One Day in May

by Catherine Alliott

  Was it my imagination or was Seffy, who’d turned ostensibly to pour more drinks, listening intently?

  ‘Well, engaged, Biba,’ I mumbled. ‘Getting married next month.’

  ‘No, apparently not. He’s called it off – again.’

  I stared at her. ‘What?’

  Her blue eyes were very bright and I had an idea she’d sampled a few glasses from her tray herself.

  ‘Yes, apparently for good this time. I was just talking to Letty. She said his heart’s simply not in it and he can’t go through with it. The fiancée’s devastated, apparently.’ She pulled a mock-sorrowful face. Then shrugged and grinned broadly. ‘Oh, well.’ She nudged me.

  ‘Is she here?’ I managed.

  ‘Who, the ex?’ She looked at me incredulously. ‘Rather doubt it, don’t you? You’re hardly going to pitch up for a dinner party if you’ve just been dumped. Second time apparently, after hundreds of years. Letty says she thinks he’s in love with someone else, always has been. God, I love middle-aged gossip. You lot are way more interesting than we are. Oh, look out, Daddy’s trying to get everyone in for supper. I said I’d help, he’s so pathetic.’

  She scooted off towards her father, who, in his amiable polite way, was tentatively suggesting to the roaring, pissed throng, that perhaps they wouldn’t mind awfully going through to the dining room… food hot and all that…

  Biba beetled to his side and cupped her hands round her mouth.

  ‘Supper time!’ she yelled.

  Everyone swung around, laughing. She earned a sheepish grin from her father.

  I joined the flow back across the hall, and through the double doors to the dining room. The grey hessian-covered chairs, all twenty-six of them, were now around the long table, and everyone was cooing and admiring Ralph’s décor, the painted panelling, the modern art. Ralph looked pleased, but actually, nicely pink too, I thought. Not totally immune to these admiring comments. He pushed his hair back somewhat shyly, smiling delightedly when he was pointed out. And the effect he’d created was truly beautiful: bathed in candlelight, the gleaming mahogany was covered in bowls of white roses and sparkling silver, the flickering light softening sharp noses, ruddy jowls, non-existent chins. Jewels sparkled and skirts rustled as everyone found their place, and as I moved to mine, I just knew – of course I knew – that he’d be there, beside me, holding out my chair for me. I advanced with a thumping heart.

  ‘Hal, how lovely.’ And this time we exchanged the peck we should have traded in the rose garden. ‘I’m approachable now.’

  ‘You’ve scrubbed up.’

  ‘I have, but it was nip and tuck. I considered coming as I was, then thought, nah, make an effort.’

  ‘Shame. I rather liked the in-the-bush-backwards look. It had a certain dishevelled charm, although you smell a bit better now.’

  ‘I should jolly well hope so. Chanel have got problems if I don’t.’

  He laughed, and after that, it was easy. We talked about the house and my work here with Maggie, and then we discussed country life. After a bit we got on to old friends: ones I hadn’t seen for years, but he had.

  ‘Remember Kirsten?’

  ‘God, yes, the pious swot. She hated me.’

  ‘High-class tart in Park Lane now.’

  I put down my fork. ‘I don’t believe you.’

  ‘No, OK, she runs an escort agency. But still, much the same thing.’

  ‘Good heavens! She was so Miss Jean Brodie! So disapproving. They’re always the worst, of course.’

  ‘Or the best,’ he remarked, eyebrows raised.

  I laughed, and it occurred to me he was flirting. Which years ago would have been anathema. This was a more relaxed Hal: less serious, less intense.

  We turned, briefly and politely through the main course, in Hal’s case to a tall blonde woman with hooded eyes, and in mine to a sweet old chap who couldn’t hear a thing and bellowed ‘What?’ a lot, bending his head, practically in my Bourguignon. By the time the pudding arrived Hal and I had found each other again. And it was so like old times. So much easier than in France, with this cushion of twenty-odd others around us. Plenty of noise to fill any awkward silences – not that there were any. It was like slipping into an old coat, I thought.

  He smiled up at Biba as she refilled his glass. Together with Daisy and Seffy she was circling with the wine, although Daisy, I noticed, had ignored Luca, who’d held out his glass as she approached. He blushed as she passed him by, her head high. Biba spotted and quickly dashed to fill it. Luca was deemed too old to serve and old enough to eat with us, at the head, I noticed, opposite Hugh, albeit fifteen feet away.

