An Unsuitable Match

by Joanna Trollope

  Rose was nettled by the email. She was, she realized, indignant that Prue should have all these friends and have made all these plans without consulting her or telling her beforehand – even though, she also had to acknowledge, she didn’t want to nurse anyone in Bridport or respectfully admire mosaics in Ravenna in an undoubtedly know-all and elderly cultural group herself. There was just the smallest air of reproach in Prue’s email, something very slightly reproving that seemed to imply that while Rose was absorbed in her persistent folly, she, Prue, had better and more worthwhile things to do.

  Rose snatched up her phone at once and rang her sister. All she got was Prue’s measured voicemail message, altered this time to say that she was away with an intermittent signal for the next two weeks, and to warn callers about European roaming charges for the next two weeks after that. Rose threw down her phone in a temper, causing Tyler to stop cleaning the kitchen windows as he was doing, and ask what was the matter.

  ‘Nothing,’ Rose said. ‘Just a minor irritation. I wanted to speak to Prue.’

  Tyler put down the balled-up newspaper he was holding, and came across the kitchen.

  ‘Then leave her a message, sweetheart. Tell her to ring you back.’

  Rose said childishly, ‘I wanted to talk to her. She’s going away for a month.’

  ‘Rosie, nobody can’t be contacted these days unless, like Mallory, they choose not to be. Maybe Prue’s choosing not to be. Maybe she needs a rest from us all.’

  Rose didn’t look at him. ‘That’s what I don’t like.’

  ‘I know, sweetheart. It was hurtful she wouldn’t come to the party, I know it was. But she is as she is. It doesn’t mean she doesn’t love you like she always has. Come on, Rosie, relax a bit.’

  ‘I don’t want to.’

  ‘What? Because Prue won’t play cosy sisters, you’re cross with me?’

  She shook her head and stepped away from him. ‘No.’

  ‘What then? Promise you she isn’t saying she doesn’t love you.’

  Rose held up a hand. She said clearly, looking at the shining windows he had just cleaned, ‘I know that. And it isn’t that, it isn’t that at all. It’s . . .’ She paused and then she said, in a rush, ‘It’s more that she manages to make me not like myself at all, to feel as if I’m somehow behaving rather badly. And that, I’m afraid, makes me cross.’

  *

  Mrs Gaffney – ‘Please call me Nancy,’ she’d said to Rose – spent a great deal of time at the mews house. She wanted Rose to take her through every plant, and its history, in the garden, and to understand exactly how all the utilities worked in the house.

  ‘Jim is amazingly impractical, especially for an engineer,’ she said to Rose. ‘I am the one who always fixed everything in our house in Toronto: roof, plumbing, wiring, everything.’

  Rose beamed at her. ‘I did a course, when I was first on my own. It was brilliant. I learned how to tile and how to hang wallpaper. And doors. Can you hang a door?’

  ‘I’d love you to teach me. Maybe there’ll be a chance to help you when you move to the cottage?’

  ‘Who knows?’ Rose said airily. ‘Now you know where the fuse box is, and I’ll show you the water main.’

  Nancy put a hand on her arm. ‘Why did you say “Who knows?” like that? Haven’t you exchanged contracts on the cottage?’

  Rose hesitated a moment, then she said, looking squarely at Nancy, ‘No.’

  ‘Oh, my dear . . .’

  ‘I expect we will, though. Maybe this week.’

  Nancy swallowed. She took her hand back and clasped it with her free one. ‘Rose . . .’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘If – you haven’t exchanged contracts on the cottage, does that mean you have changed your mind about selling this?’

  Rose smiled at her. ‘No.’

  ‘That is such a relief. I know it’s only a house, but Jim and I have completely lost our hearts to it.’

  ‘I know. I wouldn’t dream of not selling to you.’ She smiled more broadly. ‘Anyway, contracts are exchanged. Legally, it’s yours. In my mind anyway. I know what it means to you.’

  ‘I don’t want to pry,’ Nancy said carefully, ‘but if the cottage isn’t a certainty . . .’

  ‘Oh, I think it will be,’ Rose said. ‘There’s just been such a lot going on, and the party and everything, you know.’

  The front door opened and slammed shut, and Tyler called out, as he always did, ‘Home, sweetheart!’

