‘Got it in one.’
‘That must have been awful for you.’
‘It was. I was so embarrassed, not to mention disappointed.’
‘Was Christmas bad as well?’
‘Dreadful. I hated every moment.’
James grimaced at the recurrent memory of his own Christmas. ‘You and me both then.’
For a few moments, they sipped their tea in quiet reflection until James broke the silence.
‘Lunch was in the ballroom at the Willerton Grange. I spent best part of the main course reliving our last dance.’
Anna’s reply was solicitous and slightly urgent in its deliverance. ‘James, you must understand that what happened at the staff party has to stay there. It was what it was and nothing more.’
‘Do not worry; I understand. It is just so nice to be shown some tenderness, albeit for a short while. I can survive on the memory.’
‘Me too.’ Anna smiled and relaxed again. ‘How was your New Year?’
‘I spent it here in Bishopsworth in my flat, along with the remainder of the port from Christmas Day.’
‘Alone? No, don’t tell me…’ Anna laughed as she spoke. ‘In the company of Mahler and Beethoven?’
It was James’ turn to laugh. ‘Now then, you are beginning to know me too well. Am I that transparent?’
‘No way! Most of the time you are as difficult to understand as a book written in Cantonese. I’m just managing to peer through a small chink in the outer defences.’
James stared thoughtfully at the ceiling. ‘That is very perceptive of you.’ He paused again before transferring his gaze towards Anna. ‘Time to change the subject, I think. So what did you do for New Year?’
‘That’s a sore point. We went to a party, only I was dragged away just before midnight. Can you credit it? I had a blazing row with Simon this morning because of it. Sometimes I dislike him so much that I wonder why I married him.’
‘So why don’t you leave him?’
Anna shrugged. ‘I have nothing else. What’s your excuse?’
‘Touché.’ He paused, reflected for a moment and decided on honesty. ‘Actually, the Church.’
‘Pardon?’ Anna looked genuinely puzzled.
‘Far too complicated for now. I might explain sometime. Does Simon know you are here?’
‘Goodness, no. I have only been allowed out to go to the shop for some gravy powder. I saw your car and thought it would be nice to have at least one civil conversation today.’
‘I’ve heard the other receptionists say you’re a good cook. I’m surprised you use something as mundane as gravy powder.’
Anna laughed. ‘I don’t. It was just an excuse to get out. However, I guess I shall have to go and buy some or he will be suspicious and not leave me in peace. I’ve probably been far too long as it is.’ She drained her mug and placed it on the desk. ‘I’ll leave you to do the washing-up.’
‘A small price to pay for the unexpected company. I hope the day gets better for you.’
‘I’ll survive.’
Across the room, the out-of-hours telephone started to ring. James sighed and walked across to answer it. As he was about to lift the receiver, Anna picked up her handbag, walked across the room and gave him a light kiss on his cheek.
‘Thanks for listening. See you in the morning.’
Somewhat nonplussed, James nodded and answered the telephone.
‘Hello, Dr Armstrong speaking. How can I help you?’
‘It’s my son, Doctor. He’s had a cough all week and we wondered…’
However, he was not really listening. His mind was on Anna as she walked down the corridor. Mentally he was comparing what he had just heard with his own discontented marriage. Two people united on New Year’s Day by the common denominator of loneliness. Is there anywhere, he wondered reaching for a notepad, such a thing as a happy relationship or has the whole world been sold on an ideal that is nothing more than an illusion?
‘I am sorry, Mrs Jenkins. I didn’t quite hear all that. How old is your son?’
As he wrote, he did not see Anna pause at the exit. For a few moments, she stood and watched him writing, before turning away and quietly closing the door behind her.
12
February
‘But I think it is a lovely idea. Everyone should do it. What do you think, dear?’ she said, clapping her hands with a degree of exuberance.
James couldn’t decide whether Mary McGarva was simply being overly courteous or whether it was the effect of the three champagne cocktails that she had swallowed with consummate ease before dinner. Either way, she had been chattering away about all sorts of trivial matters throughout the first two courses; her increasingly high-pitched voice leaving James feeling mentally exhausted long before his main course of breast of guinea fowl was served.
