She'd almost given up hope when Simon finally arrived. She was worrying about Grace—why she was in England; why she'd gone chasing off to George's; why she'd arranged to see Archie Stansfield again—when she saw Simon push open the door.
She waved.
He rushed towards her. 'Isabel, I'm so sorry.'
She laughed. 'Did the elephant tread on your toe?'
'Sorry?'
'I'm wondering what your excuse is this time.'
He swung his jacket over the back of the chair and sat down. 'I knew you wouldn't believe me. My meeting overran.'
'It's okay. I'm teasing you.' She reached out and smoothed down the bit of his hair that insisted on sticking up at the back.
In the weeks since they'd first made love, Isabel had spent most of her free time with Simon. Walking in the park, going to concerts, cooking and eating together—every activity shared made her like him more. He was kind and generous, giving of his attention, and more importantly for Isabel, of himself. 'I've learnt,' he told her. 'I'm not going to mess up another relationship.' More often than not, they met at his flat. It was even smaller than Isabel's, cluttered and chaotic, but at least they could be sure of privacy. Rose hadn't said much after their accidental meeting, and Isabel couldn't decide if that was a good or bad sign. 'Too early to chance bumping into her again,' she'd explained to Simon.
They finished their coffee and Isabel got up to cross the road to the supermarket. Simon caught hold of her hand. 'Stay a few more minutes.'
She glanced at the time. 'I haven't got long. There's the shopping and I've got to prepare dinner. I don't want anything to go wrong.'
'I'll help with the shopping—I haven't got another client until five.' Simon looked up at her. 'Please. I want to talk.'
'Ten minutes and I must go.' Isabel put her bag on a chair and sat down again. 'I've left Rick in the flat on his own, and I'm not comfortable with him being there.'
Simon put his palms together as if he was offering up a prayer. 'Okay. I've prepared a speech…'
'Simon, you're making me nervous. I'm already on tenterhooks about tonight. I don't think I can cope with a speech.'
'I'll make it quick.' He felt in his jacket pocket, no doubt for his cigarette packet. 'I'm not going to get all lovey dovey—not because I don't want to, but in case I scare you off.' He stared intently into his empty coffee cup. 'I like you. A lot. But I know you've still got feelings for Brian—'
'My feelings—'
'No. Let me say it. I wake up in the night worrying that you'd rather be with him and I'm second best.'
She ran her hand up and down his arm. 'You're a lovely man, Simon. You could never be second best.'
'I'm sorry but I've got to ask—are you completely finished with Brian?'
'We're not divorced yet if that's—'
'That's not what I'm talking about. Be honest with me, Isabel.'
'I've still some issues to resolve with him,' she said. Please don't ask me what. Her mind tapped to the beat. Please don't ask me what.
'And then you'll finish with him?'
'I hope so.' Would that do? Would he be satisfied?
A frown passed over Simon's face. 'One last question. Are you still in love with him?'
A patch of sunlight had been inching its way across the floor of the coffee shop since Isabel arrived. Without her noticing, it had reached their table. Its brilliance illuminated the red and white checked tablecloth, the cream cups and saucers, the milk jug. 'No,' she said. 'I'm not.'
The shopping took longer than Isabel expected and it was nearly five o'clock by the time she pulled up outside the flat. She'd hoped Rick would have gone back to Eva's and she could have the place to herself to prepare for the evening, but his car was still parked outside. He'd asked if he could work on her computer as his laptop had crashed.
She opened the boot of the car and took out the shopping. The plastic carriers were heavy and their handles bit into her fingers. She pushed open the front door. 'Hello!' she called. There was no reply. Rose's door was ajar and she could hear the noise of the television from the lounge. She piled the shopping on the kitchen table and examined her fingers. The plastic handles had left grooves in the skin.
'You're back.'
The voice made her jump. She looked round. Rick was standing in the doorway, holding out a sheet of paper.
'You gave me a fright!' She laughed, but then she saw his face. 'What's the matter?'
'This.' He waved the paper at her. 'Perhaps you'd like to tell me what it's all about?'
'What is it?'