  ‘I won’t, thanks, Seffy, Biba’s already been round.’ This, from Hal, over his shoulder to my son, with a smile. Then they shared a bit of banter about Seffy knowing how old soaks like us knocked it back, and maybe he should hover with the bottle?

  ‘You’ve met Seffy?’ I said, surprised, as my son moved on.

  ‘Oh. Yes.’ Hal looked momentarily flustered. Caught out, even. ‘We… met when I popped up here once, to see Hugh. Had a chat.’

  ‘With Seffy?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Oh, right. What about?’

  He paused. It was our first awkward moment.

  ‘Oh, you know… life’s rich pageant, that sort of thing.’ He cleared his throat and made a pretence of asking his neighbour for the cream. I wondered if he was embarrassed about having sought Seffy out. About wanting to meet him because he was mine. Perhaps. I was flattered.

  ‘He’s a lovely boy. A credit to you.’

  I met his eyes. Smiled. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘You’ve done very well, Hattie.’

  My heart kicked in at this. What did he mean?

  ‘Thank you,’ I said mechanically again, but his eyes were still on me, and suddenly I didn’t want to talk about me and Seffy any more, or how well I’d done.

  ‘You haven’t mentioned Céline,’ I blurted, and he instantly glanced away. A cheap trick, but it worked.

  ‘Céline and I…’ He swallowed. Gazed at his plate.

  I put a hand on his arm. ‘I’m sorry. That was unfair of me. I already know. You’ve split up.’

  ‘You know?’ He looked back quickly.

  ‘Biba said Letty told her.’

  We glanced down the table. Letty was hunched forward, trying to spear a profiterole: frowning with the rapt squinty-eyed concentration of an inebriate.

  ‘News travels fast,’ he remarked. ‘It was only a few days ago.’

  ‘But it’s over?’

  ‘Oh, yes. For good, this time. I can’t go on kidding myself, Hattie. I should marry her, of course: she ticks all the boxes. Always has done. She’s beautiful, smart, clever, kind… but there’s a problem.’

  ‘Oh?’ I knew what it was.

  He looked at me. ‘I don’t love her.’

  Nevertheless I caught my breath. His eyes were unashamedly soft; vulnerable even. Yet despite their transparency, despite the fact he was the one showing his hand, it seemed to me I was also revealed.

  ‘Right,’ I managed. ‘Tricky then.’ I played with the stem of my glass.

  ‘Not really. Only fair to do the right thing. I couldn’t subject her to a married life of being enormously liked, could I?’

  ‘I… suppose not.’

  For some reason a snapshot of the life I’d envisaged for Céline sprang to mind. The one where she was strolling down by the river, in that idyllic garden in France, a toddler on one hand, another on her swollen tummy. Except it wasn’t Céline in the Cath Kidston frock. It was me. Hadn’t Biba said he’d always been in love with someone else? And how many serious girlfriends had he had time for when he’d been with Céline for so many years?

  ‘Hattie, look…’ he said quietly. ‘I know this isn’t the time or the place, and there are millions of people around us, but there’s something you need to know…’ He paused, glanced about to make sure we weren’t being overheard.

 
; I lunged for my wine. Yes? What did I need to know? Although I already knew what it was, but would love to hear it. Would love to hear those words. Which no one, not counting immediate family, had actually ever said to me. How sad was that? His eyes came back to mine and I felt every sinew tighten, every pulse quicken. I was poised to catch every nuance.

  ‘I know,’ he said in a low voice, ‘about Dominic.’

  I felt my eyes widen in astonishment. Not what I had expected. Not at all. About Dominic? Yes, of course he knew about Dominic. What did that have to do with anything? With the here and now? With Hal and me? Years ago it had been pertinent, sure, but not now, years later, when we were both mature adults, when so much water had flowed…

  ‘But, Hal, that was aeons ago.’ I frowned, annoyed. I felt cheated of my words. I’d wanted my words. ‘I was young, immature. We’ve been through that, and anyway—’

  Whatever else I was going to say in my defence, however, was lost, in the sudden smashing of china and glass. Followed by a thump on the table. It was a perfectly awful clatter. The entire dinner party swung round as one, to see Letty, having nose-dived into her profiteroles, sprawled on the table. Her head lolled, her eyes were shut, her mouth open: red wine spilled into her hair. She was out cold.

