Eva smiles. ‘I had thought about that.’
‘Killing Rhona?’
‘No, cutting up his clothes.’
‘That’s the sort of drama Rhona would love. It would stir her up to design a dozen new children’s ranges. And they would be fantastic, believe me.’
‘I would quite like to meet her.’
‘Socially or as a client?’
‘I was thinking socially, but in the counselling room it could be interesting. Sadly, already having a personal connection, that wouldn’t be ethical.’
‘Do you still think it’s unethical meeting me?’
‘You ceased to be a client when we walked to the coffee shop. Now you are . . .’
‘One of your therapeutic successes?’
‘I was going to say a friend.’
Agnes raises her glass. ‘Therapy and friendship.’
‘Why not?’
‘You will have to stop asking so many questions if our friendship’s going to last.’
They clink glasses and lower them to the table. Agnes rests her chin on her right hand. ‘A weird coincidence, us meeting in the discount store. I hadn’t been there for months.’
‘Nor me.’
‘You don’t seem surprised.’
‘I’m not. It sometimes happens in the counselling process. Unaccountable coincidences occur – synchronicity.’
‘Like the song by the Police?’
‘We Jungians smiled when we heard it.’
‘My elder brother was always playing it. Do you believe in that stuff?’
‘Even my most sceptical colleagues struggle to explain it.’
Agnes sips her drink and sighs. ‘God, are all your clients as rude as I was to you?’
‘Some make you seem very polite.’
‘Your father’s not a judge, is he?’
‘He wasn’t, no. Both my parents are dead.’
‘Now I feel really bad. Two weeks ago I was so angry.’
‘I’m glad you felt safe enough to express it.’
The growl and roar of Alden’s Triumph revving up and rocketing out of the yard brings a grateful smile to Rhona’s face. As the sound fades in the distance, leaving the garden silent, she says, ‘And now the mirror – I’m so excited.’
Leading Luke back through the house, she pauses in the passageway and points into the kitchen, its surfaces spotless and free of clutter. ‘Like an operating theatre isn’t it? Is your kitchen like this?’
‘Not quite.’
‘I bet it isn’t. I hate kitchen units. I hate the very word unit – reminds me of a regiment of soldiers. Alden should have been in an army legal department. Do you have kitchen units?’
‘No,’ says Luke, knowing that if he did he would have them all ripped out by midnight.
In the yard Luke opens the back doors of his van, climbs in and unties the mirror.
‘Do unwrap it here,’ insists Rhona. ‘I can’t wait to see it.’ She steps up onto the van beside him.
Luke removes three layers of Russ’s neat bubblewrap.
As soon as the first corner is revealed Rhona says eagerly, ‘I love it, I love it,’ and when the whole mirror is revealed she sits crosslegged on the floor at the back of the van and stares at it, enchanted. ‘I know before we take it in, it will be perfect.’
‘Don’t get your dress dirty. My van isn’t . . .’
She jumps up and hugs him, saying in his ear, ‘You know what I think of hygenic surfaces.’
For an instant Luke considers kissing her, but to do so would spoil the excitement that he is being seduced. ‘Shall I carry it into the house?’
‘Yes, yes, yes,’ she says with an enthusiasm which assures him how right it was to let her set the pace. Instinct says there will be a time, a place, circumstances of her choosing when there will be so much more than this playful flirting.
As they walk across the yard, Rhona leading the way, he notices some black marks on her dress where she sat on the van floor. These, with the dusty soles of her bare feet, give her a déshabillé allure he finds irresistible.
He holds the mirror tight, again noticing in the cool interior of the house how her perfume hovers in the still air. It is as if all his life from birth, through education to the world of dealing and restoring has been focused, without his knowing, on this afternoon. In the parlour, Rhona, deft as a cat burglar, sweeps away the pottery figures on the mantelpiece, lays them on an armchair, and unhooks the painting so Luke can position the mirror. As he hoped, he finds that the old wood screw, well-fixed into the wall and far more than was needed to support the painting, is in the perfect position for the chain on the back of the mirror.
