by Minna Howard
She whirled round to face him. ‘I want you to go away. I want to go home alone. I want to live in peace. You haven’t been here for weeks, so go back to wherever that was and leave me alone.’
‘I was away working. I don’t need to go away in the near future.’
‘Well, keep away from me. I simply detest middle-aged men.’ Her temper broke loose. ‘I am tired of their selfishness, how they think they can have whatever they want, no matter who they hurt.’
‘Is that what your husband did?’
‘None of your business. Now… please go back to your orchids and leave me alone.’ She stormed away from him and turned into their street. She wondered if he was following her, and braced herself with more verbal missiles to throw at him, but he did not come.
She went into her house and double-locked the front door behind her. Catching sight of her angry face in the hall mirror, she felt ashamed at her rudeness. She had not meant it for him, but for Dan – she needed to take her anger out on him, not any other unfortunate man who annoyed her.
Orchids; sinister, beastly things, she thought childishly. Was her neighbour like that, too? Oh, Dan, she sobbed into the curtain. How could you do this to me? Turn me into such a dragon?
Six
It was a warm afternoon in July. The morning had been frantic people coming in to find clothes for summer weddings, Sarah and Briar were rushed off their feet. Celine had been held up at a meeting and had only just arrived. When she could at last catch her breath and sit down, Sarah stared lethargically out of the shop window at the people passing by. She needed a caffeine fix to revive her, but she felt too lazy to get up and make one.
Since her confrontation a few days ago with Robert Maynard, her fragile optimism in her future was severely splintered. She had not seen him since their meeting at the coffee shop, but she was painfully aware that he was next door.
The houses were solid Edwardian, with thick walls, but they let through some sounds – the hum of the vacuum cleaner, faint strands of music, the ping of the burglar alarm being put on and turned off. But the worst place was the garden in the evening, when she and her troublesome neighbour were both at home. They could not see each other through the wall and the high trellis that separated them; the plants were dense, winding their way through the slats of the trellis, covering all the gaps. But what would it be like in the winter when the plants died down? Would she be plagued by seeing him each time she went outside?
It was warm and sunny, and it was lovely to relax or potter in the garden when she got home. It was a pretty well stocked garden and she had bought some of her own plants with her and they were dotted about in terracotta pots blending in with what was there already. But for the last two evenings she had felt uncomfortable sitting there and had instead sat inside, near to the open French windows, inanely thinking that if she went outside he would watch her from an upstairs window. She refused to look towards his house, not wanting him to have the satisfaction of knowing that he bothered her. When she left for work in the morning and returned at night, she prayed that they would not clash on their doorsteps going in or out. His presence, real or imagined, overwhelmed her. She hated to think of him there, plotting his next move to seize the house from her.
She became aware that a man was staring at her from the street. He lifted his hand in a small salute and came into the shop. Her heart gave an alarming lurch. It was the man who’d bought that dress for his baby girlfriend, the man to whom she’d been so rude when she’d knocked into him in Walton Street. Was he coming back to buy more clothes for that dratted ‘pet’? She would have to be polite and not put him off spending more money to boost their profits on this child.
‘Good afternoon.’ Sarah said. She hoped Celine, hearing the door, would come out of the sewing room and deal with him herself or Briar would come back from some errand she was on.
‘I suddenly saw you sitting there,’ he said, with a shy smile. ‘We parted rather badly last time we met.’
Was he going to complain about her rudeness? If he was going to buy lots of clothes for his ‘pet’, she’d better grit her teeth and be nice to him.
‘It gave me such a fright the way we knocked into each other like that. You stood on my foot. That’s why I was so cross.’
‘I’m really sorry if I hurt you.’ He smiled again. He had a nice smile, which glowed in his light-brown eyes. Pity he wasted it on a spoilt schoolgirl.
He glanced round at the brilliant silk and velvet clothes hanging on the racks, as if searching for inspiration. ‘I suppose you wouldn’t like to come out for a drink to make up for it?’ His words tumbled out in a rush.
