But – Eliza had never told anyone; he knew that. She bore her own shame about it. And Gina was the only other person on earth who knew. And had sworn she never would tell. But – she did know; she could change her mind.
Matt pulled out his cigarettes, lit one with hands that shook. How had he done that, hit his own wife? How? How had he done any of it, made Emmie so unhappy? But it wasn’t just him – was it?
‘Would it be asking too much to spend an evening with you?’
‘Oh, don’t know – very busy—’
‘Matt, I’ve been propping you up for months, it feels, trying to help you through this thing, and all I get is the bum’s rush every time I ask for a morsel of acknowledgement. I mean, clearly there’s no future in looking for gratitude, but—’
Matt felt suddenly remorseful. Gina had been bloody good, incredibly patient, accepting his explanation that he couldn’t go to bed with her until the case was over because he would be compromised if anyone found out, which, while true, was a wonderfully useful cover for the real reason. This was that he just didn’t fancy her any more; her sexual self-confidence, her overt sensuality, her greed in bed, all the things that had first attracted him to her had cloyed into something heavy and enervating, that induced the opposite of desire. He had an uneasy feeling that if he tried to have sex with her he would fail; and that was frightening for more reasons than one. She just knew too much; he dared not alienate her. Afterwards – well, she could do him no harm afterwards.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘Yes, let’s have dinner. I’ll come to you; d’you mind cooking?’
‘I’d rather go out.’
This was a tricky one; if they went out, she was liable to behave in her usual way, touching him up under the table, nuzzling his neck as the evening went on; on the other hand, being in her flat meant he was vulnerable to a sexual proposal. He decided that was less of a risk.
He arrived quite late; as he had feared, she had gone in for the full works. She was wearing a very low-cut black top and some very flared trousers that clung to her flat stomach and, more alarmingly, fitted her so closely round the crotch it was very obvious she was wearing no pants. Her hair swung loosely onto her shoulders: her make-up was light except for her mouth which she had painted a dark plum colour and then piled on the gloss. She smelt very heady; he kissed her, and then drew back.
‘Hey,’ she said, smiling up at him, ‘did I do something wrong?’
‘No, of course not.’
‘Champagne?’
‘Oh – yes, thanks.’
She took his hand, led him into her sitting room; it was, as always, slightly untidy, magazines on the floor, hairbrush on the coffee table next to an empty coffee cup, a half-eaten bar of chocolate. When they had been together it had charmed him, her messiness, even while it annoyed him, it was all part of her sexy, chaotic lifestyle, now it seemed to approach squalor. He thought, without being in the least sure why, of Louise’s immaculate, stylish flat, all white and chrome, and how much he liked it.
‘Right. I’ve bought steak, fillet, hope that’s OK.’
‘Of course.’
‘And some other stuff. Oh, and some wine.’
‘I’ve brought some wine.’
‘OK, we can drink them both. Mine’s a Merlot. I know you’ll like it. I told the man in the off-licence it was for a man who didn’t like wine and he said there wasn’t a man alive who wouldn’t like this one. He said it was a very sexy wine, actually, and wished me a good evening.’
‘Great!’ He was beginning to feel a bit sick. ‘But you know—’
‘I know,’ she said, pulling him down onto the sofa, ‘and it’s not long now. And we can at least have a bit of an aperitif tonight, don’t you think? What you might call a snog?’
Matt did his best; even that, he could tell, was rather unsatisfactory. She pulled away with an irritable sigh.
‘Matt! This is so tedious.’
‘I’m sorry. I’ve just – got a lot on my mind.’
‘And don’t I know it. Oh well – let’s go and cook, that’s supposed to be an aphrodisiac, isn’t it, cooking together?’
‘I – hadn’t heard it, no.’
‘I really don’t know what’s happened to you, Matt. There isn’t anyone else, is there?’
‘Of course not,’ he said and his voice was so full of genuine horror, he could even hear it himself. She smiled and visibly relaxed.
‘That’s all right then. OK, one more for the road and then we’ll carry on in the kitchen … I wish. Do you remember how we used to try doing it on all the floors, see which one was sexiest? And you decided the kitchen?’
