She bridled. ‘It was none of her business,’ she said. ‘You don’t go passing on information about people without asking them first. That was what annoyed me.’
We’d reached the barrier now and so far Amanda had shown no sign of recognition for any of the people standing there. I was beginning to wonder what I would do if the renowned Haydn didn’t show up when suddenly a stocky little man stepped forward. He was bald but the lack of hair on his head was more than made up for by a full beard of shaggy grey whiskers. He smiled and held out his hands.
‘Well, well, if it isn’t little Mandy Trent. I’d have known you anywhere!’ He grasped her in a bear like hug and kissed her noisily on both cheeks, knocking the feathered confection on her head over one eye. I glanced at her scarlet face.
‘I’ll go now then, Amanda,’ I said. ‘Good luck with the audition and maybe I’ll see you on the way home.’
‘Oh – er – yes.’ Hastily pushing the hat back into place she attempted to introduce me. ‘Haydn – this is my s – my – er – nephew’s wife.’
Haydn smiled and held out a plump hand. ‘Pleased to meet you – er….’
‘Elaine,’ I supplied. ‘Well, I’d better be going; nice to meet you too, Mr Jenkins. ‘Bye.’ I couldn’t help smiling to myself as I headed for the Underground. Clearly the years hadn’t been as kind to Haydn as Amanda had expected.
I spotted Mallory Court as soon as I walked out of the Underground station. Crossing the road I stood at the imposing main entrance. Inside the double glass doors was an entrance lobby with the numbers and occupants of the flats displayed. I checked that the occupant of number 138 was in fact Jake Kenning and inserted the E-card in the entrance door. It opened for me and I went through into the rather grand main hallway to the lift.
Soaring silently skywards I contemplated the day in front of me. With Amanda chatting away on the journey I’d had no time to think about what I was going to say to Chris. Anyway all I could think of at the moment was Ian. The silence between us was getting to me. I’d tried once or twice to talk to him but received no response. How could I blame him after the bombshell I had dropped on him? Would he ever forgive me? Would things ever be the same between us again?
I got out of the lift and let myself into number 138. I’d expected it to be opulent and it was. The entrance hall was square with a black and white tiled floor. Off it led several rooms with opaque glass doors. The one to the main living room stood open and I walked in and looked around. Furnished in a minimalist style everything seemed to be black and white – white walls, black leather sofas and ebonized wood and smoked glass tables and chairs. The rugs on the wood block floor were black and white with geometric designs. The whole place had an art deco feel about it and I guessed that Chris had engaged the services of an interior designer. I allowed myself the indulgence of having a look round the flat. There were two bedrooms, both with en-suite bathrooms, and the most amazing kitchen I had ever seen. It looked like something from a sci-fi movie with its gleaming high-tech equipment and I wondered just how much cooking was ever done in it. On the worktop was a note addressed to me.
Elaine – Welcome to my humble pad (humble indeed!) Help yourself to lunch. There’s plenty of food in the fridge. I hope to be with you later. Can’t wait to see you. Love C.
I took off my coat and went into the hall to hang it up in what I thought was a cupboard. It turned out to be a small study. One wall was equipped with a desk-cum-worktop on which stood a computer. Obviously Chris worked here when he was in London. The rest of the workspace and the floor were littered with paper, some of it screwed up into balls, and I remembered what he had said about having writers’ block. I wondered if he had a secretary to take care of his correspondence and clear up after him. Clearly if he had she hadn’t been here for some time.
Back in the kitchen I looked inside the cavernous refrigerator. There was plenty of salad and I found bread and a tin of pâté from which I made myself a hasty lunch. As I ate I wondered just how long Chris would be. The longer I waited the more nervous about the coming interview I became.
I was washing up my plate and cup when there was a ring at the doorbell. I hesitated. Maybe I should ignore it, although it could be Chris arriving earlier than expected. Had he sent me his only key?
I opened the door to find an elderly lady standing outside. She was small and thin and wore a blue twinset and a string of pearls; her elegantly coiffured hair was rinsed in a shade that matched her twinset.
