by Maeve Haran
She studied the men closely. She could look at their profiles, their marital status, their interests, where they lived, etc., to see if they had anything in common, but she couldn’t actually get in touch. Did she want to?
Laura looked at one of the men, Gavin, more closely. He was fifty-eight, slightly younger than her, with a full head of brown hair and the kind of smile you just had to reciprocate. He wasn’t particularly tall, five ten, but tall enough. He described his size as average, which she found rather engaging. Mr Universe types had never been up her street. He had a degree and under income bracket he had put ‘highest’.
He was also a widower. This really appealed to Laura. She always remembered the advice Ella, herself a widow, had given her. The best bet for a happy relationship was with a widower who had been happily married before, because people who had once been happy could usually be happy again. Like her, he also had grown-up children. The only downside of Gavin seemed to be that he lived and worked abroad. It wasn’t very clear from this brief outline exactly where.
Laura was conscious of a kick of disappointment. What if it were Australia or somewhere like Singapore? And yet, if they were able to make anything of a relationship, maybe living abroad for a while would be exciting. After all, at his age it probably wouldn’t be for that long.
So absorbed was Laura in staring at Gavin’s warm brown eyes that she didn’t hear the phone until it finally clicked to voicemail.
‘Hi, Mum, Bella here. We’re having a party on Saturday, A Night at Rick’s Café American, you know like in Casablanca, to celebrate that we’re finally in the manor. Why don’t you come down?’
Laura smiled at the sound of her daughter’s voice. How lovely she was. But even more strongly than usual, Laura felt glad that she hadn’t signed up with the others. She still had some living to do.
Especially now that Gavin had just sailed over her horizon.
She called Bella back. ‘That sounds wonderful but actually I’m not feeling a hundred per cent.’
‘Oh, Mum, poor you.’ The love and concern in her daughter’s voice made Laura feel a flash of guilt. There was absolutely nothing wrong with her.
It was just that an evening with the computer was suddenly more enticing.
Bella, with her usual energy and panache, forgot about her mother in her enthusiasm to make the party a success. She started by setting out with Noah in his buggy to trawl the thrift shops of Surrey, an excellent area for thrift shopping because its residents were so well-heeled that their throwaways came from Phase Eight or Jigsaw, unlike the usual Primark or Peacocks.
She spied a set of coloured cocktail glasses which were going for a song, a rather wonderful tuxedo which, with luck, she could force Nigel into, a beret which she could wear herself, just right for singing the ‘Marseillaise’, and best of all a rather dog-eared movie poster of Humphrey Bogart playing Rick.
Even better was the Chinese supermarket down a back street where they sold all manner of party decorations. Bella bought red, white and blue bunting, a couple of fake moustaches, the kind worn by bounders and con artists, dozens of tea lights for two pounds, and some lovely combs to put up her hair. They looked so good and were so cheap she bought a load to offer the others.
Afterwards she was about to buy a takeaway coffee but, disgusted by the price tag, she went into the second-hand record shop and bought a CD called La Belle France which featured songs by Charles Trenet, Jacques Brel and Edith Piaf. It wouldn’t be in period but would at least be French and full of atmosphere.
‘Boum!’ she sang, realizing she didn’t actually know any more of the words to Charles Trenet’s famous thirties hit.
‘Boum!’ she improvised. ‘My beating heart goes boum! The birds in the trees go boum!’ That couldn’t be right but Noah was waving his hands and kicking his feet in ignorant delight.
She even found him an outfit with a white shirt and bow tie. It was all going to be such fun!
Rose opened her wardrobe and took out the outfit she’d ordered online from a vintage shop. It was an exact replica of the belted tweed suit, white blouse and wide-brimmed hat with its distinctive black band that Ingrid Bergman had worn in Casablanca.
She was slightly ashamed not at how much it had cost but at her motive, which was to put Mrs Lal firmly in her place. She had been slightly miffed at Bella so enthusiastically agreeing to the ridiculous clairvoyant display the woman had offered. She’d probably come dressed up to the nines as a gypsy queen or Greek sibyl or some such nonsense.
