40 Love

by Madeleine Wickham

  He couldn’t think where to place his thoughts; how to anchor his panic. For a moment he just stood, swaying slightly in the silent night, feeling almost heady with terror. Then gradually he became aware that there was something ominously niggling at his thoughts. His eyes focused again on the letter. At our original meeting regarding this matter. What meeting? What fucking meeting?

  Suddenly he felt Cressida’s eyes on him. Her pale face looked tired and anxious. Had she known about this for a long time? Had she known but not told him?

  ‘How long have you known about this?’ he snapped.

  ‘Only today,’ stammered Cressida. She felt cold inside the bed. Charles had read the letter but he hadn’t laughed at it; he hadn’t shaken his head and pointed out the foolish mistake made by some clerical member of staff; he hadn’t tossed it aside carelessly to deal with tomorrow.

  ‘Well, what meeting is he talking about?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ Cressida felt a sudden wave of panic, as though she’d forgotten to do a vital piece of homework. Was this something she was supposed to know about? Had she had a meeting with Mr Stanlake? She screwed up her pale face and desperately tried to remember. But all her encounters with Mr Stanlake seemed to have merged into one hazy picture in her brain.

  Charles sat down heavily on an armchair and began to read the letter through again from beginning to end. Cressida gazed at him silently, not daring to rub her sleepy eyes or push her fingers through her rumpled hair. Her gaze wandered uncertainly through the room, landing indiscriminately on corners of wallpaper, pieces of furniture, on the top of Charles’ head and away again. She wondered what time it was. Far away was the sound of a clock ticking; otherwise there were no sounds in the house. Everyone must have gone to bed.

  ‘Unlimited liability,’ Charles suddenly said, in a voice which trembled with suppressed emotion. ‘Do you know what that means?’ Mutely, Cressida shook her head. She thought she did, but she wouldn’t risk saying anything. ‘It means they can keep asking you for money for ever. For ever!’ Charles’ voice rose. ‘Do you appreciate what that means? For us? For the twins?’ Shakily, Cressida got out of bed, went over to the chair and knelt at his feet. She was shivering, and would have liked a dressing-gown. But if she went to put one on, Charles might react badly.

  ‘Perhaps they’ve made a mistake,’ she said, in a wobbly voice. ‘They’ve never done anything like this before.’

  ‘I don’t know.’ Charles threw the paper onto the ground exasperatedly. ‘Fuck knows. Jesus Christ, Cressida, why didn’t you tell me you were a Lloyd’s Name?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Cressida confusedly. ‘I didn’t think it was important. And anyway…’

  She pulled up short and gasped. A sudden recollection suffused her cheeks with pink.

  ‘What? What?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ she said, flinching from his gaze. ‘But I did have a meeting with Mr Stanlake a few years ago. I’ve just remembered.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘And I think it might have been about being a Lloyd’s Name.’

  ‘What? When? Why didn’t you tell me?’

  ‘It was just after we got engaged. It was only a very quick meeting.’ Cressida paused, and tried desperately to remember. ‘I was up in town to look at wedding dresses.’

  ‘Get to the point.’ Charles’ voice was hard.

  ‘Well,’ Cressida swallowed, ‘Mr Stanlake said something about paying some extra bills or something out of a separate bit of my money. Another special bank account or something. I can’t remember exactly.’

  ‘Extra bills? What extra bills?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘You never fucking know anything. Christ almighty. Was he talking about Lloyd’s losses?’ Cressida’s cheeks turned pinker.

  ‘I’m not sure. I think so,’ she said hurriedly. ‘Something like that.’

  ‘What? Why are you looking like that?’ Charles stared at Cressida’s blushing face and blinked as it loomed in and out of his weary vision. ‘What aren’t you telling me? Why do you think it was Lloyd’s?’

  Cressida stared back at him miserably. She could hardly bear to tell him what she had just remembered. But the idea of lying to him didn’t even enter her thoughts. ‘Well,’ she began hesitantly, ‘I’ve remembered something else Mr Stanlake said.’

  ‘What? For Christ’s sake, what?’

  ‘I’d just told him I was engaged, and shown him the ring.’ Automatically, she looked down at her engagement ring. ‘And he was saying how nice it was,’ she continued. Charles stared at her with incredulity.

