‘Eliza and I, we met in Paris,’ said Mariella, ‘she is a very famous fashion editor.’
‘On?’
‘A magazine called Charisma.’
‘Charisma! No! Marvellous magazine. Absolutely marvellous. Fashion pages are incredible. Well – clever old you.’
Eliza felt very sad suddenly, rather like Cinderella at the ball, only less fortunate, for where was the prince who could save her and keep her in this enchanted kingdom? Then she told herself she was being ridiculous, and that she wasn’t here to mope, but to be amusing and earn her keep.
She fell asleep with the curtains open, a full moon streaming onto her bed. Emmie slept sweetly and peacefully; a note on Eliza’s pillow said that if she wanted to stay in bed late, she had only to ring for Anna-Maria when Emmie awoke.
The thought came to her, swift and unbidden, that if she had married Jeremy, her life would be at least a little like this one.
Chapter 31
Quietly, gently, Adrian died. He drifted away from the sad travesty of a thing that his life had become by way of first a minor stroke and then a major one, followed by a heart attack, none of which he was properly aware of.
He had been listening to the news, and heard about the shooting of Bobby Kennedy, and had called Sarah to join him.
‘Who could have imagined anything so dreadful,’ he said, ‘only five years after his brother. What a dreadful thing. And how hard for the family to bear. We’ve been lucky,’ he said, taking her hand, his voice faint, but quite cheerful, ‘we’ve been spared that kind of grief, we still have each other and our – our …’
‘Children,’ Sarah said, into the silence, for he often lost his place in sentences these days, but then turning to smile at him, got nothing in reply but a blank stare; and watched as his head lolled sideways, and his body slumped heavily away from her, still holding her hand.
She sat for a short while, listening quite carefully to the details of the events in the Ambassador Hotel in Los Angeles, recognising the much greater importance of what had just happened in her own kitchen, but not quite yet able to face it and all the procedures that must follow.
And so Eliza heard the news, not as she had always feared by way of a panicked phone call in the middle of the night, but by an almost unnaturally calm one, halfway through the morning; a small, sad voice that was almost unrecognisable as Sarah’s, telling her that her father was in hospital and was not expected to last the day.
She and Charles arrived too late to say goodbye to him, and stood staring down at the white empty shell they knew to be, but could scarcely recognise as, the handsome, caring, charming father they had all loved so much.
Sarah was calm, clearly shocked and relieved in equal measure; they spent the rest of the day talking, the three of them, remembering, laughing, crying, reliving what had been the happiest of childhoods and family life, and Adrian’s greatest gift to them all.
Matt and Juliet came too, later in the day, but stayed uneasily together on the perimeter of the group; Matt had left Emmie with Sandra.
The funeral, a week later, was wonderful. The little church was full, people standing at the back and even in the porch, the flowers done with particular care by the ladies of the parish, the choir especially well rehearsed, the vicar at full throttle, his rather fruity voice extolling Adrian’s courage through his long illness, and his outstanding virtues as church warden, his generosity both with his time and Summercourt’s produce (eggs and strawberries) at the village fête, his diplomatic skills as a parish councillor.
Charles, pale and very nervous, spoke of childhood and adult memories of his father and said how greatly his life had been shaped by both Adrian himself and life with him at Summercourt; Eliza spoke briefly but tenderly of her parents’ long and happy marriage, and of their wedding in the same church, almost forty years earlier.
‘Too short, of course,’ she said, glancing briefly at her mother and smiling, ‘but they were lucky that it was nonetheless longer than many.’
Sandra and Pete had come, Pete genuinely sad at the loss of his new friend; Sandra had wanted to sit at the back of the church, but Matt ushered them forward. ‘Don’t be daft, Mum, you’re part of this family.’
Anna and Piers Marchant were there, Anna surprisingly subdued, although she came over to embrace Matt and Eliza, telling Matt how marvellous it was to see him and berating Eliza for not bringing him over for dinner, and Piers pumped his hand and said he hoped the whole family realised what a lot Matt had done for Sarah.
