by Anne Weale
Another huge painting, of a fish, hung above an ornate griffin-legged side table, and Chinese fish flirted their tails on the Roman blinds half-screening the bar from the street. On either side of the alcove were frames showing the stages of an oyster’s growth. Having jumped up to look more closely at one of these, Cressy wished she had restrained her curiosity. But she couldn’t help being interested in everything, even if it did reveal her naïvety.
But when she returned to her place on the Art Deco velvet banquette, Nicolas wasn’t raising an eyebrow in mocking amusement. He was looking at her in a way which almost stopped her breath. It was a relief when the maître d’hôtel presented them each with a menu.
As the back of the menu related that the original Mr Scott had established himself as a shell-fishmonger in 1851, it wasn’t surprising that oysters were a major feature of the menu, as were three kinds of caviar—the best Beluga at a price which made Cressy blink.
‘Do you like oysters, Cressy?’ Nicolas asked.
‘I don’t know. I’ve never tried them.’ She wondered if it was true that they were an aphrodisiac.
‘Then how about sharing a seafood platter for our main course, and if you don’t like them I’ll eat yours and you can have all the langoustines,’ he suggested. ‘Or would you rather play safe and have turbot or Dover sole?’
She said, ‘The platter sounds great.’
A glimpse of the pleasures in store came when, on the way to their table in the restaurant, they passed a magnificent still-life display of lobsters and shellfish arranged on a bed of ice and lit by some of the downlighters which cast soft pools of brilliance in the restaurant.
Here the walls were a warm shade of coral, and the dominant feature was an explosion of flowers supported by a silver dolphin and flanked by two pillars of shadowy antiqued glass.
Their table was tucked in a corner with a full view of the room. But although, as the evening progressed, Cressy was dimly aware of the other tables being occupied by the sort of glamorous people the restaurant’s reputation attracted, it was the man beside her who held her attention.
They started their meal with asparagus.
‘The scents of lilac and asparagus cooking always remind me of the summers I spent at Cambridge,’ said Nicolas as they dipped the succulent tips of the green spears in melted butter. ‘When I was twenty, you were still a little girl.’
Again he gave her the look which made her tremble inwardly.
When the seafood platter came, he showed her how to dig an oyster out of its shell and, after swallowing it, drink the juice from the curved bottom shell. Cressy wasn’t sure that she liked it, but she felt there was nothing she wouldn’t try with Nicolas as her tutor.
It wasn’t until they had concluded their meal with a lemon and raspberry soufflé and were having coffee that he said, ‘I went to see Kate yesterday.’
‘That was kind of you.’ She was surprised that he should have bothered.
‘Not at all. She’s a woman of parts...knows all kinds of interesting things. I thought she’d be bored without you around, but in fact she’s all fired up about the new book she’s planning. I gather it’s to be a rebuttal of the book that made her famous thirty years ago. That’ll cause a furore among the sisterhood of hardcore feminists.’
‘I know, but if it sells it could make the difference between Kate spending her old age in independent comfort or having to rely on help from the family—which would be a drain on them and humiliating for her.’
‘I asked her about her working methods,’ Nicolas went on. ‘Last time she dictated the text onto a Dictaphone and paid one of the secretarial staff at her university to type out innumerable drafts. I’ve suggested that this time all those drafts could be eliminated by using a word processor.’
‘But she doesn’t know how to use one. She probably can’t even type. Besides, there’s no electricity at the cottage.’
‘You know how to use one. If you’re willing to be her typist, and if you both come to live at Ca’n Llorenc until she’s better and the cottage has been modernised, she can write the book and have it ready for publication in three or four months.’
Cressy could hardly believe she was hearing him correctly—that he was willing to encumber himself with two women who, a week ago, he hadn’t known existed. Correction—he had known Kate existed. But a lot of people knew that, or remembered her in her prime, and probably assumed that, as nothing was ever heard of her, she had died.
