by Minna Howard
‘Whatever you do as a parent, and possibly a wife, seems to be wrong.’ She caught his glance and momentarily there flashed a strong bond between them. Then she inadvertently ruined it. ‘Will her mother help out?’ Even as the words left her mouth, she realised she should not have asked him. His face changed to one of annoyance, the expression she’d become so familiar with.
He said, ‘She can’t even look after herself, and the idea of being a grandmother appals her. Talk about delusions. She thinks she is still thirty years old.’
‘I see.’ This was fascinating. How ever had he got involved with such a woman?
As if he guessed her thoughts he said, ‘She was very beautiful, and we were very much in love in the beginning. We stayed married for twelve years, but then she left me for another man.’
Freya came into the room; she looked polished and pretty in a blue jersey and grey trousers. She heard her father’s remark.
‘And I went to boarding-school and spent my holidays between each parent. But I don’t think I suffered too much.’ She smiled at Robert. ‘You had some pretty nice girlfriends, who were extra nice to me so they could impress you!’ she laughed.
Robert looked slightly uncomfortable. ‘I’m sure it wasn’t like that, Freya.’
‘It certainly was,’ Freya retorted. ‘Caroline was the easiest. She bought me all sorts of forbidden things to take back to school. Jane was quite good, though she insisted on buying me healthy stuff when all I wanted was chocolate bars and crisps.’
To her immense annoyance, Sarah felt excluded. Robert was an attractive man; extremely attractive, she conceded ruefully. Why would he stay on his own when his wife had left him?
Sarah gave the baby back to Freya and explained how to make up the baby milk.
‘Don’t feel guilty about not feeding him yourself straight away. Do both for a while until you have enough.’
‘I will, thanks so much.’ Freya smiled at her, Robert’s smile. ‘I’ve got a few months off work, then I’ll have to stop feeding him anyway.’ She sighed. ‘It’s odd, but since I’ve had him I don’t know if I want to go back to work or not. Perhaps I should stay here with you, Daddy?’ She grinned at him.
Sarah saw Robert’s face blanch. He had told her he did not like his life being disturbed.
He replied, ‘Think how bored you’d be after a while, how you’d miss your friends and your life in France.’
Freya laughed, agreed with him. ‘If you’d bought Sarah’s house, we could have lived there with the orchids.’ Her voice was light. It was probably meant as a joke, but Sarah felt threatened by it. She did not look at Robert, but jumped up to leave.
‘Wouldn’t you like to see my orchids?’ he asked. ‘I have them all upstairs.’
‘They have a whole room to themselves,’ Freya said. ‘No wonder there’s not much room for me and Pierre.’
‘I must go home now.’ Sarah went to the door.
‘I can’t thank you enough, Sarah.’ Robert came so close to her, she wondered if he would kiss her, but from the look in his eyes she felt that he was accusing her of causing homelessness to orchids. Because she would not fall in with his plans, the orchids might even be forced to camp out in the street.
She must not forget how much he wanted her house. Whatever he said or did, that was his ultimate aim.
Twenty-Two
When Sarah arrived at the shop one morning she found Celine bursting with excitement.
‘Guess what?’ Celine grabbed her the minute she walked in, holding on to her, her eyes shining. ‘We’re going to be millionaires!’
Sarah laughed incredulously. ‘Really? So have you won the lottery?’
‘No. We have! This is our plug from Vogue.’ She showed her the article on her computer which had been sent by the editor. ‘And two shops in New York – Saks Fifth Avenue and Bloomingdale’s – and somewhere on the West Coast, want to buy our clothes!’ Her voice shook with excitement.
Sarah studied the pictures. There was a rather contrived picture of her on a chair with some of her clothes draped around. Celine stood behind, looking very important.
‘We don’t look too bad, do we? At least our cellulite is hidden,’ Celine went on cheerfully. ‘I’ve received orders from these buyers. We must shut up shop and do a tour of America.’
Sarah stared at her, still unable to grasp what she was saying. ‘Shut up shop?’