‘Good afternoon.’ Celine bustled out of the sewing room, a red silk jacket over her arm. She threw one of her radiant smiles in his direction.
‘Good afternoon,’ he said, looking rather self-conscious. He glanced at Sarah, as if gauging her answer to his invitation.
Celine said, ‘Can I help you with anything? That dress you bought earlier in the year was so pretty. We’ve got some new stock in, if you are interested.’
‘The dress was pretty, but I don’t want anything else just now, thank you.’ He looked out of place in this sumptuous, silken den.
A tinge of sympathy for him touched Sarah, but she couldn’t go out for a drink with him. He preferred young girls, like Dan did. She’d only feel older and more wrinkly and flabby just by knowing that. ‘I’ll pack that jacket for Mrs Mattock,’ she said, as a way of escape. Celine handed it to her. She hung it on the rack beside her as she took out wodges of tissue paper and laid them on the counter.
Seeing he was not leaving or wanting anything, Celine still hovered, occupying herself tidying through the rack of clothes, doing up the buttons of a shirt, checking a pair of trousers would not get creased by the way they were placed on the hanger.
‘So?’ he said softly to Sarah.
Sarah busied herself with the paper and the jacket. What harm could a drink do? It was hardly an invitation to bed – or anything else, for that matter. No doubt he thought she was a motherly type and wanted someone to talk over his affair with. Well, he’d chosen the wrong person in her! ‘When were you thinking of?’ She felt she had to say something.
‘After you finish here today?’
Today? Now? She needed time to think, but she supposed it would be better to do it now, not dither away wondering whether she would or wouldn’t go. It meant she wouldn’t have to go straight home, risk Robert jumping out of his front door, armed with some other proposal to seize her house. ‘Thanks.’ Then, thinking she sounded ungracious, she added, ‘I’d love to.’
‘Good.’ He looked relieved. He named the wine bar just down the road before leaving the shop.
Celine rolled her eyes with exaggeration ‘My, I think he fancies you.’
‘I don’t. Remember that young girl he brought in? Probably got her pregnant or something, and wants my advice,’ Sarah remarked gloomily. ‘Bet he starts with, “as a mother, what would you do?”.’
‘I’m sure that’s not true. How does he know you’re a mother anyway?’ Celine looked out into the street at his fast-retreating back.
‘I might change my mind and not go; though it is something to do. Good practice for my new life,’ Sarah said, putting the tissue-wrapped jacket into a bag. ‘There, shall I call a taxi to deliver it?’
‘Yes, the housekeeper should still be there.’
When she’d done that, Celine said, ‘I’ve been asked to spend a week with the Fieldings in Italy at their huge villa; you know I go there most years. It’s the first week of August. They suggested I brought a friend and, as I’ve no particular man in tow at the moment, I wondered if you’d like to come. You’d only have to pay for the air ticket, and there’s plenty of good deals around.’
‘Oh, Celine, but what about the shop?’
‘I’ll get Maggie in to help Briar to run it for a week. August is dead, anyway. Just a thought, you might like to get away.’
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nbsp; ‘I would.’ She thought longingly of the russet light of Italy, the familiar landscapes mirrored in Renaissance pictures. She hadn’t planned a holiday at all this year, put it out of her mind each time it nudged at her. Usually every summer she and Dan, and any child who wanted to, went somewhere together. Where would he take that mouse? She was filled with bitter jealousy. ‘Yes,’ she said, hugging Celine, ‘I’d love to come, thanks so much for asking me.’
‘Good. You’ll like it there; it’s very laid-back. All sorts of people come in and out. I spend most of my time lying in the sun, reading – you can do what you like.’
Excitement buzzed through her. It was something to look forward to. Being a single woman able to please herself without have to fit in with a husband or partner. Celine often went away on her own – though staying with friends was hardly on her own, but it was something Sarah was going to have to get used to.
