‘I don’t know,’ she said, very quietly.
‘Well,’ he said, standing up, ‘we shall just have to wait and see, I suppose. He’s coming to see me in the morning. My lawyer’s advised against it, but I think I want to hear what he’s got to say. After I’ve been to the SFO. Christ Almighty, what a mess.’
He looked down at her. ‘What were you going to say about Kirsten?’ he said suddenly.
‘She’s pregnant.’
‘Oh Christ,’ he said, ‘not again. God help me. Whose is it?’
‘I think it’s Kirsten God needs to help,’ said Francesca, ‘and I don’t know. Nobody knows.’
‘I’d better speak to her. What’s she going to do?’
‘She doesn’t know that either. She’s in a very bad way. Bard, please, please be gentle with her.’
‘Why, for Christ’s sake?’ he said. ‘Why should I be?’
‘You’re beginning to sound better,’ she said, with another faint smile. ‘Because she came to me, that’s why, because she was very brave and told me what she’d done, that she’d told you about me and – well, about me. And apologised. And also because she’s desperately unhappy, she needs help and support. And if you said something nice to her, for once – ’
‘I’ve been very nice to her.’
‘No you haven’t. And she loves you very much really. Please, Bard.’
‘I wish she did,’ he said shortly.
‘Bard, she does.’
‘Do you really think so?’
‘I know so.’
There was a long silence; finally he sighed and said, ‘I would like to believe it. But – well anyway. All right, I’ll give her a call. I’ll be nice to her.’
‘Thank you.’
He looked at her again. ‘Francesca,’ he said, ‘Francesca, what are we going to do? How are we going to survive all this?’
‘I don’t know,’ she said quietly. ‘Bard, I think – ’
There was a sudden knock on the door: ‘Mrs Channing!’
Francesca opened it; it was Sister Mary Agnes. ‘Sorry to disturb you, Mrs Channing, but there’s been a slight accident. Jack’s driven Mr Channing’s car into the wall – oh he’s quite all right, but – ’
‘We’ll resume this later, Francesca,’ said Bard. ‘Sister, where exactly is this wall?’
‘Look, Gray,’ said David Guthrie, ‘I need to have this story. First thing tomorrow latest. Otherwise it’ll have to be held over. I can’t go on holding those pages.’
‘I know, Dave, and I’m sorry. But I have to see Channing, I have to give him a chance to reply, and he’s finally agreed to see me in the morning. Twelve o’clock. Then I’ll come in here and file it. OK?’
‘Yeah, OK. But two’s your deadline. Otherwise you lose the slot. And someone else may get the story. If your friend’s right and the SFO are onto him, it’s a matter of days.’
‘Yes, yes, I realise that. Look – I’d like to go now. If that’s OK. Got something important to do.’
‘Yeah, fine.’ He was already pulling some page proofs towards him; Gray walked out of the office and shut the door quietly behind him.
Kirsten had gone home early again. She’d felt so awful that afternoon, she just couldn’t stay at her desk any longer. She told her boss she had to go to the dentist and that she’d come in early to make up the time. She could tell she was beginning to use up a lot of goodwill, but it was only another day or so now.
She reckoned she could be back at her desk by Wednesday at the latest. A diplomatic bout of flu till then should see her through. She was trying not to think about Saturday. Trying not to think about any of it. But it was very difficult.
She got home at half-past four, had a bath, lay down on her bed with the remote control of the television, started zapping through the channels. Blue Peter was just finishing; she watched it smiling, transported instantly back to her childhood, wondering if she could manage what they were making today, a water garden in a big glass jar. Probably not; she’d never been able to do any of them, had shed almost as many tears over collapsed papier-mâché fortresses and runny jelly rabbits as she had over her mother’s drinking habits. Well, in the early days, anyway.
Neighbours began; Helen Daniels was being sweetly firm with one of the teenagers, the dog had got lost again, there was a new arrival in Ramsey Street … she began to get sleepy, closed her eyes. If only she lived in a suburb of Melbourne, if only –
The phone rang suddenly; she jerked awake, leant over and picked it up. Noticed that it was almost six.
‘Kirsten. It’s your father.’