  Nancy glanced at Rose. ‘That is so adorable.’

  Rose called back, ‘In here! With Nancy.’

  He came into the sitting room, a pale-blue wool scarf round his neck and a huge sheaf of purple parrot tulips in his arms. He held the flowers out to Rose.

  ‘For you, my lovely. Couldn’t resist them.’

  ‘Oh,’ Nancy said. ‘So cute, so romantic.’

  Rose looked down at the tulips. ‘Gorgeous,’ she said.

  Tyler kissed her cheek. Then he turned and kissed Nancy’s too. ‘Talking stopcocks again, ladies?’

  Nancy was laughing. ‘How did you guess?’

  Tyler cocked his head in Rose’s direction. ‘She’s a dab hand with a plumber’s wrench.’

  Rose moved away. ‘I’m just going to put these in water.’

  ‘Drink?’ Tyler said to Nancy. ‘It’s after six. I’ve learned to make a devilish martini.’

  Nancy was still laughing. She shook her head. ‘I must get back. Jim’ll be finished with all his meetings by now. But thank you.’ She raised her voice. ‘And thank you, Rose, for another great afternoon.’

  Rose appeared in the kitchen doorway holding a single tulip. ‘My pleasure, Nancy. Come any time. Bring Jim.’

  Nancy said happily, ‘I don’t think any house sale has ever been attended by all the angels the way this one has.’

  Tyler sketched his little half-bow. ‘That’s how we like it, ma’am.’

  Nancy crossed the room to kiss Rose. ‘I hope you have good news on the cottage very soon.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Rose said. She watched while Tyler escorted Nancy out of the sitting room and waited, listening to their voices in the hall, and the firm click of the front door closing behind her. Tyler came back to the sitting room with evident energy, tearing off the scarf and tossing it towards an armchair. He said, ‘Nice woman.’

  ‘She certainly is.’

  ‘And she adores this house. It’s wonderful to be selling to someone so committed and decent who will cherish the house as you have.’

  ‘Yes.’

  He glanced at her, checked by her tone. ‘Rosie? What’s the matter?’

  She looked down at the tulip in her hands. ‘I’m not sure.’

  ‘But something. Definitely something.’ He came to stand close to her. ‘Tell me.’

  She didn’t look up. She said quietly, ‘You shouldn’t have bought me these.’

  He peered at her, incredulously.

  ‘What?’

  She raised her head to look at him.

  ‘You shouldn’t have bought me expensive tulips. You shouldn’t have bought me an expensive dress for the party. We shouldn’t have had the party.’

  He tried to take her shoulders in his hands, but she stepped back into the kitchen.

  ‘What are you talking about?’ Tyler demanded. ‘What’s got into you? It’s all paid for, dress, flowers, party, everything. I paid for all of it. With real money, cash money, not credit card never-never money. What is it, with you and money?’

  Rose regarded him steadily, still holding the tulip in front of her as if it were somehow guarding her.

  ‘Can I ask you something?’

  Tyler spread his hands, shrugging.

  ‘Anything. Always. You know that.’

  Rose hesitated. Then she said in a rush, ‘Where did the money come from?’

  ‘What money?’

  ‘The money for the party. The money for my dress. The money for my ring.’

  ‘Jesus,’ Tyler said.
‘Anything else?’

  ‘Well yes,’ Rose said inexorably. ‘The money for the rental on your flat, for living in London since January, for our meals out.’ She stopped.

  Tyler smiled at her.

  ‘It was real money, I promise you. It wasn’t borrowed or stolen or come by nefariously. It was bona fide money, and mine to spend.’

  Rose raised the tulip a little, as if to emphasize what she was saying.

  ‘But where did you get it? Since you seem to have owned nothing in America and you haven’t sorted out your pension there, I have to ask you where you got the money you’ve spent the last six months.’

  Tyler tried to smile at her. ‘Sweetheart . . .’

  ‘Please,’ Rose said. ‘Why don’t you want to tell me?’

  ‘I don’t want to upset you.’

  ‘Upset me?’

  ‘You mightn’t like my answer.’

  Rose gave the tulip a little shake. ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because – the truth isn’t very tactful.’

  ‘To whom?’ she almost shouted. ‘To me?’

  ‘Yes,’ he said reluctantly.