‘Yes, of course I do,’ said Matt.
‘So,’ said Gina, as they sat down at the table, ‘how are things? How’s the witness tally? I cannot get over your sister doing that, taking the stand for Eliza. It’s just – just gross.’
‘I did think that,’ he said, in between chews, reflecting that the fillet was tougher than it should have been. He should have done the shopping himself.
‘Well – don’t you still?’
‘Yes. But – it’s got a bit better since then.’
‘Really? How’s that?’
‘Well – you know Louise?’
‘What, the girl in your office?’
‘She was the girl in my office,’ said Matt, discovering he felt a certain proprietary pride in Louise’s progress, ‘she’s now Contemporary Hotels.’
‘Really? I didn’t know that. They’re very good. Brilliant facilities, I went to a trade show in the one near Covent Garden last week. She must be clever. Anyway, what’s she got to do with the case?’
‘She’s going to be a witness for me.’
‘She’s what?’
Gina’s eyes had become very sharp, lost their sexy languor.
‘She’s going to appear as a witness for me.’
‘Saying what?’
‘What a good dad I am. Would be. All that stuff.’
‘But – how? I don’t see how she can. She’s not a friend, is she? Just a work colleague.’
‘Yes, of course, I mean of course she’s just a work colleague. But – she offered and I took her up on it.’
‘I’m sorry.’ Gina had put down her knife and fork. ‘I don’t see how someone who worked with you, in the office, could possibly carry any weight as a witness to your skills as a father. I can’t think why your solicitor’s even entertaining the idea.’
‘Well, you’re wrong about that,’ said Matt. In fact Ivor Lewis had been slightly sceptical, but having talked to Louise, and heard what she had to say, had conceded she would be a ‘useful backup’. Matt wasn’t going to tell Gina that.
‘We go back a long way,’ he said now, ‘she came to work for me when we were just two men and a dog. Me and Jimbo.’
‘And Louise was the dog, I suppose?’
Matt felt a rush of anger. ‘Don’t talk like that, Gina, please. She’s a very good friend, she’s done a lot for me over the past few months.’
‘And I haven’t, I suppose?’
‘Oh God,’ said Matt wearily, ‘of course you have. But she’s listened to me moaning, tried to cheer me up, taken me out, bought me drinks—’
‘How very kind.’
‘It was actually,’ said Matt quietly.
‘Sounds to me as if she’s after you, Matt. Trying to get to you the best way she can see at the moment. I’d be careful if I were you.’ She smiled at him, twisted a strand of hair round her finger. ‘You’re very vulnerable and women can sense that.’
‘Gina, for Christ’s sake, do stop this. Louise is an old friend, we spent most of the time we worked together fighting, she walked out on me when I appointed a new partner and it wasn’t her—’
‘Good for Louise. Suddenly I like her more. Anyway, I still don’t see how she possibly can be a witness to your fitness to look after Emmie. It’s going to sound pretty hollow.’
‘You don’t know what she said,’ said Mat
t, trying to sound calm, ‘she was pretty convincing.’
‘I bet she was.’
He flung down his napkin.
‘This is a ridiculous conversation.’
‘Matt, it is not ridiculous. Honestly. And I’d lay a pound to a penny I’m right. Why should a girl do that, pretty scary experience, volunteer to go into the witness box – I presume she did volunteer? Only one explanation, Matt. She fancies you. Thinks maybe she can close in when the divorce is through. Well, if she knew how useless you are in the bed department at the moment, she’d pull out pretty fast, I’d say. Maybe I should warn her—’
‘Please stop talking like that,’ said Matt, his voice icily polite. ‘I know you’re not entirely serious but I don’t like it. I told you, she’s been a good friend to me and …’
‘Hmm. A friend who takes you out and serves up whisky and sympathy? And then says anything else I can do for you Matt, while I’m about it, oh, speak up for you in court did you say, yes, of course I will, three bags full, Matt. You’re more stupid and blinder than I realised, Matt Shaw.’