  24

  Hal scraped back his chair and leaped to his feet, moving quickly round the table to his sister-in-law. The men on either side of her were also up, but dithering, with that embarrassed look of not wanting to get involved, or touch. Funny how men really want to touch, or really don’t. Under Hal’s instruction, though, one of them hoisted Letty’s arm around his neck, and as Hal took the other, they got her to her feet. Her face was smeared with chocolate and cream where she’d fallen in her plate; her dress too. Eyes flickering slightly, head lolling, feet dragging in her pink high heels, she was half carried, half dragged, ignominiously from the room. Laura and Biba scuttled after.

  A silence fell as we absorbed the shock. Poor, poor Letty. In front of all her friends, her neighbours. My cheeks burned for her. Most eyes were lowered to the table; then darted around surreptitiously to gauge reactions. Following Hugh’s anxious lead, conversation was resumed in muted tones. As I mechanically picked up my spoon to address my profiteroles, I realized I felt utterly deflated. Like a pricked puffball. Fearful too. What did Hal know about Dominic? What did he mean?

  The chatter in the room had gained momentum now, and the woman to my left leaned across Hal’s empty chair, resting the heel of her hand on it, to enquire after my children: ‘Oh, just the one? At which school?’

  Keep going, her eyes seemed to say. We keep going, you see? For form’s sake. For Laura and Hugh. D’you see?

  Yes, I did see, actually. They were my family, and I felt a flash of anger at what I perceived to be her impertinence. But on the other hand, what nice friends to have. And this one was gorgeous. And she’d been next to Hal. Divorced, it transpired. Perhaps he was in love with her, I thought wildly, irrationally. Perhaps Laura had deliberately put him next to her, not me?

  ‘Oh, yes, I hear Lightbrook’s awfully good. GCSEs?’

  Soon, I agreed. Next year. And then endured a long ramble about her own brood, and their numerous achievements. But I wasn’t really listening. Could only nod and smile at what seemed appropriate moments, longing, as I was, to run out and join Hal and his drunken sister-in-law and say – what? What are you talking about, Hal? But not wanting to either. Fear making me sit tight, like a child gripping a musical chair. Hugh’s eyes flickered round the table, imploring everyone to please, just carry on. Assuring us his wife would sort it out, Biba too, who was frightfully cool under fire. It would be her telling her mother to go back in as Laura flapped: telling her she’d put Letty to bed, deal with her – ‘Just go, Mum.’

  And sure enough Laura did return, resuming her place with a nervous smile. Eyes lowered, she assured the murmured enquiries to either side that all was well, and answered her husband’s gently raised eyebrows with a smile and a nod. But I knew Hugh’s eyes were for Laura, who was so easily upset: for her welfare. He cared more about his wife’s equilibrium than any drunken guest’s, he was making sure she was all right, and my heart ached suddenly. For what I didn’t have. For the years of concern and protection I’d missed, as I’d forged on alone, chin up.

  After a bit Laura caught my eye, and those of a few close girlfriends, eloquently suggesting we might go through to the drawing room for coffee, which we did, along with a few men too: those who liked to get home and always joined the women, bullying their wives into downing a quick cup and then getting their coats. As we made polite conversation by the fire – no sign of a prostrate Letty in here, she must be upstairs – people began to drift hallwards, thanking Laura, Hugh, who’d emerged from the dining room now with the other men. A gathering collected in the hall, bursts of hearty laughter and cigar smoke filtering through, as the party began to break up. Daisy was helping to find coats and wraps, the other children clearly still ensconced in the drama offstage, except, here was Biba, stealing into the room, flushed, to whisper in her mother’s ear.

  ‘All well?’ I moved across to listen.

  ‘She’s asleep in the Green Room,’ Laura reported, as Biba, with a ravishing smile, slipped away to find an elderly lady her stick. ‘Hal was going to take her home, but she’s so comatose she may as well stay. And it would be too embarrassing to drag her through the hall in front of all these people. Some are going but the hard core – the Tapners, the Rankins – stay all night, I’m afraid.’ She jerked her head towards a bright-eyed group clustered round the fire, still roaring heartily and sinking brandy now. ‘But you go up,’ she, said quickly. ‘I’ll have to stay for form’s sake, but even Hugh eventually goes to bed and leaves them to it. Honestly, Hattie, it’s half-past one.’

