She went towards him. She couldn't help it. He'd hate her for it, but she put her arms round him and held him to her. His cheek was against her heart. She wondered if he could feel it beating. He didn't say anything, but he let her hold him. It was a comfort of sorts.
She looked across at Flavia, still clutching the door. She motioned to her to go and the slight figure slipped from the room. She let her arms fall from Rick's shoulders, and he seemed to slump without the support.
'Isabel has come up with me, Rick. We're at a hotel in Newcastle,' she said. 'We're coming to the funeral.' She waited for the outburst, but Rick seemed not to register her words. 'I know you said not to, but we need to say goodbye to Deanna.'
'The church will be full,' he said.
'I'm sure it will.' It was like cajoling a small child into bed. She decided to be blunt. Better than an explosion tomorrow. 'Alicia's coming with us. She loved her mum, Rick.'
He nodded. 'Tell her not to bring that jerk.'
'She won't.' Grace leant forward and kissed his forehead. It felt hot and slick with perspiration. 'We'll see you tomorrow. You don't have to do this on your own, you know.'
Rick looked up at her. 'Deanna was my life.'
Alicia had already left when Grace got back to the hotel, and Isabel was in bed reading a magazine. Grace crawled into bed, shivering with exhaustion.
Isabel put down her magazine and turned out the light. 'How was Rick?' Her voice came out of the darkness.
'Very quiet. He surprised me.'
'Perhaps he'll come through okay.'
'He must.'
'Good night. Hope you sleep.'
'Night, Bel.' Grace lay on her back and listened to Isabel's soft breathing. She felt peaceful in a weird way. Perhaps it was sharing a room with her big sister.
Grace, Isabel and Alicia arrived early at the church, the atmosphere between them stiff. There'd been a battle at the hotel when Alicia turned up with Gary. He'd obviously made a big effort and was wearing a dark suit, and his piercings were gone from his nose and ears.
'I'm sorry, Gary,' Grace said, 'but I can't let you come.'
Alicia's eyes filled with tears. 'But Auntie Grace, he's borrowed a suit specially.'
Grace held up her hand. 'It's not fair to your dad, Alicia. Not today of all days.'
Gary put his arm round her. 'It's okay, babe. Me brother will drive me over. I'll wait for you by the bridge.'
Alicia had been silent in the back of the car all the way to Rothbury.
Rick was right—the church was full. Full of people, even an hour before the service was due to begin. Full of flowers, hundreds and hundreds of creamy pink roses in huge displays at the entrance, in front of the altar, along the aisles. Full of light, the red and gold banners of it streaming from the massive stained glass window. Full of music. 'What is it?' she muttered to Isabel as the organ swelled into sounds that reverberated on the walls. Isabel made a face. 'It's that Bach Toccata—Dad used to hate it.'
They hesitated at the beginning of the main aisle.
'We'll wait with you here till they arrive,' Grace said to Alicia. 'Then you can follow the coffin with your dad and sisters.'
Alicia caught hold of Grace's hand. 'I can't,' she said. 'Suppose he says no.' With her straw boater, a wide black band circling it above the brim, her blue and white checked dress, she looked young, little more than a schoolgirl. Grace swallowed hard. If she started to cry, Alicia would never be able to do it.
She saw Isabel put her arm round Alicia. 'Come on, Alicia. Be strong for your mum.'
'I can't… I can't do it… I'm going to find Gary… I'm—'
The organ crashed into a crescendo of chords. Sounds rose and billowed through the church and into the far reaches of its ceiling. The noise was deafening, but at least it stopped Alicia. She stiffened, head tilted back, like a deer catching the scent. From the corner of her eye, Grace saw the cortege pull up outside.
Grace and Isabel walked back up to the house. It felt like a party or a carnival as other mourners thronged the hill, the women with their bright clothes—as Deanna had wanted—like a cloud of butterflies against the dark branches of the men's suits.
Grace put her arm through Isabel's. 'That was wonderful, so sad and so awful, but wonderful too.'
'I'm glad Rick let Alicia sit with them,' Isabel said. 'You did well to persuade her to wait for them.'