‘Lucky to have you, dear boy, that’s the fact of the matter. See you later up at the house. Share a few jars, eh? Like to know what you think of this Roy Jenkins chappie. Five bob on a bottle of Scotch indeed! Daylight robbery.’
Emmie had not gone to the service; it was felt she was too young and that it would be distressing for her. Eliza had been terrified she would throw a tantrum and demand to be allowed to go, but she seemed to have picked up on the general subdued atmosphere, and was behaving beautifully. She had been left in the care of Charles and Eliza’s old nanny, who was, with her little problem, she said, unable to attend long ceremonies. ‘Incontinence,’ whispered Eliza to Matt, ‘but Emmie will be fine with her, they’re going to play snakes and ladders and the catering lady has promised to keep an eye on them both.’
But as they walked up the hill, Emmie was standing by the big gates, with large tears rolling down her cheeks.
‘I was too sad to play,’ she said.
It was perhaps a most fitting tribute to Adrian the family man.
Sarah had wept quite a lot at the service, but afterwards at the party at Summercourt – the drawing room cleaned and tidied by volunteers from the village – she seemed surprisingly cheerful, sparkling her way round the room, thanking everyone for their help and generosity.
‘Poor Mummy,’ said Eliza to Matt, standing and looking at her, as people began to leave, ‘she’s still in shock. She’ll have to leave now, of course, she can’t stay here. And Charles certainly can’t afford to keep it, so it really will have to go.’
‘But I thought it couldn’t be sold. Because of this trust.’
‘It can’t. Not in Mummy’s lifetime. She has this power of appointment thing which means she can appoint it out – that is, say who is to have it – but there still won’t be any money to do it up. I know you’ve been wonderful and done the roof, but it still needs so much more spent on it. I think there are some cousins in Canada somewhere, who could afford to spend money on it. Of course the trustees would have to agree to that. Bit of a poisoned chalice, you could say. And – who is to say they’d do it properly? How we’d want?’
‘Now, hang on a bit,’ said Matt, ‘I may be a bit thick and not used to all this, but if someone else has got the house and they’re pouring money into it, why should it be the way you want?’
‘Because it’s Summercourt,’ said Eliza. ‘Because it’s ours.’
‘But it wouldn’t be yours.’
‘Matt,’ said Eliza, ‘Summercourt will always be ours. It’s part of us.’ The emotion of the day and anxiety and grief about the future were beginning to get the better of her. ‘Even if someone else was living here. I mean, suppose they decided to – oh, I don’t know, put in modern windows so it was warmer. It would be unbearable. And wrong. You don’t understand.’
‘Too right I don’t understand,’ said Matt. ‘If it was mine, I tell you, I’d put in any sort of windows I liked, and paint the door sky-blue pink if I wanted to. You people really are something else. Eliza, if my dad sold our house, do you think he’d have the right to hang about outside telling the new owner not to paint the front door green just because he liked it red? Course not. I tell you, Eliza, if you think having grown up in a house that you can’t afford any more gives you the right to lord it over anyone who can, you got real problems. Now I’m going to get myself a drink and find someone I can have a reasonable conversation with. Where’s Emmie anyway?’
‘She’s
with Nanny. Playing snap, last time I looked.’
‘Eliza, the old bat’s completely immobile. Anything could have happened. I’d better go and check on her.’
‘Yes, do. And don’t hurry back,’ said Eliza. Tears choked her suddenly; she looked at him as he moved off in the direction of the kitchen. He could be such a bastard; he seemed to have completely forgotten she’d buried her father today.
She moved out of the drawing room and out onto the terrace, lit a cigarette; then, feeling calmer, walked a hundred yards away from the house and looked back. It was a beautiful early autumn day; the golden sunshine, slightly misty now, lit the grey walls, smoke rose from the chimneys, people moved behind the windows, the hum of conversation reached her even at this distance. Briefly Summercourt was alive again, but not for long: once today was over it would fade back into its empty, silent state, with her mother alone in it, having lost the one great love of her life and faced with losing the other. It was all nearly unbearable.
