'Dad!' Alicia called from the hall. 'I've made scrambled egg on toast. Do you want some?'
He settled himself at the kitchen table. 'What are you after?'
'Why should I be after anything? Can't I make a fuss of my dad if I want to?'
He paused with the fork half way to his mouth. 'You don't usually.'
She looked crestfallen and he regretted the words. 'How's work going?' he asked.
Alicia chatted away, regaling him with stories of the people she'd encountered in the restaurant. Apparently the wife of the prime minister had visited the day before, and a minor member of the royal family the previous week. 'The manager acts like he's really cool, but he was bowing and scraping like mad,' she said.
Rick wiped his mouth on a napkin and leaned back in his chair. Alicia told him that she was thinking of going to college. He smiled. She was a talented artist and he'd lost count of the times he'd said she shouldn't waste such a gift. He started to feel better. This was the first conversation he'd had with his daughter for months where they hadn't been shouting at each other.
'Dad,' she said.
'What is it, princess? If it's money you're worried about, you know I'll help you through college. You can give up this ridiculous waitress idea.'
'I enjoy being a waitress. And I get loads of tips.'
'But you're too good for it.'
'Dad, you don't know the first thing about me.'
'Of course I do. You're my princess and don't you forget it.'
'I'm not a little girl any more, but you can't accept that, can you?'
Rick stood up. He pulled open the dishwasher and banged his plate in. He turned back to look at Alicia. 'Try me.'
'You know what I want.'
'Do I?' He wasn't going to make this any easier for her.
'It's about Christmas…'
'What about it?'
'I did ask you before, Dad.'
'And I told you before—I'm not having that layabout in my house!'
Alicia folded her arms and glared up at him. 'He's not a layabout. He works harder than you've ever had to.'
'I've asked around, Alicia, and I know things about your precious boyfriend.'
She stood up then and he saw her lower lip droop. If she thought she could get round him by turning on the waterworks, she was mistaken.
'It's not worth being nice to you!' she shouted. 'I don't know how Mum puts up with you.'
Rick slammed his fist down on the table. The pepper mill jumped in the air, fell over and rolled across the surface of the table. It hovered on the edge for a moment before crashing on to the tiles, its glass shattering.
'Don't you dare bring your mother into this!' He was about to storm off, but Alicia reached the door before him. She stopped and turned back. Her long purple fingernails gripped the edge of the door.
'And you might as well know, Dad, If Gary's not welcome over Christmas, then I won't be spending the day here either!'
Eighteen
'Go on. Open it.'
The gold wrapping paper crinkled in Isabel's hands. The parcel felt soft and delicate. 'I ought to wait for Christmas Day,' she said.
'No, I want to see your face when you open it.' Brian's voice was as excited as a child's.
Isabel looked round the table. Brian was at the far end, Rose and Josh on either side. It was the first time since Brian left that they'd all sat down for a meal as a family.
'Hurry up, Mum. Let's see what you've got.' Josh's eyes shone in the candlelight that flickered round the room. Isabel hadn't seen his face so open and happy for months.
She pulled the sellotape from one side of the parcel. The paper tore. 'I haven't bought you a present, Brian.'
'Not to worry. It's good to be together. A family. Come on, Rose. Pull this cracker with me.'
Isabel looked at him. He showed no sign he was aware of the irony of what he'd said. His face was flushed from the wine and he was laughing at Rose as she read the joke from her cracker.
When he'd asked if he and Josh could come for dinner for an early Christmas celebration, she decided to push the boat out and have the traditional turkey with all the trimmings. She found her special tablecloth in a suitcase she had never got round to unpacking when she and Rose moved to the flat. It was white cotton with pink and green embroidered flowers decorating the middle of the cloth. She'd bought it from a market stall in Majorca and its vibrant colours brought happy memories.
She spent ages ironing it, but as soon as they sat down at the table, Brian knocked over his glass, spilling wine. The red stain inched across the white cloth. He dabbed at it. 'Sorry about that, Bel. It's your favourite as well.'
