In the interim everything had changed. The being she recognised as Stephen had been metamorphosed as surely as butterfly from caterpillar, though more surprisingly. It was the shimmering Stephen displaying his hidden colours on a conference platform who had inadvertently led her to Ted and then to Jan who spoke of him with such warmth and then to Amy. Amy who called to her from some small dank room where parents didn’t want her.
She too felt different, she realised. Less plaintive, more assured, less constricted, as if the crossing of physical borders had opened up equivalent frontiers in herself. And Amy had given her a purpose which wasn’t just amorphous wish.
She really ought to go and thank Simone for impelling her out of the limbo of inactivity in which she had been trapped.
But what if there was another woman of Stephen’s who wasn’t Simone? Tessa slowly tasted the thought. Funny how it no longer tasted so bitter. That was Ted’s doing. Maybe it was occasionally better to have two women in any case. Or two men. It didn’t feel wrong about her and Ted. Maybe, too, it was better not to know the other woman. It stopped one having to wish for the other’s life.
Yet this newly found equanimity about lovers was hardly the point, Tessa told herself. Amy and Stephen were the point. She had decided, even before she had met Simone last night, that it was imperative that she talk to Stephen. She needed him, wanted him beside her too. It had come to her over these last few days that the Stephen who wasn’t the Stephen of her resentment would be good with children once they were there. He would teach them to see strange life forms in a microscopic world. He would collect things with them, bugs and beetles and those bits of fossil stone one found on beaches, whorls of shell encrusted in their depths. Funny. She suddenly had a sense that it would be nice to be old with Stephen. It was all those years in between that posed a problem.
Yes, Stephen would help her rescue Amy. Of course he would.
Ted wouldn’t. Ted had to know the exact provenance of his children’s DNA, have it catalogued before him in a detailed print out. And Ted was the rub. What if his seed had taken root in her? She would have to tell Stephen that. She would have to tell him in any case just to explain her presence here. Perhaps he would understand, if she underlined what had made her come to France in the first place. Their marriage, after all, had had nothing to do with all that for an eternity. Her fault, too, she would tell him, now that she could see it better, see the burdened, unappealing, trapped self she had been.
And if he didn’t understand?
Tessa pushed the thought away as last night she had pushed Ted away. They hadn’t made love. It hadn’t been so difficult. They were both tired and Ted had been preoccupied.
He was still breathing evenly. Tessa listened for a moment, then glanced at the luminous clock. Six thirty. With smooth, quiet gestures, she rose from the bed and crept towards the bathroom. She would wash and dress softly and head off. There was so much to do.
In the marbled bathroom, she closed the door quietly and switched on the light. Her face in the sudden brightness looked distraught, her features blurry. The confidence of darkness in which the world could be shaped according to one’s dreams faltered. In this pitiless glare, she felt far less certain that Stephen would want anything to do with her.
And then? A single woman of rising age could no more scale the Himalayas of adoption, than a mangy dog could run the Derby. Adoption was difficult enough with two. A colleague at work had told her stories which if they hadn’t been so horrific could only have been humorous. A bad joke. Endless interviews by an investigating social worker. Questions which asked one to foresee an unimaginable future. Foresee everything. As if biological parents did that every time they embarked on the sexual act! Questions which nudged and winked and presumed common assumptions.
‘And how will you feel when you meet other parents and they comment on how different you look from your child?’
‘And what if your husband ups and leaves you and you’re left alone with some stranger’s offspring?’
‘You do know, dear, that in the first months, even a year, after a baby comes into the family, men get a little hesitant about sex. How will you manage about that?’
Well at least she could answer that one. Tessa frowned and scrubbed her face. But the problem remained. How would she put it all to Stephen? Explain? At the best of times, it was laborious enough to get him to focus on her for more than two minutes.
Now if she could get Ted to act as her ambassador, with all his force and suasiveness…
Tessa stopped the hysterical laugh that rose to her throat. I’m not mad, she told her reflection. Or maybe just a little. For a moment. We all are sometimes.