A few weeks later, Charles rang Eliza. Could they meet?
‘Charles, I’d love to see you. Come over here if you like. Emmie’s at playschool now, thank God, and the mornings are wonderfully peaceful.’
‘I’d like that. What about Matt?’
‘Matt’s never here,’ said Eliza briefly.
‘The marriage is over,’ he said, sitting down and sighing heavily. ‘Juliet’s divorcing me.’
‘What?’
If he had told her Juliet was running away with Mick Jagger she couldn’t have been more astonished.
‘Yes. She’s got someone else. Rich bugger, South African, banker. She married me largely for my non-existent money, it seems. Oh, Eliza, I feel such a fool. We’ve had awful rows, all about money—’
‘But – I don’t understand. What does she want?’
‘A small fortune. Which she was mistaken in thinking she’d found with me. Summercourt, family, the Stock Exchange job – it all added up to huge mistake on her part. And I – I fell for it.’
‘Charles – oh, God, I’m so so sorry. How dreadful for you.’
‘The worst thing is I really did care about her. She made me feel good about myself. Stronger, more successful. I’m a bit of a disaster, really, Eliza. I’m a lousy businessman, never really up to standard. If anyone should make money, it’s a stockbroker. And I lost thousands. I couldn’t handle my own wife, stop her spending a ton of money we hadn’t got, just stuck my head in the sand and hoped it would be all right. I owe her old man thousands. He had to bail me out twice. I gambled money on the Stock Exchange, money I didn’t have, lost the lot; and then – well, I was so bloody miserable I started going to the races with clients, I’ve always loved doing that, and I started risking money with the bookies. Just to cheer myself up, really, and I did quite well sometimes. But mostly I didn’t. In the end we’d have lost the house if Geoffrey hadn’t stepped in again. But it was very much a loan and I’ve got to pay him back.’
‘Even though his daughter’s leaving you for someone else?’
‘Yes, he says she’s only going because I’ve demoralised and humiliated her. Which is true to an extent. I didn’t even manage to make her pregnant. She wanted that so much.’
‘Oh, Charles. I’m so so sorry. You should have asked Matt.’
‘I couldn’t have. At least Judd knew I was a disaster. Matt respects me, God knows why. I think so anyway.’
‘Yes, he does,’ said Eliza.
‘Anyway, final straw, I lost my job, told I wasn’t pulling my weight. So as of the end of this month, I’m unemployed.’
‘But – but—’ Her mind was whirling. ‘Why is Juliet divorcing you for a start? Why not the other way round?’
‘Her old man insists on it, says I’ve got to do the decent thing, provide grounds. Oh, I don’t care too much about that, in fact I might emerge with my dignity intact. Not a cuckold at least. And then she won’t ask for anything in the way of a settlement. And her father will pick up the bill for the court costs. That was the deal. I couldn’t afford to argue.’
‘Charles, that’s shocking. So immoral.’
He sighed. ‘I know. But – I just want it to be over. Oh, Eliza—’ His voice broke suddenly and tears filled his eyes. ‘I loved her so much, you know, I really did. That’s the worst thing, to think she didn’t love me.’
Eliza sat there, her arms round him, unable to comfort him. Finally she said, ‘What are you going to do about – about your job?’
‘Oh, I’ve got an idea about that,’ he said and he looked slightly more cheerful. ‘I’m going to try teaching. I’ve got a good degree and I can get a job in a prep school, quite easily it seems, teaching history. I’m pretty sure I’d like it. I won’t earn much, though; and what with paying old Judd back, I really won’t have a bean. Certainly can’t help with Summercourt. Matt’s been great, hasn’t he?’
‘Yes, he has,’ Eliza agreed soberly. She still felt stunned. Charles her big wonderful brother, turned into a penniless failure. It just didn’t bear thinking about. What on earth would Matt say?
Matt was characteristically brutal. ‘Not surprised to be honest,’ he said, ‘I like old Charles, but he’s his own worst enemy. Too much of a gentleman, that’s his problem. No wife of mine would spend money she hadn’t got.’