Rose slipped the outfit on, grateful that the skirt was lined, though so it should be at that price. She’d been worried about the size but the whole ensemble fitted perfectly. Rose had even done her hair in the exact style of Ilsa.
She stood in front of her long mirror and added the hat.
The effect was just what she’d wanted. Subtle, sophisticated and classy. The next important thing was timing. If she’d gone to all this trouble, she didn’t want to get overlooked in the crowd. She needed to pick the right moment to make her entrance. She could already hear the French tunes, interspersed with some Sam-style piano, coming from the lounge.
It had been due to start at seven and it was now half past so she decided to take the plunge.
She pushed open the door to find it was quite dark in the lounge, which was lit mainly by lots of tea lights in jam jars, dotted round the room, which was decorated with masses of bunting.
Bella at least turned to greet her. She was, for some reason, wearing a false moustache which, disturbingly, had the effect of making her a rather handsome man.
‘Rose!’ she exclaimed. ‘That outfit! It’s perfect! Where on earth did you find it?’
Suddenly Rose felt embarrassed about confessing to all the trouble she’d been to. ‘Oh, this old thing! Found it in the back of the cupboard.’
She turned to find Claudia, Ella and Mrs Lal in a group talking to some of the young builders. They all, to a man, were wearing black, as if their foreman had issued one of those statements like ‘No Hard Hats, No Work’ but this time it was ‘Only Wear Black’, plus a fez on each of their heads. The result was they made Rose think of six Tommy Coopers about to break into a comedy routine.
There was no sign of Olivia and Len; she had clearly stuck to her word and made sure he did too. Poor old Len.
Lou Maynard was dressed as the disreputably twinkly Chief of Police and Sal, her new hair scrunched under a short wig and resplendent in a white tux, was a very unlikely Bogey.
Behind them Ella was wearing her statement black and had added hair combs to achieve a rather minimal Forties effect. Claudia had tried a bit harder in a taffeta jacket with padded shoulders and a slinky dress that had a hint of Hollywood glamour about it.
Mrs Lal had renounced the gypsy look Rose had expected and was wearing a long square-shouldered suit in white silk crepe material that managed to look discreetly classy while also clingingly suggestive at the same time. A large brooch adorned her left shoulder. Rose had to admit she looked stunning.
‘Isn’t Lalita clever?’ Ella laughed. ‘She’s managed to find a copy of the suit Ingrid Bergman wore in the nightclub scene in Casablanca?’
Fortunately before Rose had the chance to respond scathingly Bella clapped her hands. ‘Ladies and Gentlemen, I’d just like to announce that we have a mystery guest.’
‘Humphrey Bogart!’ suggested Ella.
‘Hardly,’ reproved Mrs Lal. ‘He’s been dead since 1957!’
Bella disappeared through the door into the next room. ‘I’m sorry to have to hide you,’ she apologised to Lord Binns. ‘I just thought you ought to have a dramatic entrance, seeing as us being here is really down to you.’
‘I’ll wear a suit of armour if it would make you happy,’ Murdo twinkled.
Bella decided again that she liked him. Of course he might just be happy because he’d avoided the embarrassment of his hotel going bankrupt and was enabling an exciting social experiment instead. Or maybe he was jus
t a happy man.
She opened the door. ‘Residents, architects, and those who physically changed Igden Manor from a hotel into a home for the rest of us, I give you . . . Lord Murdo Binns!’
Rose was so surprised she spilled her wine down her new suit under the infuriatingly amused eye of Mrs Lal.
Murdo worked his way elegantly through the crowds with a comment here and a handshake there worthy of a minor royal until he arrived in their corner.
‘Rose, what a wonderful ensemble! You’re Ingrid Bergman to the very life. I can already feel my heart breaking at the thought I will have to give you up in the cause of a higher duty.’ He held up his glass and clinked with hers. ‘Here’s looking at you, kid!’
‘Murdo!’ Rose chided flirtatiously. ‘May I remind you that you’re not Humphrey Bogart!’
‘A jolly good thing too!’ Murdo’s patrician tones rang commandingly through the room. ‘Though I have been practising.’ He suddenly drooped his shoulders and adopted an anguished gravelly tone: ‘Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world, she walks into mine . . .’