‘Oh,’ she said. Even to herself her voice sounded totally bleak, unwelcoming.
‘How are you?’
‘All right.’
‘Francesca tells me you’re not.’
‘What? I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘Yes you do. I’m talking about you. Being pregnant.’
‘Dad,’ said Kirsten, her voice rising in warning, ‘Dad, I really can’t take – ’
‘It’s all right,’ he said, and his voice was level, reasonable, ‘I’m not going to say anything. Not going to ask any questions. I don’t want to know – well, I don’t want to pressure you in any way. I just wanted you to know that if you need any help, you have only to ask.’
‘Oh,’ said Kirsten. She wondered if she was still asleep, if this was part of Neighbours. Or was it Home and Away now. ‘Well – no. No, I don’t. Thank you.’
‘No money? For – anything?’
For an abortion. To pay the doctor. To pay for the baby to be – dealt with. Got rid of. Killed … Don’t, Kirsten, don’t go down that road, concentrate on now, on this conversation.
‘Kirsten, are you all right?’
‘Yes,’ she said, with a huge effort, ‘yes, I’m all right. And – well, I’ll see. If that’s OK.’
‘It’s OK.’
‘Thanks.’
‘That’s all right. And Kirsten – ’
‘Yes?’
‘Kirsten, I’m – sorry about the other night. I – well, I over-reacted. Said more than I should have done. And I’m very sorry I hit you. It was – very wrong of me.’
God, this was unbelievable. What had happened? Had he had some kind of vision or something?
‘Well,’ she said finally, ‘well – so did I, I guess. Say too much. And I’m sorry too.’
‘Right. Well, that would seem to make us quits.’
‘Where are you?’ she said suddenly.
‘Oh – I’m down in Devon. At this convent place. You know about that?’
‘No.’ Her father at a convent? Maybe he had had a vision. ‘What on earth are you doing at a convent?’
‘Long story,’ he said, ‘get Francesca to tell you. I’ll be back in London tomorrow. Providing my car will go. Jack’s just taken to the road.’
‘Jack has?’
‘Yes,’ said Bard. He sounded more himself suddenly. ‘Bloody child decided if he could drive the lawnmower, he could drive the car. Totally wrecked the offside wing.’
‘Is he all right?’
‘What? Oh, he’s fine. Of course. Bye, Kirsten. Ring me if you need me.’
‘Yes. Yes, all right. Bye, Dad. Thanks.’
She lay back on her pillows feeling very shaken. She had no idea what might have happened to him, but something clearly had. Maybe it was just the going bust. Maybe it had done him good.
Her front-door buzzer rang; she sighed, went over to the door picked up the phone.
‘Kirsten?’ It was Gray Townsend. ‘Can I come in?’
Chapter Twenty-nine
‘It’s lovely,’ said Rachel, ‘really the most charming house. Thank you so much, Colonel Philbeach, for letting us see it.’
She felt rather confused: life seemed to have taken on a through-the-looking-glass aspect. Here was Bard, with the clear possibility of arrest hanging over him, Francesca apparently hellbent on the termination of her marriage, Jack escaping mo
st narrowly death, or at least serious injury, and what looked like the best part of a hundred-thousand-pound car crushed to pulp, and they were being shown round a house, and asked to admire its cornices and its fireplaces and the breathtaking views of the Atlantic it commanded from the drawing-room window.
‘Well,’ said Colonel Philbeach, ‘I really do have to sell, I’m afraid. And it’s very sad. But I would like it to go to a young family. Such as yours, Mrs Channing.’
‘Yes, well, it would certainly suit our purpose very well,’ said Francesca, ‘thank you. Naturally, we have a lot to think about. How much was the asking price, last time it was on the market?’
‘Well – ’ Colonel Philbeach hesitated. ‘Two hundred and fifty thousand. Or a near offer,’ he added hastily. ‘At least that’s what’s the agent said.’ He clearly felt this was an outrageous sum of money. Rachel thought of what quarter of a million would buy in Fulham, or Battersea – nice little three-bed bijou job – and felt slightly sick.
‘Right,’ said Francesca. ‘Right, I see.’ She smiled brightly at her mother. ‘All right?’