‘I said, what do you think, dear?’ Her deliverance increased by a few decibels. ‘I think everyone should do it. It is just such a lovely idea. Quite romantic really.’
Unable to continue ignoring the statements clearly directed at him, Ian McGarva broke away from his conversation with Charles Hawkins and looked down the table.
‘Mary, my wee lass, despite the repetitive nature of your question, I am afraid that I have absolutely no idea what you and James have been discussing for the past hour. Although, experience tells me that I ought to be expressing every sympathy for the poor man.’
James grinned but said nothing, aware that the entire gathering was now silent and focused on the repartee between the McGarvas.
‘That just proves you never listen to me. There now, I’ve got seven witnesses to the very fact.’ Mary’s face took on a higher hue of pinkness, which contrasted rather artistically with the deep ruddy complexion of her husband.
‘Don’t be a daft lass. Of course I have been listening to you. Nobody around the table could claim not to have been. After all, you have hardly drawn breath all evening. However, the simple fact is that I have absolutely no idea as to the precise content of the discussion you have just been having with James there. Nor, for that matter, has he, I’ll wager,’ he said in an undertone to Charles, before taking a reinforcing gulp of claret.
‘Ian, you really are quite impossible. Listen. James was just saying that he makes it a point of principle never to work on the day of his birthday. I think that is lovely. I think everyone should adopt the same idea.’
‘Now, my dear, why on earth would everyone wish to take the day off when it is James’ birthday?’ Chuckling at his own joke, Ian choked and needed rescuing from his coughing and spluttering by a few hefty slaps on the back.
‘That serves you right. You know perfectly well what I mean.’ Mary was used to her husband’s teasing. Such banter seemed to be the very threads that held their relationship together.
‘Which month is your birthday in, James?’ Susan Hawkins cut into the good-humoured confrontation.
‘January. Why do you ask?’
‘Does that make you a Capricorn or an Aquarian?’
‘Aquarian.’
‘So what does that tell you about him?’ asked Mary, glad to move the conversation away from Ian and herself.
‘Aquarius is represented by the water-carrier, which signifies that he—’
‘Drinks like a fish,’ interjected Tom Slater to laughter from Ian, who raised his glass to James in salutation.
‘Which signifies,’ Susan continued, ignoring what, if she had been asked, she would have described as the uncouth utterances of an uncouth little man, ‘that he has strong humanitarian principles.’
‘Oh dear, is that the same as a pacifist? We were relying on volunteering you for the Gulf War if more doctors were called up, weren’t we, Tom?’ Ian directed across the table.
‘Too right,’ Tom replied. ‘That means Tricky Ricky will have to go instead. We could always enlist you into the Cavalry, Richard. Either that or you could take command of the Shropshire Yeomanry,’ he continued, taking pot shots at his partner�
��s landed-gentry background.
Richard Carey smiled benignly at his antagonist. ‘You’re younger than me. You would be well ahead in the queue.’
‘Nay, lad, not me. The quartermasters would never be able to keep up a steady supply of Theakston’s Best. I would suffer withdrawal symptoms in no time and have to be invalided home. Anyway, what’s this humanitarian being all about that we suddenly find in our midst?’ He returned the stage to Susan and sat back in his chair, reaching for a packet of cigarettes as he did so.
‘It means that he is a visionary philanthropist. Unlike some of the present company, he is a lover of humankind, exerting himself for the wellbeing of his fellow men. The problem is—’
‘The problem is,’ she was again interrupted by Tom, ‘I don’t understand a word of what is being said. No offence, lad,’ he said, turning to James. ‘I’m sure you’ll do alright whatever long word Madame Zodiac over there calls you. However, let’s have pudding and change the subject, shall we?’ The waiters were beckoned by his wild gesticulations and started to clear the plates from the main course. As they did so, several individual conversations broke out around the table, giving James the opportunity to sit back and study the assembled diners.