The little group round him roared with laughter.
‘And who is this?’ he suddenly gazed admiringly at Mrs Lal. ‘Another Ingrid Bergman if I’m not much mistaken.’ He bent and kissed her hand as Rose seethed beside them. Surely at his age Murdo wasn’t falling for that ‘look up through the eyelashes’ routine? Rose realized with deep irritation that was exactly what he was doing.
The soothing tones of ‘As Time Goes By’ tinkled unexpectedly from the piano in the lobby and they all turned to find that Daniel Forrest, looking astonishingly dashing in a white tux and bow tie, sat playing and crooning as if he were simply amusing himself.
‘You’ve got a bloody nerve!’ Don strode across the floor with all the repressed anger he’d felt about Claudia’s flirtation with the man. ‘You nearly broke up my marriage! How dare you come here uninvited!’
Daniel played on as if he didn’t have a concern in the world.
‘As a matter of fact’ – he swung round and smiled at her provocatively – ‘I came to see Ella.’
Ella flushed scarlet. ‘Well I certainly didn’t invite you!’
‘When did you and Ella get to be such bosom buddies anyway?’ Claudia demanded, trying to bite back the jealousy she shouldn’t be feeling.
‘In The Laden Ox. We were neighbours. Ella had her cabin in the woods. She knew I went to the pub twice a day and she’d pop in.’
‘You didn’t mention that!’ Claudia flashed at Ella. ‘You never told me you were involved with Daniel.’
‘Because I’m not!’ insisted Ella. The truth was, she had found Daniel attractive. Until today.
‘Well, you’re not bloody welcome here!’ insisted Don angrily, taking a swing at him, which missed because Daniel ducked expertly, so that Don hit his hand hard on the piano casing and it began to bleed over Daniel’s white tuxedo.
‘Are you all right?’ Claudia rushed over.
After that the party went with quite a bang.
‘Well,’ Rose said, beginning to see the funny side, ‘this has been an evening to remember. To think I thought retirement would be boring. I think I’d better leave before something even more dramatic happens. A murder perhaps, or a virgin birth.’
‘You shouldn’t go yet,’ coaxed Bella, eager to keep the party going since she’d been to so much trouble. ‘We haven’t had the fortune telling yet!’
Rose noticed Murdo kissing Mrs Lal’s hand again before he headed towards Rose. How could he be so stupid when he’d professed himself undyingly attached to her?
‘Really, Murdo,’ she couldn’t resist jibing, ‘you should be careful. You know what they say. “There’s no fool like an old fool.”’
Sensing the tension in the air was mounting to dangerous levels, Hiro appeared and began to solemnly declaim:
‘Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments; love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove.
O no, it is an ever-fixed mark
That looks on tempests and is never shaken:
It is the star to every wandering bark,
Whose worth’s unknown, although his height be taken.
Love’s not Time’s fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
Within his bending sickle’s compass come;
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
If this be error and upon me proved,
I never writ, nor no man ever loved.’
They had all been expecting the rather hackneyed sweetness of ‘Let Me Compare Thee to a Summer’s Day’, and Hiro’s choice, so appropriate to all of them here, who, apart from Bella and the builders, had indeed found alteration and might quite easily find themselves at the edge of doom, had a startling effect.
Murdo Binns reached for Rose’s hand and raised it to his lips.
Lou pulled Sal closer to him and repeated into her ear, ‘Love is not love which alters when it alteration finds.’
‘Just as well for you,’ she whispered back, stroking his head which was bald as a billiard ball.
‘Love’s not Time’s Fool,’ Ella murmured, thinking of Laurence and all they’d missed due to his early death.
‘The star to every wandering bark . . . well, that’s certainly me,’ Mrs Lal sighed. ‘But no sign of love on the horizon.’
‘I thought love was your business,’ remarked Rose, feeling mean.
‘Yes,’ Mrs Lal agreed, suddenly humble, ‘but it hasn’t worked for me. I’m still alone.’
