‘Still pretty wonderful the last time I saw her.’ Richard, who had picked up the menu to study it, glanced up smiling. ‘And my own particular garret is’ – he gestured with his hand and his wedding ring gleamed – ‘marginally more comfortable than the one we just watched poor Mimi die in.’
Katrina leaned forward, her elbow on the table, her delicate chin resting upon curled knuckles. Her long black gloves made the skin of her upper arms and shoulders look almost translucently pale. ‘Somehow,’ she said thoughtfully, ‘I can’t see you living in a garret.’ The words were soft, the tone suddenly and unmistakeably coquettish.
Her husband sent her a look like daggers. ‘He doesn’t,’ he said shortly. ‘As you say, that’s hardly Richard’s style. Now – shall we order? I do highly recommend the smoked salmon – they have it sent down from Scotland daily, you know. Splendid stuff. Quite the best I’ve tasted in London.’
* * *
The taxi eased into the stream of traffic that crawled along the Victoria Embankment; lights gleamed upon the dark waters of the river. Annie, snuggled against Richard, her head on his shoulder, sighed happily. ‘Wasn’t the opera lovely?’
‘It certainly was.’
‘The music of Bohème always has to stand entirely on its own, doesn’t it? I mean – there are no fancy costumes or spectacular backgrounds like most operas have. It may be set in Paris but there isn’t much sign of that really, is there?’
He shook his head.
She was quiet for a moment. ‘Richard?’
‘Hmm?’ His hand lifted to her hair, stroking it gently.
‘What is your Paris apartment like?’
He thought for a moment, then laughed a little. ‘Much like the Hampstead one, I suppose.’
‘Except it has shutters?’ she asked after a moment.
‘Yes.’
‘Long ones?’
‘Yes.’
She turned her head to look up into his face. ‘And a balcony?’
She saw him smile in the flickering light. ‘Yes. And a balcony.’
‘With geraniums?’
‘Yes. With geraniums. The only thing Madame Colbert does unstintingly and without complaining is water the geraniums. How did you know?’
‘I just guessed.’ She snuggled her head back onto his shoulder, closed her eyes. ‘And Madame Colbert is your concierge,’ she added after a moment. ‘Is she as much a dragon as Miss Brownel? They usually are, as I remember.’
He laughed. ‘She’s worse. As you say, blood kin to Miss Brownel – but twice her age and harbouring three times as much malice. Rumour has it she eats small children for breakfast.’
Eyes still shut, Annie smiled reminiscently. ‘Paris concierges!’ she murmured. ‘We had one just like that.’
His arm tightened around her, and they fell to silence for a moment. It was Richard who broke it. ‘What did you think of Charles?’ he asked quietly.
She stirred, opened her eyes. ‘I liked him,’ she said slowly. ‘I really did. But—’ She stopped.
‘Yes, I’m sorry. Katrina is a bit difficult to take, isn’t she? I should have warned you.’
Annie yawned. ‘I must admit I didn’t like her very much,’ she said. ‘And she did have an awful lot to drink. Does she always flirt like that?’
He laughed a little. ‘I wouldn’t exactly call it flirting.’
‘I would. She couldn’t keep her eyes off you.’ There was amusement rather than rancour in the words.
He grinned.
‘Anyway – I don’t have to like her, it’s Charles that I’ll be seeing.’ She shifted her head again to look up at him. ‘I got the distinct feeling that he was – well – watching me. Not nastily, but… attentively.’
‘You don’t miss much, do you? You’re right. He was.’ Richard hesitated. ‘Apparently there are certain types of people who are more likely to benefit from treatment by hypnosis than others. He was explaining it to me. He was very interested to hear that you occasionally sleepwalk. And had guessed that Bohème would make you cry.’ He fell silent.
‘Go on,’ she said, interested.
He said nothing for a moment.
‘Richard? Go on – what did he think, having met me?’
‘He said… we had a word, while you and Katrina were in the powder room. He thinks you’re an all but perfect subject. He—he really thinks he can help you. But – Annie – seriously, I’m still not sure—’
‘Good!’ She interrupted him, snuggled her head onto his shoulder, closing her eyes. ‘Good. Maybe we will get to Paris after all.’
