The Next Best Thing
Page 27
‘I’ll make some coffee,’ she said, getting to her feet, suddenly anxious to be doing something.
‘Oh by the way, the stables rang,’ said Lydia. ‘I got Will to bring the phone out here, so I didn’t have to move. They can’t take Liberty this week, all the horses are booked on a stage de perfectionnement for experienced riders. I love that about the French, don’t you? You’re either on a course for beginners or else a course of perfection, there’s nothing in between.’
‘That’s a shame,’ said Jane. ‘I shouldn’t have said anything to her, I ought to know by now not to mention anything until it’s for certain.’
‘Don’t beat yourself up about it,’ Lydia shrugged. ‘She might as well get used to disappointment, plenty more of that to come.’
‘Spoken from the heart,’ said Will, who had moved in to join the conversation now they had moved safely away from the subject of age. ‘Never mind coffee, Jane, it’s nearly lunchtime, better make it a bottle of rose instead.’
They had salade nicoise for lunch, the olives plump and black, the eggs fresh, but Jane had no appetite. She tore off a piece of the fougasse they had bought that morning and chewed on it mechanically, but her mouth was dry and she couldn’t swallow. She busied herself instead with Liberty, ensuring she ate properly, watching her concentrating as she loaded her fork with small mouthfuls. Jane was unwilling to make small talk with the adults, it seemed so artificial.
Will was more than compensating for her silence, He talked about Plutarch’s letters and the loss of subtlety they suffered in translation; the difference between the two old French languages, langue d’oc and langue d’ol; the way that second-home owners were killing the spirit of Provence.
You windbag, Jane thought, you insufferable, boring old windbag.
Across the table, Rupert was stacking the plates, his fingers strong and deft. ‘Did you know they’re prosecuting the Sapeurs Pompiers?’ he said, changing the subject. ‘They were talking about it in the pharmacy this morning. It seems they’re on commission for putting out forest fires and someone caught two of them down in the valley with a jerry can of petrol.’
‘How very enterprising of them,’ said Lydia. ‘It must be the most interesting thing that’s happened here since the war. Would you mind bringing my manicure set, Rupert, while you’re up? I might as well paint my nails, there’s bugger all else to do round here, even for those who aren’t handicapped.’
There’s riding,’ said Liberty. ‘I wish I could go riding.’
‘Never mind,’ said Jane, ‘there’s always next time.’
‘Next time?’ Lydia teased. ‘That’s a little presumptuous of you, Jane, to assume we’ll invite you again.’
‘Only joking,’ she added, mistaking the cause of Jane’s embarrassment for something more straightforward, ‘you can come again. Even the child is less bother than I expected. Would you like me to do your nails, Liberty?’
Liberty nodded, honoured to be included in the grown-up-girls’ club, and when Rupert returned with the bag she sat solemnly still, hand outstretched, while Lydia buffed and polished her small fingernails.
‘I’ll do the dishes,’ said Jane, glad for a chance to escape.
‘I’ll help you,’ said Rupert and he followed her into the kitchen.
‘I can’t stand this,’ she said, once they were out of sight of the others. ‘I feel so treacherous, creeping around behind their backs.’
‘It’ll be OK, just wait and see,’ said Rupert, putting his arms round her, ‘it’ll all come right in the end, it’s just the detail needs sorting. We know what we want, and that makes everything easy. It’s the not knowing that’s so difficult.’
Jane thought of all the years she had spent convinced that Will was the one. She had been deluding herself with the energy of one who wants to believe. But who was to say she wasn’t doing the same again now, with Rupert? What is love anyway, but the desire to believe?
‘I hope you’re right,’ she said, ‘because I can’t see what’s going to happen at all. It’s all such a mess . . .’
By the time they got back outside, Liberty’s little nails were shiny crimson. She waved them at her mother in delight. Jane pulled her onto her lap, wanting to hold her still in time, to freeze her in this moment. Will had moved away from the table and was talking on his phone, pacing up and down the terrace, jangling the coins in his pocket. Jane watched him dispassionately as she sat holding her daughter. He seemed a stranger to her, this man who had shared her bed for so many years. They had built a life together, she had jumped into line with his aspirations, washed his shirts, espoused his views, and yet she had no idea who he was. When he returned he had a new vigour in his stride, his shoes clicked importantly across the stones.