Rhona moves to the far side of the room. Before Luke can join her she says, ‘It looks like it’s always been there. How do you work such magic?’
‘It was simply waiting for years in my store for the perfect room.’
‘I would like to think it was here originally. Does that ever happen – do mirrors sometimes find their way home after years of absence.’
‘I have known it to occur. Russ always says furniture has a mind of its own and knows which house it wants to go to.’
‘That’s the sort of thing Lynton says. How much do I owe you?’
‘I would like it to be a gift. Russ and I are going to be your guests for a week. The least I could do . . .’
‘Oh, Luke, I couldn’t possibly.’
‘Please take it. I’ve never given a mirror to anyone before. I can think of no better occasion to start.’
‘Luke, you’re too generous. I must think up some surprise for you in return, although it could never be as wonderful as this. Now wait for me in the garden while I find some wine and glasses – I won’t ask you to drink out of a bottle.’
While waiting for her, Luke stretches out his legs and tries to relax as much as the slatted wood chair and thin cushion permit. Unseen in the hedge the greenfinch begins its speed-drill song.
‘Let’s move out of the shade,’ calls Rhona from the door. Still shoeless, she is carrying a tartan rug beneath a tray with a bottle of rosé and two pink-stemmed glasses.
‘Could you?’ she signals to him.
He takes the tray from her and watches her spread the rug with an elegant sweep of her arms onto the sunny square of lawn beneath the parlour window. Luke places the tray to one side of the rug
‘Why Alden loves sitting in the shade I can’t imagine,’ she says. ‘The English summer is short enough as it is.’ She drops to her knees, fills two glasses and lies down on her side. ‘It’s probably all to do with Lynton who often paints outside but always in the shade. But this is England, not the Mediterranean.’
Luke lies down beside her. She gives him a glass. When their eyes meet he is about to ask about Lynton, but has no need.
Rhona shuts her eyes. ‘Lynton is a landscape and portrait painter who settled in Corsica around 1950. Alden thinks he’s some sort of unsung hero. He has plans for a biography of him and is halfway through writing a play about his early life. And all this while Lynton simply wants to live quietly, paint quietly and teach.’ She opens her eyes, takes her glass and sips, replaces it on the tray and rests a hand on Luke’s arm. ‘In fact it’s Alden who’s chasing celebrity status.’
‘How exactly did they . . .?’
‘While he was at university reading Law, Alden met a girl who was part of a gang of about twenty who used to descend on Lynton’s place in the summer. She persuaded Alden to join them. Free accommodation in a Corsican mountain village and near a wonderful river for swimming and not far from the sea – which student wouldn’t want to go? Alden immediately found Lynton an inspiration and wished he could be like him – even tried his hand at painting for a time.’ She smiles wistfully. ‘With sadly limited success. I guess deep down Alden likes him because for over sixty years Lynton’s been an independent spirit and a self-imposed exile which is, I suppose, what Alden would like to be himself, if he could break out of his mould. Anyhow, the
ir friendship remained long after Alden’s old girlfriend had faded from the scene. More wine?’
Rhona stretches an arm to the bottle and refills their glasses. When she lies down again she is closer to him. ‘You’ll enjoy meeting Mathilde. She’s much younger than Lynton and is sometimes as much his nurse as his wife.’
Luke watches Rhona sip her wine and place her glass on the lawn where a small patch arrests her attention. Craning her neck to look closer, she stares in puzzlement at the grass. ‘What is that tiny plant with those sweet ears and pink stem?’
Luke moves closer to her and examines it. ‘Its nicest name is angel’s tears.’
‘That’s wonderful. I’ve never thought of an angel crying.’
‘It can make gardener’s cry. It’s also called mind your own business.’
‘Oh dear, is it a weed?’
‘One of the worst for a lawn I’m afraid. It’s very invasive.’
‘How do I get rid of it?’
‘Lawn weedkillers are no good. Some people would dig out this area of grass, destroy any roots and resow.’