The entire evening had been Tom’s idea. One morning, a few weeks previously, the partners had met for coffee at the surgery. Tom, disdainful of anything that resembled protocol or good manners, was sitting with his feet up on the end of the boardroom table, partially obscured from view by a copy of the Sun, which he had discovered in the waiting room. A cloud of tobacco smoke obscured the rest of him.
He had made his announcement midway through his partners’ discussion regarding the latest British Hypertension Society’s protocols for treating high blood pressure.
‘I think we should all go out for a Valentine’s dinner.’
With the academic debate stalled, everyone turned to stare in his direction. A further cloud of smoke and the sight of the Sun rotating through ninety degrees, as he examined one of its photographs from various angles, greeted them. Charles broke the stunned silence.
‘Tom, do tell me why you think five heterosexual male doctors should go out together on Valentine’s Day for dinner.’
‘Don’t be daft; you’d take the missus as well.’
The partners had been immediately suspicious, well knowing the depths of Tom Slater’s parsimony.
‘Good grief, does this mean that there is a potential Mrs Slater on the horizon? If there is, you can jolly well take her out at your own expense, you cheapskate!’
‘No, nowt of the sort. It is just that we have not socialised as a partnership for some time. Apart from Christmas, but that was with the staff. I just thought it would be a good time to do it for our womenfolk. I do not mind being a gooseberry. I can celebrate not being shackled, unlike the rest of you.’
‘I’m not currently “shackled”, as you put it, Tom,’ said Richard Carey, entering the conversation.
‘Nay, lad. Nevertheless, I guess you could find a filly at the stables to hitch up to for the evening, couldn’t you? Come on, all you Romeos. Just say yes; I’ll organise the rest.’
As a result, the partnership found itself seated around an oval table in a private dining room at the Thorndyke Castle for a communal Valentine’s dinner.
Thorndyke Castle, once a vast manor house, was set in several acres of gardens in the heart of the village of Thorndyke, approximately ten miles east of Bishopsworth. The second part of its name came from the castellated walls adorning its façade. Though in many ways a Victorian folly, Tom Slater thought it the perfect setting for the battles he envisaged might ensue from the act of getting the doctors and their partners together for a Valentine’s dinner.
His warped sense of humour extended to the seating plan, wherewith he ensured that nobody sat next to his or her own partner for Valentine’s Day. As a result, James had the pleasure of Mary McGarva to his right, whilst on his left sat Belinda Marsh, the ‘filly’ Richard Carey had been instructed to find for the occasion. Her introduction took everyone by surprise as, although possessing a very pleasant character, her appearance could only be described as dowdy. She was certainly not of the type usually seen in the company of Richard; a detail which he had no doubt contrived so as to lend credence to his claim that she was only there as a platonic companion, the latter being his intended defence once word got back to Jackie, the secretary. He would much rather have brought Jackie. However, he knew that his partners would have vetoed the very suggestion. Although they had long known of the affair, it was a matter not publicly acknowledged.
Next to Belinda sat Tom Slater. Being without a partner of his own, he was determined that he would nonetheless enjoy the evening in the company of the youngest of the ladies. He expected far more of Richard and was disappointed by Belinda’s arrival. His attention for the best part of the evening was therefore given to Janice, whom he strategically placed between himself and Richard. To the latter’s left was Susan Hawkins, separated by Ian McGarva from her husband, Charles, who sat to the right of Mary McGarva.
James looked across at Janice and, not for the first time that evening, felt a sense of foreboding. The fact that she had just played with her food and had in effect eaten very little did not prevent her being liberally supplied with wine, as the men either side of her vied to be the most attentive. As a result, she was becoming increasingly inebriated as the evening progressed. Any looks of disapproval from James had simply resulted in her giving him a close-lipped smile, followed by the taking of another drink. Tom’s habit of smoking between courses had equally encouraged her and she readily accepted each cigarette he proffered, well knowing the effect such action would have on her husband. Her flirtatious conversation simply added to his disquiet. It was just as Richard referred to the shape of her legs that James’ attention was drawn away by a question from his left.
