few), because they failed so utterly to come up to the standard John had set. Nor did she tell how often she had lain alone in her bed, longing to feel safely held in John’s powerful arms, to know once more the thrill of his caress.
‘And what about you?’ she asked. ‘Tell me about your life.’
No, John said, he wasn’t married. A woman in his life? Well, there were one or two he saw, when he needed company to the theatre, or on a trip to Paris, or simply as a dinner date. But no-one special. ‘No-one to hang out with,’ he said. ‘No-one I just want to pass weekends with.’ No-one to tell about those special things we all from time to time hear, or see, or think.
Alice nodded. She heard the sadness in his voice, heard the unspoken words, “No-one since you.”
She had been a fool, she knew that now. John had been everything she could ever have wanted, and he had been hers, and she had thrown him away.
‘You haven’t told me about David Tucker.’
Alice looked up. ‘I can do better than that,’ she said. ‘I can introduce you to him.’
She smiled at David as he dropped into the empty chair. ‘David Tucker,’ she said. ‘This is John Pagan. An old friend of mine.’
David held out his hand. ‘John,’ he said warmly. ‘Thanks for looking after her. The traffic was worse than I expected.’
Alice was aware of the way the two men appraised each other. John, she knew, would believe that David was her special man of the moment. Should she tell him he was mistaken? No, she thought not. That would tell him she cared enough to want him to know she was available. She knew she had blown all hope of happiness with John. Why expose herself like that?
John asked, ‘Can I get you a drink, David?’
David shook his head. ‘Better not. I have to drive Madame here back into town.’
John nodded. He looked at his watch. ‘It takes for ever to get through security these days, even on Fast Track. I’d better be on my way.’
He stood. His smile was tinged with sadness. ‘It was lovely seeing you again, Alice. Let’s not leave it another ten years.’ He leaned forward, took her hand in his, placed a kiss gently on her cheek.
Alice watched him go. She noticed the woman on the information desk doing the same. She saw other women turn their heads, watching this model of self-possession passing for a moment through their lives. There was still time to call out; still time to let him know that she, too, was free—that she was ready to be his again, as she should always have been. Mute, motionless, she let the chance drift away on the endless ocean of regret. Perhaps, if he looked back…but he did not look back. He turned the corner and was gone.
She found David looking at her, concern etched on his face. ‘Alice. Is that a tear?’
Alice snapped out of her reverie. She wiped quickly at the corner of her eye. ‘I haven’t cried for ten years,’ was all she said.
Chapter 2
David dropped her with the reminder that a car would pick her up at seven the following morning.
‘The Italians will be late,’ she said.
‘Of course they will. But we shall be punctual.’
The doorman came forward to pick up Alice’s laptop and leather Louis Vuitton overnighter. ‘Welcome home, Miss Springer.’
‘Thank you, Ben.’
‘A good trip?’ He pressed the button to call the special lift that only served the penthouse apartment. Alice’s apartment.
‘I always enjoy Denver,’ said Alice.
The penthouse was Alice’s most prized possession. She had bought it when they floated the company and she was able to sell some of her shares, and since then had watched it double in value. Larger than most houses and spread over two floors, its glass walls were doors opening onto a wide wrap-around terrace that looked down on the Th
ames on two sides. Alone now, Alice kicked off her shoes and hung her grey linen jacket carefully over a hanger in the large and well-stocked walk-in wardrobe. She unbuttoned her cream silk blouse, rolled off her tights and dropped both into the laundry basket. Then she walked into the kitchen.
Alice never drank alcohol while flying because she found it dehydrated her and caused headaches. Under normal circumstances she rarely drank anyway while alone – but these were hardly normal circumstances.
Alice had been taught to make the meanest dry martinis by a barman in La Jolla at a bar where Raymond Chandler had once drunk. The martini glass she took from the fridge was chilled to opacity, the gin and vermouth bottles likewise.
She splashed a little gin into the glass, swirled it around and then upended the glass, tipping the gin into the sink and leaving only the thinnest film to flavour her drink. Then she added a measure of vermouth and shook the glass gently to mingle the taste of gin with the vermouth. Returning the two bottles to the fridge to maintain their icy coldness, she popped a pitted green olive into the glass. She carried the martini through the enormous sitting room, slid open a window and strolled out onto the terrace.
