An English couple filed past them, on their way to a table further back in the restaurant, and the husband said with relief to the wife, ‘Good God. I’m glad I’m not with them, aren’t you?’
Tess pretended not to hear this. ‘OK!’ she called out. ‘Ron—’ she pointed towards the middle of the table. ‘You’re here, all right? And next to you—yes, Leonora, if you don’t mind going there.’
Ron scowled; Andrea, Diana and Jan inhaled sharply, but Leonora Mortmain sat steadily down in her seat, not meeting anyone’s eye. She lifted her bag onto the table, withdrew the little book she always carried around with her, and calmly opened it, as Tess carried on talking.
‘…Jan here, Jacquetta here, next to you, and I’m here, Liz, yes, you go there. Right!’ She looked around the table again. ‘Shall we sit down?’
‘The sooner we do, the sooner we can eat, and the sooner we can be out of here,’ Ron said, with an attempt at humour. It fell sadly flat; the rest of the group looked at him in horror. All except Andrea, whom Tess had long suspected nursed something of a tendre for Ron. She tittered nervously, and Ron looked up defensively, to be greeted with her rather watery smile. He breathed in loudly through his nostrils. ‘Aaah. Menu?’ He handed a plastic card to Leonora Mortmain, who took it in silence.
‘Great!’ said Tess, over the settling silence, ignoring the throbbing in her arm and shoulder. ‘This is nice, isn’t it.’
They brought red wine and water, bread and olive oil, and then a variety of starters: stuffed courgette flowers, thick with creamy goat’s cheese and drizzled with thyme-infused honey, grilled vegetables, bruschetta with borlotti beans, and thin, pink strips of prosciutto, sliced by hand from a cured leg of pork on a table nearby. They munched their way through, passing things along to each other, being deliberately polite.
‘I didn’t know you’d lived in Brighton, Ron? How interesting. We were in Southampton for years, you know.’
‘So, your family’s from Leamington Spa, Claire? Do you go back there often?’
‘That’s very interesting, Jacquetta. Very interesting!’
Tess thanked Bacchus more than once for the gift of wine, which smooths over many things, and by the time the main courses had come, the company was positively relaxed. Plates of lamb and veal, heaped high with rocket and potatoes and waxy, garlic-scented white beans, were set down on the table and everyone dug in, exclaiming over the taste of the succulent grilled meat. Vittoria stood nearby, smiling indulgently at them. It had been a long, hot day, and to be here was a balm. Tess watched in pleasure as the group relaxed, chatting politely, talking about what they’d seen, asking each other questions. She didn’t know why she was even surprised, however, that Leonora Mortmain did not join in, did not talk, and did not make any effort. She sat at the end of the table, by the door.
‘Do you have to go back to the police station for what happened today?’ Jan asked. ‘Awful, that was. You poor thing.’
‘I know,’ said Tess. ‘No, I don’t, thank goodness, they took my number and they said they’d call me if they needed anything more.’ She stirred in her chair.
‘My cousin was in Rio once,’ said Carolyn, unexpectedly, ‘and someone ripped her earring from her ear. Tore it into two flaps.’
‘No!’ Jan screamed, as the others looked appalled.
‘Yes,’ said Carolyn, alarmed by her own voice. ‘I know, isn’t it horrible?’ She looked around her now, and at Leonora Mortmain. ‘Ever since then…’ She shuddered.
‘That’s not going to happen,’ said Tess firmly. ‘That was just bad luck, that’s all. It could happen on the streets in London, for goodness’ sake.’ They all looked at her in terror. ‘Anywhere. It could happen in Langford!’
Carolyn gave a low moan. ‘Don’t say that,’ she said. ‘How awful.’
‘It could,’ said Tess, turning to Carolyn. ‘It could happen anywhere. Not necessarily having your earrings ripped out of your ears, but—similar,’ she said mischievously. Carolyn looked terrified, and Tess said hurriedly, ‘But the fact is it won’t. The chances are astronomical. So there’s no point worrying about it.’
‘Philippa was mugged, quite badly, don’t you remember?’ Diana said suddenly, to no one in particular.
Tess, who had been breathing in, smelling the coffee, started: ‘Philippa? When?’