‘Is this what you wanted to discuss with me?’
Nicolas nodded. ‘I haven’t mentioned it to Kate yet. I wanted to confer with you first.’
It wasn’t a proposal of marriage, Cressy thought ruefully, but it was a kind of commitment, and not one most men would make—especially those who were basically lone wolves, not hearthrug dogs.
Reminded of Star, she asked if anyone had responded to the ad he had placed in an island newspaper.
‘Not a nibble. I suspect I’m stuck with her.’
‘That’s a lot less of a burden than being stuck with two women,’ Cressy pointed out.
‘I have thought this through,’ he said dryly. ‘Don’t worry about me. Look at it from your own point of view. Is it something you want to take on?’
‘I’ve already committed myself to staying with Kate till she’s better. Doing that at Ca’n Llorenc would be ten times easier and more comfortable than at the cottage. I can’t imagine anything I’d like better. But have you considered where everyone is going to sleep when your family come over from America?’
‘They’re not coming this year. They’ve been invited to cruise around the Greek islands on someone’s yacht. So you won’t be in anyone’s way.’ After a slight pause he added, ‘We can get to know each other properly.’
Their eyes met and held for what seemed to her a long time.
Nicolas said, ‘You’ve mentioned your friend Fuzzy several times. I expect you took to each other from the beginning. Most close friendships begin with an instinctive liking. But the best friendships are like fine wine—they take a while to mature. By the time Kate’s written her book and you’re free to take on something else, we’ll all know each other a lot better.’
Was there a subtext to what he was saying? Could he be telling her he felt the same way as she did, but that common sense dictated that he didn’t say so until they had known each other longer?
‘Try one of these,’ said Nicolas, offering her the dish of chocolates that had come with the coffee.
Taking this as a hint that he had said all there was to say at this stage, and didn’t expect her to comment, Cressy took refuge in practicalities.
‘How would I get my PC to the island? A desktop isn’t something you can take on a plane.’
‘Although I don’t upgrade often, when I do I always keep my previous PC as a back-up in case the one in use crashes. You can use the back-up. It’s more than adequate for word processing.’
It was after eleven when they left Scotts, but the four hours had passed as quickly as they always did in his company.
Nicolas had already confirmed that he was staying at the flat he co-owned with a friend. However, as the friend was also there at the moment, it was unlikely he would ask her back for coffee and the usual finale of most people’s dates with someone they fancied.
‘Shall we walk, or would you rather taxi?’ he asked.
‘It’s a lovely evening. I’m happy to walk if you are.’
‘I walk everywhere...unless it’s raining. Ben uses a bike. It’s a quick way to get around London, if you don’t mind the traffic fumes. I wonder how, fifty years from now, they’ll have dealt with the traffic problem? Something has to be done about it. What are your theories?’
No one in Cressy’s family ever canvassed her views on big issues, and she was pleased and flattered that he took it for granted she would have opinions worth hearing.
With Nicolas choosing their route, they walked via Berkeley Square.
‘Too b
ad I’m not a member of Annabel’s,’ he said as they passed the awning-covered steps leading down to London’s most elegant nightclub. ‘We could have danced there. Ten years ago I did belong for a while, but it’s a hefty subscription and I’m not in London often enough or long enough to justify it. Also, one grows out of that scene. Do you like dancing?’
‘Not enormously. My height is a disadvantage. There was usually a shortage of partners of your height or, if there were some, I wasn’t the girl they wanted to dance with.’
‘Callow youths rarely recognise the girls who, in five years’ time, will be the real pearls,’ said Nicolas. ‘Mostly they go for the ones who look the most likely to cooperate after the dancing is done. The touch-me-not air that intrigues us later can be a turn-off when we’re still looking at women as sex objects, rather than friends with whom that side of it will be great but isn’t the be-all and end-all of the relationship.’ As he spoke he took off his coat and put it over her shoulders.
