by Isabel Wolff
‘And this morning the editor asked me to write a profile of James Mulholland for this Sunday’s paper, as he’s been tipped for the Cabinet at the next reshuffle.’
‘Really?’ I said faintly.
‘So I wondered whether you might have any interesting little titbits that I might be able to use—it doesn’t matter how trivial—just to liven the piece up.’
‘Some interesting little titbits?’ I echoed. I struggled with my conscience for less than a second. ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Actually, I have.’
CHAPTER 14
That night I phoned Daisy, but she was at Nigel’s and couldn’t speak. She clearly had big problems but I’d been so distracted by my own difficulties that I’d failed to focus on hers. This realization made me feel horribly neglectful—especially as she’d been so supportive of me. And what was it she’d said—about something I’d said to her a few weeks back? With all my troubles I couldn’t remember. So I left her a message, then went to bed, though I barely slept, drifting off just before dawn.
I awoke three hours later with the knowledge that this morning David would receive my letter. Perhaps, if his post had come early, he’d already read it. My pulse began to race at the thought. However, I knew that I couldn’t, in any circumstances, call him: it was up to him to contact me. But by ten he hadn’t phoned, and I knew that he wouldn’t. I imagined my letter, in the bin, in fragments. I played the tape again. It was all there.
Why have you deliberately stirred it all up?…felt awful about it for sixteen years…you should have left it alone…do you want money, is that it?… Did you give him my name?… I didn’t have the faintest idea what it really was… That’s true… Why would you want to go and look for the guy?… I’ll ring David right now… It was just a firework…regrettable.
It was explosive stuff, I thought—without irony. It was dynamite. It could blow his whole life apart. How silly of him, I thought. Manipulative though Jimmy was, it had never once crossed his mind that I might have been recording our conversation. I put the tape at the back of my drawer, then went round the corner to get a newspaper. And I was just deciding whether to get the Guardian or the Independent, when I noticed that the new September edition of Moi! had come in. I bought one, and, still feeling fragile after my sleepless night, I ordered a comforting latte in the Patisserie and then sat outside in the sunshine, reading the magazine. The ‘Miss Behaviour’ article was about halfway through and took up two pages. The main photograph was the one that David had printed first. I was filled with sadness as I looked at it, remembering when David had taken it—Don’t smile. A smile is concealing. Then later, when I’d seen the image emerge—You look slightly troubled. As though there’s something very complex going on in your head. Indeed. And now David knew what that was.
The piece was lively and well-written, and, despite India Carr’s irritating probing, she’d actually said very little about my personal life—my circumspection and discretion had clearly paid off. I knew that the coverage would undoubtedly generate lots of enquiries so I decided to send Lily some flowers. I finished my latte and crossed over the road to the florist, and was just picking out some apricot roses when I saw Gnatalie coming up the road, on her mobile, as usual.
‘No, Mummy,’ I heard her say, as she passed behind me. ‘I don’t think he understands me at all. I mean…ice-cream? Well, exactly…he knows I’m lactose intolerant… Yes… I do think he’s selfish… Hmm. But on the other hand, he’s attractive and funny…and of course he’s nuts about me…yes… I’m seeing him tonight.’
Why? I wondered as I selected some white gerbera. Why are you seeing him tonight? Or any night? In fact, why are you seeing him at all, you whiny cow? And how disloyal! Going out with him while bitching about him non-stop to her mum. That really is a case of trying to have one’s gluten-free rice-cake and eat it, I thought crossly as I headed back to the house.
‘Marcus is a nice guy,’ I said to Herman. ‘He deserves better, don’t you think?’ Herman heaved a sympathetic sigh.
I had an appointment in Islington at twelve, then rushed back, hoping that there might be a message from David, but there wasn’t—and by three, I still hadn’t heard. At half past four I saw my second client of the day—a disobedient collie cross. It wouldn’t do a thing its owner said.
‘He’s just so naughty,’ she kept saying as we walked onto Primrose Hill, the dog twisting and pulling on the lead. ‘Heel, will you! He’s so naughty,’ she said again. ‘He knows perfectly well what I want him to do, but he just won’t do it.’