Matt suddenly had a vivid flashback to the evening in Louise’s flat, could hear her voice again working out what she might say. ‘I can tell them how much you love her … she’ll be so proud of you one day, Matt …’ and he couldn’t bear it any longer.
‘You’ll have to excuse me,’ he said, ‘I’m not enjoying this very much. I think I’d better go.’
‘Oh, don’t be so ridiculous,’ said Gina, ‘I’ll start thinking you fancy her back in a minute.’
Matt pushed his chair back and stood up.
‘Just shut up, would you?’ he said quite pleasantly.
Gina stared at him; she was flushed suddenly, and looked startled.
‘You do, don’t you?’ she said slowly. ‘You actually do fancy her. My God! What a turn-up for the books. A bit of office totty, how terribly, terribly corny – well, I hope it hasn’t got out of hand, Matt, that’s all I can say. But probably you’ve been dishing out the same old stuff you’ve been giving me. Jolly useful cover, I’d say, for not being able to get it up …’
Matt left, without another word.
‘Eliza, Philip Gordon here.’
‘Oh – hello, Philip.’ Now what?
‘Interesting one here; your psychotherapist has refused to disclose your reports, as she has at this stage a right to do. However, I should warn you that I think the judge will demand to see them. If he does, and she persists in refusing, she could be charged with contempt of court.’
‘Oh no! That’s awful, she’s so lovely and how brave of her. So, what do I do?’
‘I think we should warn her of that as a possibility. If she does get called, then you would have to waive patient confidentiality and the reports would be produced. But let’s not meet trouble more than half way.’
‘No. All right.’
Oh, God. Something else to worry about. Seriously to worry about. Was it ever going to end?
Eliza had taken the week before the case off. Sarah had brought Emmie up from Summercourt on the Monday evening despite the original plan to keep her there; Sarah felt she was too upset altogether to be away from Eliza, she was restless, fractious, clinging one minute, hostile the next. She cried every night in bed, and often woke up in the middle of the night, having wet the bed and complaining of bad dreams. And when on the Thursday night Emmie was sick Eliza decided that a long weekend at Summercourt would do them both good and drove down early the next day. And trying not to think of a time when she might not be able to turn to it for comfort.
They arrived just after nine; it was a perfect morning, and Summercourt looked at its magical best, the front still cool and shadowy, the terrace behind flooded in sunshine and warmth, the meadow grass long and drenched in dew; she felt herself comforted as always, felt her heart almost literally lift, watched, smiling, as Mouse cantered over to greet them, looking for the Polo mints Emmie always brought him; and she sank gratefully onto one of the old weather-bleached wooden seats, savouring the sound of Emmie’s giggles as Mouse nuzzled her hand, tickling it with his whiskers; and wishing she could hold this moment still, for evermore, this happy, sunlit, lovely moment, filled with the scent of the roses that climbed up the walls and the songs of the birds surrounding her, free from care, released from dread. And managed to think, perhaps, perhaps it will all be all right. But – how could it be, for whatever happened, whoever won, Emmie would lose. That was the pity of it, the dreadful, sad, unarguable pity; that it was Emmie, who had done nothing, nothing wrong, nothing selfish, nothing wilful, nothing greedy as both her parents had, Emmie who was suffering quite as much as either of them.
Toby Gilmour had tossed and turned much of the night, and then called Philip Gordon that same morning to tell him the bad news: that the judge they had been allotted was to their case what the Miss World contest was to the feminist movement. ‘Couldn’t be worse, he might have been handpicked by Ivor Lewis and Bruce Hayward. He’s extremely partisan, has come out several times in favour of the husband in divorce cases, feels they get an increasingly raw deal, especially with all this bra-burning stuff that’s going on, his phrase not mine, and – wait for this – lost his own two sons to their mother in his divorce ten years ago.’
‘His divorce?’
‘Yes. Oh, come on, Philip, you must know …’
‘Oh crikey. Not Clifford Rogers?’
‘The very one.’
‘Dear oh dear. That is bad luck. Are you sure?’