He came closer. His eyes were bloodshot and a high colour stained his cheeks. He loomed over her. She knew he hardly ever drank, or she'd have sworn she could smell whisky on his breath.
'It's an email from Grace. It was sent from George's computer at eight o' clock this morning. I would have thought you'd remember it, but as you can't, I'll read it to you.'Isabel's chest grew tight as Rick read out the email. She put her hand on the table and steadied herself. She was sure she'd deleted the email. She was always careful in case Rose came across something she shouldn't. She printed messages she wanted to save and deleted them immediately. Rick was looking at her, waiting for an answer.
She'd have to bluster her way out of this one. 'What the hell were you doing going through my emails?'
'That's not the issue here.'
'I think it is!'
'What is this news? This secret you and Grace are keeping.' Rick slapped his hand against the sheet of paper. She remembered his raised fist on Christmas Day. It was only Deanna who had stopped him then.
He wouldn't rest until Isabel told him. He'd always been able to ferret secrets from her when they were young. He was glaring. 'I'm waiting.'
'It's not my secret to tell,' Isabel said.
'Right. Whose secret is it?'
Isabel turned to her shopping bags. She took out the chicken breasts. 'I need to get these in the fridge,' she said. She opened the fridge door and rearranged some stuff on the shelves. She put the chicken on the second shelf. The cold air from the fridge stung her cheeks. There was nothing else for it. She was going to have to shut the door and turn around.
Behind her, she heard the bleep of Rick's mobile. Isabel clutched the handle of the fridge. Saved by the bell. She risked a glance over her shoulder. He was checking the caller ID. He clicked a button and the bleeping stopped. She'd have to tell him. There was no way out. Once she'd panicked in an exam. She couldn't answer any of the questions. She was going to fail. She stared at the paper again: the black print was fuzzy. She couldn't read a word. She looked down at the floor. It wasn't far to fall. Isabel wouldn't be the first person to pass out in an exam…
'About this secret then.'
Okay, this was it. Behind her, at the open kitchen window, she heard Samson yowling. She turned to face Rick. 'The secret relates to George. It's Mum you need to talk to really—'
'Isabel, cut the crap and get on with it.'
From across the hall, came the sound of the phone, and the murmur of Rose's voice.
'The day Dad died—'
'Mum.' Rose appeared in the doorway behind Rick.
Isabel tried to signal with her eyes: get me out of here, Rose. There must be something you need me to do. Something you want.
'That was Nonna, Mum. She said Flavia's been trying to ring you, Uncle Rick. Can you call her ASAP?'
Rick jabbed at the screen of his mobile. 'Flavia!' he barked, his eyes fixed on Isabel. 'What do you want? I'm busy here.'
Isabel watched as the colour drained from his face. 'When? Where?'
She heard a murmur coming from the other end of the phone.
'Stay with her. I'll be there in three hours. Four, max.' He glanced across at Isabel. Then turned away. 'Flavia… tell her I love her.'
He snapped the phone shut. He swayed forward on to his toes. Isabel stretched out a hand. She wouldn't be able to catch him if he fell. She remembered that look on his face when their fat
her shouted at him for playing the wrong notes. Perhaps he'd let her put her arms round him. But then he seemed to regain his balance. He straightened his jacket.
'I've got to go. We'll continue our conversation at a more opportune moment.' The mask was back.
'What is it, Rick? What's happened?'
'Deanna's been taken to hospital.'
'Is it serious?'
Rick pushed past her. 'She'll be all right. I'll make sure of that.'
Thirty
Isabel listened to young Jonathan Hayward practising his scales. He'd been coming to her for lessons for a year and his progress was slow. He'd begun the scale of D at least five times, but kept losing his place and having to go back to the beginning.
'Right, Jonathan.' She tried to keep her voice bright. 'Let's leave the scales for today. Perhaps you'd like to work on them for next week?' He didn't answer and his face remained set in its sullen lines. She knew he was only here because his mother insisted. Probably most of his friends were out playing football.
She turned the pages of Jonathan's piano book. 'This is the piece I asked you to prepare. How did you get on?'