Richard turned his head away to look out of the window. He said nothing. His face was sombre in the darkness.
* * *
‘Liverpool Street Station, love?’ The taxi driver picked up Jane’s case, dropped it, picked it up again.
‘Yes, please.’ Jane winced and looked after the man’s retreating back in some irritation. ‘That’s bad news.’
‘What is?’ Annie handed her mother her gloves.
‘He called me “love”. That probably means he’ll want to chat all the way to Liverpool Street. It’s a sure sign.’ Jane kissed her daughter’s cheek warmly. ‘Now – you will let me know how it goes, won’t you? Tell you what – I’ll telephone you. From the pay telephone in the post office. On Tuesday afternoon. You can tell me all about it. I must say this telephone business could turn into quite good fun.’
‘You’d better take the Hampstead number too, then. I’m not altogether sure where we’ll be.’ Annie laughed a little. ‘Having two homes is all very well, but it can get a bit confusing. Hold on a minute, I’ll get it for you.’ She disappeared into the sitting room, came back with a slip of paper. ‘There.’
Jane took the paper and tucked it into her handbag. ‘Will Richard be going with you?’
Annie shook her head. ‘No. Charles wants to see me alone. He says that having someone else there would be distracting.’
Jane hesitated for a moment, a faint crease furrowing her brow. ‘Annie, darling… I haven’t said this before – but are you absolutely sure about this? You do hear of such charlatans. To be honest I can’t deny that I’m… a little uneasy about it.’
‘I’m absolutely sure.’ The words were firm. ‘I’ve quite made up my mind. You of all people know how much Davie wants to make this wretched trip. He’s talked of hardly anything else since he let it slip the other day. And I know it isn’t fair for me to hold him back. It’s never been fair that I haven’t been able to take him back to the city where he was born. Up until now he’s been as good as gold about it. But since he’s met Richard, and talked about it, things have changed. You mustn’t worry, Mother. I’m sure everything will be perfectly all right. Neither Richard nor Charles would do anything that would harm me. I’ve met Charles; you haven’t. I trust him implicitly.’
Jane sighed, put a sympathetic hand on her arm. ‘And – if it doesn’t work?’ she asked. ‘From what I gather there’s no guarantee that it will. What then? Would you let them go without you?’
Annie hesitated. ‘I don’t know. I hope it won’t come to that. But’ – she pulled a small, wry face – ‘but yes, I think I would. You know Davie. Once he gets his teeth into something he rarely lets go. And yes, I know, it’s I who have spoiled him. I just don’t think I’d be able to bring myself to disappoint him so.’
‘Jane—’ She looked up. Richard was standing above them on the stairs. Smiling, he ran quickly down to her side and hugged her. ‘Goodbye. Have a good trip. Come back soon.’
Jane beamed. ‘I will.’
‘I’ll bring them down to see you soon, I promise.’ He smiled slyly. ‘Perhaps Joshua would care for a spin to the country?’
Jane pulled on her gloves, avoiding their eyes. ‘Actually, he’s already suggested it.’
Annie kept a straight face. ‘You mean that he might like to come with us to see you?’ she asked innocently.
Her mother pulled a decidedly impolite and unmotherly face at her
. ‘You know very well that isn’t what I mean,’ she said. ‘I’m sure he’d be delighted to come with you if you invite him. But he’s coming next weekend anyway. He fancies a weekend away from the city.’
Richard laughed delightedly. ‘He fancies a weekend with you, you mean, Mother-in-law,’ he said.
‘Richard, please!’ Jane was pained. ‘Don’t call me that. It smacks of bad music-hall jokes.’
‘Anything less like a music-hall joke than you I can’t imagine.’ Richard kissed her. ‘Off you go, the meter’s ticking. We’ll see you soon.’
They watched her down the path, waved off the taxi, closed the door.
Annie turned to go into the kitchen.
Richard put out a detaining hand. ‘And just where do you think you’re going, Mrs Ross?’
‘I was going to start supper.’