‘I hate to be a party-pooper,’ he said, though he didn’t look like he was hating it at all, ‘but it looks as if I may have to break up this idyll. That was my agent, it seems that Rob Bryson is in London and wants a meeting with me. I need to be at Sketch tomorrow night. No-one else will do, apparently. He wants me to act as a special advisor on a film on Amerindians. According to Ed, I can dictate my terms.’
‘Not THE Rob Bryson?’ Lydia was impressed. ‘How very mainstream of you. And here’s me thinking you were a marginal intellectual.’
‘Who’s Rob Bryson?’ asked Rupert.
‘Dear Rupert,’ said Lydia, ‘I sometimes think you live on another planet. He’s only the hottest producer in Hollywood, darling.’ She turned to Jane. ‘Rupert’s only interested in old films,’ she explained, ‘or else European art-house affairs where nothing ever happens. You might as well watch paint dry.’
Jane and Rupert were careful to avoid eye-contact.
Will was bustling around now, making plans. ‘I’ll leave in the morning,’ he said. ‘Jane can run me to the airport, and I’ll get on the first flight.’
He saw the confusion on Jane’s face and mistook it for disappointment. ‘If you don’t mind, that is, Jane?’
‘No,’ she said, ‘of course not.’
Poor old thing, he thought, she’d been looking forward to this week together, and it was true he didn’t get to spend much time with Liberty. A generous thought came to him.
‘Hang on,’ he said, ‘here’s a suggestion. Why don’t I take Liberty back with me? That way, she can go and stay with Cosima after all and get to ride that damn pony we’re sick of hearing about. What do you say, Liberty?’
‘Oh, yes please!’ Liberty fell into a theatrical beseeching position. ‘Please can I go, Mummy?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Jane, ‘I don’t think I can change your ticket, and anyway, Cosima might have invited someone else now.’
‘Why not ring her and see?’ said Will, ‘and don’t worry about the ticket, I’ll buy another one. I’ve a feeling I’m about to get lucky.’
Hardly believing her ears, Jane went inside to fetch her phone. She had her meeting tomorrow at La Garde Freinet, so it would be convenient for Liberty not to be around. She couldn’t imagine Lydia would be that delighted at having to play nanny for the day.
That’s settled then,’ she said, coming back outside. ‘Cosima’s mum says you can go whenever you like. She’s even said she can pick you up if you go tomorrow, as she’s going to be in London.’
‘Hooray!’ Liberty pretended to be a horse and set off galloping round the garden.
‘Lucky you,’ said Lydia. ‘I’m really rather tempted to come with you.’ It wouldn’t be much fun once Will had left. Just her and Rupert having to entertain Jane. ‘Maybe we should all go back to London?’ she said. ‘Enough’s enough, and we’ve made the point, we’ve had our taste of the South.’
‘But Jane’s only just arrived,’ said Rupert. He didn’t want her snatched away so soon.
‘And I’ve got to go and see this writer tomorrow,’ said Jane. ‘I’d rather not cancel.’
‘That’s settled then,’ said Will. ‘I’ll go and get packed.’
Upstairs, Jane watched
Will packing his bag with an alacrity he hadn’t shown on the way out.
‘This could be very big, you know,’ he said. ‘I know it’s a bore cutting the holiday short like this, but you don’t say no to Rob Bryson.’
Jane was struck by the speed of his transformation from highbrow intellectual to rabid groupie, panting at the thought of getting in with the big boys.
‘I thought you hated his films,’ she said, ‘and I thought you despised those writers who wanted to get into movies.’
‘You realise what this could mean,’ said Will, ignoring her. ‘Mark Thomas can keep his miserable six-bedroom house in Notting Hill: if this works out, I’ll be able to buy up his entire street.’
