‘How was it?’ I asked innocently, stirring a white sauce.
‘Bloody farce!’ He flung down his whip. ‘We had a marvellous run and were hot on its heels, then all of a sudden the scent went completely dead – right where we saw your car, actually. We raced round in circles like idiots for the rest of the day, trying to pick it up again.’ He eyed me suspiciously. ‘You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you, Henny?’
‘Not a thing,’ I said lightly, pouring the sauce over some gammon and popping it back in the oven to brown. My face, when I turned, was naturally flushed from the heat of the Aga. ‘How very boring for you. Now, Angus, lay the table, would you? And Lily, when you’ve had a bath you can mash the potatoes. We’ll have supper at eight.’
The following day was Sunday: a wet and drizzly one, and the children were both due back at school that afternoon. The school run was always a two-man job since we’d cunningly chosen schools in completely different directions to ensure that nothing so simple as dropping them off simultaneously occurred. It was politely agreed over lunch, which might be the last I ever cooked in this house, I thought as I took it out of the oven, that Marcus would take Lily, who needed to be back at six for a play rehearsal, and since Angus had been offered a lift with a boy in the neighbouring village, I’d wait here and see him into the car that was picking him up, before going back to London myself.
‘Why are you going back to London tonight?’ asked Lily, spearing a Brussels sprout.
I glanced at Marcus, realizing we’d slipped up. ‘Because I have to go to work tomorrow, darling.’
‘Yes, but you usually go from here.’
‘I know, but I’ve got to be in early. Laurie’s very busy. I may as well stay at the flat.’
There was a silence as she digested this.
‘D’you stay in the flat a lot?’
I paused. This would, of course, be a very good moment. A moment when all four of us were gathered around the kitchen table, to say, ‘Yes, actually I do, and the thing is, Lily, I’ll be staying there a whole lot more in future.’ A good moment to tell them that their lives, as they knew them, were coming to an end. I glanced at Marcus, wondering whether he’d seize this opportunity. Whether he’d clear his throat, put his knife and fork down portentously. Instead, he calmly popped a roast potato the size of a house into his mouth, and I breathed again.
‘Now and again, darling. I stay now and again,’ I told Lily. ‘It is, after all, jolly convenient.’
‘Tom’s mum says a flat in Town is the slippery slope,’ said Angus with a grin. A piece of carrot flew out of my mouth and right across the table. ‘Says she wouldn’t let Tom’s dad have one in a million years.’
‘What’s the slippery slope?’ asked Lily anxiously, looking from my choking face to her father’s.
‘Nothing, love,’ I muttered, sinking into a glass of water. Marcus chewed on, jaws rotating methodically, eyeing me bovinely as I hastily cleared the plates. ‘Now, come on. Help me put these in the dishwasher.’
In the event I was pleased it was Marcus taking Lily back and not me. If there were any more awkward questions he could jolly well field them, I thought, as I hugged her tight in the drive and said goodbye.
‘Will you come and take me out to lunch before the next exeat?’ she asked. ‘You’re allowed to. Becky Mason’s parents came last term.’
‘Of course I will.’
‘And will you come with Daddy?’
I looked over her fair head at Marcus, standing waiting by the car door. He nodded curtly.
‘Of course,’ I said, hugging her again, a lump in my throat. ‘We’ll both come.’
As I waved them off I wondered how, after that heart-wrenching moment, Marcus could still want to go through with it. But that curt little nod had said it all. Yes, we’ll take her out to lunch together, but the next exeat …The next one, Henny, we’ll have to tell them.
He’s a hard man, I thought, holding myself tight as I went slowly back into the house. I never knew how hard. He, who purports to be so principled, so virtuous, but all the time …ooh, it made my blood boil!
I slammed around the kitchen for a bit, clearing up, then snatched my Barbour from the back of the door. I needed some air. The afternoon had turned damp and chilly, but I’d walk along the river and up the hill to clear my head. Angus had drifted back to his bedroom, and I could hear music reverberating down through the ceiling. I attempted to yell up and tell him where I was going, but the volume was against me, so instead, I left him a note. Then I called to Dilly and went out of the back door.