‘Dogs are not naughty,’ I said. ‘To say that they are, is to impute to them human motives which they’re incapable of having. Dogs have no sense of “good” or “bad”,’ I explained. ‘They don’t understand “right” or “wrong”. They don’t have a conscience, or any concept of “guilt”—’ I thought of Jimmy, ‘—they do only what’s rewarding to them.’
I went through the basic principles with her; ignoring ‘bad’ or unwanted behaviours and positively reinforcing ‘good’ or desired behaviours. Then we went back to the house, where I looked up an accredited training class for her to attend. As I sat at my desk I saw that there were two messages. I was dying to play them. The emotional stress made my insides shift.
‘Thank you,’ I said, as she handed me her cheque. ‘And good luck with him—I’m sure he’ll be fine.’
I’d shown her out, and was just about to listen to the answerphone, when my mobile rang. It was my mother, sounding excited about her idiotic new llama project. She eventually got off the line, and I was just about to listen to my messages at long, long last, when I heard a light knock at the door. My hand stopped in mid-air. Then another one, slightly louder. It was David! I ran to the door.
‘Oh!’ It was like a bullet to the chest.
‘Hello, Miranda.’
‘Alexander,’ I murmured automatically. I felt sick, and faint. I also felt angry. He smiled an apologetic little half smile, and I suddenly felt terribly sad as well.
‘I’m sorry to turn up like this,’ he said diffidently. ‘I did leave a message for you earlier, but I thought that you might be ignoring me, so I decided I’d just…come round.’
‘Oh…well, I wasn’t…ignoring you. It’s just that I haven’t had time to listen to my messages yet. I’ve been too busy.’ I stared at him. I’d forgotten—no, I’d suppressed—how good-looking he was.
‘Can I come in?’
‘Oh. Yes,’ I said weakly. ‘Do…’
As Alexander crossed the threshold, Herman trotted up to him, his tail wagging. ‘Hello, Herman.’ He crouched down to stroke him. ‘Hello, little guy.’ He picked him up, and Herman licked his ear. ‘I’ve missed you.’
‘Erm…would you like a cup of tea?’ I asked, at a loss for anything else to say. The blood was pounding in my ears and my face felt hot.
‘That would be nice. Or maybe, if you’ve got it, a beer?’
‘Sure.’ Why are you here? I opened the fridge. Why? ‘Budweiser?’
‘Thanks. I hope you’re going to have one too.’
‘Okay.’ Though what I really need is a valium.
‘Do you mind if I smoke?’ I heard him call out.
‘No,’ I said weakly. ‘That’s fine.’ He was standing in the kitchen doorway now, so tall that his head almost touched the lintel. He pulled a packet of Gitanes out of his jacket pocket, removed one, then lit it with a hand which visibly trembled. The familiar aroma filled my nostrils and I was nearly felled by a wave of nostalgic distress.
‘You’ve done an amazing job on the house,’ he said, as I handed him an ashtray. ‘I remember how derelict it was when we…’ he hesitated. ‘When we first saw it.’ In the days when we were ‘we’. ‘So the practice is going well,’ he remarked nervously as he blew the smoke away. ‘I saw the piece about you in Moi! Nice photo,’ he added, as I handed him the beer. If only you knew what lay behind it. ‘There’s one of you in The Times today too.’
‘Is there?’
‘With
a rabbit.’
‘Oh. The animal slimming competition?’
He nodded. ‘They’ve called it “Heavy Petting”.’
‘That’s good. And I’ve seen lots of stuff about you.’ He smiled, then looked at the floor. ‘I watched the first episode of Land Ahoy!’
‘Did you?’ He seemed genuinely surprised. ‘I thought you might not have wanted to.’
‘Oh…no,’ I protested. Actually, you’re right, I didn’t—but I made myself. ‘It was very good. You looked…great. You got some terrific reviews, didn’t you?’
He sat on the couch, and, still striving to project a polite detachment, I pulled up a chair about five feet away. ‘Yes,’ he replied, drawing deeply on the cigarette. ‘I did get some nice coverage. It went very well. That was a really…’ he exhaled a stream of silvery smoke, ‘…lucky break.’ I nodded again. Then we just stared at each other, awkwardly, as we sipped our beer, like teenagers at their first party. ‘So have you been okay, Miranda?’ he asked softly.
