‘It’s all over with that girlfriend of his, Georgina.’
‘Oh really?’
‘Yes, as of Monday morning.’
‘Jenny, how do you know that?’
‘He told her on the phone. He said he just wouldn’t be seeing her any more and that was that.’
‘God. What a bastard he is. Fancy doing it on the phone.’
‘That’s what I thought. And then she started to cry and he said all right, he’d meet her that evening one last time and explain. It wasn’t very nice to listen to.’
‘Maybe you shouldn’t have listened then.’
‘Maybe not. But it was the usual problem, I couldn’t seem to switch the interconnecting thing off.’
‘Jenny, if you’re having that much trouble with the phone, maybe you’d better get it looked at.’
‘I did, Miss Mullan. The man said there was nothing wrong with it.’
‘Well, ask him to check it again.’
‘Yes, all right Miss Mullan, I will.’
Everyone was so angry with her. Her parents, in a quiet, damaged, seething way: how could she have turned Jeremy down, when he loved her so much – ‘I’m not sure he does, you know, actually’, when he could offer her so much – ‘but what he’s offering is not what I want’; when they had been together for so long – ‘I mean, this – this other young man, how well do you know him?’ her mother said, her eyes full of tears.
‘Not that well. But well enough.’
She could see, of course, what it meant to them.
Jeremy had been what her entire upbringing had been about: what they had worked for, sacrificed for, hoped for, almost prayed for. Turned down for someone and indeed something so inexplicably different, so outside the realm of their own experience, that they saw it as a personal slight, an insult to their social creed. And she could see she had robbed them of something else as well, although they would die rather than admit it.
Charles, who had professed such genuine friendship with Matt, was almost as shocked and nearly as angry. ‘It’s ridiculous, Eliza, you must see that, an absurd idea, throwing over Jeremy for Matt Shaw.’
‘But why?’ she had asked, and, ‘Just tell me what’s so ridiculous about it, Charles?’
‘You know very well,’ he said, and no, she had said, she didn’t,’ and he said rather lamely that Jeremy was one of his greatest friends, he had been his best man, for God’s sake, and she had said she was very sorry, but she really couldn’t be expected to marry someone she didn’t love just because he had been her brother’s best man.
‘Well, I hope you know what you’re doing,’ Charles said. ‘I really don’t want you to be hurt.’
Juliet said nothing to her at all.
She saw Emma in a restaurant one day and went over to her table, trying to be friendly, hoping to explain; Emma was curt and cut her short, turned back to her companion very pointedly. Eliza supposed it was understandable, but she was surprised nonetheless. Emma was such a free spirit, so anxious to be recognised as such.
She began to dread bumping into any of Jeremy’s friends; they were all very cool with her, clearly feeling, exactly as Emma did, that she had behaved extremely badly. Anyone would think, Eliza reflected, she had been married to Jeremy and two-timing him. Whereas they hadn’t even been engaged, and whose fault was that? If he’d asked her earlier, she’d probably be married to him by now. She did try making this point one night at a drinks party to one of his old army friends; it was a big mistake. He looked at her very coldly and simply walked away.
What was that expression? Oh, yes, closed ranks.
Most of her friends, the ones she had grown up with anyway, and gone to school with and shared flats with, were horrified, and told her she’d regret it, and that men like Jeremy Northcott didn’t come along very often; though a handful were clearly intrigued, and asked her what exactly it was about Matt that was so special. She knew what that meant: sex. Everyone assumed it was sex and only sex. It had to be the only explanation, for turning down someone as rich and handsome and totally suitable as Jeremy for someone who was – as one of her friends put it – ‘from such a different world’. But it wasn’t sex – or only partly; it was almost impossible to explain, but the closest was that when she was with Matt, she felt absolutely and completely interested and absorbed by him, on every level and in every way. He engaged her. He engaged her head and her heart and her body and her very self. Life without him was completely unthinkable. It was as simple as that.
Even Maddy seemed a bit shocked. ‘Jeremy’s so sweet,’ she said, ‘and he just is so suitable for you.’