'Accidents happen.' Isabel forced her mouth into a smile. Why did he have to be so clumsy, forever knocking things over?
'Come on, Mum,' Rose said. 'Open that present.'
Isabel tore off the remainder of the gold wrapping. Inside was a layer of tissue paper. She pulled this off and found her hands full of something black and lacy.
'What is it?' Josh asked.
'Lingerie, stupid!' Rose said.
Josh screwed up his nose. 'Ugh. Girls' stuff.'
Rose leant over and picked up the pair of knickers that Isabel was holding. 'Hey, these are sexy, Mum. Not like your usual passion killers.'
Isabel heard the smirk in Rose's voice. A wave of heat surged across her cheeks as she held the matching bra between her thumb and her forefinger.
'You do like them?' Brian stood up and came over to her chair. 'I hope I've got the right size… I couldn't quite remember…'
'I'm sure they'll be fine.' Isabel snatched the knickers from Rose and bundled everything back into the wrapping paper. 'I'd better do something about that wine stain,' she said, escaping to the kitchen.
She crossed to the sink and opened the window. Icy air blasted in. She turned on the tap, holding her wrists under the jet of cold water. She took long deep breaths. From the sitting room came a shout of laughter. She heard Josh cheering. Isabel knew they weren't laughing at her—they'd been setting up the Monopoly board as she left—but the sound didn't make her feel better. Had Brian tried to humiliate her on purpose, or was he plain insensitive? It was hard to know which was preferable.
'Are you all right?'
She hadn't heard him coming into the kitchen and Brian's voice made her jump.
'Of course. Why?' At least the blush had died down from her face.
'You didn't seem very happy with your present.'
She turned to face him. 'The present's fine.'
'I can get a different colour.'
'I said, it's fine, Brian. Thank you.'
He took a step towards her. 'It's obviously not fine. You used to be pleased with lingerie.'
'That was then. Things are different now.'
'How?'
Samson appeared at the kitchen window. He stepped over the sill and on to the draining board. Drops of water clung to his paws and he lifted the front ones, flicking the drops away. She picked him up and put him on the floor. He nudged against her legs and she bent to pour milk into his bowl. She stood up again.
'For a start we were living together in a relationship.' She was able to meet his eyes at last. 'Then you left me for your tart.'
'Anita's not a tart.' His eyes clouded over as if he were genuinely shocked at the description.
'Never mind that now. You shouldn't give me underwear. We're not a couple any more. Remember?'
'But you want us to be.'
Isabel thought she'd been clever: keeping him interested by having sex with him, cool towards him at other times so he never knew where he stood. Had he really seen through her game?
'Dad!' Rose called from the sitting room. 'It's your turn.'
'You'd better go back.' She turned away to fill the kettle. 'I'll make coffee.'
She thought Brian had left the kitchen, but then he spoke: 'Who's the card from?' He was standing right behind her.
'What card?' Isabel asked although she co
uld picture the postcard propped on the mantelpiece in the sitting room. It showed a picture of a sunset on a Cornish beach, pink light streaming across a milky sea.
'The one that says, "You're a star!" No signature.'
'Have you been reading my post?'
'I just turned it over.'
'It's private, Brian.'
'It better not be from some man, that's all!'
The car swept into the drive.
From the back seat, Isabel bent her head to get a better view of the house. 'It's huge, Rick,' she said, in spite of the warning she'd given herself not to show she was impressed. 'It must have cost a fortune.'
'A fair bit. It's got six bedrooms and three bathrooms.'
'Your brother's a successful man, Isabel,' Eva said as Rick helped her from the car. 'He can afford it.'
Isabel followed Rick round to the boot. 'You're a bit far away from Newcastle. What do the girls think?'
Rick lifted the suitcases and bags out on to the gravelled drive. 'There's more space, cleaner air, a healthy environment for them to grow up.'
Isabel laughed. 'Are you working for the tourist board in your spare time?'
Deanna was waiting for them at the front door. Eva embraced her daughter-in-law, showering her cheeks with kisses.
'You look tired, carissima. I hope you haven't been overdoing things.'