‘Oh, quite soon before she died,’ Diana said. She clicked her teeth together. ‘Random violence, like you say. Horrible. Right in the middle of Langford.’
‘There you go,’ said Carolyn, pleased, before realizing how she sounded. ‘How awful,’ she added contritely.
‘It was in the lanes behind your old houses, where your parents lived too,’ Diana said. ‘Nasty business. They never caught him.’ She looked down at the table, and Tess remembered, memory seeping back again, how Diana and Philippa had been so close; Philippa’s closest friend, really.
Tess said slowly, ‘I’d forgotten that. What happened?’
‘What happened?’ Diana looked up. ‘I don’t know. She was coming back from Thornham, on her bike, and it was dark—it was February, I think? Anyway, she got off and was pushing the last bit of the way and someone came up behind her and pushed her over. Stamped on her hand, she broke a finger, and he took her bag. He had a knife, too.’
‘She twisted her ankle,’ Tess said, remembering it suddenly.
‘He twisted her ankle,’ Diana said grimly.
‘She was in hospital. Adam had to pick her up.’ She stared at her empty coffee cup. Someone was jangling a fork against their plate, like scraping wind chimes in a breezy sky. ‘Poor Philippa.’
‘They said it was nothing to do with her death, but I don’t know,’ Diana said. Her severe face was set, her grey fringe a perfectly straight line. ‘You’re knocked over, threatened with a knife, stamped on by some little shit and then two months later you drop dead from a brain haemorrhage? I’m sure they’re connected.’
‘Me too,’ said Andrea. ‘For what it’s worth. And I can’t believe they never caught him. But that’s the thing, you don’t know what’s round the corner. Everything can be lovely and cosy, and then next moment—bam.’ She slammed her hand on the table.
The noise from the fork got louder. Tess looked up, to see Mrs Mortmain now sharply tapping the fork on her tumbler. Next to her, almost unconsciously, Jan laid her hand gently over the older woman’s shaking fingers. Leonora Mortmain looked at her, in utter shock, and then she shook her head.
‘Sorry,’ she said, much to Tess’s surprise.
But Diana Sayers watched her, with something like contempt on her face.
‘I just don’t think that sort of thing happens in Langford,’ Leonora said eventually, shaking her head querulously.
‘Neither did I,’ Diana said. ‘But it did. Anyway, that was—how long ago?’
‘Thirteen years,’ said Tess, after a moment’s hesitation. Funny, when she thought of Philippa, who seemed so real to her still, she couldn’t believe it was that long ago. Suddenly she could see Adam, whose face had seemed so remote to her these last few days; not the Adam she’d left behind in Claridges last Saturday night, but her oldest friend, his light brown hair, kind face, urgent, sweet smile, the way that back then, they had no secrets, no worries. That Adam—he seemed awfully far away to her, now.
‘I mean, perhaps there was a reason for it,’ Leonora said slowly, deliberately. ‘It seemed to me that Philippa—Smith? Was that the name she used? She had some rather unsavoury associates.’
‘What on earth does that mean?’ asked Diana quickly. ‘What a ridiculous thing to say. She was mugged by a nasty thief, she wasn’t in the Mafia!’
‘Shhh,’ said Jan, as the waiter hovered nearby.
But Diana was furious. ‘I’m sorry, that’s incredibly offensive to Philippa,’ she said. ‘She didn’t bring that on herself. You know that, better than most people.’
‘Really?’ Leonora Mortmain gently put her lips together, and raised her eyebrows a fraction. ‘I
didn’t know her as well as you.’
‘No, you didn’t,’ said Diana pointedly. Tess stared at her, she had never seen her so full of fury. ‘And you ditched her son, too, when he most needed help. If I was you, I’d keep my opinions about Philippa to myself.’
There was an icy silence. Tess, transfixed with horror, came to with a start to find someone plucking at her elbow; it was Carolyn, asking if they should get the bill. Tess said yes, and realized Diana was watching her, glowering under her fringe. Tess met her gaze and grimaced apolo getically, as another memory surfaced: Diana and Tess’s mum, after the funeral, arriving to clear out Philippa’s cottage. Adam shouting at them, the awful rows they had about what to keep and what to throw away and in the end, them leaving him to it, as he refused their offers of help, alone in that house. She had spent that summer among Philippa’s things; she wondered where they were now—probably still in the attic somewhere, her clothes eaten away by moths, the books turning to dust, when she herself was still so alive in all their minds.