‘Do you think the war will last for long, James?’
The question took him by surprise, as it was the first time Belinda had initiated any conversation with him since the start of the meal. Although Mary had monopolised his attention with her incessant chattering, he had tried, unsuccessfully, to alternate his attention between the two ladies, using the change of courses, in true Debrett’s Etiquette & Modern Manners style, to draw Belinda into a discussion about herself.
‘I wouldn’t pretend to be an authority on the subject. However, from what I read, the expectation is that it will be over in a matter of weeks.’ James took a sip of wine. ‘What do you think?’
‘I think America was just waiting for an excuse to move in. After all, it only took two days for the Allies to start bombing Baghdad,’ Belinda replied, referring to the passing of the UN Deadline on 15th January for Iraq to withdraw from Kuwait. ‘Surely they wouldn’t have moved all that manpower and machinery over there if they didn’t intend on doing something drastic?’
‘I am sure you are right. As I said, I only know what I read in the papers. What I do find surprising is that Israel didn’t retaliate after Iraq bombed it in retribution for Baghdad being attacked.’ He leaned to one side as the waiter served the pudding.
‘You two seem to be having a very deep conversation,’ remarked Mary, taking advantage of the interruption. ‘Isn’t it a little morbid to be discussing war when we are here for a Valentine’s dinner?’
‘Quite right,’ interjected Tom. ‘Talk about something we can all discuss. Like the weather.’
‘That’s hardly romantic,’ replied Mary.
‘It is. After all, it has been snowing for the past week. That’s very romantic, especially when all the tractors come out to clear it. Nothing like a few tractors on the road to raise the passions, is there, Charles?’
Charles shifted uncomfortably and attacked his pudding with renewed vigour. Susan had not been his wife at the time of his affair with a farmer’s wife some years previously. However, the allusion to his paranoia regarding tractors only served to rekindle, by association, the mem
ory of the affair. It was something he preferred not to be discussed in Susan’s presence.
‘Stop being mischievous, Tom,’ said Ian, rebuking him. ‘Charles doesn’t need you to stir any wooden spoons.’
‘Terribly sorry,’ he replied, assuming an air of mock contrition. ‘I forgot. Never talk about sex, politics or religion at dinner.’
‘Quite right,’ joined Mary. ‘This is supposed to be a romantic evening. However, I have a conversation about politics taking place on my left and then Tom starts making lewd references. Neither,’ her voice took on a louder timbre, ‘does accepted etiquette allow for chatting up other partners’ wives.’
Her words were directed across the table to where Richard sat with his arm around the back of Janice’s chair. His body language implied a degree of growing intimacy, which Janice did not seem to object to. With a grin, he withdrew his arm, sat upright and started to eat his pudding.
‘What I would like to know,’ he said between mouthfuls of cheesecake, ‘is what James actually did when he took the day off for his birthday.’
James finished his own pudding and dabbed at his mouth with a napkin.
‘Well…’ He paused, recollecting the events of the day some three weeks previously. ‘I went to the 8 a.m. service of Morning Prayer at my local church in Barminster and then spent the rest of the morning at an Antiquarian Book Fair in York.’
Ian looked up from his food. ‘Can’t resist browsing through second-hand book shops myself. Did you buy anything?’
‘Yes, I found a fascinating collection of Victorian essays on comparative religion. First published in 1880, it’s leather-bound and in very good condition.’
‘Wow, I bet that’s stimulating bedtime reading. I’m so glad I asked.’
‘Ignore him, James,’ intercepted Mary. ‘He still has the heathen tendencies of his ancestors. I am sure the book is most interesting. How did you spend the afternoon?’
‘I went to a seminar for potential ordinands. It was held in York Minster and had some very good speakers.’
‘That does seem to be a lot of religion in one day,’ remarked Charles, his eyebrows raised in astonishment. ‘Especially on your birthday.’
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