'Not at all. Rick's helped me, haven't you, darling?' She smiled across at him. 'Did you have a good journey?'
'Wonderful!' Eva said. 'So quick.'
Isabel and Eva had flown to Newcastle. Rick had insisted on paying for a taxi to the airport and first class seats. On the flight, Isabel sipped a glass of champagne. 'I could get used to this.'
'You must make sure you thank Rick,' Eva said. 'It's very generous of him.'
'Mum, you taught me to say please and thank you when I was two.'
'If only your father was with us.'
'But then you and Dad would have been going to Cornwall for Christmas.'
Eva's brown eyes flashed. 'Don't let Rick hear you say that!'
Isabel looked out of the window for the rest of the flight. For the first time in her life she'd stood up to Eva when she'd issued the ultimatum—'You've got till George's birthday'—but the end of January and her brother's birthday approached like an avalanche.
Near Newcastle, they hit some turbulence. As the seat belt signs came on and the plane bucked and heaved, Eva clutched her hand.
'You'll look after me, won't you, Isabel?' she said.
Rick carried the baggage upstairs, while Deanna showed Isabel and Eva into the drawing room.
'What a lovely room.' Eva waved her hands and the bracelets danced on her wrist. She crossed to the French windows that looked onto the garden. She beckoned Isabel over. 'Che meraviglia!'
Set high above the Coquet Valley, the house commanded magnificent views. Outside was a stepped terrace, and then lawns curved down to the river. Rothbury itself, like a toy town from this distance, huddled in the valley. In the gathering twilight, a haze had settled over the village, as plumes of smoke drifted from numerous chimneys. On the other side of the river, there was a stretch of pasture land, before the hills rose steeply again. Isabel thought she would have bought the house for the view alone.
'The garden must be a lot of work, Deanna,' Eva was saying. 'I hope it's not too much for you.'
'Rick does some, and the gardener comes on Fridays. I haven't been able to do it since I started the chemo.'
Eva shuddered. 'Ugh! Chemotherapy.' She pronounced it in an exaggerated way, as if she'd been forced to use a swear word. 'My brother suffered so much.' She turned to Isabel. 'You remember Uncle Giacomo, don't you?'
Isabel glanced back to Deanna. She looked dejected. 'How's the treatment going?' Isabel asked, ignoring her mother.
'Real good. My consultant's pleased with me.' Deanna's mouth spread in a wide smile that should have suggested happiness and good health. 'Now you make yourselves comfortable. Mrs Crosby's left tea things ready for us.'
Isabel sat down on one of the cream sofas. She could imagine Samson's black hairs all over it. Her gaze took in the mahogany furniture and the low-lit alcoves lined with books. An immense Christmas tree dominated one end. Yellow-flamed candles cupped in gold holders adorned the branches. An arrangement of flowers stood on the glass-topped coffee table. Ivy leaves were entwined round fat cream candles, with golden pinecones interspersed. Christmas roses, their buds bulging, spilled from vases and bowls on every surface. A huge gilt-framed mirror hung above the fireplace. And they say there's no money in computers any more, she thought.
Deanna came in, carrying a tray of tea and biscuits. Rick followed. He piled logs on the fire.
'Winters are colder up here,' he said.
'Say if you're not warm enough.' Deanna placed the tray on the table and poured the tea. Fine bone china, Isabel decided, as she took a cup.
'I know you normally go to Midnight Mass,' Rick said, 'but I want to take you to the service on Christmas morning at All Saints. I've been every Sunday since Dad died and I've been asked to read the lesson tomorrow.'
'That sounds lovely, caro, but I'd rather go to Mass.'
Rick perched on an arm of the sofa next to his mother. 'You'll like All Saints,' he said. 'The panelling is magnificent.'
'I've never missed Midnight Mass.'
'They're so ecumenical nowadays, you'll scarcely know the difference.' Rick moved to an armchair and leant back with his hands behind his head. 'So, you like the house?'
'It's bella, magnifica.' As so often when Eva was excited, her English failed her.
'It's all down to Deanna.' He turned to Isabel. 'What do you think?'