  ‘What the fuck’s that got to do with anything?’

  ‘Well, it was the thing he said next,’ stammered Cressida. ‘He asked about you, and about the wedding and everything, and then he said, “You know, I wouldn’t advertise the fact that you’re a Lloyd’s Name if I were you.”’

  There was a short silence. Charles felt a very slow, frighteningly powerful surge of fury rise through him. For a few moments he couldn’t quite think what to do with himself.

  ‘You mean,’ he said eventually, in an over-controlled voice that was barely above a whisper, ‘you mean that you deliberately kept the fact of your being a Name secret from me?’

  ‘No!’ Cressida’s face was aghast. ‘I mean, I didn’t know it meant anything then. I went off to have lunch with Sukey and go to Liberty’s…’ Her voice tailed away.

  ‘And then?’ prompted Charles, his face menacingly polite. Cressida swallowed.

  ‘And then I forgot all about it.’

  ‘You forgot all about it? You forgot you were a Lloyd’s Name?’

  ‘Yes. No. I mean, I sort of knew, but I didn’t think it was important…’ Her voice tailed away again.

  For a moment, Charles’ astonishment almost abated his anger.

  ‘How could you not think it was important? Haven’t you heard about Lloyd’s?’

  Cressida hung her head and his impatience with her increased. ‘Haven’t you heard what’s happened to people?’ he shouted. ‘Didn’t you realize what it meant for us? Haven’t you got a brain?’

  ‘I know, I know,’ exclaimed Cressida, giving a sudden sob. ‘I sort of knew, but I just didn’t think any of that would happen to us. Mr Stanlake said he thought everything would be all right.’

  ‘Well, fuck Mr Stanlake!’ shouted Charles. ‘And fuck you! You never bothered to listen to anything, or ask, or find out what was going on, did you?’ He suddenly brought his face close to hers. ‘You never bothered to understand your finances, you always left it up to your fucking father, or me. Well, you can sort this fucking mess out yourself. I’ve had enough of it.’

  ‘Charles…’ She gazed up at him with huge, frightened eyes.

  Charles felt as though he’d stumbled into some horrible nightmare; some grotesque fantasy with no way out. Only five minutes ago he’d been so arrogantly pleased with himself; it had all seemed as though it was falling into place. He’d constructed for himself a large-scale plan of life for the future—taking for granted his wife, his income, his life as it was now—and embellishing it with even more delights; adding the little extras which would bring it to perfection. A continued affair with Ella; an acquaintance with the great Maud Vennings; a familiarity with Italy: he had imagined all these—even in the few minutes he’d had since parting from Ella—with an intense, desperate vividness. But suddenly all that seemed laughable; the stuff of schoolboy dreams. He could take nothing for granted. What was life without money? Come to that, what was his wife without her money? Could he still love her if she were not a source of riches, but a drain; a burden? Charles eyed Cressida afresh. Her limbs were lanky under her nightdress; her voice high and irritating. Her face was pale and tired. As he looked at her, a sudden vivid vision of warm, brown, coconut-scented skin appeared in his mind and he experienced a shocking, almost painful desire for Ella.

  ‘I’m sure it’ll all get sorted out,’ said Cressida uncertainly.

  ‘Are
you?’ said Charles sarcastically, hating her for not being Ella. ‘Good. Well then, perhaps I’ll leave you to it.’ She gazed at him speechlessly for a moment, then burst into tears. Charles’ stomach turned. The sound of Ella’s bubbling laugh flickered through his head; her gently mocking eyes sprang up in his mind’s eye.

  ‘Shut the fuck up,’ he shouted. ‘Shut up. I can’t bear that noise.’ Her sobs increased. ‘Shut up, I said. Shut the fuck up!’ He raised his hand and brought it slamming down on the side of her face.

  Cressida gasped, and put her hand up to her cheek. The side which Charles had hit was already bright blotchy red, but the rest was drained of colour. Charles didn’t change his expression. Then Cressida rose unsteadily to her feet and backed away into the bathroom. The door closed and Charles heard the sound of Cressida vomiting. Then the taps were turned on. She had not locked the bathroom door; perhaps she was hoping he would come in after her. The thought made Charles scowl. He slid to the floor, picked up the letter and crumpled it.

  ‘Fuck you,’ he said. ‘Fuck the lot of you.’