Cressy had been wishing she had brought a wrap with her, not because it was significantly colder than when she had set out but because the warmth of the restaurant made the night air seem colder by comparison. But she didn’t want to be warm while he felt chilly in his shirtsleeves.
‘No, no, I can’t take your jacket,’ she protested.
‘Certainly you can. I’m warm. Feel me.’ He captured her hand and, as if the warmth of his palm were not enough proof, held it against his chest so that through the back of her hand she could feel the warmth and vigour of his body through the thin layer of cotton.
‘You may get cold without it,’ said Cressy.
‘If I do, we’ll jump in a cab.’
From Berkeley Square he chose to walk up Hay Hill and circle round to the Piccadilly end of Bond Street, which wasn’t the most direct way but took them past some of the most exclusive shop windows in London.
‘Maggie talks nostalgically about the days when the jewellers could leave their windows full of lovely things at night,’ said Cressy as they passed a shop whose wares she admired more than most. But at this hour the velvet display shelves had been cleared and the lights, which on winter afternoons made the jewels shimmer more brilliantly, had been turned off. ‘When she was young there were lots of what she calls “streetwalkers” in the streets between Shepherd Market and Piccadilly. But she didn’t mind them. Now she’s frightened to go out at night in case somebody mugs her.’
He had not let go of her hand. ‘Are you nervous?’
‘No, but if I were by myself tonight I’d avoid the quiet streets and keep my eyes peeled for trouble.’
His fingers tightened round hers. ‘It’s disgusting that women should have to take those precautions, and old ones like Maggie are terrified of being attacked.’ She could feel his anger coming through to her as if, holding hands, they were like linked computers, able to access each others’ thoughts and feelings.
She said, ‘Maggie spends too much time reading the papers and watching the news on TV. If you do that, you get the impression the world is full of horrors. It isn’t really like that. Millions of people go about safely every day. Nothing nasty has ever happened to me. Oh, look...what a lovely display.’ Her eye had been caught by one of the lighted shop windows filled with finely crafted leather goods.
They stopped to admire the costly cases and bags, cleverly accessorised with mohair throws, silver and shagreen hip-ftasks, field-glasses and shooting sticks.
But when Cressy happened to look up and catch sight of Nicolas’s reflection in a sheet of mirrored glass at the back of the display, his eyes weren’t on the luxurious travel equipment. They were on her. For a second or two, before he broke the contact, she saw in his expression a tender solicitude that expressed as clearly as words his concern for her safety and well-being.
They moved on and nothing was said to confirm that unguarded look. But now she was sure he cared for her and was only biding his time until, as he had said earlier, their friendship had had time to mature.
Yet although it was, in a way, what she would have expected of him, at the same time she couldn’t help longing for him to want her so urgently, and with such total conviction that they were right for each other, that his passion would not allow him to be prudent and patient.
At the traffic sights on Piccadilly, Nicolas released her hand in order to clasp her elbow as they crossed the road. As they strolled down St James’s, past the windows of the gentlemen’s clubs whose names and members were part of the fabric of history, he walked with his hands behind him, and she wondered why.
Walking along the Mall towards Admiralty Arch, she said, ‘When are you going back?’
‘Tomorrow morning. Chris and Alice came over for the opening of an exhibition of paintings by one of their daughters-in-law. They jet around Europe the way ordinary people catch buses. Why not come back with us? Or do you need to stay longer?’
‘Yes, I do. I’ll come back as soon as possible, but there’s something I have to sort out first.’
Near her parents’ house, Cressy said, ‘Would you like some more coffee? My parents are out and won’t be back yet, and Maggie will have gone to bed.’
‘Thanks, but I won’t tonight. I need to talk to Ben about things to do with the flat. We don’t often get together. This is a rare opportunity to talk things over. He went to a meeting at the Royal Geographical Society this evening, but he’ll be back by now.’
They had reached the opening in the railings protecting the area between the Vales’s basement and the pavement. She turned to him. ‘Thank you for a wonderful evening.’