‘Have I been okay?’ No. I haven’t. I’ve been in turmoil. ‘Erm…yes. Thanks. Yes. I’ve been…fine.’
‘And what about your parents? And Daisy?’ He delicately picked a shred of tobacco off his tongue.
‘They’re all right.’ I told him about my dad’s return to the UK. I even told him about my mother’s lunatic new idea for the llamas. His blue eyes shone with laughter.
‘Unbelievable!’
‘No, honestly. She’s quite serious about it. It’s mad.’ By now, the atmosphere had lightened. I’d even managed to smile. ‘And you’re off to Hollywood?’
‘That’s right.’
‘So when are you going?’
‘Tomorrow.’ Tomorrow? I felt a sudden constriction in my throat. ‘My flight’s at noon. That’s why I’ve come, actually,’ he added quietly. ‘You must have been wondering.’
‘Well, yes. I…suppose I was.’
‘It’s because I didn’t want to leave without seeing you again.’
‘Oh.’ I stared at a patch of sunlight on the floor.
‘I just wanted to make sure that you were…okay.’
‘Oh, I’m fine,’ I murmured. ‘I’m…fine.’ No, I’m not. I’m miserable! And now I’m even more miserable than I was before. Why the hell did you have to come, Alexander?
‘Because I wanted to say goodbye.’ Goodbye?
‘You make it sound so final.’
‘It probably is. I’m planning to stay out there.’
‘Really?’
‘It’s a very nice life. Lots of Brits. Lots of sunshine…’
‘And lots of work too—with luck.’
He shrugged. ‘I’ve got a few screen tests coming up. There’s quite a bit of interest at the moment because Land Ahoy!’s just been shown in the States.’
‘Reese Witherspoon,’ I murmured. ‘I read that you might be working with her.’
‘Yes. There’s a chance I might. She’s brilliant.’
‘I loved her in Sweet Home Alabama.’
‘Me too.’
‘Well…you’ll probably become a big star, then.’
He shrugged again. ‘I don’t know. I just hope it’ll…work out. You know,’ he added with a slightly forced brightness, ‘it’s probably a good thing we broke up—isn’t it?’ He gave me a tentative smile, as though he sought my approval. ‘I can’t imagine you’d have liked living in L.A. very much.’
‘No, I don’t think I would. I saw enough of it when Dad was over there to know that.’
‘Although, on the other hand, you’d have been very busy,’ he pointed out. ‘Lots of neurotic pets.’
I smiled. ‘Neurotic owners, rather. But you’re right—L.A. isn’t really for me. So, no—it probably wouldn’t have worked between us long term anyway, and so it was just…as well…’ That you abandoned me. I glanced out of the window. And if you hadn’t, we would have been married next month. There was silence for a few moments.
‘I’m sorry,’ I heard him suddenly say. I looked at him, and now, to my amazement, there were tears standing in his eyes. ‘I’m sorry, Miranda,’ he repeated. ‘That’s what I’ve really come to say.’ I was too stunned to reply, the silence between us so intense I could hear myself breathing. Then, suddenly, Alexander stood up. And I thought he was going to leave. Instead, he pulled me to my feet, and enveloped me in an awkward hug. ‘I behaved so…badly,’ he said, his voice fracturing with feeling. ‘But I couldn’t bear to leave London without telling you how sorry I am. You may not believe it, but I’ve felt just…terrible these past few weeks.’
‘It’s okay.’ I felt my own eyes now brim, and then spill over. ‘It’s okay, Alex…’
‘I don’t know what…happened that night. I guess I…panicked. And the next thing I knew you were…’ his voice trailed away. In hospital. ‘But I just hope you can…forgive me.’
‘Yes. Yes, of course I can—and I do. I do…forgive you.’ As I said that, I felt something dark and shadowy leave my soul. ‘I know you didn’t mean…’ I stopped. To desert me.
‘It all happened so fast.’
‘I know.’ Now we sank onto the couch, side by side, gripping each other’s hands.
‘But it’s tormented me, Miranda. The knowledge that you got hurt. And that I should have protected you—but I…didn’t. I let you down.’