Rhona traces her finger along the lawn, slowly turning her back on him until she is prone. ‘It seems quite a large patch,’ she says, extending her arm towards the house.
Luke looks at the curves of her body, clearly delineated through her thin dress. ‘It probably invaded the lawn from the walls. It’s a weed which loves old brickwork.’ He can see she is braless.
‘You’re right,’ she says. ‘There’s some on the row of bricks nearest the ground. It looks so harmless, nestled in the old mortar.’
‘It doesn’t pay to be too sentimental.’ His eyes are on the line of her dress, tight on her hips. He can see no waistline of underwear.
Too quickly she turns back towards him. ‘I shall have to improve my gardening skills – under your instructions.’ She looks up. ‘Oh dear, it’s clouding over.’
Rhona quickly finishes her glass of wine. When, following her lead, Luke has finished his, she lays her hand on his left wrist and slowly stands, in a gesture of reassurance, perhaps promise. ‘Let’s have another look at your wonderful mirror.’
Eva drinks the last of her gin and tonic and brings down her glass hard on its mat. ‘Do you think the affair has started?’
‘I doubt it. That’s not Rhona’s way. She loves a gentle intrigue at first. And the less interested the man is, the more she enjoys it. I’ve seen the most attractive guys try to chat her up at a party. They get nowhere. No, Rhona likes the gradual build-up. The occasional hint, the oblique suggestion. It’s second nature to her. No, it’s first nature. She was born that way. The Rhona Courting Ritual. There ought to be a wildlife programme about it.’
A ghost of a smile passes over Eva’s face.
‘That’s better,’ assures Agnes. ‘In a few months’ time it will be over, Luke will be a little hurt, but not irreparably. You’ll have to pick up the pieces, but they’ll all stick together again. And with a touch of anger and some domestic TLC everything will return to normal.’ She finishes her drink. ‘Would I make a good counsellor?’
‘I’m in no position to say. God, I want to meet this woman.’
‘I’m sure you will.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Rhona loves to confront her competition.’ Agnes picks up both glasses. ‘I’ll buy the next round.’
‘Only tonic for me – I’m driving – but put it in this glass. At least there’ll be a whiff of spirit.’
Eva watches Agnes go to the bar, reflecting how strange but refreshing to have discovered someone so much younger as a confidante. When Agnes returns Eva says, ‘Tell me about your house-hunting.’
‘I’m fed up with sharing a place here in the city. And the landlord’s fed up with us too. So it’s galvanised me into renting my own place. I’m looking at a cottage tonight. Rhona says I should think about buying, since prices are still on the rise.’
‘She sounds like a shrewd business woman.’
‘No flies on her when money’s involved. But she gives the impression of knowing nothing about it. God, I shouldn’t have slagged her off so much to you – after all she did offer to give me an interest free loan if I ever need a deposit.’
‘I wouldn’t say you slagged her off. It seems the two of you have a good mutual understanding.’
‘Well, I suppose it’s not every woman who’d be faintly amused if she found out an employee was shagging her husband.’
‘It’s certainly not the response I normally hear in the counselling room.’
‘God, you crack me up – “the response I normally hear”.’
‘I’m afraid it takes more than one gin for me totally to lose my professional persona.’
‘I’d like to see you after half a dozen.’
Eva thinks back to the raucous night with Annie and the girls. That had been an escape, perhaps an unconscious denial that years of undisturbed happiness were now under threat. She chokes on her tonic. With effort she manages to hold back tears. ‘I’m sorry, I suddenly thought about Luke and Rhona and what they might be planning. And here we are chatting.’
‘It’ll be like this for a time. Sudden stabs of pain. Out of nowhere. I expect you tell your clients that.’
‘Yes.’
‘But your strength is you haven’t lost him. Unless you decide to give him the heave-ho. You simply have to wait. It’s not like a bereavement. Or me trying to get over my latest mistake. Now, I shall phone you every day. In fact twice – morning and evening.’
‘You don’t need to. I’m sure . . .’