‘What? Oh, yes, yes, fine. We should be getting back now, I think.’
‘Oh, won’t you have a sherry?’
‘I think not,’ said Francesca, ‘but thank you anyway. My little boy – ’
‘Oh the accident, yes. It could have been dreadful, from what I can gather … He’s all right, is he?’
‘Oh, he’s fine. Bit of a bruised leg, where the door hove in on him, but that’s all. Lots of guardian angels, Jack has.’ She smiled at Colonel Philbeach. ‘The car hasn’t been so lucky.’
‘Well, it’s only a car, I suppose.’
‘Indeed it is. Come on then, Mummy. We really must go.’
Rachel managed to smile at her, as if it was her idea, not Francesca’s they should have come in the first place, and followed her down the steep steps to the lane.
‘Lovely, isn’t it?’ said Francesca, looking back at High House, its grey stone carved into the evening sky. ‘Don’t you love it?’
‘Well, I do darling, yes. But I don’t really think it’s an ideal proposition for you. You’re very much a London girl really – ’
‘Well, I do,’ said Francesca. ‘It’s exactly what I want, what I need. I love it, I really do. And so does Jack.’
‘Well, the Colonel is certainly charming,’ said Rachel inconsequentially. ‘I liked him very much.’
Francesca looked at her and smiled at her for the first time that day. ‘Mummy,’ she said, ‘of course you did. He’s a man.’
Kirsten gave Gray a mug of tea. ‘Sorry, no biscuits. Bit of toast, maybe?’
‘No, thank you. That tea looks perfect, Kirsten, I’m most impressed. There is – was – only one other person who could make my tea how I like it.’
‘Your girlfriend? Briony?’
‘Yes.’
He was touched, moved even, that she should have remembered the name. He studied her while she fetched some sugar, set it down on the table. She looked very pale, very thin. Unsure of herself, jumpy. She seemed a very different creature from the Kirsten of two months earlier. Two months. It sounded so harmless. Just a neat little space of time. A dangerous little space of time.
She smiled at him slightly defensively, realising he was studying her. ‘How are you?’ she said.
‘I’m all right. It’s you I’m worried about.’
‘Worried? Oh, you don’t have to worry about me. I’m all right.’
‘Kirsten, I know you’re not.’
‘What?’ She looked uncomfortable, almost cross. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘Kirsten,’ he said, and he had not expected to say it so quickly, so easily, had thought he might hedge round it, try to find things out, how she felt, what her situation was, ‘Kirsten, is it mine? Your baby, is it mine?’
And ‘Yes,’ she said, hardly hestitating, ‘yes, it’s yours,’ and it was the most extraordinary moment, intimate, touching, and for the rest of his life Gray thought he would remember it thus, it would be there, set, preserved in time, incomparable, quite literally astonishing.
Gray looked at her as she sat there, her head bowed, staring down at her hands, wondering what he felt, wondering how she felt; and then he reached out and pushed back the heavy hair, stroked her cheek.
‘Why?’ he said. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’
‘I couldn’t,’ she said, staring at him now, her greeny-blue eyes thoughtful, almost amused. ‘What on earth would have been the point?’
‘Well,’ he said, ‘it might have helped you. For a start.’
‘How?’ she said. ‘How could it possibly have helped me?’
‘Well,’ he said uncertainly, slightly shocked at what she saw as his entirely extraneous role in the whole thing, ‘I don’t know. Quite. But I could have taken care of you, you’ve obviously been feeling terrible, you could have talked to me about it, we could have – ’
‘Yes? We could have what?’
‘Well,’ he said, ‘we could have decided what to do. Together.’
‘But Gray, it wasn’t something we could decide together.’
‘Why not?’ he said. ‘I don’t understand.’
‘Because – well, because of all the people in the world you weren’t going to be interested. And I had no right to ask you to be interested.’
‘But Kirsten,’ he said, ‘Kirsten, it’s my baby.’
He heard his voice saying those words, strange, unthinkable words that he had never ever thought to say, and looked at her, and thought of what had happened between them, this most intimate, extraordinary, yet ordinary thing that he had never dreamed would happen to him; that he had made love to her, and because of that there was within her now a new being, a potential person, partly of her, partly of him: he had done that, had created it, had created a life.