He smiled down at her. ‘Thank you for looking as you do. I was the envy of the restaurant. You don’t believe that, but it’s true. You lit up the room. You light up the street.’
He took her in his arms.
‘What time did he bring you home?’ asked Maggie when Cressy joined her in the kitchen for breakfast. Her parents had breakfast on a tray in their room.
‘Just before midnight, but I didn’t get to sleep for hours.’
Cressy had listened to Big Ben—the bell in the clock tower of the Houses of Parliament—chiming the small hours. With all her emotions stirred up by Nicolas’s goodnight kiss, it had been between two and three before she had finally drifted to sleep.
‘I can see that,’ said Maggie. ‘You’ll have to do something about those dark marks under your eyes if you’re seeing him again today. You always did look a poor thing when you went short of sleep.’
‘I’m not seeing him. He’s going back to Majorca.’
‘Did you have a nice time?’
‘Lovely...lovely,’ said Cressy. ‘I’ll never forget it. I wish you could have met him, Maggie. I’m longing to introduce him. I’m certain you’ll like him.’
‘I hope so, my dear. Indeed I do. I’d be sorry to see you hurt. There’ve been enough broken hearts in the family already.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘It’s all water under the bridge. Over and done with...better forgotten. Just run this tray upstairs for me, will you, dear? Your legs are younger than mine.’
Later Cressy pressed her to amplify her cryptic remark, but Maggie was not to be drawn.
‘I was silly to mention it. Forget I spoke, there’s a good girl.’
On Friday the Vales were giving a dinner party to which Frances was coming. But Cressy could not be included.
‘You don’t mind, do you, darling?’ said Virginia. ‘It would upset my table plan and you wouldn’t enjoy yourself anyway. We’ll be talking politics and high finance...rather over your head. Why not take yourself to the theatre? You and Fuzzy, if she’s free. I’ll pay for the tickets and a meal somewhere afterwards.’
“Thanks, Mum, but Fuzzy’s abroad and there’s nothing I want to see. I’ll have my supper with Maggie.’
‘Oh, all right, if that suits you better. Darling, could you not call me Mum? I have asked you before. Now you’re grown up, I prefer to be called Virginia.’
Cressy was about to apologise, and then surprised herself by saying, ‘I don’t think of you as Virginia. Dad doesn’t mind being called Dad. What’s your problem with Mum?’
For a moment Mrs Vale looked flummoxed. ‘I think it sounds rather common.’
‘Oh, for Pete’s sake!’ Cressy exclaimed. ‘How can you stand on political platforms, spouting all that high-handed twaddle about the entire female sex being sisters under the skin, and then say a word like “Mum”—which is probably used by ninety-five per cent of your constituents and voters generally—is common? If you really despise it that much I’ll try to call you Mother, but I’m not going to call you Virginia. It doesn’t come naturally to me.’
It was the first time that she had ever asserted herself at home, and it made her feel good.
Especially when Mrs Vale’s response, after looking even more flabbergasted, was to say, ‘Oh, very well...we’ll compromise on Mother. I had no idea you felt so strongly about it. I suppose this sudden strong-mindedness is from coming under Kate’s influence. She always insisted her students stood up for themselves. Well, if she makes you more resolute I shall be delighted. Up to now you’ve seemed to take after Granny Vale, who never had a thought in her head beyond catering to her husband’s every whim and doting on her children. Which was par for the course in her day, but women today have broader responsibilities.’
Cressy knew Frances had left her evening things at her parents’ house before going to her conference. When her train pulled in, she would jump into a taxi and just have time for a bath and to re-do her face. To go to her flat and then grab another taxi would have been cutting it too fine.
Cressy didn’t disturb her while she was bathing and dressing. But, a quarter of an hour before the first guests were due, she put her head round the door of the guest room her sister was using.
‘Frances, I have to talk to you.’