‘Really?’ said Eliza.
Her tone was wasted on Matt. ‘And he should never have let old Judd take things over—’
‘Matt, that’s so unfair. What else could he do?’
‘Sell that poxy flat for a start, tell Juliet she couldn’t have her bloody house, rent somewhere modest and the bank would have met him more than halfway. Well, I’m glad about this teaching lark, I tell you that.’
‘Why?’
‘I thought you were going to say he was going to ask me for a job. Then what would I have done?’
‘Given him one,’ said Eliza, ‘I very much hope.’
‘Yeah, I would. But not the sort he’d have wanted. I don’t carry dead wood, Eliza, and Charles would have been no use to me.’
‘You are so vile, you know that?’ said Eliza.
But something deep in her heart forced her to admit that he was to some extent right.
Chapter 32
It was definitely him. No doubt about it. Sitting there, looking quite cheerful, smiling at the crowd of people in front of him: signing what she presumed was his name, on the books being handed to him.
She would normally never have gone into Hatchards, that smartest and most exclusive of bookshops. Grabbing a paperback on her way through the airport was how she obtained most of her reading matter; but she had seen a new Margaret Drabble novel she hadn’t read in the window, and couldn’t resist getting it as soon as possible.
She had found that straight away and then thought she might get a birthday present for Diana and was wandering about the shop when someone said, ‘Are you looking for the signing?’
She’d said not really and then, in case the signer was someone famous, thought she’d just find out and – well, best get out quickly, Scarlett, before he sees you.
But it was too late; he had seen her and his grey eyes widened with alarm. Which annoyed her. What did he think she was going to do, make a scene, try and claim friendship or something? Arrogant pig, he was.
She was about to turn away and leave the shop, when something very peculiar happened. She could hardly believe it and had to blink and then look again to make sure she hadn’t imagined it. But – no: no doubt about it, he was smiling at her. It was certainly not a welcoming grin and he wasn’t waving, or inviting her over, but it was definitely a smile just the same. And a very nice one. Almost conspiratorial. And his eyes behind the wire-framed spectacles were unmistakably friendly.
She smiled carefully back, and one of the shop assistants who was managing the queue noticed that they were smiling at one another and came over.
‘Did you want to get a book?’ she said, indicating a pile of very large and expensive-looking volum
es. ‘They’re over there. It’s Mr Frost’s companion volume to My Favourite Train Journeys. My Favourite Island Journeys.
Scarlett was about to say that she didn’t want a book, when it occurred to her that he might have included Trisos among his favourites.
‘I’ll just have a look,’ she said, ‘thank you.’
‘That’s all right. And then of course, if you buy it, Mr Frost will sign it for you.’
The book was very large, and very glossy, with colour photographs every few pages; Scarlett picked it up and started rather cautiously looking at the index, which was difficult as it was so large and heavy. She glanced over her shoulder rather guiltily. Mark Frost had stopped smiling and was watching her quite closely. She quickly put the book down and saw to her horror that the assistant was coming back.
‘I don’t think I want it, thank you,’ she said, ‘it’s not for me.’
‘Oh right. But I’ve just got a message for you from Mr Frost. He said to tell you Trisos was on page seventy-two.’
‘Oh. Oh, thank you.’ She felt herself blushing. Damn. Now she’d have to look at it again, or it would seem very rude.
She opened the book and there it was. A picture of Trisos, of a trio of white houses, with the sun setting behind them, and a seagull trailing across the sky. She could almost hear it, with its wild, raw cry, feel the heat, smell the herbs. It was a glorious photograph; she smiled and turned to Mark Frost in a moment of pure unselfconscious delight. He smiled again.
‘I think,’ she said to the assistant, ‘I think that I will get one after all. Thank you.’
‘Good. It’s four pounds nineteen and eleven. I’ll take it over to the desk for you. Would you like to pay by cash or cheque?’
‘Oh, cheque,’ said Scarlett firmly. Nearly five pounds. For a book. She must be mad.
The Decision Page 39