  ‘But why?’

  Tyler drew a deep breath. He looked away, and then he looked back at Rose.

  ‘Because, my darling and my only love, the love of my life, I don’t think one wife – or soon-to-be wife – much wants to think that she has in a way been paid for by her predecessor.’

  Rose gazed at him. ‘What?’

  He said simply, ‘Cindy left me some money to tide me over. Cash. In a bank account. It’s gone now, but it paid for the last year and especially the last six months.’

  Rose glanced at her hand. ‘My ring . . .’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And the party and the dress and the meals out and the flowers and the flat and—’

  ‘Stop it,’ Tyler said. ‘Yes. Yes. But I didn’t want you to know.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because it would upset you. And it has. Look at you!’

  Slowly, Rose shook her head. She whispered, ‘Look at you.’ She held the tulip out to him.

  ‘What’s this?’

  ‘Please take it. It’s yours, really.’

  ‘I knew that it would upset you to know where the money had come from.’

  ‘No,’ Rose said, ‘that doesn’t upset me at all. Poor Cindy is what I’m thinking. Poor Cindy.’

  ‘She was, in a way. That’s a very healthy reaction, actually. As well as being typical of you.’ He smiled at her more confidently. ‘Poor Cindy indeed.’ He took the tulip, holding the stalk where Rose had held it. ‘She loved tulips. Any rather elegant and architectural flowers were what she liked.’

  Rose cleared her throat. She said, ‘Did you say that all the money has gone – the Cindy money, that is?’

  He nodded. ‘Pretty much. There’s just enough left to cover a secret that I’m not telling you about yet but which you’ll love. But it doesn’t matter. The timing’s perfect, really.’

  ‘Sorry?’ Rose said.

  He inspected the tulip, then he looked back at Rose, his expression as open and unclouded as ever.

  ‘Sweetheart. It couldn’t be better really. I run out of funds I’ve been living off just as you sell this house which releases a whole lot more.’

  ‘But . . .’

  ‘But what?’

  ‘The proceeds of the sale of this house are mine. This is mine to sell. The money is mine.’

  Tyler regarded her. ‘Oh dear.’

  ‘What d’you mean, “oh dear”?’

  ‘In my book,’ Tyler said, ‘and I thought in yours, who owns what isn’t relevant. It completely, utterly doesn’t matter. If there’s money, it belongs to us both, and where it came from is of absolutely no consequence at all. I entirely respect your right to dictate how the bulk of the money from this house is spent, I’ve said so over and over, but day-to-day modest – modest – expenses are, to my mind, a joint affair.’

  ‘Did Cindy think like that?’

  ‘Cindy, sweetheart, was the complete opposite! It was one of the many reasons that we were so hopelessly incompatible.’ He raised the tulip. ‘May I put this poor thing in water with its friends?’

  Rose stood aside to let him pass. ‘Of course.’

  ‘Just to go back to where this conversation started,’ Tyler said, ‘and reiterating what a nice woman Nancy Gaffney is – indeed, what a nice couple they both are – shall I ring the solicitor before they close and ask what has happened to the contracts on the cottage? I really can’t see what’s delaying a simple exchange like this.’

  Rose moved to take the tulip out of his hand and add it to the vase. ‘I’ll do it.’

  Tyler said affectionately, ‘Of course. You have such a way with flowers.’

  ‘No,’ Rose said, ‘I meant that I’ll ring the solicitor tomorrow.’

  ‘But I don’t want you to have to do anything like that.’

  ‘I want to,’ Rose said.

  ‘Do you? But I’ve spoken to them up to now.’

  ‘I want to,’ Rose said again.

  ‘Of course, sweetheart. If you ring right now, you might just catch them.’

  ‘Tomorrow,’ Rose said.

  ‘But we don’t want to lose another day.’

  Rose turned from the tulips to look at him. ‘There’s no hurry. I’ll ring them in the morning.’

  Tyler said uneasily, ‘If you’re sure.’

  ‘I am.’

  He came across the room to embrace her. ‘You’re a woman in a million. You know that? Or hundreds of millions to be more accurate. If I’d known how wonderful you’d be about Cindy’s money, I’d have told you at the beginning.’ He looked down at her and tenderly brushed a wisp of hair out of her eyes. ‘Now, wonder woman, can I make you a wicked martini?’