The wind had dropped now, and a mist was beginning to settle over our valley. The air was soft and damp, and as I walked through the sodden fields and down to the river, it wafted gently against my face, settling on my hair. The river was full and limpid, swollen by the recent rain and lapping at the banks where the chestnut trees were clumped darkly on the other side. I crossed the river at its narrowest point, picking my way over the stepping stones that Marcus and Angus had sunk last summer, threading my way through the trees, then up the hill towards the little stone wall, right at the top.
Don’t think, I told myself sternly as I strode through the damp grass, gazing down at my glossy Wellingtons. Just – don’t think. Don’t think, Is this the last time I climb this hill, or thread through the woods with Dilly as she scampers after rabbits? Don’t wonder, Is this the last time I’ll stop at the top, catch my breath and turn and look at the house below, nestling in the fold of the valley? Just concentrate on moving.
I did turn though, and sat too, on the stone wall, looking at the lights from the kitchen twinkling below. It was that special time of day, when the evening is trying to close in, spreading darkly against the sky, but the day seems determined to hang on for dear life, to every scrap of light it can muster.
From this vantage point, I could see the whole of the valley: the cottage to the right of us, the farm to the left. A proper, working farm that one, not a tarted-up farmhouse like ours. And it was still moving. Cows were coming into sheds, doors were clanging, dogs were barking, ducks were being shut up for the night. It was one of the reasons we’d liked this spot, Marcus and I. It had authenticity, we felt. Wasn’t just a valley full of ex-Londoners, people like us, who’d moved out of Town to claim their slice of a rural idyll, having shinned up the greasy urban pole.
And, of course, our house had once been a working farm too: had been in the same family, apparently, for several generations. The Sewells, they were called, those farmers who’d sold to the Pipers, the people who’d had it before us, who’d got divorced. The three Ds, our estate agent had called it: Divorce, Death and Debt. The latter had forced the Sewells out, and the former, the Pipers. And now us, too. And we’d never thought we’d be contenders for that particular D. Had thought we’d be much more like the Sewells, here for the duration, for the next couple of generations, passing it on to Angus or Lily, then their children. As I sat, gazing at my house slumbering in the valley below me, I wondered what those hardworking Sewells would have thought of us. Of our affairs, our fast cars, our flats in Town. Whether they’d feel we’d let the house down. Let ourselves down. Of course we had. Of course.
Not to mention the children. A lump came to my throat. All right, they weren’t little children any more, they were teenagers, away at school, with their own lives, but they were still very impressionable. How would it affect them? Everyone knew children from broken homes behaved differently, it was well documented. What would happen to mine? Would Lily become attention-seeking, grasping? Angus, quiet and withdrawn? Tears flooded suddenly down my cheeks as I sat there, gripping the stone wall.
I wiped them away with the back of my hand. Turned my wet face up to the darkening sky. And then I wondered, as I watched the black clouds scudding across the firmament, if I wouldn’t wait for him. For Marcus. When Angus had gone, and he came back from dropping Lily. Not go straight back to London, but give it one last shot. Maybe I’d light the fire i
n the sitting room. The one we’d reclaimed together, exclaiming delightedly as blow by blow, the builders had revealed the original hearth. Maybe we’d sit there opposite each other with a glass of wine, the fire between us, and maybe I’d persuade him to give her up. Tell him I knew. That I forgave him. Ask him never to see her again. For the sake of our children. Our marriage. Please, Marcus.
At length, I dredged a deep sigh up from my boots and heaved myself off the wall. I called to Dilly, and with my head bent, went back down the hill again. I glanced at my watch. Half past five. Angus’s lift would be here in half an hour. I had to get back to make sure he’d got everything he needed for school. Make him a sandwich before he went, fill a cardboard box full of cereal packets for him to take to the Common Room and wolf down with his mates. He ate so much these days. As I went back through the dark chestnut wood, quickening my pace a bit – the trees were closing in now, slightly spooky in the gathering gloom – and emerged, relieved, into the open meadow, it suddenly occurred to me that Angus’s lift was already here. There was a car in the drive, and in the light from the window, I could see two figures moving around the kitchen. Oh Lord, had I got the time wrong? Was it five o’clock they were coming to pick him up?