'I was afraid she was going to have a real wobbler when she said she couldn't do it.'
'She's rushed off now though. Can't see her coming back to the house.'
Grace thought about the straw boater she'd glimpsed bobbing towards the river. 'Do you remember when Rick used to call them his three princesses?'
'Over-the-top, typical Rick,' Isabel said. 'Like the funeral itself, but you could tell he'd done it all for Deanna.'
Grace laughed. 'I couldn't believe it when they started playing Islands in the Stream! I didn't think Rick had a sense of humour.'
'Deanna loved Dolly Parton,' Isabel told her. 'And when you listen to the words—especially that first line—they're perfect for Rick and Deanna.'
'Why's that?'
'I sometimes wonder if Rick went to America because he was so unhappy.'
'That's a bit melodramatic. He got that job offer with IBM.'
'But when I think about it now, Dad was horrible to Rick. I remember once Rick telling him about a football match. He'd scored three goals and come home full of it. But I heard Dad send him away: "Can't you see George is practising his scales?" he said.'
Grace felt a rush of air behind her and a hand on her back. 'Is that my name you're taking in vain?'
She swung round. 'George! What are you doing here?'
George kissed her and Isabel on the cheek. 'Same as you, I imagine.'
'You mean you were at the funeral?' Isabel asked.
'Of course. Had to make sure my sister-in-law had a good send-off. And Ricky Boy did her proud, I must say.'
Grace turned to walk the last bit to the house. Just as she thought they'd got through the worst, George turns up with his Ricky Boy taunts.
George fell into step beside her. 'What's up? Did I say something wrong?'
Back at the house, Rick spent most of the time sitting in an armchair by the window in the drawing room. He didn't talk much and every time Grace looked in, he had fresh glass of whisky in his hand. There was such a crush of people, with luck, he wouldn't even notice George.
Grace stood out on the lawn talking to some of Deanna's friends. 'Tragic'… 'such a lovely person'… 'I'll miss her so much'… their love made Grace want to cry.
She was standing at the French windows consoling Mrs Crosby—I loved her like me own daughter—when she heard shouting from the drawing room. She pushed past the group gathered in the centre of the room. Rick was still in the armchair, his head dipping forward on to his chest, a glass hanging from his hand. George stood over him, flapping a sheet of paper.
Isabel appeared beside her. 'What's going on?'
'Search me, but we've got to get George out of here.'
As they moved towards the two men, George caught sight of them. 'Don't you dare try and shut me up! The bastard's gone too far this time.' He flicked the paper in Rick's face.
The movement brought Rick round. He opened his eyes and shook his head, like a threatened stallion. He half rose from the chair, but George pushed him back.
Grace caught hold of George's arm. 'What is it? What's wrong?'
George flicked the paper again. 'Ask him. Ricky Boy.'
'Rick.' Grace bent towards her brother. Alcohol fumed in her face. 'Do you know what he's going on about?'
Rick stared up at her with glazed eyes.
Isabel grabbed her arm. 'Look.'
Grace whirled round. George had climbed on the coffee table and held the sheet of paper out in front of him.
People were crowding into the room, wondering what the commotion was. Their horrified faces flashed in front of Grace. Flavia materialized next to her. 'M
ake him stop, Auntie Grace,' she pleaded. 'Make him stop.'
Grace stood one side of George and gestured to Isabel to stand on the other. 'Get down, George.' She raised her voice above the hubbub. 'You're making a show of yourself.'
'The letter,' George shouted. 'You wait till you hear the fucking letter.'
Isabel stretched up for the paper, but he held it out of reach. 'This is Deanna's day, George. It's not only Rick you're hurting. Think of the girls. They've lost their mother.'
George ignored them. He lifted his arms. Grace could see the paper shaking in his hands.
'I'm sure you'd all like to hear this letter.' George's voice was lower now. The silence in the room was intense. 'This is a letter to me. It's a letter from my late father.' His gaze dropped to the paper. 'It says My dear George, you and I have shared the closest friendship possible between father and son…' George paused and looked up. His eyes focused on the people packed into the room. 'How lovely, you might be thinking. What a lovely sentiment for a father to express to his son. And I would have thought the same…' He slapped his hand across the paper. The noise shattered the silence. 'If I'd ever seen the letter. Which until today, I hadn't, because… because…'
Grace closed her eyes. Thank God, he'd stopped. He'd run out of steam. She opened her eyes and sensed a ripple of movement in the people packed into the room. Please let someone intervene.