‘You know.’ Lou was watching Hiro, fascinated. ‘I think we can be proud of ourselves. It’s hard to believe that little guy isn’t human. He has such extraordinary empathy. The one thing robots have lacked till now is empathy, and Hiro has it in spades.’
‘Glad you liked it.’ Hiro pirouetted on his metallic wheels. ‘Time for me to remind Len to go to the toilet.’
Lou fell about laughing. ‘And he certainly knows how to deliver a one-liner as well.’
‘Do you know,’ Mrs Lal announced dramatically, swishing her white Ingrid Bergman suit with all the old-fashioned glamour of a forties movie star. ‘I think this is not the moment for looking into the future. Let us leave the last word to Shakespeare and wait until another time.’
Lou’s eyes twinkled appreciatively as she sashayed out of the room. ‘And she’s not bad at making an exit either.’
‘I wonder what happened to Mr Lal,’ speculated Murdo. ‘I mean, there must have been a Mr Lal if there’s a daughter. Certainly in India.’
‘She probably dumped him on a rubbish tip outside Calcutta on her rise to TV stardom,’ Rose speculated, just a shade too crisply.
‘Now, now, Rose,’ Murdo suggested naughtily, ‘anyone would think you were jealous.’
As Laura wasn’t there to correct them, no one suspected that it was Mr Lal who had dumped her.
Eighteen
‘Oh God, that was pretty much a disaster!’ Claudia slumped as they got ready for bed in the coach house. She’d decided it might be more diplomatic not to mention Daniel Forrest at all.
‘Nonsense!’ Don challenged. ‘I thought it was an evening full of promise.’
‘If you like ego clashes on an operatic scale.’
‘Better than boredom. Who wants to go gently into the good night? Not me. I could have done without your fancy man showing up, though. Is he really involved with Ella?’
‘God knows.’ Claudia sat down in front of the mirror at her dressing table. ‘She looked pretty stunned. Are you sure your hand’s okay?’
Don grinned. ‘It was worth it.’
Claudia got into her nightdress and opened the door of her bedside cabinet to look for her book. There was a crunch and the front of the cabinet fell off onto the carpet. ‘Bloody MDF!’ she shouted. ‘And I thought the builders were so good.
I hope this isn’t just the beginning. Bella says we need a handyman and we forgot to put it in the budget, so God knows what we’ll do.’
‘Look no further.’ Don, in blue stripy pyjamas, bowed to her formally.
Claudia, thinking of the shelves he’d put up which had promptly fallen down, taking her favourite Murano glass vase with them, found herself lost for words.
Her astonishment was to grow.
‘I’ve been on a course.’
‘When?’
‘Every Wednesday from three till six. Clearly you missed me and my witty conversation.’
‘But where?’
‘Don’t laugh. Organised by the Men in Sheds Movement, Godalming branch.’
Claudia stifled a giggle, feeling ashamed that she hadn’t even noticed his absence.
‘It was an Aussie idea originally but it’s spread all round the world. Men, to be honest, mostly retired men, get together and learn new skills. Furniture restoring, car maintenance . . . I did DIY. Apparently it’s good for our spiritual well-being and sense of self-esteem, all the things we used to get from work. Men need work for self-esteem and go downhill when it stops. I’m surprised you hadn’t noticed.’
‘I know another way to boost your sense of self-esteem.’ Claudia pulled back the duvet invitingly. ‘And it doesn’t even need tools.’
‘I wouldn’t say that,’ Don replied. And before her eyes Don’s manhood rose obligingly to meet the challenge.
Ella lay in bed too angry to sleep. She had been attracted to Daniel, it was true. But the vanity of the man appearing at their party and implying she’d invited him! Had he come to stir things up between Claudia and Don or because he genuinely wanted to see her?
He had looked rather gorgeous in his white tux tinkling away. She mustn’t think like that. She tried to summon up her beloved husband Laurence, dead for five years now, but that didn’t help. Laurence had been tweedy and reassuring. There was nothing either tweedy or reassuring about Daniel Forrest. He was a flirt. Anyone with half a brain could see that.
She wouldn’t think about him. She would go to sleep instead and hope he and his tinkling piano didn’t invade her dreams.