‘Oh!’ She affected surprise at seeing me but I wasn’t convinced. I’d spotted her downstairs in the lobby when I first arrived and seen her eyeing me curiously. ‘I’m so sorry to disturb you, my dear but Mr Kenning borrowed my copy of War and Peace a while ago and I rather wondered if he might have forgotten.’ She simpered at me. ‘I’d so like to read it again – one – er – forgets….’ She peered past me into the hallway.
‘I’m afraid he’s not here at the moment,’ I told her. ‘I’ll pass on the message to him when he—’
‘Oh dear, how very remiss of me,’ she broke in. ‘I should have introduced myself. I’m Lydia French from number 134, downstairs. Mr Kenning and I are great friends – such a joy, having a best-selling author right on one’s doorstep.’ She peered inquiringly at me. ‘You must be another of his sisters. So nice to come from a large family, I always think. I was an only child myself. It’s very lonely being an only child.’ As she spoke she was edging past me into the flat. ‘If I could just look on his bookshelf I needn’t bother him again.’
‘Well, I don’t know….’
‘Oh, I assure you he wouldn’t mind. As I said, we’re the greatest of friends.’
Clearly she wasn’t going anywhere without her book. I closed the door behind her. ‘I’ll help you look,’ I said.
But once inside the flat she seemed to forget all about the book. With a glance towards the kitchen she said, ‘I wonder – would you think it an imposition if I asked if I could have a glass of water?’
‘No, of course not.’
‘I do get so dehydrated, you see. It’s the wretched medication I’m on.’ She trotted behind me into the kitchen where I took a glass from the shelf and filled it from the tap. As I handed it to her she hesitated,
‘Oh – you wouldn’t have any bottled water, would you? I never quite trust the tap water in London.’
I poured the water down the sink and opened the fridge. There were several unopened bottles of spring water stored in a door shelf. I took one out and handed it to her. She peered at it.
‘This is sparkling, dear. Is there a still one? All those bubbles play havoc with my digestion.’
I looked again and found a bottle of still spring water. I watched, fascinated, as she opened it and downed almost half straight from the bottle. ‘Right, shall we look for your…?’
‘So where do you come in the family, dear?’ she said, extracting a lace hanky from her sleeve and dabbing her lips.
I was taken aback but decided to play along. ‘The family – oh, about halfway.’ I was beginning to wonder what kind of yarn Chris had been spinning her though I couldn’t blame him. She was so inquisitive and had the cheek of the devil. She and Amanda were two of a kind. She was nodding.
‘I see, so no doubt you’ll know his wife.’
I swallowed hard. ‘Naturally.’
‘Such a shame about their divorce,’ she said, shaking her head. ‘I don’t hold with it myself and I found it particularly upsetting with things the way they were at the time.’
‘What things?’
She stared at me in surprise. ‘Well, with dear Frances being in the family way. I couldn’t understand how he could let her go.’ She glanced at me sideways. ‘Unless of course….’
‘Unless what?’
She gave her shoulders a little shake. ‘Well, it’s not for me to say but I couldn’t help wondering if the child was, well, you know….’
‘Shall we go and look for your book now, Mrs French?’<
br />
‘It’s Miss, dear. I never married. Not that I wasn’t asked – many times but I looked after dear Mummy and Daddy until they both died and after that it was….’
‘War and Peace?’
‘Pardon, dear?’
‘Your book. I think you said it was War and Peace. Shall we go and see if we can find it now?’
She took a couple of steps and then stopped. ‘So, I daresay you keep in touch with dear Frances.’
‘Not really.’
‘But you must know if she had the baby.’
‘I’m afraid I don’t.’
‘How sad. I don’t understand these modern marriages. No one really commits any more, do they?’ She glanced at me, the glint in her blue eyes as sharp as glass. ‘Will you be staying overnight?’
‘No, I’m going back later this afternoon.’
‘Going home – to – where would that be?’
‘Miss French, I have things to do so shall we get your book now?’
The smile left her face and her expression hardened. ‘I hope I’m a good neighbour, Miss – Kenning. I do my best to help in whatever way I can. I assure you my only interest is for the welfare of my fellow tenants. And I’ve just remembered that it was someone else I lent the book to. Not Mr Kenning at all. I’m sorry to have troubled you.’