‘Maddy!’ cried Eliza. ‘Don’t you start! I thought at least you’d understand, I thought you’d be pleased with me, for choosing someone not suitable and predictable.’
‘It’s not that,’ said Maddy. ‘It’s just that I’m not sure Matt’s really right for you altogether. He’s awfully different from you, Eliza. As a person, I mean. And in his own way, he’s more old-fashioned than Jeremy.’
‘Well, that’s just totally ridiculous,’ said Eliza.
Most of the younger fellow fashion editors thought she was mad, throwing away a prize like Jeremy, ‘instead of getting away from all this shit,’ said one, and Annunciata and her ilk were coolly amused, implying that they thought Eliza was being silly and immature and didn’t quite know what she was doing.
Only Jack Beckham seemed to be on her side, and actually took her out for a drink. ‘Well done,’ he said. ‘Liked that young man, what I saw of him that is, liked him a lot. Not easy, what you’ve done, though, I can see that.’
Eliza was so touched and surprised she started to cry and then said she was sorry to be so silly; but Jack lent her his handkerchief, and said at least she wouldn’t be leaving to have any babies yet.
‘Of course I won’t be having any babies,’ said Eliza, sniffing, ‘I’ve just said I won’t marry someone, Jack, not the other way round.’
Anna Marchant, her godmother, invited her to lunch, and instead of launching into the attack Eliza had expected, handed her a large sherry and said, ‘I’m sure everyone’s been telling you what a terrible mistake you’re making. I’m not one of them. I’m proud of you. Too easy to just say yes and do what everyone wanted. Now, don’t start crying for goodness’ sake. I thought you’d be pleased.’
‘I am pleased,’ said Eliza, ‘of course I am. But it’s been so awful, everyone telling me I’m mad or bad or both.’
‘Well, I’m not surprised. Nothing to do with them, of course, but people are bloody nosy, and nothing easier than to live other people’s lives for them.’
‘I suppose so. And of course I’ve broken Mummy’s heart—’
‘That’s nonsense. She’s disappointed, of course she is, and I can see it would be very nice for her, to have you gliding up the aisle with young Northcott. But she wouldn’t have wanted you to be unhappy either. Which you would have been if you’d married someone you didn’t love. She’ll come round, darling. Don’t worry.’
‘And then there’s the house.’
‘Oh, I know all about the house, but you can’t go marrying someone just to pay for some building work.’
Eliza giggled, then looked more serious again. ‘Gommie, there’s more to it than that, you know there is. It’s so important to her, that house, and with Daddy being so ill, she needs to stay there, if she can.’
‘Well, her life would be easier if she didn’t, of course, but I know how she feels. We’ll sort something out for her, don’t worry. What about Matt, he’s in the building business, isn’t he? Can’t he help?’
‘I – don’t know. He hasn’t got any real money, if that’s what you mean.’
‘Maybe not, but he must know a few builders.’
‘Yes, I suppose so.’
‘You going to marry him? I liked him very much. Interesting, clever, bit of a rough diamond, but that was the whole trouble with Jeremy, he was too smooth a one for you: not a lot of sparkle. Anyway, you’re not answe
ring my question. Are you going to marry Matt Shaw?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Eliza, with a heavy sigh, ‘he hasn’t asked me, so maybe not.’
‘He will,’ said Anna Marchant. ‘I’d put money on it.’
The one person who’d been completely sweet and nice to her had been Jeremy. It was absurd really; she’d looked down at him, as he knelt there in the mud, and after – actually – a very brief pause, said she was very sorry, but she couldn’t, she just didn’t love him enough, and then burst into tears; and he’d stood up, put the ring box back in the pocket of his Barbour, put his arm round her and said, there, there, he quite understood, he’d much rather she was honest and didn’t marry him now than walked out on him later. They’d gone back to the house and had tea and crumpets in the kitchen, and then she’d said she really thought she’d better go and he’d said yes, probably best, and then he’d actually put her case in her car and kissed her goodbye and waved her off. That moment had probably been the hardest of all; looking at him in her rear-view mirror, so unutterably handsome and nice and – so perfect really, his golden Labradors on either side of him, and the massive house in the background, and she wondered, just very momentarily, whether she had done the right thing. Very momentarily though; and then she drove straight to Matt’s place by the river and he was waiting for her, anxious and almost truculent with trepidation, and everything was all right.