Three customers came into the shop, one after another Briar got tied up with one leaving the others to Sarah and with her mind filled with thoughts of Italy she almost forgot the drink ahead. She’d forgotten the man’s name, which was highly embarrassing. She wouldn’t go. Then it was half-past six and they closed the shop.
‘I think he’s called Charles,’ Celine said as she left, going down the street in the opposite direction to the wine bar. ‘Have fun.’
‘Oooh, got a date?’ Briar said with a smile.
‘Not really,’ Sarah said hovering outside the now locked up shop.
Somehow it seemed more complicated not to go. He seemed nice enough and would ‘do for practice’. She remembered the hideous insult girls at school long ago had used to describe some hapless youth: ‘I wouldn’t even use him for practice.’
None of this helped her nerves as she approached the wine bar. He can’t eat you, she told herself. That was the sort of thing her mother had said to her when she first began to go out on dates. Teenage nerves in a middle-aged body, she thought wryly, taking a deep breath before going in. The bar had floor-to-ceiling plate-glass windows; it was like being in a goldfish bowl, with the whole street looking in.
‘Good to see you.’ He was sitting at the bar, a huge chrome curve, with leather bar stools arranged along its length. A large vintage glass jar packed with lemons and limes stood at one end.
‘Hello, Charles,’ she said shyly.
‘Christian, my name is Christian.’
‘Oh!’ She blushed. ‘Sorry, I’m hopeless with names.’
‘I don’t even know yours,’ he said.
‘Sarah Haywood.’
‘So, Sarah, what will you have to drink? Champagne?’
‘Yes, please.’ She sounded like some gauche creature that hardly ever drank champagne. Well, she hadn’t for ages, and never on a date – except with Dan.
She sat down with Christian at a small table by the window. The evening sun shone in on them as it dropped in the sky, no doubt showing off every bit of baggy skin and wrinkles that she possessed. ‘Pet’ would have looked marvellous in this light, with her springy young skin. Sarah decided she had got to the age that needed soft candlelight – even pitch darkness on a bad day.
‘Don’t you love the sun?’ he asked, basking in it like a lizard.
‘Shows up too many defects.’ She moved out of the way of it. She drank her champagne, savouring it on her tongue. It was cold and delicious. This was the life, drinking champagne with an attractive man. It would be ruined in a minute, when he asked her advice about that child. He’d say he felt safe to confide in her. How dreary. If only she had the guts and the grace to dance on the table. Show him she was still young and exciting under her sagging skin.
He asked, ‘How long have you worked in that shop?’
‘Ages. I design the clothes. Celine and I were at art school together years ago. We met up again by chance; she was looking for a designer and there I was.’
‘That dress was very pretty,’ he said.
‘I expect she looks marvellous in it.’ Sarah hoped she didn’t sound crabby.
‘I don’t know. She probably never wears it.’
‘But surely she wears it for you, when you go out together?’
He laughed. ‘We don’t go out together. She’s my god-daughter. It was a present for her eighteenth.’
‘God-daughter?’
‘Yes. You didn’t think…’ His face slumped; he looked offended. ‘You couldn’t think I was going out with a child? A spoilt one at that, I don’t mind saying.’ Then, seeing her expression, his darkened. ‘So, you did think that. You must have thought I was on some sort of Lolita trip. Why did you think that?’
‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I don’t know why I thought that.’ She did, but she wouldn’t say.
‘Did I look like that? Some pathetic creep who can’t get a woman of his own age and has to baby-snatch?’
‘No,’ she said, ‘you did not. I just thought when you called her “pet” and—’
‘Pet is short for Petronella. Her mother’s choice. Her father, James, is one of my greatest friends. He got carried away by Gloria, her mother. We all knew it wouldn’t last, and it didn’t. But as I am her godfather, I do buy her presents from time to time.’
A surge of happiness followed the champagne bubbles. But he still looked offended by her supposition. She said lamely, ‘The thing is, my husband ran off with a younger woman. Not quite as young as… Pet, but young enough to make a fool of himself. I just feel so furious and hurt that I take it out on any middle-aged man who bosses me about or, like you,’ she gave him a contrite smile, ‘appears with a young girl in tow. I’m really sorry I jumped to the wrong conclusion.’