Hurriedly, she applied some make-up to disguise the madness. Switching off the light, she made her way soundlessly into the bedroom. The mirrored wardrobe slid open with a slight whoosh. Softly she took out tights and knickers and bra and lifted trousers and jacket from a hanger. Morning gleamed faintly round the edges of the window. In the room above someone scraped a chair along the floor. She glanced at Ted, then dropped her clothes on the armchair and started to dress with swift, stealthy movements.
‘Planning to steal away?’ Ted’s voice leapt out at her just as she was pulling on her tights.
‘No. I…I fancied an early breakfast.’
‘Only that?’ He stretched out his hand to her.
She hesitated, then walked reluctantly towards him. ‘There’s so much I want to do today.’
He pulled her down beside him. Beneath the covers, his body was warm with sleep and he moved against her with the drowsy languor of a big cat, rubbing his head against her belly, burrowing into her bosom.
‘Not now, Ted,’ she murmured, as he brought her hand towards his penis. She started to edge away, but his arm imprisoned her. Against her back she could feel the effects of her resistance in his tautness.
‘Not now.’ He imitated her primness. ‘Now is good,’ he rumbled in his own voice. ‘We can welcome the dawn.’
He turned her round and she could feel how her coolness roused him. The drowsiness was gone and now he was all strength, strength that pressed her down so hard that she could feel the coils of the mattress digging into her back.
She wouldn’t respond, Tessa told herself, wouldn’t respond even now as his tongue did intricate things with her nether parts. She thought of Amy. And Stephen. Imagined the three of them walking along the Cam, stopping to throw dry bread to the squawking, warring ducks, shiny in their spring plumage. Imagined them in Madingley, the sky winsome in its pale clarity, Amy perched on Stephen’s shoulders gazing up at the flutter of birds and cloud.
She stifled the moan which came to her lips as Ted pushed inside her and despite herself, the pleasure of him worked its way through her body.
And what if she was wrong? The thought wormed its way into her. What if her destiny lay, however briefly, with this robust man, who would structure her days and ways with unflagging energy? She tried to imagine herself in the California he had portrayed, a world of big skies and unshadowed light and futures in which the word ‘old’ had never been invented.
No. Tessa clenched her legs, hoping he would hurry. It wouldn’t be right.
She opened her eyes and saw him gazing down at her, his lips tensed, his eyes slits of glinting anger. She sensed the slap before it came. It didn’t obliterate the surprising force of it, the loosening and shuddering and moan which followed in its wake.
When he finally rolled away from her with a grunt, there was a triumphal look on his face which told her in no uncertain terms who had won the last round in this particular bout.
It made her angry, but she gave him a loser’s shaky smile and hurried for the shower. She didn’t want to think any more. She just wanted to get out. His pervasive presence sucked the oxygen from the air, so that she could only breathe in shallow gasps. It had been like that with Jonathan at the end, her body responding against her better will. And with Stephen, these last years, it had been
the other way round, her will zeroing in on the idea of sex, her body poised in some distant, bloodless void. How did one ever get it right?
Tessa let the rush of water wash her clean, then wrapped the heavy towelling robe the hotel provided round herself. When she emerged from the bathroom, Ted ruffled her hair and without a word made his way past her. She dressed quickly, stopped to glance at herself in the walnut-framed mirror. She needed to look composed, Tessa told herself, and reflected that instead her eyes looked feverishly bright, her mouth indecisively lax. She brushed her hair to a vigorous sheen, applied the peach-brown tinge of her French lipstick.
As she puckered her lips, she heard the clack and whizz of the omnipresent fax machine. Ten past eight, her watch told her. Ted’s business started early. While she put on her coat, she paused to look at the unfurling message.
‘URGENT!!’ it screamed.
‘What’s up? Third instalment on promised programme still not here. Client impatient. Double or nothing. Is this a technical hitch or worse. Am pacifying but urgent reply needed. With schedule.’
‘Heh! That’s private business.’ Ted glowered above her, gripped her arm.
He didn’t reply to her mumbled, ‘Sorry’. Nor did he release her as he scanned the letter. It only etched the glare more firmly on his face.