She stayed in her own tiny flat in Earls Court, spending most nights with Matt in Rotherhithe, and driving home at crack of dawn to get ready for the day. She had wondered if he would suggest she moved in with him, but he did rather the reverse, pointing out on that first Sunday that it really wouldn’t be very practical. ‘It’s so small here, we’d drive each other nuts. There’d be all your clothes and where’d you put them? I’m falling over mine as it is.’ He then added that it was very early days anyway, and they should probably take things a bit steady. Ignoring a stab of raw terror, telling herself she was acting like a caricature of herself, she agreed.
Jeremy left for New York; he even phoned her the day before he left, ‘I thought I’d just say goodbye, seemed a bit unfriendly not to and we are still friends aren’t we?’ Slightly bemused, but grateful, she agreed.
Christmas was – well, it was odd. All right, of course, but odd. The Summercourt Christmas that she had known all her life, the perfectly decorated house, the huge tree, the carol service on the village green, midnight mass, the whole family gathered by the fire for presents, the enormous turkey carved by her father, the evening’s charades – all this was barred to her. There was a slightly chilly note from her mother: they obviously couldn’t host Christmas this year and were invited to spend it with local friends instead.
‘And I really don’t feel able to ask if you can join us, under the circumstances, I think they would find it rather uncomfortable.’
‘Fucking hell,’ said Matt when she showed it to him, laughing, for she knew its absurdity would amuse rather than offend him. ‘What am I supposed to have done, kicked a litter of puppies to death? I tell you what, my family wouldn’t be uncomfortable inviting you, want to experience a Clapham Christmas? Scarlett’ll be there, you like Scarlett, don’t you?’
Eliza did like Scarlett, very much; she seemed to have all Matt’s virtues and none of his vices. She was good company – although Eliza sensed a sadness underlining the sharp remarks that she couldn’t quite pinpoint. She told Eliza she thought she was very good for Matt. ‘He’s not nearly so pleased with himself as he was. As far as I can see all his other girlfriends have let him walk all over them, I like to see him stood up to.’
Eliza, who actually found it quite difficult to stand up to Matt and more often than not gave in simply for a quiet life, was very pleased by this and resolved to be firmer with him in future.
Scarlett had a very nice flat in Kensington, which Eliza would have priced beyond her air-hostess salary, but then she told herself she didn’t actually know what that was; she also had a lot of very expensive clothes, including a fur coat, which she kept telling Matt was rabbit. Eliza, who knew sable when she saw it, was intrigued and resolved to ask her about it when she knew her better.
They spent much of Christmas day in bed; but in the evening, they went over to Clapham and Eliza was introduced to Matt’s family. She liked Sandra very much, she was pretty and jokey and had the same sense of style as her daughter, and the two boys were great, but she wasn’t so sure about Pete. She could tell he felt the same, was clearly suspicious of her and more than once made a joke about her ‘slumming’, as he put it. It was clearly a situation that would either resolve itself or not; there was nothing she could do about it.
She was interested to observe Matt in the heart of his family. She had half-expected him to behave differently, but he was exactly the same, bit cocky, quite touchy, very affectionate to his mother.
They drank a lot, watched TV, and after a bit Matt and his brothers and Pete went out to the pub ‘just for a couple’.
‘Sorry about this,’ Sandra said apologetically. ‘Pete doesn’t feel it’s Christmas if he doesn’t go to the pub. When they get back we’ll play Monopoly if that’s all right, Matt’s favourite since he was quite a little chap.’