  *

  At three in the morning, Rose remembered something Tyler had said the previous evening, and that she had been too overwhelmed by other disclosures to follow up. He had mentioned a secret, a secret plan that he was joyfully certain she would love. But she had omitted to ask him anything further because – well, because the evening had been difficult enough as it was, stilted from the moment she had declined the martini, strained all through supper and unsatisfactory television to the final shame of pretending to be asleep – something she had not done since the declining years of being married to William – when Tyler came to bed. She had been conscious of him studying her face before he turned the light out, of the toothpaste scent of his breath and then the unbearable gentleness of the slow kiss he planted on her nearest cheek. She turned to look at him now, while he slept, his face just visible in the glow from her clock radio, turned on his side towards her as usual, his expression sweet and sanguine as it invariably was. He was wearing a white singlet and blue-plaid boxer shorts and he looked clean and cared-for and healthy. It was impossible, Rose thought; everything was impossible, whichever way she turned. And so, at three o’clock in the morning, she was thinking about the children. If she thought about the children, panic surged in her stomach and up her throat, boiling up in waves that engulfed any thinking in uncontrollable surges of anxiety.

  She turned over onto her other side so that she didn’t have Tyler’s sleeping face to reproach herself with. She remembered her desperate misery the night of their first quarrel and how hysterical with relief she had been when he had simply said, on hearing her sobbing down the telephone, ‘Thank God you rang, Rosie. Thank God. I’ll be round as soon as I’ve dressed.’

  And he had been. She had opened the door to him, completely dishevelled and distraught, and he had taken her in his arms and held her against him wordlessly, and she had felt that she would never, ever, have to face anything in life alone again. She had clung to him, clung. She stared into the dimness of her bedroom. Now she was lying with her back to him and she had chosen to do so. It wasn’t just a tiff, this time, either. Was it?

  Quietly, in order not to disturb him, she slid out of bed and onto the c
arpet. Then she got silently to her feet, found her dressing gown where she had draped it over the stool by her dressing table, and let herself noiselessly out of the room. It was, she knew from long practice, five paces along the landing and then nine steps down the stairs, and she held the bannister rail as she went – the bannister rail that would soon be sliding under the Gaffneys’ hands.

  She didn’t put any lights on. The London night sky was glowing above her, bluish and reddish, and as her eyes adjusted, the furniture in the sitting room and even the terrace beyond the glass doors, swam gradually into sharper focus. She crossed the room to look out into the shadowy garden at all her planting, at the new growth on the shrubs, and the white plumes of the inherited lilac bush, and thought of Nancy Gaffney out there, conscientiously tending to everything she had taken over, putting bird seed out, watching rain splashing onto the stones. I feel sad, Rose thought, but I don’t feel utterly bereft at the thought of Nancy Gaffney being here instead of me; I don’t feel, oddly, that I am being replaced against my will. I feel, rather, that I am handing something I have made myself on to someone who appreciates its value and who may alter the details but probably not the essence. I feel OK about Nancy and Jim Gaffney being here and letting their grandchildren help fill the bird feeders. I really do. Even at three in the morning, I feel OK about that.

  She pressed her forehead against the cool of the glass doors and fixed her gaze on an irregular line of cement between the paving stones on the terrace. She had, she noticed, pulled her dressing gown tightly around her, crossing her arms as if she was cold. She wasn’t cold. She wasn’t, now she came to think of it, panicking any longer either. She felt, instead, sad but resolved, and the flutters of apprehension that disturbed the resolve were definitely there, but were not overwhelming.

  Better not to over-plan, she thought; better not to try and anticipate too much. Just a step at a time, as William used – maddeningly correctly – to say; just do one thing, make one decision, and then reassess. She peeled her forehead away from the glass and stood straighter, relaxing the grip on her dressing gown. She would ask Tyler what the secret was, the secret that he had been so sure she would love, but first she would do something else, whatever the consequences. As soon as the solicitor’s office opened in the morning, she would ring them and tell them that she was very sorry, but the offer on the cottage was being withdrawn. They would not, Rose would tell the solicitor, be proceeding with the sale. There would be no exchange of contracts. Thank you, she would say, and our apologies to the vendors. And then she would, somehow, tell Tyler what she had done.