Something Stupid

by Victoria Corby

  Stefano made an odd noise from behind me. For a moment I thought he was going to forbid me to take my contaminating presence anywhere near his wife but even he must have realised that he wasn’t going to get very far with that. Cressida turned her head towards me as I slipped behind her curtains and hissed, ‘Laura, what are we going to do about the faun?’ The faun? I’d completely forgotten about it. And what was this ‘we’? In my present mood I didn’t see why she shouldn’t tell Stefano she’d had the blessed thing melted down for scrap and let him put that in his pipe and smoke it.

  ‘I shouldn’t worry about it,’ I said in a heartily reassur­ing voice. ‘Stefano’s so happy to have you back he’s going to forgive you anything.’

  ‘Shsh!’ She pointed towards the ward. ‘We must get it back, Laura. It would ruin everything if he were ever to know I’d given it away.’ Given it away?

  I gave her a severe look and she turned her head, not meeting my eyes. ‘I didn’t exactly give it away, but I didn’t exactly not know that it was in the carrier bag when I told Sam he could have everything in it. I was angry with Stefano,’ she mumbled. And you wanted to get back at him without taking full responsibility for it, I thought. Honestly, in many ways she had the morality of a six year old. And like a six year old she expected other people to get her out of trouble.

  ‘Is Laura tiring you, cara?’ called Stefano in a voice stiff with disapproval.

  Cressida started and turned apprehensive eyes towards the shadow thrown on to her curtains. ‘No, of course not, darling,’ she quavered, then returned her pleading gaze to my face. I was somehow given the impression that if I refused her now I was going to be personally responsible for ruining the rest of her life. And that it would weigh heavily on my conscience. Well, perhaps it wasn’t a good idea if she went down to her operation worried sick, even if I did think that her worries were exaggerated. As the means of soothing the angry breast of an enraged husband an operation and a surprise first baby come well into the double whammy stakes. I reckon he’d have forgiven her just about anything. Well, perhaps not eloping with James.

  I sighed heavily and said gracelessly, ‘I’ll go down to Folkestone and get it myself.’

  ‘You’re so kind,’ she exclaimed happily. ‘You’ll do it today, won’t you?’

  All I wanted to do was eat breakfast and go to bed. The last thing I needed was another long journey and then a scene at journey’s end while I tried to wrest the faun out of Sam’s greedy grasp. And then if I did manage to get it back, I was prepared to bet Stefano would accuse me of stealing the bloody thing. Cressida fixed me with her expectant puppy look. ‘All right, today,’ I said grumpily and then decided that she could jolly well do something for me too. ‘On one condition, Cressida, and only that.’

  ‘What?’ She eyed me warily.

  ‘You tell Stefano the moment I leave your bedside about the china being in the safe.’ As she opened her mouth to protest, I said firmly, ‘Come on, he’s hardly going to go rushing off to Hurstwood to check what’s actually in the safe while you’re being operated on, is he? And I’ll bring the faun back to you tomorrow.’ I touched my head in lieu of a handy piece of wood, praying this was actually going to be true.

  ‘All right,’ she said reluctantly.

  ‘Promise?’

  She seemed on the verge of making some excuse again, then sighed. ‘If I don’t promise you won’t go, will you?’

  ‘No.’ I didn’t put too heavy a reliance on Cressida’s promises either but it was worth a shot.

  ‘OK, I promise,’ she said heavily, as if I was being totally unreasonable I noted with some indignation. ‘Sam’s address is in my diary in the top drawer of my bedside cabinet.’

  ‘Won’t he be doing one of his seminars this weekend?’ I asked hopefully as I scribbled it down.

  ‘Only the first weekend of every month and you’ll definitely find him at home today. It’s his son’s birthday party and he’s a devoted father.’ Your average devoted father didn’t, in my experience, try to arrange three in a bed sessions under the same roof as his child, but maybe I was unfairly prejudiced. Sam could have sent his son out to overnight with a friend in anticipation of adult fun.

  ‘OK, I’ll do my best,’ I said, standing up as the nurse came back in.

  ‘I’m going to have to turn you out, our patients aren’t allowed to have visitors before their operations,’ she said with a professionally insincere smile. She cast an expert eye over Cressida and smiled, more genuinely this time. ‘Well, you look much happier, Mrs Buonotti. Sorted out what was worrying you, did you?’