Strange, these things that she only thought of when she was away from the town. She looked around the table, at these faces that were becoming so familiar to her, looked at them again as if she was seeing them for the first time. Was Jan the bustling, bossy, organizational freak she made out she was, or did she also have a sensitivity with which Tess wouldn’t have credited her? Diana—she had always seemed so scary, but was she really that person, or someone warmer, sadder, with a more interesting past? Middle-aged women get a raw deal, Tess was starting to realize. Middle-aged men can run companies, put on weight, clap each other on the back and do what the hell they like, but middle-aged women aren’t allowed to be anything more than ciphers of something rather amusing. They’re not allowed to have hopes and dreams and keep secrets, or be empire-builders, confident and strong. They either have to be flapping and fussing or dry and disapproving—
‘Tessa?’
Her head snapped up. ‘Yes?’ she said, coming out of her reverie.
‘How do you say, “Can I have a Coke?”’
As they were finishing their meal and coffee was being ordered, there was a sudden commotion. A dog rushed into the restaurant, barking loudly, followed by its owner, who had let go of its leash. It was a mongrel dog, not huge, but large enough to push chairs out of the way and dislodge an unused table as it ricocheted, full of energy and panic, through the restaurant. The diners were alternately shocked and amused when he shot like a bullet through the doors.
‘Look!’ Ron cried, as the dog leapt past him.
‘Stop him,’ someone said quietly. ‘Please, stop him.’
‘Oh, he’s just a little thing,’ said Diana briskly. ‘Nice little chap. Wonder what he’s doing.’
‘Stop him, please,’ said the voice again. Tess looked back to the table to find it was Leonora Mortmain. Her eyes were huge, she looked as if she had aged ten years in ten seconds. ‘I do not like dogs,’ she said, scrabbling to get to her feet. It was unsettling to see her so discombobulated. ‘Please. Stop him.’
‘You don’t like dogs?’ said Diana, amazed.
‘I hate them.’ She patted her hair. ‘I hate them.’ There was a silence around the table; Leonora Mortmain gave a shallow sigh. ‘I shall go back to the hotel now,’ she said, finally struggling to her feet. She tapped her stick on the ground smartly and leaned on it, pushing stray grey locks of her hair back into place with a shaking hand. Behind her, the owner and his pet were reunited, with much wailing and many imprecations, and both fell into the street again, the dog dragging the man impatiently by the lead. Tess half stood up, but Leonora shook her head. ‘No. Mr Thaxton, would you be so kind, could you escort me home?’
There was a slightly stunned silence. Tess loved Ron in that moment, for the polite way he got to his feet, nodding. ‘Of course,’ he said, only slightly reluctantly. ‘My pleasure.’ Andrea glared at him imploringly, but Ron took Leonora’s arm and they left the restaurant, going out into the night. Tess could hear laughter from the street, see the orange light from the candles on the tables outside and she thought again how incongruous Leonora Mortmain was, here, how she should instead have been touring Rome with Mr Casaubon from Middlemarch. Had she ever been young? Had she ever yearned to hurl herself out of the restaurant into the warm, jasmine-scented evening, feel her bare feet on the cobbles, run across the ancient river into the heart of the city, ride a moped, drink wine till dawn?
Tess shook her head. Of course she hadn’t. She gazed out at their retreating figures and thoughtfully chewed her fingernail.
‘Isn’t it true,’ Jacquetta Meluish said, recalling her to the present, ‘that there was a bookshop in the Forum? I seem to remember, when I stayed here with a dear professore friend of John’s—’
Diana Sayers raised her eyes to heaven. Andrea nudged her. The two younger girls smiled politely, and Carolyn Tey assumed an expression of rapt interest.
‘Are you all right, dear?’ Jan Allingham said suddenly, leaning over to Tess. Jacquetta stopped in surprise.
‘Me? I’m fine,’ said Tess.
‘You look rather tired,’ said Jan.
‘She does, doesn’t she?’ said Andrea, leaping on this gap in the conversation. ‘You’ve had a long day, dear. Perhaps you should go back to the hotel too.’