‘That’s quite all right.’ I opened the door for her but as she passed through she delivered her parting shot.
‘Do give my regards to your other sisters when you see them.’ The blue eyes narrowed. ‘Odd how different you all look, isn’t it?’
After she had gone I sat down to digest what she had said. She was a nosy old gossip of course, but probably just lonely. Clearly she’d witnessed young women arriving at the flat, passed off by Chris as his ‘sisters’. And why had he never mentioned that his ex-wife had been pregnant when they split up?
I wandered into the study again and stared at all the discarded paper, evidence of Chris’s frustration. I picked up some of the crumpled balls and put them into the waste paper basket then I spotted a folder on his desk. Opening the cover I saw that he’d made jottings of ideas he’d had. At the top of the page in capital letters he had written, RENEWED AQUAINTANCE followed by OLD AFFAIR. Under this was a series of titles: NEVER LOOK BACK. THE SWEET SCENT OF BURNING. I read on, my eyes widening. He’d outlined a plot idea and as I read my heart quickened. It was our story, from our student meeting and relationship – the parting and meeting again years later. Further on there was blackmail and murder. Anger rose in my chest like a pain. I felt sick. After all the trauma I’d put myself through, after my stupidity in believing every word he said, all the time he had simply been using what we’d had as material for a sleazy detective story. I felt used and humiliated.
Hurrying through to the hall I began to put on my coat; my only desire to get home as quickly as I could and try my best to salvage what I could of my marriage. But I had the door half open when I suddenly remembered what I had come for. Chris was still Jamie’s father. I couldn’t leave without making him aware of the fact. Somehow I had to get him to agree to Jamie’s adoption. Slowly I unbuttoned my coat and settled down to wait, my heart heavy in my chest.
It was almost an hour later when I heard his key in the lock. I stood up, bracing myself, wishing with all my heart that I could fast-forward time so that the coming interview was over, and I was on the train and heading for home.
‘Darling! It’s wonderful to see you at last.’ He threw his coat down and came towards me, arms outstretched but I put out my hands to ward him off.
‘Chris, we have to talk,’ I began, my mouth dry. ‘I must catch the six o’clock train home so there isn’t much time.’
He shook his head. ‘But I thought you were staying for the weekend, to make up for not being able to make it to Sorrento. What’s wrong? You look stressed. Look, have a drink, you’ll feel better.’ He went to the drinks table by the window.
‘No, Chris. Nothing to drink for me. What I have to say needs a clear head.’
He looked put out. ‘Oh. Well, I’m having one anyway.’ He poured himself a stiff whisky and sat down, glancing up at me. ‘Come and sit down.’ He patted the sofa beside him. ‘Whatever’s wrong I’m sure we can easily straighten it out.’
I stayed where I was. ‘This has to be the last time we meet, Chris,’ I said. ‘I think I went a bit crazy for a while but it has to stop now. I’ve come to my senses and I know now what I want.’
‘Oh, you’ve got cold feet.’
‘I said – I know what I want.’
He smiled calmly. ‘And that is?’
‘My marriage means too much to me to throw it away. I love Ian. He knows I’ve been seeing you again and he’s already hurt enough.’
‘Does hurting me not matter then?’
It was my turn to smile. ‘I think you’ll survive very well, Chris. One of your sisters will help you forget.’
He frowned. ‘What the hell are you talking about?’
‘I met a fellow tenant of yours earlier. She seems surprised that you have so many sisters, none of whom look like you.’
His brow cleared. ‘Oh, old Leery Lydia from downstairs. You don’t want to take any notice of her.’ He put down his glass and stood up to face me. ‘All that was before we met up again, Elaine. You didn’t expect me to live like a monk after my marriage ended, did you?’ He laughed. ‘Don’t tell me you were jealous. Is that what this is all about?’
‘No, it isn’t. I have something important to tell you, Chris so you’d better sit down again. It’s serious, something that could have a big impact on all our lives.’
He sighed. ‘Okay, let’s have it.’ He sat down again, crossing his legs and looking up at me with a sardonic smile.