  ‘Well, I might,’ I said gratefully, noticing Maggie was of the hard core element by the fire, colour high in her cheeks, smoking and flirting furiously, looking like she was powering on through till dawn.

  ‘Oh – and if you see Hal up there, would you tell him he can have the bed in Charlie’s room? If he’s staying, that is. Tell him it’s the one he got changed in, he came straight from London.’

  ‘Right.’ I brightened. A cup of strong coffee had steadied my nerves. I was looking for an excuse to talk to him.

  I slipped away and beetled down the passage to the back stairs, eschewing the front hall where everyone was gathered, taking them two at a time. I found him softly shutting the Green Room door across the landing.

  ‘Is she…?’

  ‘Sleeping.’ He smiled. ‘Rather soundly, obviously. But she’s been sick, so I think she’ll be all right. Nurse Biba forced her to put her fingers down her throat. Teenage rules, apparently. One wouldn’t want to drown in one’s own vomit, would one?’

  ‘Oh Lord. Yes, Biba’s frightfully efficient like that.’

  ‘And Letty complied beautifully. I’d take her home, but I’m not sure she’d want to be carted out in front of the neighbours. I’ll stay and take her tomorrow.’

  It occurred to me there wasn’t much that would surprise her neighbours now, but I let it go. And I liked the fact that he was staying with her. That was so like Hal. Not to bolt and leave her. There was a silence. This end of the house, the nursery end, away from the front hall, was quiet. Dark too.

  ‘Laura says you can sleep in Charlie’s room. It’s where you got changed, apparently.’ My voice sounded odd. Unnatural.

  ‘Thanks.’ He didn’t move an inch. Certainly not in the direction I’d vaguely indicated. Stood before me in the gloom, his eyes watchful, steady.

  ‘Um, Hal. What you said earlier, about Dominic.’

  ‘Is none of my business,’ he said quickly.

  ‘Yes, but can I just ask, did you just mean—’

  ‘Shh, Hattie.’ He put a finger on my lips. We gazed at one another. And whatever else I was going to say, or ask, or struggle to explain, was lost, because he leaned forward and kissed my mouth
.

  Then he kissed me again, lightly, then again. Instinctively we moved away from the top of the stairs, down the dark corridor, where he pulled me against him. This was not the hesitant, student Hal of years ago: this was not the boy I remembered. This was terrific.

  Along with my thumping heart, footsteps were audible suddenly, coming lightly up the stairs. We sprang apart. Hal pushed his hair back.

  ‘Is she all right?’ Laura whispered urgently, crossing the landing and coming towards us down the corridor.

  ‘Fine,’ said Hal, as I straightened a picture behind me where my head had leaned. ‘She’s sleeping soundly,’ he said, as Laura quietly opened the Green Room door a fraction and put her head round. ‘Nothing eight hours’ kip won’t cure, I’m sure.’ I think we all knew this wasn’t true.

  ‘Poor thing, what a nightmare.’ She shut the door softly. Sighed. ‘Well, there’s nothing else we can do for her tonight. She’ll just have to sleep it off. You’re down that way, Hal.’ She indicated further on down the corridor. Ran a hand through her hair. ‘Hugh sweetly told me to go to bed too. I’m shattered. He says he’ll deal with the Rankins. Hang them out to dry when they’ve drained the cellar. Come on, Hattie. Night, Hal.’

  ‘Night.’

  There seemed nothing else for it, but to allow my arm to be linked by my sister’s as she moved off towards the main part of the house and our bedrooms. But as I raised my eyes to Hal’s to say good night, I was aware of such a light, such a force, indisputably matching the intensity of that kiss, it fairly took my breath away. There was no doubt who he’d thrown his beautiful French girlfriend of six years over for: no doubt where his heart lay – had lain, slumbering, all these years. I felt myself on the receiving end of such passion, I felt humbled. I flashed him an inadequate look in return, then fell into step beside Laura, amazed she couldn’t feel the heat on the back of her legs.

  Once in my room I instantly went to the mirror, wanting to see what he’d seen. Pink cheeks, shining eyes: so we’d both lit up. I smiled. And what now? Might he – and this was truly thrilling – corridor creep?