Eliza said she didn’t mind at all, and asked Sandra where she bought her clothes, ‘I just love that dress, it’s completely fab’, and then settled down to an evening of Martinis and Monopoly, watching Matt sweep the board – she had a strong suspicion he cheated – and buying not only Park Lane and Oxford Street and a whole lot of hotels, but all the London stations as well. She wondered if he would ever do it for real, and decided that, with him, nothing was impossible.
Chapter 22
‘So!’ Mariella’s huge dark eyes danced at Eliza. ‘Tell me, cara, tell me all about this new love of your life. It sounds most romantic.’
‘He most certainly isn’t romantic, I can tell you that.’
‘Unlike the noble Jeremy.’
‘Well, yes. Yes, Jeremy was really romantic. I mean, did I tell you, he even knelt down in a muddy field to ask me to marry him.’
‘And you still said no!’
‘I still said no.’
‘And Matt – how did he ask you?’
‘He didn’t,’ said Eliza and even to herself her voice sounded abrupt.
‘So – you gave up Jeremy, you gave up a fortune, you gave up your family’s love—’
‘Mariella,’ said Eliza, laughing, ‘you’re making it all sound much more dramatic than it really was.’
‘I don’t think so. What did I say that was not true?’
‘Well – nothing, I suppose. But—’
‘Are you living with him?’
‘Yes and no.’
‘And what does that mean?’
‘Well – I spend a lot of time at his place, obviously. But I still use my flat as home. I keep my clothes there, and so on. If he’s busy, I stay there.’
‘So, he allows you to use his place for sex. And nothing else.’
‘Mariella! No. We eat there sometimes. I cook supper.’
‘You cook supper! Cara, cara, at the very least he should be cooking for you.’
‘He doesn’t do that sort of thing.’
‘And why not?’
‘Well – he – he doesn’t come from a background where men cook.’
‘Giovanni neither. But he often cooks.’
‘I don’t think we could compare Giovanni and Matt.’
‘I would disagree. To me they sound very much the same. Both – what do you say, made by themselves—’
‘Self-made.’
‘Exactly what I said. Both very married to their work, both with women they are most fortunate to have. I must tell you, Eliza, so far I so much prefer Jeremy.’
‘Mariella, you haven’t even met Matt.’
‘Well, we must put that right. I shall make a special visit. I might even bring Giovanni, he needs some more shoes.’
‘That woul
d be lovely. But the whole point about all this is, I didn’t love Jeremy.’
‘But that does not mean Matt should treat you badly.’
‘He doesn’t treat me badly.’
‘Mi scusi, cara, but he does not treat you well. Therefore I think, he treats you badly.’
‘No, but you see, he didn’t ask me to leave Jeremy. I decided to. It was all down to me.’
‘Even so – if he loves you—’
‘Mariella, I’m really sorry, I’ve got to go, I’ll be late for Cardin at this rate. See you very soon, maybe tomorrow?’
She was in Paris for the collections, with a horrendously difficult idea to realise. She had regretted having it at all, had tried indeed to banish it from her brain, but she had finally, almost against her better judgement, pitched it to Jack. Jack inevitably had loved it, and had told her that if she managed to pull it off, he would display it as a fold-out extension on heavier paper than the rest of the magazine. Eliza felt quite faint at the thought of both the responsibility of that and the incredible kudos she would gain from it.
Her idea was that instead of the normal run of eight or ten photographs of clothes from all the different designers, Charisma would offer its readers just one big picture, featuring the clothes from ten or twelve houses all together. This was, everyone told her, completely impossible. The dragonesses who policed the releasing of garments held rigid timetables, the competition from other fashion editors not only for the clothes but their permitted release was intense, the models were fully booked up to eighteen hours a day.
But she had a plan, and it was to shoot at two o’clock in the morning. The hours between midnight and six were quiet; all she had to do, she told herself, was a bit of persuasion.
She had booked Rex Ingham to do the shoot; he had sorted out a studio, and she had managed to bribe at least half a dozen models, largely by paying them double their normal fees, but more successfully by promising them future work with Charisma. It was the magazine they all wanted to be in at the time, Vogue apart, and Eliza was notoriously picky, always after a new girl, a new look.
The Decision Page 27