I sat down in the chair opposite and took a deep breath. ‘After we split up all those years ago; after you decided that you wanted to go it alone I discovered that I was pregnant. You have a son, Chris. My son, Jamie, he’s yours.’
If I’d expected him to be shocked or surprised I was wrong. He looked at me, his face a mask. ‘If that’s true why didn’t you get in touch with me at the time?’
‘If it’s true! Do you really think I’d have come here today if it wasn’t?’
He spread his hands. ‘How do I know what women do or why? It could be that, seeing that I’d made a success of my life you saw an opportunity to cash in on behalf of your kid.’
I felt as though all the breath had been dashed from my body. ‘How dare you say that to me?’
‘I’m not saying that’s what you thought – just that it’s a possibility. After all, you must want something from me, if not why are you here? It obviously isn’t for the pleasure of my company – more’s the pity.’
Suddenly I saw him for what he was – for what the years and his success had made him. The Chris sitting in front of me wasn’t the same person I’d known all those years ago. Jamie’s words came back to me: He might as well be an alien from outer space. He’d been right.
‘I’ll tell you what I want from you,’ I said as calmly as I could. ‘My husband, Ian wants to adopt Jamie as his own son. He’s been a father to him since he was very young. Now he wants to make it legal. Unfortunately, I need his biological father to agree.’
‘Oh, is that all?’
‘You mean you’ll give it – your agreement?’ I held my breath.
‘If you want – as long as it isn’t going to get into the papers.’
At that moment I came close to hating him. ‘Are you sure you don’t want a DNA test?’
He shrugged, the cynicism lost on him. ‘I’m prepared to take your word for it,’ he said casually, his back to me as he refilled his whisky glass.
‘And you’re not going to turn up suddenly, demanding to see your son?’ I’d reached the stage where I wouldn’t have put anything past him.
‘Do you honestly think I’ve got nothing better to do?’
‘Considering you’re not even interested in your legi
timate child – no.’
He turned to look at me. ‘I see Lydia’s been spreading the poison. Well, good luck to her. Look, Elaine, I’ve never been interested in kids; never wanted any. I told Frances that before we were married but she went ahead and let herself get pregnant. She broke the deal we made.’
‘You make it sound like breach of contract.’
‘Well, it was.’
‘So now you have two children you’ve never met.’
‘I suppose so. I offered to do the right thing by Frances,’ he went on. ‘I promised to support her and the child – provided they both stayed out of my life.’
‘Big of you!’
He shrugged. ‘She had been warned. As it happens she chose to forego my support.’
‘So you’re letting her struggle alone?’
‘Her choice. Anyway, her parents are loaded. No doubt they’ll see she’s okay and probably find some chinless wonder to offload her on eventually.’
‘You’re all heart, aren’t you Chris? I can’t help wondering what Cecily would have made of you.’
‘Cecily?’
‘Your grandmother – the one who brought you up and educated you. Remember her?’
He was clearly taken aback. ‘I think she’d have been proud of my success.’
‘Maybe, but not of the man you’ve let yourself become.’ I glanced at my watch and gathered up my coat and bag. ‘I’ll have to go now.’ I looked at him. ‘You’ll sign the form that you’ll be sent, then? Giving your agreement to the adoption?’
‘If it means so much to you.’ He got up to pour himself another whisky. ‘By the way, as matter of interest, what was the family crisis that stopped you joining me in Italy?’
I paused. ‘My son’s dog was run over,’ I told him.
He turned to look at me in amazement then he threw back his head and roared with laughter. ‘Honestly, Elaine, you’re priceless. Talk about a grand passion! I don’t know whether to be insulted or flattered. Turned down for a flattened pooch!’
I looked at him, sitting there convulsed with laughter, the whisky slopping from his glass onto the sofa and suddenly I felt nothing more than pity for him. I remembered something he’d told me: I don’t do happy endings. There would be no happy ending for him either. A shelf full of books wouldn’t bring him much comfort when he was old and alone. I thought of the story outline I’d seen on his desk and was tempted to let him know I’d seen it, then I checked myself. He’d agreed to what I asked. There was nothing else I needed or wanted from him – nothing. Anything there had been between us in the past was well and truly dead.
Too Late to Paint the Roses Page 24