I hastened on, leaping across the stepping stones and hurrying through the horses’ field. I could see through the kitchen window that Angus had the lid of the Aga up, and was putting on the kettle. Well, that was a relief. They couldn’t be in too much of a hurry if they were stopping for a cup of tea. And then, just before I got to the garden gate – I stopped. Stared at the car in the drive, then back again through the window in sheer disbelief. The car I now recognized. And the other person moving around the kitchen, the one perched on the table as Angus measured the Earl Grey into the pot, throwing back his head and laughing at something Angus had said – I recognized him too. Oh God. It was Rupert.
Chapter Twenty-three
I stayed still at the gate and stared. The rain was pelting down now, but I barely noticed. My heart was pounding at the base of my throat. I watched as he levered himself away from the table and went to the fridge. He took the milk out, handed it to Angus, then jumped back onto the table again and sat there, legs swinging. He was wearing brown corduroys and a red pullover, his blond hair flopping forwards. I saw Angus hand him a cup of tea and lean against the Aga, smiling shyly and nodding at something the older man said.
I walked on quickly, my pulse racing. Rupert. In my house. With my son. What the hell …? I started to run. My legs felt like two bits of rubber though, stumbling un steadily along. As I approached the house, I slowed again. Walked, with as decisive a tread as I could manage, up the path. Then my hand closed on the back-door handle – and I burst in.
‘Oh hi, Mum.’ Angus turned, unconcerned.
I stood still in the doorway in my dripping Barbour and boots. Could hear my breath coming in shallow bursts. Dilly slid past me and made for her water bowl. She began to drink noisily, sloshing it everywhere.
‘Rupert.’ I trembled. ‘What on earth …’
‘I was passing,’ he said easily, jumping down from the table and pecking my cheek sociably. ‘Thought I’d drop by and see if you wanted a lift back to London.’
I glanced at Angus, but he didn’t seem to find this strange. Dumb with horror, I played for time. Took my Barbour off for something to do and hung it on the back of the door, while all the time, questions crowded my mind. What had he told Angus? How had he introduced himself? ‘Hi, I’m an old friend of your mum’s and I was just passing? Knew she worked in London and since I’m going that way …’ Or, ‘Hi, I’m your mum’s brand new lover, but actually, an old one too, since we once very nearly got married’?
‘I didn’t know he was the Rupert,’ said Angus with a grin. ‘The one you went out with years ago. Lily’s going to be really jealous I’ve met you and she hasn’t,’ he advised him.
Right. Clearly a mixture of the two.
‘Yes – well, that was all a long time ago,’ I said quickly, my mouth drying as it tried to form words, my brain not quite knowing what it was going to say. ‘But goodness, how extraordinary you were passing, Rupert. And that you even knew where I lived.’ I fumbled with some papers on the island.
‘Oh, I remembered from that change of address you sent in your Christmas card.’
‘Oh!’ Christmas card. Yes, that was good. Exchanging Christmas cards was fine.
‘We were just talking about Bosnia and stuff,’ said Angus. ‘Sounds really cool. I might join the Army, Mum.’
I didn’t reply. Went to refill Dilly’s water bowl, hiding my face in the sink. ‘I thought you were based in Hereford?’ I said into the stream of running water.
‘We are, but for complicated reasons we were flown back to Andover yesterday, which is only up the road. This is kind of on my way back to London.’
Kind of? Hardly. And Andover was not up the road. It was a good thirty miles away.
I switched off the tap. ‘Angus, run up and get your ruck-sack, would you? I want to check you’ve got everything ready before the Barkers get here.’
‘I haven’t packed yet.’
‘Well, go and do it now, please. They’ll be here in a minute.’
Grumbling, he peeled himself off the Aga rail and dragged his denim flares upstairs. The kitchen clock ticked loudly in the silence as he mounted the back stairs. The moment he was out of earshot, I rounded on Rupert, horrified.
‘What the hell are you doing here!’ I gasped. ‘And what did you tell him?’
He shrugged. ‘Exactly what I said – that I was your old boyfriend who you bumped into recently in London. He’s a nice lad.’
I stared at him, speechless. ‘But – you’re in my house, Rupert. My family home! What if Marcus had been here?’