He shook his head. ‘Davie isn’t due home until four. You’ve plenty of time to start supper.’ Gently he drew her towards the stairs. ‘It just so happens that I’ve got a much more imaginative idea…’
Chapter Fifteen
‘I’m sorry to disappoint you, Mother, but I truly can’t tell you anything because I hardly remember a thing about it. Charles did warn me about that. All I know is that he seems very pleased with me, that he was rather more than cautiously optimistic and that I have an appointment to see him again in three days’ time.’
‘You don’t remember anything at all?’ Jane’s voice was surprised. ‘Not even, well, what his office looked like, or anything like that?’
Annie laughed, cradling the receiver in one hand as she picked up her teacup with the other. ‘Well, of course I can remember what his office looked like, silly! I mean I don’t recall anything that happened during the session. Charles says I’m an excellent subject – suggestible, I think he called it – and he’s fairly sure he can do the trick in two or three sessions. You wait – we’ll be on that steamer to come and see you in no time. Won’t Davie love that?’
‘And you don’t feel any after-effects?’ Jane asked curiously. ‘Not even faintly?’
‘Not even faintly. Far from it, I feel perfectly well. I feel as if I’m going to beat it. Charles says that’s half the battle.’
‘Yes, I suppose so.’ Jane still sounded doubtful.
‘Don’t worry, Mother. Charles isn’t some kind of witch doctor, I promise you. Look – sorry – I have to go. Davie’s got a concert at school later this afternoon and if I don’t get there early I’ll finish up sitting right at the back and missing his two minutes of glory. I’m seeing Charles again on Friday, in the morning. You can ring again in the afternoon, if you like, but I doubt there’ll be anything else to report. Anyway – must go, darling—’
‘Give my love to Davie. Tell him to break a leg.’
‘I will. Bye.’ Annie put the phone down, took the cup into the kitchen and then, humming, went to fetch her coat and hat.
* * *
‘Did you think I was good?’ Davie skittered a stone off the pavement and into the gutter with his foot as they walked.
‘I thought you were stunning. Don’t do that, dear.’
Davie, who had taken aim at another pebble, thought better of it and skipped into step beside her. ‘Better than Thompson?’
She smiled down at him. ‘Much, much better than Thompson.’
‘It’s a smashing poem, isn’t it?’ Davie, his cap set at a rakish angle on the back of his head, swung round a tree, his satchel flying. Still full of the adrenalin of public performance, he struck a declamatory pose. ‘If you can keep your head when all about you Are losing theirs and blaming it on you, If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you But make allowance for their doubting too—’
Annie, who felt as if she had heard the wretched piece at least a thousand times in the past few days, and who could have recited the thing herself standing on her head, winced. ‘I don’t think we need to hear it again, dear,’ she said.
Davie took another turn about the tree, ran to catch up with her. ‘It’s a shame that Richard couldn’t have come. Perhaps I’ll recite it for him tonight, when he comes home. It’s his sort of poem, isn’t it? If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster, And treat those two impostors just the same—’
‘Davie! Do calm down! You were very good. I enjoyed it. But I don’t think the whole of Kew wants a free public performance of Rudyard Kipling. Not on a Tuesday afternoon.’
Davie giggled, hitched his satchel higher onto his shoulders. ‘I thought Jamie Saunders made a good job of “Wings of a Dove”,’ he said judiciously, after a moment.
‘That’s very magnanimous of you,’ his mother said dryly. ‘And indeed he did.’
‘I thought Form Three were the best at—oh, no!’ Davie clapped a hand to his mouth. ‘Sorry. I forgot.’
‘Now what are you talking about?’
‘Today was your day for Mr Draper, wasn’t it?’
She nodded.
‘How did you get on?’ He was watching her eagerly.
‘Very well, it seems. Charles was pleased at any rate.’
‘What about you?’
She smiled. ‘I don’t actually remember much about it. I remember getting there, and I remember having a cup of tea with Charles and then leaving. But the bit in between is a bit of a blank. All I know is that Charles said that he was optimistic, that he thought I was a very good subject and that he was sure he could help me.’
‘But – that’s wizard! That means we can—’
Davie stopped as his mother shook her head sharply. ‘Don’t go jumping to conclusions yet,’ she said. ‘I don’t want you to be disappointed.’