‘Well, not literally; Briar is more than qualified enough to hold the fort and Maggie will come in to work most days. I’ve one or two contacts in the States, and I emailed them a copy of the article and they came back with these orders. Someone I know out there can set it all up for us.’ She laughed almost hysterically. ‘Darling, we’re made!’
Sarah skimmed through the article.
‘Are you sure about this, Celine? It’s not some hoax?’
‘Of course I am.’ She showed her an email from the buyer at Saks Fifth Avenue, suggesting a meeting. ‘I know her – not well, but this is real. We must pack up suitcases of samples and go out there. We can fund it from the firm. I’ve some money put by, and anyway you have to spend some to make some.’
‘When do we go?’ Sarah asked, a string of objections quickly lining up in her mind. How long would it be? What if the children needed her? What about the house? Would Robert have somehow turned it into an orchid sanctuary before she came back?
The joy in Celine’s eyes was replaced by a glint of determination. ‘You know what they say about every cloud? Your silver lining is Dan leaving you while you are still young enough to enjoy it. You are a free woman, Sarah. Your children are at university and with their lovers, and we can go off on this trip and make our fortunes, as it were.’
Sarah swallowed the negative thoughts rising in her, fuelled by insecurity. Can I, she wondered doubtfully. Can I really.
‘Look, love,’ Celine gave her a little shake, ‘you are the main designer behind these clothes. It is your designs that sell them. You have to come with me. This is your golden chance, our golden chance. I will not let you ignore it.’
A small bubble of euphoria gurgled its way through her. Why shouldn’t she? Why shouldn’t they? Even if nothing came of it, it would be an adventure.
Celine said briskly, ‘That’s settled, then. I’ll put everything in motion. I’ll tell Briar when she comes in she’s at the dentist and it’s a pity Polly’s not around; she’d be a great asset in the shop while we’re away. Now!’ She seemed almost manic in her energy. ‘You must get together a smart-looking portfolio of your designs. You can have time off if you like, and we must get some more things made up. Maria better bring in her sister, her mother too, to get them made in time.’ She reached for the phone.
The morning whirled on, and then the days. Sarah redid almost all her designs on clean new paper and put them on line. She spent long hours in the sewing-room, telling the girls what she wanted, checking and double-checking the cut, the seams, the placing of the embroidery, the silk and velvet trimmings. She worked half the night, hardly realizing what time of the day it was, let alone what day of the week.
Polly and to some extent Tim were proud of her sudden success and Polly showed everyone the Vogue article when it came out in print.
Living next to each other, Polly and Freya became friends. Once or twice, Freya, with the now better-tempered baby, came round and gossiped in Polly’s room.
One evening when Sarah came back from the shop, so tired she was almost hallucinating, her mobile pinged with a text from Polly: ‘Freya and I are cooking, come next door for dinner.’
Did that mean that Robert was not there? It must do, and the girls were doing their own thing. She had not seen him for a couple of weeks, or at least she had not noticed if he was there or not. She felt faint with hunger. She’d hardly eaten all day, and she had been hoping that Polly could be persuaded to cook something if she was home. Well, she had, but it was next door.
She stared at herself in the hall mirror. She looked almos
t transparent with exhaustion. Her eyes seemed larger, and there were violet smudges underneath them. At least she’d had the energy to wash her hair last night, but she must try and catch up on some sleep before she collapsed. She would eat dinner next door, but she would not stay late. She hoped they had got it ready and she would not have to wait half the night before she could eat it. She rang their bell. Freya let her in.
‘I am so glad you’ve come, Sarah. I’ve wanted to say thank you for so long. In fact, I’ve bought you a case of wine.’ She indicated a cardboard box that stood in the narrow hall. ‘I should have given it to you sooner, but it’s only just arrived. Polly will bring it back with her.’
‘Oh, Freya, you needn’t have done that,’ Sarah said, touched by her action.
‘You saved our lives that evening,’ Freya said. ‘Once I got the feeding going, both Daddy and I slept far better.’
She led the way towards the living-room. As she passed the kitchen, she saw Polly stirring something on the stove.