Tessa shook herself free. ‘Bad news? I’m sorry. I’ll leave you to work now.’ She made her way to the door, murmured a good-bye under her breath.
Her fingers were already on the knob when she felt his hand clutching her shoulder.
He turned her round. ‘You’re not planning on running back to Stephen, just yet, are you Tess? ‘Cause we need to talk. Gifts of one’s DNA don’t come altogether free of sub-clauses, you know.’ He patted her stomach.
Tessa shivered, not quite sure why. His handsome face had an odd look on it, half menace, half desperation.
‘Lots of talk. Later.’ She forced playfulness. ‘And a special candle-lit dinner tonight. Hope your headache’s better.’
‘Where you off to?’
Tessa faltered. ‘I thought I’d have a stroll up to the Castle. Go into St Vitus. Haven’t been there yet.’ She slipped out the door, didn’t let the weight of his eyes on her back slow her steps. He could hardly pursue her in his dressing gown. Just in case, she decided to forgo breakfast in the hotel and made her way out into chill streets.
The hum of workaday life had begun. Muffled in hats and scarfs people walked quickly towards shops and offices. A rubbish disposal van, with the all the heaviness of a converted tank, lumbered past, then stopped, blocking impatient traffic. In its wake, a single street cleaner made vague sweeping motions with a large broom. A child scurried to keep pace with his mother, stooped to pick something off the pavement, and was rewarded with a yank.
In the market square, stall holders had begun to put out their wares. Clumps of bananas, wrinkled apples and tiny oranges lay next to tourist bric a brac. Small bundles of parsley and dill spread their greenery from chipped mugs. Single carnations were proudly displayed amidst embroidered Indian waistcoats and brightly crumpled skirts. Puppets with grotesque leers and bulbous noses drooped from rails, their stage a crate of potatoes still bound by dank soil. Short stocky cucumbers gleamed green next to jars of plum jam. The assortment of articles in any stall made no sense but that of availability.
Tessa stopped to purchase a banana and two apples from a a stocky kerchiefed woman who lingered so disconsolately over her change that she abandoned it. Across the square she spied an Espresso bar, its sign as new and shiny as its flowered plastic table cloths were marked with yesterday’s stains. Despite the cold, she positioned herself at one of two outdoor tables and ordered coffee from a lanky waiter.
She had walked in this very market with Jan on her second day in Prague. How long ago it now seemed. So much life had passed in so brief a space. She stirred restlessly and glanced at her watch. Yes. The office might just be open by now. She popped the last bit of banana into her mouth and downed the coffee, then made her way towards the narrow, still quiet streets of the old Jewish Quarter.
When she reached Rachel’s office, there was a bearded and hatted man sitting in her customary place. The eyes he turned on her were surprisingly blue and youthful above the aging tangle of his traditional beard.
‘I’m looking for Rachel,’ Tessa hesitated.
‘Not here, I’m afraid.’
‘Do you know when she’ll be in?’
He shrugged. ‘I’m not a regular. Sometime this afternoon, I guess. Not for long though.’ His accent was unmistakably American. ‘It’s the Sabbath tonight and she’s got some kind of event on,’ he offered by way of explanation. ‘Can I help? We cover some of the same ground.’
Tessa shook her head dismally. ‘You don’t by any chance know where I might find her?’
‘She could be anywhere today. Maybe one of our regular tours. Maybe not. I can sign you in.’ He looked at her curiously. ‘Or give her a message when she arrives.’
‘Just tell her Tessa Hughes came by. I’m staying at the Pariz now.’
She made dispiritedly for the door, opened it, then turned back. She scrabbled in her bag, brought out a crumpled piece of paper. ‘You couldn’t by any chance point out this address for me on the map.’