‘Look, I’m completely better now. It didn’t take long. I’ve got over it—and far worse things happen to people every day.’
‘But when I got the engagement ring back, I just felt so bad. I felt that you hated me.’
I shook my head. ‘That’s not true. I wasn’t returning it in order to punish you. It’s just that keeping it didn’t feel…right.’
‘I sold it,’ he murmured.
‘Really?’
‘I gave the money to charity.’
‘That was nice.’
‘And I’ve been trying to summon up the courage to contact you, ever since I knew I was going to the States: but I thought you’d refuse to see me, which would only have made me feel worse. But then, when I got the ring, I knew that I had to get in touch with you. I couldn’t leave this country, feeling that you despised me.’
‘I don’t.’ At least, not any more.
‘I knew I couldn’t move forward with that hanging over me. So I just needed to come and say…what I’ve said.’
‘It’s okay,’ I murmured, my throat aching. ‘It’s all forgotten now. And in a funny sort of way,’ I went on, ‘maybe good things have come out of it.’ I thought of David and my own search for forgiveness.
‘What sort of things?’
‘I can’t…really say. But maybe, one day, I’ll tell you.’
Even as I said it, I knew that I never would.
He sighed, then stood up again. ‘Well, I’d better get going, I guess. I haven’t finished packing.’
‘What’s happening to your flat?’
‘It’s being let.’
‘Thanks for coming, Alexander. I’m so glad you did. Will you let me know how it goes?’
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Of course I will. If I land anything big, I’ll e-mail you. I’d like to do that.’
I handed him my card. ‘I hope it all works out…really well.’
‘Thanks. You too. I’m so glad I’ve seen you.’ His deep blue eyes were shimmering again, then he leaned down and kissed my cheek.
‘Can I just ask you something?’ I added, as he reached for the door handle.
‘Of course.’
‘Which charity did you give the money to?’ He paused for a moment, and I saw his face flush.
‘The… Samaritans. I think they’re very worthwhile.’
After Alexander had gone, I sat on the couch, staring at the floor, mentally replaying the scene, frame by frame. Then I put Herman on the lead, and we skirted Primrose Hill in the gathering dusk, then entered Regent’s Park. We crossed over to the Inner Circle, and passed the theatre. There was no performance tonight. It was quiet. And now, as the residu
al pink of the sky turned to mauve, then cobalt, I sat on a bench, in the rose garden, the memories of my first glimpse of Alexander flooding back.
—I do beseech you—chiefly that I might set it in my prayers—what is your name?
—I’ll be your patient log-man…
—Admired Miranda! Indeed the top of admiration!
I stood up, and began to walk back.
—The rarer action is in virtue, than in vengeance…
That was so, so true. I’d felt vengeful towards Alexander; I’d wanted to punish him—but he’d clearly been in pain, all the time. And it had been easy to forgive him—so easy—when I’d thought it would be impossibly hard.
As you from crimes would pardoned be,
Let your indulgence set me free!
When I got back to the house, I saw the answerphone flashing and realized I still hadn’t listened to my messages. I’d been so knocked out by Alexander’s visit that I’d forgotten to play them. The first message was from him, tentatively asking me to return his call. The second was from Daisy. She sounded upset. I phoned her straight back but her mobile was switched off. Maybe she was out with Nigel, or at one of her parties. I was longing to tell her about Alexander, and I wanted to know what was happening with her. What was it she’d said yesterday? She’d mentioned something that I’d said, when we were sitting in her garden a few weeks ago—but I couldn’t for the life of me think what.
At ten I left another message for her, telling her to call me any time—day or night. But she didn’t. And I didn’t hear from her all the next day—or the next. She wasn’t at work, and the woman on reception said they weren’t sure when she was coming in—no one seemed to know where she was. I was worried by now, and was about to call Nigel or her mother when, at last, on Friday, I heard. The phone went at seven a.m. It was her.
‘Miranda.’ Her voice was cracking. ‘It’s me. I’ve been awake all night. Can I come over for breakfast?’
‘Of course. I’ll go and get some chocolate croissants.’
She arrived an hour later, looking pale and strained.