Jonathan mumbled a reply.
'Let's hear it, shall we?'
He held his fingers over the keys.
'It says allegro. What does that mean?'
The boy shrugged his bony shoulders.
'It means brightly, cheerfully. Let's see how cheerful you can be, shall we?'
Isabel half-listened to Jonathan's hesitant playing. If she had to sit through one more child murdering a piece of music, she'd scream. She glanced at her watch. The lesson would be over in ten minutes and then she was due to meet Brian.
He'd rung to arrange it the day before. 'I'm not accepting any excuses or postponing this time,' he said. He wanted to meet at Kenwood House: 'I know how much you like it there.' But that was the last place she wanted to go with him. It was special. Whatever happened today, she wanted to keep the memory of her first meeting with Simon intact. She suggested the pub opposite Waterlow Park. 'It's been refurbished,' she told Brian. It was a lively place and they'd blend into the hubbub.
'The pub it is then,' Brian had said. 'See you there about one.'
Brian was already at the pub when she arrived. At the last moment she'd decided to walk and she'd cut it fine. He kissed Isabel on the lips, and she had to resist the urge to wipe her hand over her mouth. 'I've got a bottle of champagne on ice,' he said.
She raised her eyebrows. 'Champagne?'
He scanned her face. 'Not jumping the gun, am I?' He pulled out a chair.
'Have you been reading some etiquette book?'
'Can't a man make a fuss of his wife once in a while?'
'Not when he's dumped her for his bit on the side!'
'Ouch! That hurt,' Brian said. 'I know I deserve it. But I'm going to make it up to you. Let's order some food and then we'll talk.'
Isabel watched Brian as he stood at the bar. He was wearing a yellow cotton shirt she hadn't seen before and for once his jeans looked freshly washed instead of stained with grease. Although he employed numerous mechanics to work in his chain of garages, at heart he was still a 'spanner boy'. There was nothing he liked better than fiddling with engines and he wasn't too fastidious about showering and changing afterwards. But today he'd made an effort. She looked at his thick red neck and broad shoulders. He had the physique of someone who spent their life in physical labour. Isabel thought of Simon's body. That pad of fat starting to form around his waist. His slight sloping shoulders.
'I've ordered chicken and salad sandwiches.' Brian looked pleased with himself. 'On granary bread, as you like it.'
'Great.'
He pulled his chair closer. 'Let's cut to the chase, Bel. We can get this wrapped up before the food arrives. Then we can really celebrate.'
'How do you mean?'
'It's time we stopped this nonsense. You want me. I want you. The kids want us to get back together.'
'You began this nonsense.'
'I don't blame you for giving me a hard time. When I think…' he broke off and a smile played round his mouth in a way Isabel would have sworn he'd practised if she hadn't known him better. He looked up again. His eyes gleamed as if he was a convert to some evangelical movement. 'When I think what I've put you and the kids through and all for some moments of madness.'
'Moments of madness. Is that all Anita and the baby mean to you?'
'Of course not. I'll see her right. Make sure she and little Mark have got enough dosh. But as for shacking up with her… I don't know what I was thinking of.'
Isabel twisted the stem of her glass. She'd scarcely touched the champagne. This was the moment she'd been waiting for. Since that night Brian had told her he was leaving, she'd imagined this day. She'd spent hours with her father discussing how and when he might come back. 'I'm sure he loves you really,' Henry had said. 'He's just like the greedy boy at a party who wants all the sweets. Then he'll be sick.' They'd laughed at that. She remembered after her father died, meeting Grace at the airport, telling her I'm going to get my husband and son back, whatever it takes. And now, here he was, not quite pleading, but almost, to be together again. Her plan had worked. She'd got what she wanted.
'I've seen a new house for us,' Brian was saying. 'Right on the edge of Hampstead Heath. Six bedrooms, three reception, a huge garden. You always said you wanted a bigger garden at the old house.'
'That sounds nice.'
'You'll love it! I'll ring the estate agent when I get back to the garage. We can go and view it tomorrow. If you're not doing anything, that is,' he added as an afterthought. 'What do you say? You still haven't actually agreed.'