  ‘Completely. We were due to go to the seaside today, and Cressida was worried I wouldn’t want to go without her,’ I said. ‘I suppose as we’re in hospital it would be the height of bad taste to tell you to break a leg, but you know what I mean. I’ll come and visit you tomorrow, Cressida, and I might even bring you a souvenir.’

  Nurses were bustling around the beds, twitching sheets and straightening comers in preparation for the morning round. Stefano was being shooed into the waiting area by one of the students who was officiously telling him he’d be allowed to see his wife for a minute before she went down to theatre but he couldn’t disturb the ward routine any further. Judging by the surrepti­tious looks she kept on giving his eccentrically clothed figure she was actually more worried that the doctors might think she was giving house room to someone better accustomed to the squats opposite. He stood listlessly, staring blankly at a poster telling patients to ‘Give Nurse a Smile’, his face a mask of worry. Despite myself, I can be quite nice sometimes, I stopped.

  Touching him on the wrist, I said, ‘She’ll be all right, Stefano, honestly.’

  He swung around, his face savage with shock. I smiled nerv­ously. ‘I’m sure that if it was really urgent they wouldn’t have sent her for those tests and things. Fragile-looking people like Cressida are always the strongest.’

  Heavy eyelids were lowered to shield his eyes. ‘It is kind of you to be concerned but I will take care of my wife from now on,’ he said coldly.

  So it was like that, was it? I gave him a meaningless smile and walked off without bothering to say goodbye.

  CHAPTER 18

  I went back to the flat for copious amounts of coffee and a plate of toast and scrambled eggs shared with Horatio. I hadn’t been intending to share it, but I was no proof against the cat equivalent of ram raiding. I poured myself another cup of coffee and spread the last piece of toast with raspberry jam and took it off to eat in the bath - an unusual habit, I’ll admit, but Horatio doesn’t like bathrooms. Washed hair, twenty minutes of soaking in hot water with liberal dashings of Liv’s Mary Chess bath oil and a chapter of my book - finally I was able to discover if the heroine was ever rescued from her grim plight - and I was almost human again. I was guiltily relieved to be alone. As Darian complains so often, I might like to waste half the day gossiping with my friends but I like my own space too. And it has to be admitted that a week in Cressida’s company isn’t good for any woman’s self-esteem. I’m not in the top ranks of the world’s high flyers looks wise, but never before have I gone for so long without even being noticed. As I got dressed I enjoyed the feeling that I could decide to wear my black jeans without the dispiriting reflection that my entire outfit probably cost less than my companion’s underwear. Whatever they say about cheap and cheerful, cheap is hardly ever as cheerful as expensive. I put on the green jumper that Imogen and Dad gave me for Christmas and which brings out the red lights in my hair, slapped on some make up and decided that if I had to go to Folkestone I’d jolly well have company. Ten minutes later I was knocking on James’s door.

  He opened it, yawning hugely, wearing a short silk dressing gown and so far as I could judge nothing else. His hair was standing on end, his chin was bristly and his red-rimmed eyes were having difficulty coping with even the light of this cloudy day. In short he wasn’t a pretty sight. ‘What are you doing here at this unearthly hour?’

&n
bsp; ‘It’s half-past ten and I’ve been up for hours,’ I replied primly, and for once truthfully.

  ‘Can’t think why. I was up until three-thirty checking that our mysterious friend hadn’t left any other surprises for me around the house.’ And seeing the bottom of more than one glass of whisky by the look of him. He yawned again. ‘It’s always very nice to see you, Laura.’ His expression sharpened a little. ‘Particularly nice this morning - that colour suits you. But do you want something or is this a social call? Because if it’s the latter could you come back in about three hours?’

  ‘It’s no social call. We’re off on a trip to the seaside.’

  He blinked. ‘A what? To where?’

  ‘Folkestone.’

  He woke up a little and glared at me suspiciously. ‘You aren’t planning to go on one of these ridiculous seminars, are you? Because I can tell you now,’ he wagged his finger at me, ‘I’m not accompanying you.’