‘Oh, I saw Marcus drive off with Lily about half an hour ago. Figured he was taking her back to school. I knew it was in Berkshire, so I imagined he’d be gone a while.’
I gaped at him, aghast. Stunned into silence. God, the nerve of the guy. So he’d been watching, had he? Watching the house. Watching me, even? He was tanned, I noticed suddenly. Quite brown from his few days away. Where had he been? In Iraq? Running covert operations? Jumping out of helicopters and lying in sand-dunes with his men, waiting to storm an Iraqi stronghold? So sitting in a lane in rural Kent and assessing when the coast would be clear to stroll into his girlfriend’s marital home was not going to be too taxing, was it?
Functioning on automatic, I went to put the milk back in the fridge. My hands were shaking. I was scared.
‘Well you must go,’ I whispered. ‘I have my son to see off to school, and Marcus will be back soon.’
Just then a car tooted in the drive and headlamps lit up the kitchen. I dropped the milk bottle in fright.
‘Looks like they’re here,’ Rupert said casually, strolling over to peer out of the window. He stooped to pick up the rolling, but happily not broken bottle en route. ‘Angus’s lift. Blue BMW?’
‘Yes. Yes, that’s it.’ I ran my hands through my hair and watched blankly as Rupert plucked a dish-cloth from the sink and deftly wiped the milky floor. Well, at least Angus would be out of the way. That was something.
‘Angus!’ I hastened to the foot of the stairs, but he was already coming down.
‘I heard. And it’s Mrs B. driving, which is a real bummer. We’ll have opera all the way.’
I forced a smile. ‘Got everything?’ I said, walking quickly with him to the back door.
‘Yep. And you don’t have to check. I only brought home a couple of files.’
‘And you’ve got the new socks I put out for you?’
‘Yeah, they’re in the bag.’ He turned and grinned at Rupert. ‘Nice to meet you.’
‘You too.’ Rupert stuck out his hand and Angus shook it as I watched, frozen.
I walked out with him to the car, bending to greet Mary Barker in the driver’s seat, thanking her profusely and promising it was my turn next. Then I h
ugged Angus hard.
‘Bye, darling.’
‘Bye, Mum. God, your heart’s going like a bongo drum!’
‘Is it?’ I stepped back quickly. ‘Must be climbing to the top of that hill. Not used to the exercise.’
‘Getting old.’ He grinned. ‘You should go to Pilates like Tom’s mum.’
‘I should,’ I agreed as he got in the car. There are a lot of things I should do, I thought nervously, biting my thumb-nail as I waved him off, but going to Pilates with Tom’s extremely fit young mother was not top of my list. Right now, up there at number one, was getting my lover out of the marital home.
‘Rupert, you must go,’ I breathed as soon as I’d shut the back door behind me. I flew to the window and drew the curtain. As I did so, I caught a glimpse of Bill, shutting up the chickens. He saw me and winked. Bugger! I swung around.
‘Bill’s seen you!’ I exclaimed.
He frowned. ‘Bill?’
‘Our gardener. Oh God.’ My hand shot to my mouth. ‘He’ll tell Marcus.’
‘Tell Marcus what – that someone dropped by? A stranger? He doesn’t know who I am, Henny.’ He came towards me. ‘And anyway, why are you worrying about what Marcus thinks when we all know what Marcus is up to?’ He stopped. Looked down at me and smiled. ‘It’s lovely to see you, incidentally.’
He was close to me. Very close. His blue eyes vivid. Intense. ‘It’s lovely to see you, too,’ I whispered.
It was. And as our eyes feasted greedily, suddenly I knew it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. As he took me in his arms and found my lips, I gave way against him. His mouth opened on mine and I responded eagerly. The spotlights were bright above us, and after a moment, he reached out for the dimmer switch by the back door. Turned them right down. Turned them off. Only the light from the hall shone through, bathing us in a soft, rosy glow. He pulled me hard against him, then pushed me up against the counter, pressing himself on me. I felt desire wash through my body like a high-pressure shower, only the force was coming from below. I went weak with longing as he ran his hands over my body in the dark. How long we might have stayed like that I don’t know, had Dilly not barked suddenly, hearing the dog at the neighbouring farm. I came to my senses.
Not That Kind of Girl Page 32