She tried the champagne. Bubbles fizzed in her throat and made her cough.
'What do you want? The full works?' Brian's champagne glass remained untouched, but he was already half way down the pint of beer he'd bought when he ordered the food. 'You always were difficult to please.'
He glanced round the pub. It was crowded with lunchtime drinkers and there was a buzz of conversation. He stood up. 'Okay, if this is what it takes.' He steadied himself against a chair and sank to the floor on one knee. The people standing round cleared a space for him.
'Brian, get up. You're embarrassing me!'
'Answer me first.' He gazed up at her with that wheedling look that had always been a prelude to sex.
Isabel was saved further mortification when the food arrived and Brian stood up.
'I want an answer, though, Bel.' He took a huge bite from a sandwich. 'You and me and the kids together again, right?'
The granary bread seemed to stick to the roof of Isabel's mouth. 'I don't think it's going to work.' There, she'd said it.
'What?' Bits of lettuce and tomato escaped from Brian's mouth. 'You've been angling for it ever since I left.'
'At first, maybe, but it's different now.'
'And what do you propose telling Rose and Josh? I've given them all the info on the new house and they're dead chuffed. There's even room for a swimming pool.'
Isabel dropped her half-eaten sandwich on the plate. It felt as if a chunk of bread was lodged in her throat. 'You can't buy them, you know, Brian.'
'Don't be ridiculous. They want to see their mum and dad happy again. We owe it to them.'
So, his knife had finally sliced open her weak spot. She did have a responsibility to give Rose and Josh their family back. She imagined their excited voices as they rushed from room to room in the new house choosing which would be theirs. Rose would be able to invite her friends back instead of going out every evening because she was ashamed of where she lived. Josh would laugh again and ask her to help with his homework, like he used to. And she'd loved Brian once. Maybe she could again.
'I can see you want to say yes.' Brian downed the rest of his beer. He drummed his fingers on the table. She watched them beat out their tattoo: one, two, three, four; one, two, three, four; little, ring, middle, fore; little, ring—a picture of Simon's damaged
fingers flared in her mind. She'd never seen the violin in his hands. Never been able to hear him play. But it would have been beautiful. He'd lost so much because of those fingers. And yet they revealed everything about him: strong; sensitive; vulnerable; brave. Are you in love with Brian? he'd asked. 'No,' she'd said, 'I'm not.'
She looked across at Brian. 'I'm sorry. I don't want to be with you any more. I can't do it, not even for the children's sake.'
Brian caught hold of her hand. 'I can't complain if you play hard to get after what I've put you through.' His palm was hot and felt slimy. 'And if you need a bit more persuasion, think of lover boy's face when he hears about your dirty little secret.'
Grace was sitting on the wall outside the flat when they pulled up. She jumped down and rushed to the passenger side, half hugging, half pulling Isabel out of the car. 'I've been waiting for ages.'
'Why didn't you phone?'
'I couldn't get a signal on the wretched mobile. Anyway, you're here. I've got so much to tell you.' She leaned into the car. 'Hi Brian.'
'What's this?' he asked. 'A flying visit?'
'Something like that.'
'How's Franco?'
'He's fine.' Grace took Isabel by the arm and steered her to the house. The contact with Brian was over, as far as she was concerned. As Isabel passed Brian's window, he reached out and caught hold of her wrist.
'You go on, Grace. Here's the key.' Isabel turned back to Brian. 'Ring me tomorrow and we'll make the arrangements.'
Brian squeezed her hand. 'I might not say it much, but I love you.'
'What on earth's happened?' Isabel asked.
'You'll never believe what Archie Stansfield's told me.'
'But what are you doing in England? I didn't know you were coming.'
'I've got to tell you about Archie Stansfield first. I'm still reeling.'
They were in the kitchen and Isabel was mixing drinks into a glass jug. She measured out the Pimms and added lemonade. She dropped ice cubes and shreds of mint into the jug, carefully slicing up a lemon. She reached up into the cupboard and took out two tumblers. 'Shall we sit outside? It's such a lovely day.'
The Piano Player's Son Page 22