Liberty came into the bedroom. She had put on Lydia’s poisonous metal sandals and was twirling around, pouting like a model and holding up her painted nails for inspection.
‘Take those off at once!’ said Jane. ‘I don’t want you going home with a black foot.’
Liberty obediently kicked them off and jumped onto the bed.
‘Help me pack your things,’ Jane said. ‘Pass me the clothes out of that cupboard.’
Liberty got down to open the wardrobe. ‘When are we going, Daddy?’
‘Tomorrow, my love, first thing. Jane, could you bear to fold these shirts for me, you know how useless I am at that sort of thing?’
She took over from him, carefully folding the shirts like a proper lady’s maid.
‘You’ll need to take some more trousers to Cosima’s,’ said Jane. ‘Those joggers and a pair of jeans; will you be able to find them?’
‘Course she will,’ said Will. ‘She’s a lot more independent than you give her credit for. It will do her good to get out of your skirts for a few days. Leave you free to get on with some work.’
FIFTEEN
Jane blinked hard and tried to focus on the road ahead. She didn’t like to think how long she had been awake. After a sleepless night it had been a relief to get up at six and gently wake Liberty, coaxing her into her travelling clothes. Leggings, with a spare pair in her backpack just in case. She had been happy enough to go off with Will; it was Jane who’d had to fight back the tears. In seven years it would be the first time they had spent more than one night apart, which she knew was wet beyond belief, but that was how it was.
They were a party of three taking the plane in the end. Lydia had decided there was no point in staying on with her gammy leg: if it got worse she’d rather put her trust in the Chelsea and Westminster A&E than some travelling French quack. And she had her wedding plans to get on with. It meant that when Jane got back to the house, she and Rupert would be alone together for the rest of the week. She told herself that it was fate; she hadn’t engineered it, that was the way it had worked out.
The lunch in La Garde Freinet had been a welcome diversion. Instead of worrying about Rupert and whether Will would take proper care of Liberty, Jane had been treated to a passionate defence of the delights of smoking, which had lasted from the main course to the petits fours, washed down by two bottles of rose.
I like you,’ the writer had said to her halfway through the second bottle. ‘I can see we are going to have a long and profitable relationship. But honestly, you should take up smoking, it is so good for the brain.’
And now here she was, halfway home to Rupert, alone in the Fiat Multipla. It seemed so long ago since they had arrived, with Will fussing and complaining. It felt exhilarating to have no passengers, just the road map lying open on the seat beside her. She was her own navigator now.
She decided to pull over and take a break, and call home to make sure they’d got back safely.
Liberty answered the phone, and excitedly told Jane that she had packed her bag herself and put in three pairs of joggers. Then Jane made her put Will on so she could run it through with him and make sure she had the right things.
‘Don’t fuss,’ he said, ‘she can always borrow anything she’s forgotten. I don’t imagine her little friend is short of clothes.’
‘That’s not the point, I don’t want her turning up unprepared, it looks like we don’t care. And don’t forget her cream and her panda.’
This is what it’s like for divorced couples, she thought. Fretting down the phone, worrying whether your child was being properly looked after.
‘All right, all right,’ he’d said, irritated, ‘I’m sure we’ll manage.’
She could tell he was already regretting his suggestion that Liberty travel back with him. He wanted to be psyching himself up for his big night out, instead of which he was taking instructions on what to pack for a seven-year-old’s country-house party.
‘What time’s Cosima’s mum coming?’ Jane asked.
‘About seven. She’d better not be late.’
‘And how’s Lydia?’
‘Miraculously better. Didn’t mention her foot, practically skipped off the plane. I think she’s just happy to be back in London.’
‘I’ll call you tomorrow, then. Good luck for tonight.’
‘Thanks.’
‘Bye then.’
‘Bye.’
She sat for a moment and pictured the familiar sight of Will and Liberty at home. She ought to be there, fixing dinner and helping Liberty get ready for her trip. And yet here she was, parked in a lay-by in a village somewhere between Marseille and God knows where, completely alone. What did she think she was doing? Rupert. She must call Rupert now, tell him she was on her way. She needed to hear him, to remind herself why she was there.