  ‘No, we aren’t going on a seminar,’ I said. ‘And unless you want to give whichever of Stefano’s detectives is on duty today the opportunity of taking some very interest­ing photographs, I’d avoid making too many violent gestures on the doorstep if I were you.’

  He looked down and hastily drew the edges of his dressing gown together. ‘I suppose there’s some good reason for your wanting to go to Folkestone,’ he said in a sour tone that indicated he doubted it very much. ‘You’d better come in and tell me what it is.’

  He still looked as if he’d left his brains behind in bed. I didn’t feel he could cope with the latest revelations until he’d got himself together a bit. ‘Why don’t you go and get dressed and I’ll make some coffee?’ I suggested. ‘A large glass of Alka Seltzer might be a good idea too.’

  ‘Some breakfast?’ he asked hopefully in the eternal fashion of a male confronted with a gullible female who might be willing to undertake domestic tasks.

  ‘I don’t do breakfast,’ I told him severely. Then remem­bering that I wanted him to come with me, added grudg­ingly, ‘I’ll see what I can find, just this once.’

  ‘Laura, you’re a heaven-sent angel,’ he exclaimed, putting an arm around my shoulders and dropping a kiss on my mouth. He’d brushed his teeth so it was very pleasant. He stayed where he was for a few seconds then stepped back. ‘Time for a cold shower,’ he said and went up the stairs.

  The kitchen appeared to be almost completely devoid of food but I was sure that by breakfast James didn’t mean a gin and tonic with an olive chaser, so I started searching in the back of cupboards. By the time he appeared, wearing a pair of jeans so old that the fabric was almost white at the knees, and looking remarkably alert considering the state he’d been in ten minutes before, I’d found half a loaf of fairly ancient bread to toast and just enough butter to grease it. Showing that he had a truly iron constitution James loaded the toast with the last of a tub of coleslaw and three pieces of salami, pointing out when I protested that the Swedes have pickled herring for breakfast, and come to think of it, he thought he might have some marinated kippers in there somewhere...

  I was interested to see that even he lost his appetite for a moment and had to put his laden bit of toast down when I began to explain why we were going to Folkestone and how Cressida had hurled the faun at a brick wall. He looked as if he would have forgiven her almost anything else - adultery, fiddling her taxes, highway robbery, you name it. Despite what he’d said the night before I wasn’t at all certain his long infatuation with Cressida really had come to an end so I helpfully pointed out that she’d as good as admitted that she’d actually given the thing away and now it was being left to us to get it back. I could have throttled him when he murmured with an indulgent smile, ‘Cressy’s always needed someone to help her along and it’s hardly her fault she’s landed up in hospital, is it?’

  He got up and wandered around the kitchen hoovering up the last of anything edible and remarking that he supposed it really was time he went out and did some food shopping. ‘And if we’re going to the seaside it would be unfair not to give Barker a walk on the beach,’ he added thoughtfully and rang up Harry, arrang­ing to meet him in the car park of the local shopping centre in twenty minutes.

  ‘Why there?’ I asked as James put on a dark jacket and wrapped a red scarf around his neck.

  ‘Wait and see,’ he said with an infuriating air of superi­ority, picking up a pile of clothes for the dry cleaner’s which he threw into the back seat of his car. He glanced in the mirror as we drew out. ‘Keep an eye on the red Fiesta, the one that’s just pulled out at the end of the road. I think that must be today’s bloodhound.’

  Feeling wonderfully cloak and daggerish I kept looking over my shoulder at the innocuous-looking little car that did indeed appear to be following us, unless, like James, the driver enjoyed the scenic and circuitous route to the supermarket. ‘Aren’t you going to whizz around all these streets and shake him off?’ I asked.

  He shrugged. ‘Can’t be bothered. He’s welcome to follow us to Sainsbury’s if he wants.’ Then he grinned. ‘I tried it earlier in the week and had no luck at all. The blighter knows these back roads better than I do. I did what I thought were a couple of really crafty turns and he was waiting for me at the crossroads. He must have done the knowledge at some time.’

  As usual on a Saturday morning there was a slow-moving queue of cars waiting for one and a half hours of free parking in the multi-storey car park next to the shopping centre. We tagged on the end. Was James plan­ning to do his grocery shopping now? I wondered as we inched slowly forward. Otherwise surely it would have been more sensible to meet Harry outside? Certainly quicker. ‘What’s he doing now?’ asked James.