  CHAPTER TEN

  Annie was woken at seven-thirty by her electronic alarm clock. Its merry bleeping penetrated her dreams gradually; when she realized what it was, she reached out automatically to the left and was thrown into confusion when she hit Stephen’s face. Eventually she found it, sitting on an unfamiliar table to her right. She turned it off, flopped back into bed and stared puzzledly for a while at a strange lampshade hanging from a white, well-painted, uncracked ceiling before it came to her suddenly that they were staying at Caroline’s house.

  And she had a peculiar feeling inside her, she realized. A bit like the ominous dread that one had on the morning of an appointment with the dentist—but this was positive rather than negative. She felt warm, cosy and encouraged. It wasn’t just the bright sunlight visible through the chink between the curtains, and it wasn’t just the knowledge that she didn’t have to cook breakfast. She searched idly around in the recesses of her mind but whatever it was kept evading her. She looked around the room for clues, squinted at the clock and wondered why she’d set it so early.

  Then suddenly it all came back to her in a rush. She’d set the clock early so she could take the children to church. The children. Nicola. School fees. Of course, Caroline and Patrick had offered to pay Nicola’s school fees. And they’d accepted. Nicola would be going to St Catherine’s. Annie sank back into her pillows pleasurably. Now that she was fully awake, she realized that she also had rather a piercing headache. But nothing could mar her happiness on Nicola’s behalf.

  She nudged Stephen with her foot. Sleepily, he rolled over until he was facing her.

  ‘Wake up,’ she said. ‘Time for church.’ Stephen screwed up his face in displeasure, opened his eyes a crack and groaned.

  ‘I feel awful,’ he croaked. ‘Why do we have to go to church? We’re on holiday.’

  ‘We talked about it last night, remember?’ Annie’s spirits were irrepressible. ‘It’s good for the children. And I like going to country churches.’ And I want to say thank you for Nicola’s school fees, she added to herself. She heaved herself out of bed, ignoring the coloured spots that immediately appeared before her eyes, and added, ‘I’ll go and wake them up.’

  Stephen groaned again, but it only made his head feel worse. He rolled onto his back and closed his eyes. Memories of the previous day began to filter slowly into his mind. They were here to play tennis, of course, and that had been fairly pleasant. They had also drunk a lot. Stephen didn’t want to think about how much. And then there had been that deal with Patrick. Or was that a dream?

  He opened his eyes and looked around. He could vividly remember sitting in Patrick’s study, agreeing to take out a mortgage of eighty thousand pounds on his house. It wasn’t a dream. It had been a real, big-time deal. He tried to recall the feeling of exhilaration he had experienced; the buzz of confidence which it had given him. But what began to go through his mind instead was suspiciously like alarm.

  As Annie came back into the room, Stephen started guiltily, as though she could read his mind.

  ‘How did the children sleep?’ he asked hurriedly.

  ‘Not very much,’ she said, grimacing, ‘I think it’s been one long midnight feast. Nicola wasn’t at all impressed when I told her to get up.’

  ‘Perhaps we should let her sleep in,’ said Stephen weakly.

  ‘Rubbish,’ retorted Annie. ‘I told her we were going to church. And the walk will wake her up.’

  ‘You seem in a very good mood today,’ said Stephen curiously.

  ‘Do I?’ said Annie, smiling. ‘I suppose I’m still reeling over the school fees.’

  Stephen gazed at her blankly for a second—and then remembered. Of course. Caroline’s announcement last night.

  ‘Yes, that’s wonderful news,’ he said, trying to work up some enthusiasm. But he couldn’t get out of his mind the deal he’d done with Patrick. He felt he was in out of his depth. This was really business more for high flyers like Charles than people like him. He preferred things simple. And he had a growing sense of unease about taking out a mortgage when he didn’t really—despite what Patrick said—have the means to pay it.

  He looked at Annie’s glowing face and decided not to say anything about it yet. Perhaps he would have a quiet word with Patrick later on and see whether he could reduce the loan, or maybe go into it more gradually. Patrick would be understanding. They were friends, after all.

  * * *

  The church at Bindon was fourteenth century and tiny. As Stephen, Annie, Nicola, Toby and Georgina hurried through the churchyard—with only a minute to go—Stephen said, ‘Bets on the congregation in there already. I say six.’