His voice sounded distant when he answered; it must be the line. Which was funny, because Will had sounded like he was standing right beside her.
‘Hi, it’s me,’ she said. ‘Just to say I’ll be half an hour or so.’
‘Good.’ There was a pause, then he said, ‘Everything all right?’
‘Yes, fine. The lunch went well. I just spoke to Will, they got back OK.’
‘Yes, I know, Lydia called.’
OF course she did. They were engaged, alter all.
‘I’ll see you soon, then. Do you want me to get anything? Bread?’
What a dreary little woman she was.
‘No, it’s all taken care of.’
‘Right,’ she said brightly, ‘I’ll try not to get another puncture, don’t want to drag you away from the stove.’
‘Drive safely.’
‘I will.’
That was a weird conversation, she thought as she started the engine. He sounded so formal, as though they were strangers. It was as if now there was no obstacle in their way they didn’t know how to behave. She was going home to him For dinner, like couples did. It was banal, not what they had been used to. Careful what you wish for, because it might come true, wasn’t that what they said? And she wasn’t at all sure now what she wanted.
The journey took longer than she expected, marked by several pauses to consult the map. Jane could have done with Will there, at least it would have given her someone to blame every time she took a wrong turn, and there were plenty of occasions. There seemed to be so many roads leading nowhere that didn’t feature on the map.
By the time she arrived it was getting dark and the lights were on in the house, guiding her in as she negotiated the gateposts. Rupert came out to meet her as she unfolded herself from the car, stretching out limbs that were tense from the journey and the fear that she might never arrive.
‘There you are,’ he said, ‘I was starting to get worried.’ There was nothing formal about him now. His shirt was untucked as he came towards her, and before she had time to think he had her pressed up against the car, kissing her, then sinking to his knees, pushing up her tee shirt and burying his head in her belly.
‘No more excuses,’ he said, gripping her waist, then sliding his hands down inside her linen trousers, ‘you’ve got no-one to hide behind now.’
‘No,’ she said, pulling him to her, ‘I don’t suppose I have.’
She woke to birdsong and the smell of coffee and for
a moment couldn’t remember where she was. Then Rupert put the tray down and climbed under the sheets beside her.
‘I knew it,’ he said, ‘I knew it would be like that.’
She propped herself up on one elbow. ‘Like what?’ she asked, teasing.
‘Like that,’ he said, sliding a thigh across her legs so she was trapped by the weight. ‘I knew it the moment I saw you. to get you into bed, it would be the happiest thing I had ever done. Ever.’
She ran a hand down his back and felt smooth skin over warm firm flesh.
‘I was worried,’ she said, ‘but I need not have been . . .’ ‘Why were you worried?’
‘I worried we might he stuck in that unrequited thing, you know, the perfect love blighted by circumstance. Only works when you can’t have it. I thought it might be a big let-down when it came down to it.’
‘It wasn’t, though, was it?’
‘Well . . .’
His face fell and she took pity.
‘Only joking. Move over, you’re giving me a dead leg.’
He pulled his leg back and put his arm round her instead.
‘And anyway,’ she went on, ‘aren’t you supposed to ask me how it was for me?’
‘Nope,’ he said, ‘that’s only for losers. If you need to ask, then you really have no idea. Now, sit up, and I’ll pass you your coffee.’
She did as he asked and he plumped the pillows up behind her, making her comfortable, smoothing her hair, looking at her as if she was the most wonderful piece of work.
‘I can’t believe it,’ he said, ‘look at me, grinning like an idiot.’
‘You’d better believe it,’ she said, ‘otherwise I might think I’ve made the most terrible mistake.’
Two hours later, the coffee was stone-cold and the sun was streaming in through the window. Jane watched the way it played on the shepherdesses that decorated the bedroom walls with their long dresses and poetically arched crooks. ‘Toile de jouy,’ she said, ‘that’s the phrase I was looking for. I love that wallpaper, I’d choose it every time for my bedroom.’