The penthouse was so solidly constructed that no sound penetrated in any direction. The builder had told her that the band of the Coldstream Guards could parade in step through her home without the people on the floor below being disturbed by so much as a whisper unless they stood right outside the door. Nor, barefoot and in her silk slip as she was, had Alice any fear of being overlooked. Privacy was one thing money could certainly buy, even in the centre of London—as long as you had enough of it. Normally, Alice revelled in the feeling of aloneness the apartment gave her. Tonight, though, she did not want to be alone – but the person she wanted to be with was in an aircraft, heading inexorably away from her.
It was a clear night and a delicate filigree of vapour trails overlay the dark sky. She watched them. Are you the one? she wondered. Are you the plane carrying the man I love? To where? To whom?
The phone rang as Alice was draining the last of her martini. She experienced a moment of insane hope. John had recognized his love for her, abandoned his flight, returned to claim her. Crazy, of course. He didn’t even know where she lived. Her phone number was ex-directory. And he thought she was happily settled with David.
Alice picked up the phone. ‘Alice? It’s Merrill.’
Merrill. Well, if it couldn’t be John, Merrill would have to do. ‘Hi, Merrill. How’s things?’
‘Just what I was going to ask you. Have you eaten?’
‘Not yet. I was going to fish an M&S meal out of the freezer.’
‘Honestly, Alice. Here you are, fresh back from Denver, full of gossip for me, the Savoy just down the road and you’re talking about ready meals.’
Alice laughed. Having a best friend who lived (though in rather less luxury) in the same apartment building and who always knew how to make you laugh was a blessing at any time, and something more than that right now.
‘I’ll book a table,’ Merrill said. ‘The Grill or the River?’
‘I need comfort food.’
‘My ears are standing on end. The River it is. See you in the lobby in five minutes.’
It took only slightly longer than that for Alice to dress, repair her make-up and get downstairs where Merrill was waiting for her. They turned away Ben’s offer to call them a cab. ‘It’s a five minute walk,’ Merrill said. ‘If that.’
The two young women were welcomed into the Savoy in a manner befitting the regular guests that they were and seated at a window table. Alice looked out over the Embankment Gardens towards the Thames. ‘I love this city,’ she murmured.
‘I love all cities,’ said Merrill. ‘I’m a city person.’
They ordered; linguine with lobster and zucchini followed by guinea fowl for Merrill, and a fig and goat’s cheese salad for Alice. Her main dish of choice – chicken with onion mash – was not on the menu. ‘Of course, Madame, the chef will be delighted to prepare it especially for you,’ said the waiter.
‘My,’ Merrill said, ‘You weren’t joking. Comfort food it is. Tell all.’
Alice sighed. ‘A face from the past.’
Merrill’s face lit up. ‘In Denver?’
‘No. Here. At Gatwick. I was coming in, he was going out.’
Merrill’s hand went instinctively to her mouth. ‘Oh, how romantic! Who is he?’
Alice weighed in her mind how much she was going to tell her friend. The answer, she realized, was everything. Or almost everything.
‘His name is John Pagan. He was my first love.’
Merrill raised a glass of the white burgundy. ‘To first love,’ she said. ‘To John Pagan. And to happy reunions.’ She sipped from the glass, put it down. ‘Your first love,’ she prompted.
‘In a way, it was John who made me what I am today.’
‘I’m not having that,’ said Merrill. ‘Your raw talent and your passion for hard work. They’re what made you what you are.’
‘Well, okay. But before I met John, I had no conception of what I could become. And therefore no ambition. He showed me what was possible.’ She smiled, drawing little patterns on the linen cloth with her fingers. ‘Do you know…’ Her voice trailed off as she remembered the young Alice. There had been so much to learn.
‘I don’t know,’ Merrill said. ‘And I never will if you don’t get back here from dreamland and tell me.’
Alice laughed, and male heads turned right across the dining room. ‘We were visiting some place. Tewkesbury, I think it was. And I wanted a coffee.’
‘Yes?’ prompted Merrill as the flow again dried up.