'It's lovely.'
'I bet old Brian would be jealous as hell,' Rick said.
Deanna switched on the table lamps. 'Would you pull the drapes, honey?'
Rick crossed to the windows that looked onto the drive at the front of the house. As Isabel watched him reaching up and pulling the cord at each side of the curtains, she noticed the piano, standing between the two huge bay windows. Eva's gaze must have followed hers, because at the same moment, her mother cried, 'A piano! How wonderful. Is it for the girls?'
'It's Rick's,' Deanna told her. 'He's having lessons.'
Eva clapped her hands. 'Wait till I tell your brother. He could give you some tips. You know what a brilliant musician he is.'
'Deanna told you—I'm already having lessons.'
'And Isabel could help while she's here,' Eva went on. 'She teaches little ones, but I'm sure she'd cope with you.'
Isabel didn't dare glance at Rick. She wondered about the acquisition of the piano. Somehow, she didn't think it meant Rick had given up the idea of having their father's.
'Where are the girls?' she asked Deanna quickly.
'Flavia and Camilla are doing last minute Christmas shopping in Morpeth. They'll be back soon.'
'Will Alicia be home?'
'She's staying in Newcastle tonight, but she's promised to be here in time to open presents tomorrow. It'll be the first Christmas morning we haven't all been together.'
'She'd better be here when we get back from church,' Rick said.
'She will, honey.'
Just before supper, Flavia and Camilla arrived home.
'You'll love your present, Mum.' Camilla put her arm round Deanna's shoulder. 'I've been searching for one like it for ages.'
'She more than spent her pocket money,' Flavia said. 'I had to loan her some.'
'That's lovely.' Deanna was standing at the Aga stirring something. 'You'd better get changed. Supper's nearly ready, and Dad will be cross if you're late.'
'Dad needs to lighten up.'
'Camilla! That's not very nice. Especially in front of your grandmother.'
Camilla kissed Eva's cheek. 'Sorry Nonna, but it's true.'
Although smaller, the dining room was as splendid as the drawing room. Its wallpaper was dark red with a gold stripe and the gold was pic
ked up in the curtains, draped in elaborate swirls around a metal rail. Alabaster carvings of lions stood waist-high at either side of the windows. An oak sideboard lined one wall, while most of the room was filled by the long dining table laden with dishes of cold meats, cheeses, salads, quiches and a tureen of steaming soup.
'We thought we'd keep it simple tonight,' Deanna said. 'Mrs Crosby prepared some of it before she went home.'
*
When Deanna wanted an early night to be fresh for Christmas Day, Isabel was glad. Her room was at the back of the house across the landing from her mother's. It was small by the standards of the rest of the house—a king-size bed with a black wrought iron frame took up most of the floor space—but it was still twice the size of her bedroom at home. She checked her presents for the next day, hung up the red dress she'd bought especially and climbed into the high bed. The white cotton sheets felt beautifully cool as she pushed her legs down to the bottom of the bed.
She hadn't had much sleep the night before. Brian's gift had upset her. She'd been so sure he would come back one day, but his certainty she still wanted him had made her feel stupid, and his sneering comment about Chloe's postcard had been the final straw. The empty bed in Rose's room had also unsettled her. Once the game of Monopoly finished, Rose said she might as well go with her father and Josh that evening, rather than Brian having to return for her on Christmas Eve as planned. Isabel didn't want to make a fuss—what difference would a few hours make? She stood at the gate to wave goodbye to the three of them, trying to make herself smile. Her jaw ached and her lips stuck to her teeth. She went straight to bed and pulled the cover over her head. Another woman would spend Christmas with her babies. She would be the one to listen to their excited whisperings early on Christmas morning, hear them laugh, watch their faces as they opened their presents, smell their sweet scent as they came close to say thank you.
It was late, but she'd thought about phoning Chloe. She remembered her words on that last night in Cornwall: 'Call me, day or night. I'm here for you.' She even got up at one stage to find her phone number. But as she searched through her address book, something fell from between the pages. It was the card Simon had handed her at Kenwood House.
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