‘The least I can do is to spare you from the hell of not knowing. All you have to say when you answer is, “I’m good, thanks” and end the call. But I bet you don’t.’
‘OK, but not at weekends. The chances are he’ll be around and we won’t be able to talk. And he may even answer the phone.’
‘Monday first thing then.’
Eva sips her tonic, searching for a lingering tang of gin. ‘How will I survive this?’
‘A day at a time.’
‘Can I change my mind? Could you put a shot of gin in this?’
‘Of course.’ Agnes takes Eva’s glass and pauses. ‘How did you meet Luke?’
‘Bring me the drink and I’ll tell you.’
In the parlour Rhona sinks into one of the armchairs by the fireplace. Luke sits in the other. In silence they look at the mirror. He is transported back to the magic of Sunday’s visit. So strong is the feeling that the intervening days seem like an illusion, but after a minute, the presence of the mirror and the absence of sweet williams dispel the fantasy.
Rhona follows his eyes. ‘Would a small vase of flowers look good in front of the mirror between the figures?’
‘I shall always think of this room with flowers in the fireplace, but they would look fine in front of the mirror, especially sweet peas.’
‘I suppose it’s too late to plant some.’
‘Yes, but I’ll bring you some. I grow them myself.’
‘Is there anything you can’t do?’
‘I can’t act.’
‘Don’t worry about it. I shall enjoy finding you a costume.’
They drink and look at the mirror and occasionally at each other until Rambo appears at the open window and jumps onto the arm of Rhona’s chair. It is an interruption which indicates the visit is at its end.
‘I must get back to the shop.’
‘Won’t you stay for a sandwich?’
‘I would love to, but a vestige of duty tells me there’s work to do.’ It is hardly true but Sunday proved that there is a precise moment to leave, whatever the temptation to linger.
‘You’re right, dearheart – duty calls me too – I have a work programme to draw up for my team when I’m away.’
As he stands, Rhona stretches out a weary arm so he can help her to her feet. When they are in the passageway near the kitchen Rhona asks, ‘Is your own house full of lovely things?’
‘A few
.’
‘I should love to see them,’ she says confidentially, as if Alden’s units have ears.
‘Come over any time.’
‘I’d love to. Sadly, I’m very busy in the studio. And Alden’s got some of his friends staying. Let me phone. I may even think of a surprise for you.’
When they have walked out into the yard and are standing by the van, she hugs him, slowly moving her head so she can kiss him on the lips. Luke holds her and kisses her in return for several ecstatic seconds. Simultaneously their heads move back and they release the hold.
‘Damn next week’s work,’ she teases.
As he starts the engine, she waves goodbye. Through his wing mirror he sees she is still waving as he drives out of the yard. His heart pounds, countless thoughts racing in his mind. He is already living with her – her house, his house, it doesn’t matter. When she splits from Alden there will no doubt be some division of assets, but there is more than enough in the Brewer coffers to buy half of Saffold Farm if need be. No, early days for such thoughts, he tells himself. Right now enjoy each moment. But on the other hand, what is the point of starting out on a journey without a map? She may want to move back to London. That possibility too is not insuperable. As for that pedagogic twerp on the Triumph, he can exit down stage right, swigging from a bottle. So great is his elation that half a mile from Saffold Farm, he pulls off the road into a field entrance and cuts the engine. Is it possible they have kissed? He can still feel the gentle, then firmer pressure of her lips on his. He looks into the rear view mirror for some trace of lipstick, and is sad to find none. And they kissed on her initiative. A doubting voice, like a dark creature perched on his shoulder, tells him that a hug and a quick kiss on the lips signifies nothing. You’ve been holed up too long in a small market town, it tells him. That’s how she says goodbye to everyone – at least everyone except her pompous husband. And perhaps she addresses all her acquaintances with the word ‘dearheart’.
‘Does it matter, does it matter?’ he says aloud to the creature by his ear. ‘She wants to meet up again.’
‘So you had an affair with a client,’ says Agnes. ‘That’s got be more serious than going to a pub with one.’
The Mirrror Shop Page 14