  I looked back. ‘He’s drawn into the side, opposite the entrance.’

  He grinned. ‘Excellent. Probably thinks we’re planning to nip around and go straight out again while he’s stuck waiting to get through the barrier.’ He leaned out, got the ticket, the barrier opened and we shot through up to the first level where a blue BMW convertible was drawn up by a pillar. A large black head hung out of the window, long pink tongue lolling. Harry, recognisably James’s brother but taller and with matinee idol looks, was lean­ing against the car and waved idly at us as we stopped behind him.

  Two girls in their twenties drove slowly past, heads swivelling. Sadly they were wasting both their time and their lustful thoughts. The love of Harry’s life is a rugby player called Arthur. The greatest loss to womankind since the death of Rudolph Valentino came over and gave me a rib-cracking hug. I returned it. ‘Lovely to see you, Laura. You’re looking great,’ he said, running an expert eye over me. Harry has an acute appreciation of looks in both sexes. ‘But what on earth are you doing mixing yourself up with that tiresome woman Cressida?’

  ‘Ask James. It’s all his fault.’

  ‘It is not. I didn’t tell you to take her to Paris,’ James said as he fished a dark yellow blouson jacket out of the dry cleaning pile and put it on.

  ‘I couldn’t understand that either,’ said Harry. ‘Nor why you tried to set her adrift in turbulent flood waters. Can’t blame you, though. Personally I wouldn’t have bothered to rescue her. When all this is over you must both come round and have dinner and tell me all about it.’

  ‘Of course,’ said James, ‘but when that’ll be God only knows. We don’t know what new bombshell Cressy’s going to spring on us next and expect us to sort out for her.’

  Both of us looked up at his sour tone. Was James finally becoming disenchanted with her? I wondered, finding that the grey sky outside suddenly looked as if it held a promise of sun.

  ‘Let’s go, Laura,’ he said, looking slightly uncomfortable under our combined gazes. ‘I’ll bring it back this evening,’ he called as he got into Harry’s car and leaned over to open the passenger door for me. ‘Thanks.’

  Harry gazed anxiously after us. ‘Look after it. And I’ll have your guts for garters if it’s got so much as a scratch on it. Do you hear?’

  James wa
ved one hand lazily out of the window in answer as he reversed at a speed that brought a pained expression to Harry’s face.

  ‘Oh, I see,’ I said as I fended off an enthusiastic licking from the back seat with only moderate success. ‘It won’t occur to the detective that you might have switched cars. What a brilliant idea.’

  ‘It was, wasn’t it?’ agreed James.

  I pushed Barker down. ‘Did you just think of it this morning?’

  ‘No, Harry and I thought up several ruses to use if necessary earlier on in the week,’ he said absently as he tried to get something out of a pocket that was confined under the seat belt. I bet they’d had enormous fun in the planning too. It was a good thing for Harry’s peace of mind that he wasn’t there to see the car wobble violently as James finally got at what he was feeling for and pulled out a striped woolly hat. He put it on, bringing the bottom right down to the level of his eye­brows, making himself look alarmingly like a trainspotter. ‘Won’t recognise me now, will he? Even if he suspects we might have changed cars and is watching all of those coming out.’

  ‘I doubt your own father would recognise you,’ I answered faintly. The ensemble didn’t make him look his best. Men with noses like that shouldn’t wear tea cosies.

  ‘I’ve decided to spare you a hat,’ he remarked as we approached the exit. ‘Girls always make such a fuss about their hair being messed up, but bend down so he can’t see you.’ I obediently cramped myself into the footwell so the only visible occupants of the car were a nerd and his dog. I wondered if the detective would think there was something odd about a nerd driving such an expensive car, then realised he’d decide this was just another rich nerd. Albeit with an unusually gaudy taste in headgear.

  ‘Okay, you can get up now,’ said James five minutes later, taking the hat off and throwing it behind him on the back seat.

  I sat up, rubbing a stiff neck and feeling the blood drain from my head back to its normal habitat. Barker decided I needed a reviving licking. ‘Did it work?’