  ‘I say ten,’ said Annie, giving him a reproving look.

  ‘I say fifty,’ said Nicola, who was used to a full, thriving family service at St Mary Magdalene in Silchester.

  ‘It’s not the same here,’ said Georgina kindly. ‘I say four.’

  ‘Oh dear,’ said Stephen.

  ‘I say forty-four,’ put in Toby, enunciating carefully. ‘I say forty-four.’

  ‘Do you, Tobes? And do you know why you say it?’ said Stephen, grinning at him.

  ‘Forty-four,’ said Toby obstinately.

  Georgina was closest. There were, in fact, three members of the congregation already present at the service as they all trooped in. Two of these were Don and Valerie, who waved excitedly and gestured at the pew behind. Thankfully Stephen had already led the children into a pew on the other side, so Annie was able to smile and gesture apologetically back.

  ‘Dear God,’ said Georgina, sinking to her knees beside Annie, ‘please help me do well at the East Silchester gymkhana. Help me learn how to do a French plait. And help Nicola not be too scared to jump Arabia.’

  ‘Dear God,’ said Annie clearly, ‘please help some of Nicola’s friends realize she isn’t as old or as experienced at riding as them, and that jumping without a riding teacher there isn’t a very good idea.’

  ‘Oh, OK,’ said Georgina equably, without moving.

  Afterwards, they waited politely in the churchyard until Don and Valerie appeared.

  ‘Smashing to see you,’ said Don. ‘It’s a sweet little place, isn’t it?’

  ‘Lovely,’ said Annie enthusiastically.

  ‘Yes, it’s a pretty village altogether,’ said Don. ‘Isn’t it, Val?’

  ‘Ooh! It’s lovely!’

  ‘The spot where we live has very good views,’ added Don. ‘Why not come back and see for yourself? We could have a bit of coffee and I could show you round the hotel.’

  ‘Well,’ said Annie doubtfully. She glanced at Stephen.

  ‘Ooh, do come!’ exclaimed Valerie.

  ‘Do we have to get back?’ Annie said to Stephen, raising her eyebrows.

  ‘Can’t think what for,’ said Don jovially. ‘Only thing you’ve got to do today is play Caroline and Patrick. And I doubt they’ll start without you!’<
br />
  There didn’t seem any answer to that.

  ‘If you don’t mind,’ said Georgina suddenly, ‘I’ll go back. I want to look for costumes for our play.’ Stephen looked at her in unwilling admiration. She was smiling politely, yet implacably, at Don.

  ‘Could you take Nicola and Toby back too?’ said Annie.

  ‘Of course,’ said Georgina. ‘I was going to anyway. I need Nicola to help me.’

  Nicola flushed with pleasure, and Annie smiled at her. ‘Be careful!’ she shouted after them as they ran off through the churchyard.

  ‘They’ll be all right,’ said Don comfortably. ‘Cars hardly ever pass through here. It’s a lovely spot. You wait till you see the view from the hotel.’

  * * *

  At first, Annie was too busy wondering how on earth Don was going to turn this wreck of a house into a hotel to notice the view. They had toiled for ten minutes up a steep, private track, which Don assured them at intervals of thirty seconds he was intending to modernize.

  ‘It stands to reason,’ he said, each time. ‘You’ve got to have good access to a place like this.’

  Finally they reached the house. Don swung open the door, then told them to stand in the porch and look out over the hills.

  ‘Whenever I have my doubts,’ he told them, ‘I just stand here and look at that view. This is what it’s all about.’ The others dutifully turned and followed his gaze. But Annie was staring, aghast, at the dark, dank corridor that gave off the front door.

  ‘Lovely, isn’t it?’ said Don, smiling down at her.

  ‘Oh, yes,’ she said, faintly.

  ‘Over there,’ he said, pointing, ‘is where the new generator’s going to go.’

  ‘You aren’t wired up to the mains?’ said Stephen in surprise.

  ‘Well, no,’ said Don, his face dropping slightly. ‘Actually, it’s been a bit more of a problem than I thought it would.’ They all gazed silently at the patch of land for a few seconds. Then Valerie clapped her hand to her mouth.

  ‘Ooh I know!’ she said brightly. ‘What about that coffee?’

  Annie followed Valerie into the kitchen.