‘We’ve all had a long day,’ Tess said, laughing.
‘Yes, but we haven’t been flung against the wall by motorcycling muggers,’ said Diana. ‘That shoulder’s going to bloody hurt you tomorrow, you know.’
Tess didn’t want to tell them that it already was. She smiled, touched that they cared, but knowing that she couldn’t leave them, take off back to the hotel, or even anywhere else. You should enjoy yourself, too, the American had said.
‘Oh, well,’ said Jan. She patted Tess’s arm. ‘We’ll be back home soon. Home! I mean back at the hotel.’ She laughed. ‘Oh, look at me, here five minutes and I’m calling it home!’
Jacquetta said, ‘I always think of Rome as somewhere where one could happily live. That’s what I was saying, about John’s friend Alberto, who was professor of music…’
Tess cast one last longing look out of the door, as the vibrant blue light of evening turned slowly into night.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Ron was waiting for them when they arrived back at Albergo Watkins, sitting in the tiny makeshift bar-cum-lobby. He was clutching a beer, with one leg thrown out in front of the other, one arm resting on the back of the wooden settle that lined the wall. The receptionist was studiously ignoring him.
The effect Ron was aiming for—unruffled international traveller who hangs out in hotel lobbies—wasn’t quite convincing. He looked rather cross and, as they all came back in, turned to them with something like a snarl, leapt up and then carefully put his glass of beer back down on the table.
‘That woman—’ he said, advancing towards them, his grey eyes wide open. ‘Tess, don’t put me next to her again this holiday. Otherwise I want a refund. I am not doing that again. I’ll sue.’
‘Ron shouldn’t eat rich foods in the evening, you know,’ Jan whispered loudly to Andrea. ‘They make him ever so cross.’
‘It’s none of my business what he eats in the evening, thank you, Jan,’ Andrea said.
Tess, who had a pack of legal information as well as Health and Safety, First Aid and travel tips up in her room, none of which she wanted to have to use, blinked at Ron in alarm. ‘Er,’ she said. ‘OK, Ron. I’m sorry—she asked and I thought you’d be OK. Oh, dear,’ she said, seeing he really did look upset. ‘What did she say?’
‘Things,’ Ron said, grinding his teeth and pacing.
‘Ooh, what kind of things?’ said Andrea, her sharp little face alive with potential outrage.
‘She told me—’ Ron said, stiffly. ‘She—oh, that woman. She told me that I should write and apologize to her for the things I’d said. Otherwise there’d be consequences. Consequences!’ He gave a snorting laugh, which dissolved into a fit of co
ughing. ‘Cool as a cucumber, we’re walking back through the streets, all nice as you like, I’m trying to be polite and she says that.’
‘Write and apologize?’ Andrea said incredulously. ‘After what she’s done?’
‘That’s not all,’ said Ron, pacing up and down. ‘That is not all.’
At that point a German couple slowly opened the front door and stepped into the lobby, where they were prevented from advancing any further because of the bottleneck of aghast onlookers listening to Ron. Tess gently moved Liz and Jacquetta out of the way so the couple could move past. She watched them abstractly, admiring their European-ness, the woman with her frameless neat glasses, shiny cropped blonde hair, the man tanned and athletic, she in crisp linen, he in a shirt and pressed trousers. They were so very different from the ragged mob standing in the lobby with her.
She pressed her fingers to her temple, wanting to stay calm. ‘What else?’ she asked.
‘She said—’ Ron cleared his throat. ‘Actually, can you give me a minute?’
No one quite knew what he meant by this, so no one moved.
Ron closed his eyes and flared his fingers upwards, so his palms faced outwards, like a mystic sage. ‘I meant, can you leave me and Tess, please? I need to tell her something.’
‘Oh,’ said Andrea, disappointed, but Diana Sayers motioned to her to be quiet. Andrea looked at Ron, who looked back at her and nodded, a look of silent understanding, and she suddenly switched. ‘Right, see you upstairs,’ she said, and pushed Liz, Claire, Jan, Jacquetta and Carolyn towards the stairs.
‘What is it, Ron?’ Tess said, moving towards him. Silence fell in the lobby, and the woman behind the desk looked up, bored, twitched her thick Prada glasses and went back to her crossword puzzle.
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