‘Hi, Mum,’ she said, her face flushed, her hair falling over it. ‘I’m not quite sure about your sauce,’ she said to Freya. ‘How spicy should it be?’
Sarah resisted the temptation to ask if she could help.
Freya said, ‘I’ll see to it. Have a glass of wine, Sarah, and make yourself comfortable in the living room. We’ll be there in a minute.’ Freya poured her out a glass of white wine.
At the end of the room were the glass doors to the garden and the smaller window Sarah had broken into to get in. These were covered by beautiful, silk curtains in a soft bluely grey and cream design.
The room was very warm with a blazing fire in the grate. She’d seen the room before, when she’d broken in and when she’d come to the rescue of the baby, but because of the dramas going on at the time she had not taken much notice of it. It was simple, yet imaginably done. The walls were covered with expensive wallpaper in a creamy colour that set off the bright watercolours in their pale wood frames. Each piece of furniture was a jewel in its own right; the room had a feeling of comfort and good taste.
The scent of sweet apple wood burning in the fireplace permeated the room, and there was music playing. It must be some collection of pieces; the one that had just ended was South American, and this next one was slow and smoochy. The pictures were fabulous. Bright and vibrant, without the wishy-washiness of some watercolours. She especially liked one of a market scene in some old provincial town, the glowing fruits and vegetables piled high on the stall, the bunches of flowers thrust in buckets, the gleam of fishes on the fish stall. She stood admiring the exquisite brush work feeling soothed and relaxed and grateful to the girls for asking her here and cooking her dinner.
She heard the garden door slide open and Robert say, ‘I’m so glad you came, Sarah.’
She’d thought he was not here. The relaxed feeling disappeared at once. Freya came into the room, carrying a bottle of wine.
‘Sorry I was so long, just finishing off the dinner.’ She refilled Sarah’s glass before she could refuse. Had she really drunk one already?
‘I… didn’t know you were here.’ Sarah felt confused. ‘Polly and Freya said they were cooking and…’ Her voice petered out, she just couldn’t think what else to say and she wondered if he had suggested it to gang up with the others to get his foot or rather his orchid’s roots into her house.
‘I’m glad you’re here, I feel bad that we haven’t thanked you more for your kindness and skill…’ He smiled, ‘at settling the baby. He’s much better now.’ Polly handed him a glass of wine and he drank from it and moved over towards the fire.
A waltz began to play. Polly laughed. ‘This music is so dated but I love it! I remember Granny and Grandpa playing it and it’s on Strictly. Can you do this, Mum?’ she giggled. ‘I suppose you can.’
‘Well, I did dance classes once and we did all sorts; Tango, waltz, American Smooth.’ Sarah remembered she and two friends had long ago, before she married, signed up at an exciting new course that opened in the local church hall.
‘Did you and Dad never dance a waltz together?’ Polly asked, twirling round the room, laughing.
‘I suppose we might have done, just occasionally.’ She remembered some rather old-fashioned hunt balls they’d gone to in their youth and some weddings where music was played to suit all the age groups.
‘You must have done some of them too, Daddy,’ Freya challenged Robert.
‘I suppose I did, years ago,’ he said.
‘Do show us.’ Polly stopped her twirling. ‘I’d love to see if you could still do it.’ She twirled again, holding out her arms to an imaginary partner.
‘Oh, go on, let’s see if you can!’ Freya cried, and put the CD back to the beginning of the waltz. ‘You start, we’ll follow,’ she said to Robert. ‘Right, Polly, shall I be the man or the woman?’
‘I can’t remember it at all, and I’m exhausted, I’ve been working half the night to get ready for our trip.’ Sarah said to Polly, hoping she’d back her up. Inwardly she was cringing with embarrassment. She could not possibly dance with Robert, not as intimately as for a waltz. She felt as affronted as a Victorian matron propositioned by some lecher, but the girls laughed, assured her she could. Freya pushed Robert towards her.
‘Come on,’ she said, ‘we want to know how to do it.’