‘So I started looking around for a coffee shop. And there wasn’t one. And I said to John, “Can we find somewhere for coffee?” And he said, sure, why not? And he took me into this hotel. The Royal Hop Pole it was—I remember to this day.’
Alice stared into Merrill’s eyes. Merrill stared back, puzzled. ‘But don’t you see?’ asked Alice. ‘The Royal Hope Pole was nothing special, but I was so naïve I didn’t realize you could just walk into a hotel, any hotel, and ask for coffee if you weren’t staying there. You’re American, you won’t understand. I was just an ordinary girl from an ordinary family in an ordinary town. I’d been to an ordinary school. When I was growing up, we didn’t stay in hotels. If we went on holiday we used guesthouses, or B & Bs. And if we wanted coffee, we found a tea shop. It never occurred to us that we could just walk in, anywhere we wanted. That our money was as good as anyone else’s.’
Merrill waved an arm around the River Room. ‘And now the Savoy!’
‘And now the Savoy,’ Alice agreed. ‘And, yes, some of that—most of that—I owe to my own hard work and determination. But the beginning—the idea that I, Alice Springer, the girl from nowhere, could actually aspire to the Savoy—that was down to John.’
Alice had demolished her salad. ‘I had no idea how hungry I was.’
‘Those airline meals,’ Merrill agreed.
‘Do you know the Lygon Arms?’ asked Alice.
Merrill shook her head.
‘It’s in Broadway,’ said Alice. ‘In the Cotswolds.’ She raised her hands to indicate the Savoy. ‘And these same people used to own it. I don’t know what the new owners have done to it and I’m not going to risk going back to find out, but in those days it was beautiful. An old coaching inn that had been there for yonks. Anyway, that’s where we stayed that night. When we went to Tewkesbury,’ she said, seeing Merrill’s blank look.
Merrill’s expressive face was transformed by a huge grin. ‘Nice bedrooms?’
‘Wonderful bedrooms,’ Alice confirmed. ‘Though that isn’t the point of the story.’
Merrill raised her eyebrows.
‘Well,’ said Alice, ‘It isn’t the whole point of the story. When we arrived they’d booked us into one of the newer rooms. At the back. I was disappointed. I’d wanted to sleep in a four poster in a room three hundred years old.’
>
‘Oh. You wanted to sleep, did you?’
‘In due course. Don’t be rude. But each of these newer rooms has its own little courtyard. John rang for tea and a waiter arrived with a silver tray and we sat outside, in the warm sunshine, drinking tea in our own private stretch of heaven.’
Merrill nodded her approval. ‘I begin to see.’
‘Then, in the evening, we had dinner. The Lygon Arms didn’t have anything as ordinary as a restaurant. It had the Great Hall. Which looked exactly as it sounds. A beautiful vaulted ceiling and a minstrels’ gallery. And the food. Oh, boy. And the wine. So. That was the day when I began to feel pampered. That was the day when I first realized that you don’t have to accept limitations. You can be who and what you want to be. If you want it enough. And if you’re really prepared to go for it.’
‘Gosh.’
‘Well, as I said, you’re American and this probably seems normal to you. But it didn’t to me. And John made it possible. He believed in me, and he made me believe in me, too. Without him, I wouldn’t be sitting here tonight.’
‘I’m impressed. But I don’t understand. If this guy was so utterly wonderful, why aren’t you together? Let me guess. It’s the old story. When you started to make the grade, he got jealous and dumped you.’
Alice looked suddenly wistful. ‘No. No, it wasn’t like that at all. No-one ever had a more supportive lover. And he didn’t dump me. I dumped him.’
Chapter 3
John Pagan slipped off his shoes, accepted a newspaper from the stewardess and settled back into his seat. He thanked heaven he was in club class – the back of the plane was crowded but here were empty seats, masses of leg room and no-one to overlook him. It would be five hours before they reached New York, where he was to break his journey for two days before flying on to Rio. These journeys had been so much easier by Concorde, but now there was no Concorde. A pity.
The pilot announced that the plane had reached cruising height and speed. John realized with a stab of pain that every minute was taking him another eight miles from the woman whose loss he had mourned for ten years. Ten years! What was the point of dreaming now? She had David Tucker, with whom she was clearly happy. He had no-one who mattered to him in that way.