‘It’s my baby,’ he said again, into the silence, while he tried to explore the beginnings of what he felt, ‘and of course I’m interested.’
‘But Gray, you don’t want babies, ever, you told me, you told me that was why you’d finished with Briony, how could I expect you to – to – ’
‘To what?’ he said. ‘Expect me to what?’
‘To care?’ she said quietly.
‘Kirsten, you obviously have a very low opinion of me. Of course I care. I care about you, I care very much. And I care about this, about what’s happened to you, even more.’
‘Oh,’ she said abruptly.
‘And what,’ he said, more gently still, ‘what do you think you are going to do?’
‘Have a termination,’ she said, and burst into tears.
Gray stood up and held out his arms, and she looked up and then, reluctantly almost, moved into them, stood against him crying while he held her, stroked her hair, and said nothing, nothing at all, while she cried herself out.
‘You see,’ she said, when she had finished, sniffing, wiping her eyes and her nose on the thing nearest to hand, which happened to be the teatowel, ‘it was so wrong what I did, sleeping with you.’
‘Why?’ he said, stroking her hair, kissing her gently. ‘Why wrong of you and not of me?’
‘Well, you were so low, so muddled, and I was just – just piqued. And I did want to,’ she said, smiling her funny lopsided smile. ‘I don’t want you to think I didn’t, I thought you were lovely, really horny, I still do.’
‘Well thank you,’ he said, ‘for those few kind words. And did it not enter your tortured, muddled little head that I was wrong too? That I am a great deal older than you and should be a little bit wiser, that I could see you were upset. And that I wanted to, too.’
‘Well – no,’ she said. ‘Actually, no I didn’t.’
‘Well actually, you should have done. Here, have a hanky. Sit down, and I’ll make you another cup of tea. Or would you like a brandy or something?’
‘Oh – no,’ she said, making a face, ‘I’d be sick.’
‘Well, I’d certainly rather y
ou weren’t that. We’ll stick with the tea.’
‘And then,’ she said, ‘I thought, well, I couldn’t tell you about it, about the baby, because that would be even more wrong. Putting the responsibility on you.’
‘Of course it’s my responsibility. You’re nuts, you know,’ he said cheerfully, ‘quite, quite nuts.’
‘I know I am. I’m sure I’ll end up in a bin.’
‘Of course you won’t. And if you do, I promise I’ll come and visit you. I’ll probably be in there with you, actually. Now listen to me, Kirsten – ’
‘Gray,’ she said, ‘I have made up my mind. I can’t have it. It wouldn’t be fair.’
‘On you?’
‘Yes, on me. But I actually meant on the baby. That’s why I decided.’
‘I see,’ he said, ‘but supposing we – ’
‘Gray,’ she said, and her face was alarmed, ‘you’re not going to ask me to marry you, are you? Because I wouldn’t. I couldn’t.’
He felt stung, in spite of himself. ‘Am I really so repulsive? Such a bad prospect?’
‘No of course not. I told you, you’re lovely. And horny and really, really nice. But you’re – well, you’re – ’
‘Old?’ he said helpfully.
‘Well – Yes. A bit.’
‘I see.’
‘Oh God. Now I’ve offended you. But you are.’
‘It’s all right,’ he said, ‘and yes, I am. And there are other – obstacles too, I daresay.’
Like the fact, he thought, I have the power to make sure your father goes to jail; to make his humiliation absolutely public; to wreck the lives of your whole family.
‘Yes. It really really wouldn’t work, Gray. And I’m sure you wouldn’t really want it.’
‘No,’ he said, ‘it probably wouldn’t work. Fond of you as I am. But if you wanted to – keep the baby, I would help you financially, help to support it. It and you.’
She sat back and looked at him. ‘God, Gray. You’re so nice.’
‘Hardly,’ he said, and sighed.
There was a long silence. Then she said, ‘Who told you?’
‘Francesca. But only by mistake, you are not to blame her for it.’
‘No. I won’t. Poor Francesca. She’s having a hideous time. And I haven’t helped.’
The Dilemma Page 74