‘But it’s better than if he’d said he couldn’t help you, isn’t it?’ Davie ventured, ever hopeful.
‘Yes,’ she conceded, ‘it is.’
‘When will we know?’
She smiled a little at that ‘we’. ‘I’m seeing him on Friday morning, and then again early next week. He says we should have a good idea by then if it’s worked or not.’
Davie cocked his head on one side. ‘How will we know?’
‘He’s suggested that when he thinks I’m ready we should go for a trip on one of the river boats. That way, I’ll know that if I’m frightened I can get off, so it won’t worry me so much.’
‘So when will that be? Next week?’ The eagerness was back. ‘It’s only just over a week to the summer hols. Richard says he’ll have to book – and there are passports and things—’
‘Davie!’ The word was exasperated. ‘It’s a long way from a trip on the river to the Tower of London and a fully fledged crossing of the Channel! Wait and see!’
Davie subsided, but his mother glanced at the bright, ardent face with a sinking heart, and not for the first time wished that her son were not quite so relentlessly single-minded.
* * *
The clock in the sitting room struck seven. Annie went to the French windows and called across the garden to where Davie was sailing a tiny paper boat on the little pond. ‘Bedtime in half an hour, Davie.’
Without turning his head Davie lifted a hand in acknowledgement, his attention fixed on his small, frail craft. The evening had chilled a little; goosebumps lifted on Annie’s arms as a fresh breeze stirred the curtains. She rubbed at her skin briskly; she had left her cardigan upstairs.
To reach the main bedroom she had to pass Davie’s room; the door stood ajar. As she passed she glanced in and was startled to see Richard standing by the bed with his back to her, looking at something he held in his hand. She pushed the door open a little further, took breath to speak; and then, seeing what he held, exhaled it softly and slowly. Quietly she walked into the room, came up behind him. She knew he had heard her, but he did not turn. For the moment, neither spoke.
‘May I ask you something?’ he said after a moment, still without turning.
She waited in silence.
He looked down at the blurred photograph in its battered silver frame. ‘Davie once said that he had a pi
cture of his father and that the picture looked like him. It does. Does that mean that this isn’t Philippe?’
‘No,’ she said, her voice expressionless, ‘it is Philippe. The likeness is coincidental. Davie’s father was fair, and the boy inherited my dark eyes. That’s all. When Davie found that photograph and decided it looked like him I didn’t have the heart not to let him keep it. Perhaps I was wrong. I don’t know. I can’t see that it does any harm, really.’
Richard studied the photograph. A tall, slim young man, thin-faced, with a mop of fair hair and dark eyes, leaning on the parapet of a bridge, laughing into the camera. The image was blurred and faded. ‘Annie?’ he asked very quietly, very gently, his back still to her. ‘What did happen? Who was Davie’s father?’
Her mouth tightened stubbornly. ‘Richard, it’s irrelevant. A world and a lifetime away. I don’t want to talk about it. Not now. Not yet. You promised.’
‘Yes.’ Sighing, he turned, the photograph still in his hand. ‘Just one thing. Do you think he’s still in Paris?’
She shook her head. ‘I doubt it. I imagine he’s dead.’ Her voice was entirely unemotional. ‘There’s been a war, remember. A lot of men died.’
‘A lot of us didn’t,’ he said gently. He held her eyes for a long moment, then put the frame in her hands and left the room. At the door he paused and turned. ‘I’m sorry, I forgot to tell you – I have to go to Paris for a couple of days early next week. With any luck, once I get back – if Charles is right – we can try that river trip, if you’d like. Oh, and just in case you do decide to try for Paris, I’ve got someone looking into the passport situation for both of you. Seems better than leaving it to the last minute.’
Annie nodded silently, her eyes still on the photograph.
She heard him run lightly down the stairs, heard Davie’s voice lift as he joined him in the garden. She stared down at the picture, closed her eyes for a moment. Then she bent to put the frame down on the bedside cabinet, set it with careful precision at the right angle and left the room, closing the door quietly behind her.
Treacherous Waters Page 20