He stared at the paper as if it were a piece of encrypted code. ‘You’ve got me there. Wait a minute.’ From behind the counter he brought out a map and carefully unfolded it. ‘I haven’t lived here all that long,’ he muttered. ‘Ya… somewhere around here.’ He jabbed a stubby finger at the eastern corner of the map. ‘Past Zizkov, which is already pretty insalubrious. Past all those concrete heaps which will take an explosion to pull down. You don’t really want to go out there, Ma’am. There isn’t much to see. Unless you’re a sociologist.’ He gave her that curious look again.
‘Do you have any idea how to get there?’
‘Well, if I had a small fortune, I’d probably opt for a taxi. Otherwise…’ He rubbed his beard, started on a long and complicated inventory of trams and tubes. Tessa diligently took notes, sensed that for all his willingness, they would lead her nowhere.
Outside she looked around her with something like desperation. She had a feeling that if Jan had managed to give her Stephen’s address, she might go running to him now. But it was better not. Better to face him with a fait accompli.
If only she could hold Amy in her arms for a few moments, it would give her strength. She had wanted to talk to Rachel’s lawyer friend before heading off. But maybe… She glanced at the complicated set of instructions she had noted, and put them in her pocket. She would go to the American Express Office which her guide book told her would cash cheques quickly, then find an appropriate bank and initiate a transfer. Then she would check back for Rachel again and if she wasn’t there, she would risk it on her own.
With a determined set to her shoulders Tessa, made her way towards Wenceslas Square. By the time she reached the American Express office, there were already several long, straggly queues. She settled herself for an extended wait.
A story Jan had told her popped into her mind. A very Eastern European story, it was about a man who, just before the fall of the Berlin Wall, had been interviewed on the free Western side of a frontier and asked why he had chosen to cross the border. He had admitted, a little shamefacedly, that there had been no prior intention. He didn’t even know where he was. He had simply seen a long queue and joined it. There was always something interesting at the end of a queue.
Maybe the English felt the same way, Tessa thought as she edged patiently forward. She could still remember enjoying queues when she was small. The people next to you always chatted. You made friends. And at the end, there was usually something nice: a ride on the bus, a movie, an ice-cream cone or candy floss, pink and sticky so that it got all over your face and hair.
Ted didn’t like queues. She knew that. He would already somehow have been at the front of this one and made his business blatantly
plain. That was probably why she knew it could never be more between them than an affair, however delicious that at first had been. Now, she had to admit to herself, it was no longer delicious. She felt… what was it exactly she felt?
A loud voice intruded on her thoughts. A large-bellied man was shouting something at the slight woman by his side. His fierce brows moved in time to his mouth. The woman cowered, turned away, unwilling to be seen to be associated with him. He grabbed her arm. ‘I’ve had enough for today,’ Tessa heard the strident rise of his voice. He manoeuvered the woman towards the door. Her tremulous smile was a vain attempt to save face.
That was it, Tessa thought. With Ted, she had begun to feel a little like a prisoner, however soft and velvety the chains with which he bound her.
Ted Knight strode into the cafe of the Hotel Europa, looked around him for a moment and then made his way to the front desk.
‘Madame Lalande Debray. Tell her I’m here.’ He tapped his fingers impatiently on the wooden counter and watched the movements of the receptionist as she bent towards the register. Not bad. She had a soft small butt and her nose turned up and quivered like a greedy little rabbit’s as she talked into the phone.
‘You’re to go up to her room in twenty minutes, please Sir.’ The snout looked up to him.
‘Twenty minutes!’ Ted said scandalized.
‘That is what Madame said, Sir. She is running a little bit late.’
‘Hope she’s got some coffee waiting,’ Ted mumbled. He brought out a copy of yesterday’s Wall Street Journal from his pocket, found a chair, and forced himself to concentrate, though it wasn’t easy amidst the fray of gawking tourists.
He didn’t like the feeling he had at the base of his spine. An irritation, as if the nerves had decided to gang up on the central column. This had all the makings of a black day, his luck at a low ebb. Good thing he still had those last few chips in his pocket, though he had been forced to let one of them out on a string this morning. Couldn’t very well bring her up to Simone. Still at least her purse had been clean, except for that suspiciously scrappy address. He had memorized it, just in case.
The Things We Do For Love Page 31