'Because…' Oh, no, his voice was louder again. He turned to point at Rick. 'This bastard! This fucking arrogant bastard had the letter and kept it a secret. Let me read you another bit, which is, I presume why he stole the letter. I want you to know the piano is yours. It's possible Rick will claim it, but he's never played it, nor wanted to, so it's my wish you should have it.' George jabbed his finger again in Rick's direction. 'That, my friends, is what my father thought of my esteemed brother.'
Thirty-four
When Isabel and Grace got back from Northumberland, Eva was waiting at the gate. 'I've been looking out for you ever since you phoned.'
'Mum, its miles away. You know that,' Grace said.
Isabel heard her irritation.
'My poor bambini. You look esausta.'
'We are exhausted. It's been a hard few days.'
'Come in, come in. I have pasta for you.'
They sat at the table in the dining room and ate the pasta pomodoro that was one of their mother's specialities. She'd bought brown crusty rolls, and she scrutinised every mouthful.
'I love to see you eat!' She clapped her hands and Isabel heard bracelets jangling on her arm. She was almost herself again.
'So, tell me, how is my Ricardo? He must be desolato.'
Eva was reverting more to Italian every day. 'He is.' Isabel supposed desolato summed up Rick. 'You know how much he loved Deanna.'
Eva shuddered. 'I understand so well. When my Henry died—'
'Please don't Mum.' Grace was close to tears. 'Can we recover from this funeral before we have to relive Dad's.'
Isabel saw her mother pout. She hadn't even got into her stride.
'Was it in the Catholic church? I told Ricardo he must make sure he had a Mass.'
'Deanna wasn't Catholic, was she?'
'No, but the requiem Mass is beautiful and you can have the incense—'
'But why would you want it if you weren't Catholic?'
'Grace, mia cara, you're very cross with your poor mamma today.'
'I've been to a funeral. I've driven hundreds of miles and I'm tired.'
'Of course! Of course!' Eva stood up. 'Silly me. You must have a sleep. And you must want to speak to Franco. He'll be worried about you.'
Isabel signalled across to Grace: you haven't told her, have you? Grace shook her head: no, and don't you say anything.
Isabel pushed her chair back. 'I must get off. I need to check on Rose and Josh.'
'Before you go…' Eva put her hands together. She'd painted her nails again, Isabel noticed. 'I want to take you both out for dinner tonight.'
'Mum, you've fed us a mountain of pasta.' Grace kissed Isabel. 'I'll see you in the morning. All I want to do is sleep.'
'Tomorrow night, then. I want you to be wide awake.' Eva smiled. 'I've got some news.'
When Isabel pulled up at the flat, she noticed Brian's car parked further along the road. That was all she needed.
He was in the lounge with Rose and Josh watching television.
'Hi, Mum.' Josh sat on the floor, close to the screen. She was always on at him to sit further back. 'Come and watch this, Mum. It's ace!'
'Hi. How are you, Rose?'
Rose was curled up on the sofa next to Brian. 'Yeah, I'm good. How was the funeral?' Her gaze didn't move from the screen.
'Oh, you know.' Isabel dropped her bag on the floor.
Brian got up and came over. 'Hi, gorgeous.' He put his arms round her and pulled her close. 'How did it go?'
'It was very sad to see Rick and the girls without Deanna.'
'No point grieving now—he didn't appreciate her while she was alive.'
'And you've always appreciated your wife, have you, Brian?'
'Ouch! No, you know I haven't, but I'm lucky I've got another chance.' He leaned forward and kissed her on the mouth. Wet smeared her lips, and she had to clench her fists to stop herself wiping them.
She tried to ease out of his grasp, but he held her tighter. 'Brian, you're hurting me.' The smell of his after-shave assaulted her.
He laughed. 'Can't a man show his wife a bit of love?'