Robert, looking as if this was a difficult task he had to do, so he might as well get it over with, put down his glass and took Sarah into his arms. She did not know where to look. The feel of his arms round her, the scent of him was sending her heart into overdrive. She would probably have a heart attack any moment and then she wouldn’t get to America. He turned her round and she found her body responding to his, to the music, as if she had been waltzing all her life. The two girls tried to copy them, holding on to each other, giggling, saying they were great just as good as people on Strictly and they should audition for the show.. Sarah felt it was the most ridiculous thing she had ever done, dancing a waltz with a man she did not like.
Yet the music, cloying and sweet as some luscious confection, held a compelling magic, stirring memories long gone. Not, strangely, memories of Dan, just of dancing: the sheer pleasure of letting go, being free to give oneself up to the will of the music. She tried to keep her face averted from Robert’s, but she could feel his breath on her cheek, the warmth of his body close to hers. The scent of the apple wood dulled her brain, the exhaustion of too much work and the wine she’d drunk lowered her resistance. She had to hold on to him so as not to lose her balance.
As the music finished, another piece started up, rich and melodious, insisting that they continued dancing.
She heard Polly shriek, ‘God, the dinner!’ There was a scuffle as both girls ran from the room.
Sarah slowed down, willing her legs to stop dancing, her arms to go back to her sides, but Robert held her close, waltzing her round and round, and they were in the garden, dancing together under the moon. She wanted to stop, she must stop; this was so ridiculous, dancing a waltz as if she were in another time. She faced him to tell him this, but he bent his head and kissed her on her mouth.
She opened her mouth to protest, tried to drag herself away from him, but he went on kissing her, his arms holding her like a vice. Then he stopped, quite suddenly, and she felt bereft.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said still holding her. ‘I couldn’t resist it. I’ve been wanting to kiss you for ages.’
‘Well, now you’ve done it, you can let me go,’ she said, fighting the ludicrous desire that spun through her body. How could she possibly desire him? It was as if the wine had been spiked.
He smiled, but he would not let her go. ‘I can’t help myself. I wanted to dislike you; it would be so much easier to fight for what I want, but I cannot.’
‘I don’t trust you,’ she said, ‘and you should hate me for killing your plants.’ She could see the tangled creeper from the corner of her eye; even by the dim lights in the garden she could see that it lo
oked badly wounded.
‘I do dislike you for that. And all that blood on my white paint, as if a murder had been committed,’ he said. ‘You must pay for it.’
‘Give me the bill and I will.’ She struggled to free herself.
‘Here it is,’ he said, and kissed her mouth again. To her horror, she found she was kissing him back. Her lips would not obey her, nor indeed would her body. It was straining towards his as if it wanted to belong to him. Then she thought of the children.
She could not, would not, be seen kissing this man. With superhuman effort, she sprang free and stood away from him. He laughed.
‘I might be in love with you,’ he said. ‘What do you think of that?’
Freya came to the door. ‘It’s ready,’ she said. ‘We just saved it in time from burning.’ She turned to Sarah. ‘Is Daddy moaning about his plants? You killed at least two of them, apparently, when you let me in that night.’
‘We’ve discussed it. She’ll pay me back.’ Robert gestured to her to go inside. ‘Have you killed that orchid, too? That was very expensive.’
She saw the tender amusement in his eyes as she turned to go inside. His hand brushed the small of her back. To her intense mortification – for she knew that he knew – her desire matched his. But it could not be, not in front of their daughters. He was no doubt taking advantage of her lonely, sexless state, thinking a woman with no man in her life was easy, grateful prey just as Gerry had done. She must beware of him. It was only another ploy, the oldest one in the book, to get access to her house.
*
The dinner, pork tenderloin in a spicy tomato sauce, was good, if a little burnt at the edges. Polly, who seemed quite at home in this house, talked proudly of Sarah’s achievement.
‘So, Mum’s a jet-setter at last,’ she said affectionately. ‘Do get one of those outrageous houses in Los Angeles and invite us all to stay,’ she begged.