‘Am I sure we’ve got him? Yes, quite sure, I was at a dinner with him last night, it’ll be confirmed this afternoon. Am I sure about his divorce, yes, I met him at the Lincoln’s Inn garden party a couple of weeks ago, he was tight as a tick, and he got very maudlin, and held me in a corner like the Ancient Mariner while he told me all about it.’
‘Oh, Christ.’
‘I know. I’ve been trying to work out tactics all night; very difficult. He really dislikes women. He’s also – and this isn’t too good either – a grammar-school boy, one of the first judges to make it, and carries a banner for the new social order, so he won’t like our Eliza and he’ll think Matt and Ivor Lewis, come to that, both should have whatever he can give them.’
‘Jesus.’
‘Anyway, I think one of the things that might help is if we can get Eliza’s friend Heather into court. Nice working-class girl, friendship spans the class divide – and I’m delighted we’ve got Matt’s sister on our side as well.’
‘Surely she’s exactly the sort of woman he won’t like. Succesful, powerful, self-confident—’
‘No, no, I think it’ll be all right. She’s self-made, you see, clearly no silver spoon because she’s Matt’s sister—’
‘Hmm. Well, I think the case is even further loaded against us. What about Northcott?’
‘He’ll loathe him. I’m wondering about the wisdom of calling him at all. We’ve got the editor and he’s pretty middle-of-the-road socially – although I’ll have to check the cuttings, make sure they haven’t had any brushes in the past.’
‘What bad luck. Now – thing is, do we warn Eliza or not?’
‘I think we have to. She’s not stupid, she’ll soon pick up on it, surely. And anyway, if we want to get Heather Connell into court, we’ll have a better chance if we go through Eliza.’
‘What do you think he’ll make of the Italian countess or whatever she is?’
‘God knows.’
‘Now look, I’ve got back-to-back client meetings all day, clearing the decks for next week. Can you talk to Eliza?’
‘I was hoping we could at least draw lots,’ said Gilmour gloomily.
‘Dream on,’ said Philip, ‘and you’ll have to go alone, I can’t spare any clerks, they’re all in court. I know it’s out of order, but nobody need know.’
‘Emmie?’
‘Yes?’
‘Emmie, I want to talk to you about something.’
‘What, the stupid divorce?’
‘I don’t want to talk about it.’
‘I know, darling. But this is – important.’
This wasn’t the best time, but with the case starting on Monday …
‘I don’t care.’
‘Sweetheart – please—’
Emmie turned to look at her. They were sitting on the terrace in the sunshine; she was shovelling cornflakes as fast as she could into her small face, the sooner to go and groom Mouse.
‘Go on then,’ she said resignedly.
Eliza took a deep breath; Matt was totally opposed to what she was about to say, but Emmie hated shocks and surprises – they should, she knew, have broken the news of the divorce slowly and carefully over time to her, rather than hitting her with it all at once. She liked to be in full command of the facts in her small life, so that she could adjust her behaviour accordingly – to control things as best she could, Eliza supposed. And where did she get that from? God, she was like Matt.
‘The thing is, Emmie, and I hope this won’t happen, but there is a – a chance that the judge – that’s the man who’s going to decide what will happen afterwards, which house we’re – you’re going to live in and so on – Emmie, are you listening to me?’
‘Sort of,’ said Emmie sulkily.
‘Good girl. Well, try to listen properly because it’s important. The judge might want to talk to you.’
‘I don’t want to talk to him. I just want you and Daddy to make friends and stop being stupid.’
‘Yes, darling, I know, but that isn’t going to happen. It just isn’t, you’ve got to understand that.’
A heavy sigh. Emmie started fiddling with the cornflake packet; it fell over and spilled. She started making a pattern on the table with the flakes.
‘Darling, don’t do that.’
‘I want to.’
Eliza fought for patience.
‘OK. But – do you understand?’
‘Yes.’
‘And is that all right?’
She shrugged.
‘Emmie—’
‘What does he want to talk to me about?’
‘Well – what you feel about it all. And – and what you think would be best for us all to – to do.’
The Decision Page 74