'I thought you were going to keep Rose and Josh tonight,' she said. 'I'm shattered.'
'Change of plan. We're going out to celebrate instead, aren't we, kids?'
'Oh, Brian—'
'No excuses. I signed the contract today for the new house.'
'That's great news. But let's not tempt fate. We ought to wait till we get completion.'
'We'll celebrate again then!'
'I can't go out tonight, Brian. It's already late.'
'Tomorrow, then. Don't suppose another day will make much difference.'
Isabel pulled away from him. She couldn't stand his crotch pressed up against her another second. 'My mother's taking Grace and me out for dinner tomorrow night.'
'Am I invited?'
'It's family only.'
'I am family, aren't I?'
'Just be patient, Brian. It will give me a chance to tell them we're getting back together.'
Isabel was still in bed the next morning when Grace came. She'd been awake early and finally fallen into a restless sleep, plagued by dreams and tormented half-awakenings. She dreamt she received a parcel. As she unwrapped layers of brown paper and plastic, a rotten smell drifted from the package. When she unpeeled the final layer, she had to rush to the sink to be sick. Inside the parcel were two fingers, putrid and decomposing. There was a card, spattered with blood, in Brian's writing: From Lover Boy.
She woke to hear loud banging at the door. She stumbled to open it. Grace was standing there.
'I've been out here for hours, Bel, ringing and knocking.'
'Sorry, I didn't hear you.'
'So I gathered. Are you going to let me in now you have opened up Fort Knox?'
Isabel pulled open the front door. She bent down to retrieve the post, which was all bills.
'You look as if you need coffee.' Grace walked down the hall to the kitchen. 'Rose and Josh with Brian?'
'He kept them overnight.'
'And most of today. It'll soon be lunchtime.'
'I'll get dressed,' Isabel said.
When she got to the kitchen, the smell of coffee greeted her. 'Just what I need.' She sat down at the table. 'What brings you round? Escaping Mum?'
'George rang me this morning.'
'Oh God! What did he say?'
'He's driving up—'
'But he's only just arrived back there from Newcastle. Is Mum dragging him up for the dinner?'
'Be better if it was. He'll be here about nine this evening, and he's got a rem
oval van coming in the morning.'
'A removal van?'
Grace dropped a spoon on to the draining board. It landed on the stainless steel with a clatter. 'He's taking the piano.'
Isabel covered her eyes with her hands. She couldn't do this any more. She wasn't strong enough. The blackness helped, but sounds wouldn't be silenced. She could hear a tap dripping in the bathroom. The distant ringing of next-door's phone. Samson scratching at the back door.
She opened her eyes. Grace was leaning on the worktop, her head bowed. There wasn't anything to say. She pulled the post towards her, more for something to do than curiosity. She shuffled through the envelopes. Caught between two bills was a postcard. She recognised the picture. She glanced over at Grace to see if she'd noticed her shock. Grace hadn't moved. Isabel stuffed the postcard to the bottom of the pile and started going through it again, studying each envelope. A gas bill. A letter from the bank. An invoice from a music publisher. One that said 'To the Occupier.' She reached the bottom. She couldn't put it off.
The postcard showed a picture of a young woman playing a guitar. Vermeer. Isabel stared at her ringlets, her yellow dress, her fingers on the guitar. She turned the postcard over. I hope you're okay, Simon had written. I've packed up your stuff—what do you want me to do with it? I can send it, or I'll bring it over. It's the only thing that's keeping me going—the thought I'll see you one last time. S x
Isabel could hear Simon's voice in the gallery at Kenwood House: 'You can almost see the strings vibrating under her fingers.' She wanted to go back to that day. She wanted it to be the day she'd met Simon. When she might have passed him in the street with scarcely a glance. When she didn't know what a broken heart felt like.
Isabel took a taxi to the restaurant. It was a new one called Luigi's, and she'd heard it was expensive. Apparently it was popular with the Hampstead set. Whatever her news, Mum was pushing the boat out. Perhaps she was going to sell up and move to be nearer Rick after all. Perhaps, with Deanna gone, she thought he'd need her.
Grace had suggested getting to the restaurant early. 'Get back before George arrives,' she said.
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