‘You certainly did,’ he said, a little mollified.
How could she be so prejudiced? As well as grinding her confidence into the ground, Dan’s behaviour had addled her wits. What could she say to Christian now to make up for it? And why had he asked her for a drink, if he didn’t want her motherly advice? Surely not because he had stepped on her toe all those weeks ago?
Her mobile phone played its merry tune in her bag.
‘Oh, sorry,’ she said, relieved at the diversion. ‘Please excuse me a moment.’ She checked who was calling, said to him, ‘It’s my daughter, Polly.’
‘Go ahead,’ he said, affecting a sudden interest in the goings-on in the street through the window.
‘Mum!’ Polly shrieked down the line. ‘Dad’s having a baby. Isn’t that sooo disgusting?’
Seven
She lost control. Tears welled up and gushed from her eyes, running down her face as though a tap had been turned on and she couldn’t stop it.
Christian looked horrified. ‘Has someone died?’
Sarah shook her head, managed to tell Polly she’d ring her back before ringing off. Christian thrust a handkerchief at her and she buried her face in it. Of course she knew that Dan was sleeping with the girl, that was why he was with her, but now that she was pregnant it somehow confirmed it – and it hurt like hell.
She had to hide somewhere. Here in this bar she was like someone on screen. Glass everywhere, showing her distress from a hundred different angles. She got up and fled to the loo. She went into one of the cubicles and sat on the seat and howled.
A baby, how could he? He’d got two grown-up ones already. All the memories of his joy at her pregnancy and the birth of the children flooded back relentlessly to torture her. How could he share this precious intimacy with someone else? And the children – how would they feel having a half-brother or -sister, perhaps many half-siblings?
Someone knocked on the door and a female voice said, ‘There’s a bloke outside, asking if you are all right.’
With superhuman effort she pulled herself together. ‘I’m fine. I’ll be out in a minute.’ She took a few deep, shuddering breaths. Her chest felt tight, bound in anger and pain. What a time to be told this, when she was on her first date since Dan had left her. She couldn’t stay here; she must get home and ring Polly and ask her for more details.
She washed her face. She looked ghastly, all red and blotchy. Christian would take fright and run off, and she wouldn’t blame him. She dreaded walking through the wine bar again in full view of everyone, but she had to do it. The longer she waited, the more embarrassing it would be. If only she had her sunglasses with her, they would hide the worst of it.
To her surprise, Christian was waiting outside the ladies’ room. He took her arm. ‘Let me take you home.’ His face was so concerned, it nearly made her burst into tears again.
‘I’m fine. I’m so sorry. I’ve just had bad news. Thank you for the champagne.’ She moved to leave him. She must get away. Get home.
‘I insist on taking you home.’ He came out into the street with her. He hailed a passing taxi and opened the door for her.
‘I’ll be fine now, thanks,’ she said. But he got in after her and sat down on the back seat beside her. She had not the strength to refuse him, and sat biting her lip, forcing herself to concentrate on doing silly sums in her head. Ninety-four and seventy-two, add it, divide it, multiply it. When this didn’t work, she silently recited her favourite Shakespeare sonnet: Thine eyes I love and they, as pitying me, Knowing thy heart torments me with disdain, Have put on black and loving mourners be, Looking with pretty ruth upon my pain. Hardly a good choice to cheer her up at this moment, but she must do something to hold back the thought of Dan and this new betrayal until she was safely alone.
The thought nudged into her misery. Maybe the baby wasn’t his? Maybe the mouse had got pregnant with someone else, someone young and penniless, and was fobbing it off on him? This made her feel better, and by the time they had arrived at her house she was in control of herself.
As the taxi went down the short street, she saw Robert just about to go into his house. Just get in your house and shut the door before you see it is me, she willed him. He was the last person – apart from Dan and his fertile mouse – she wanted to see. But Robert turned round when he saw the taxi stop outside their houses.