He felt her body slump – he raised his head from where she had rested in the cradle of his shoulder. She was dead. His dearest Helen, his darling angel was dead. Gently he extricated his arms from around her, closed her eyes and looked at her. His Helen had gone, her soul had winged off leaving him totally and completely alone.
*
The bed felt cool and deliciously comfortable. He wondered if Liz was asleep. He could picture her – eyes closed, face in repose, black hair fanned out on the white pillows. He wished he could creep into her bedroom and just see her. He cursed out loud – how was he behaving? Hardly the behaviour of a forty-eight-year-old British Ambassador. He had found celibacy easy after Helen died. From time to time he thought about what she had said about a future Ambassador’s wife, but no one had ever come close to his even contemplating along those lines. He was vaguely aware that Deirdre tried terribly hard to be Miss Perfect – but he had never remotely considered her as a life companion. They had had dinner together on one or two occasions, but not alone, instead joining a dinner party with friends, where she was included to even up the numbers and because she was a likeable person in her own right.
Once or twice people had referred to them as a pair and Philip had made a point of saying nothing, feeling a denial might fuel a fire more than an acknowledgement even in the form of a denial. For the first time since Helen, his body was telling him celibacy was not for him. He threw back the sheet and naked, as always in bed, he strode into the bathroom and turned the shower on full.
The icy needles of water seemed to pierce his skin with their force. For several moments he stood accepting their icy deluge like a penance. He rubbed himself dry, took a sleeping tablet from an emergency supply he rarely touched and went back to bed. This time he focused his thoughts on the breakfast meeting he was to have with the Prime Minister before she flew off to Pakistan.
The crisis in Kashmir had been officially solved – but it was a fragile legislation and the Prime Minister felt she should and could make a continued contribution. Just before he fell asleep he thought he heard Helen’s voice. “You’ve found her darling, found her…” The pill knocked him out, and the next morning it was forgotten.
Liz had asked for fresh fruit, coffee and orange juice in her room for eight a.m. Tim was to escort her to the airport at nine-thirty. Philip, she knew, was in a breakfast meeting with the Prime Minister, she wasn’t sure, after her “in-bed experience” whether she wanted to see him or not. It was a decision she did not have to make, as Tim informed her that the Ambassador and the Prime Minister were sorry not to see her before she left but they were in an intense meeting with the Indian Prime Minister. Tim put the “intense” bit in, and he added that the Ambassador had asked Tim to thank her for coming and would be in touch.
Liz felt instantly deflated. Now she couldn’t see him, she quite perversely wanted to and felt, quite unfairly, a little piqued. She was quieter than usual on the way to the airport and Tim was concerned that she might be unwell, but when he asked her she assured him she was a little tired that was all.
They chatted about places they had both visited and enjoyed and, as they said their goodbyes, Tim handed her a small package along with a letter for their now mutual friend Ronnie. “Excuse me using you as a postman but you will see Ronnie several days before this would arrive via the postal system.”
They said their farewells with a sense of relief, both perhaps feeling, in different ways, the strain of the last few days. Once more, on the plane flying home, Liz found herself looking forward to being back in her own household again.
The faithful Ashok was at the airport to meet her. She hadn’t expected Ronnie, there was little point in making an unnecessary journey on Goa’s infamous roads. Nevertheless, she wished he had been there. Her spirits rose though, as they always did, the nearer they got to the villa. Ashok was full of chat about the new air-conditioning. It had, he informed her, changed their lives even more. The children slept better, and he and Nina slept well too. They would also be able to cook indoors during the monsoon, for the first time, in comfort.
How little it had cost her in time and money, thought Liz, to make a little Goan family so happy. She felt cheered up as her life started to return to normality.
Ronnie heard the car on the drive and was at the top of the steps outside the front door before she was even completely out of the car. Ashok carried her case up the steps and handed it to Ronnie who handed it to the hovering Anjali. She was home. “Anjali I would like lemon tea in my room, please. Ronnie, you will join me?” He nodded, waiting for news of Tim and also longing to hear all about her time in Delhi in total. He had learned who the “important” guest was as the television and newspapers carried the story of “The Reception” and several photographs.
“One of you,” Ronnie told her. “Beautiful as ever, you are SO photogenic, darling.” Liz laughed as she opened the door to her bedroom. She briefly went to the bathroom, then rejoined Ronnie as he sprawled on the chaise longue.
Anjali knocked and entered with the tea – served as usual with some of Aarav’s dainty biscuits. “Come on darling, do tell,” Ronnie was on tenterhooks, he hadn’t mentioned Tim and Liz knew that was taking a certain amount of self-control. “Just a moment,” she said, standing up and reaching for her handbag. She reached inside and handed Ronnie a letter and a package. He tore off the wrapping with unseemly haste and she teased him, saying he was like a child in a candy store.
He opened the small box and inside lay a silver fountain pen. She saw him looking at it more closely and realised there must be an inscription. In answer to her unspoken question, he muttered, “Just a date.” He looked up with a smile. “But rather a special one. I shall keep the letter for later.”
“Of course,” Liz completely understood, he needed privacy for that. She poured their tea and started to tell him about the last two days. She answered his questions about Julia, the people she met, the food, and of course the dress; but on the subject of the Ambassador, she was strangely subdued. “Come on, tell Uncle Ronnie,” he said reaching out and squeezing her hand. Unbidden her eyes filled with tears which rolled uncontrollably and, she felt, ridiculously, down her cheeks.
“Hey, sweetie,” Ronnie moved closer and as he hugged her she turned and rested her head on his chest. “I’m soaking your shirt,” she said between gulping sobs. He just held her until she calmed, then he fetched a face cloth from her bathroom which he had dampened with cold water. “Mop up,” he said putting it into her hand.
“Oh, Ronnie I am such a fool. I think I’ve fallen for Philip.”
“It must be something to do with the Delhi air,” he quipped and wished he hadn’t. But she smiled and that was a relief to both of them. Liz didn’t tell him everything, not the intimate things she had thought and felt whilst she lay in bed. But she talked about Philip in such terms that Ronnie knew at last her heart had healed and then she had promptly lost it again.
“Oh love how fickle,” he quoted from a poem he had recently read.
“I don’t feel fickle. I feel desperate!” Even she laughed at herself which made them both feel a lot better. They had their tea and then talked about other matters. Ashok and Nina’s delight with the air-conditioning. The nursery situation and Bernadette. Liz was feeling concerned that her original plan to be really involved with the little ones was not happening and should Bernadette decide to leave it would be a disaster. She had become a mother-figure to them, and Liz, a sort of special aunt.
Finally, Ronnie excused himself, longing to be on his own and open the missive from Tim. He was not disappointed. Tim was full of plans to meet again soon. He had a few days leave owing and wondered if Ronnie would like to fly to Nepal and, among other things, see the sunrise over the Himalayas which he had seen and found breathtaking…
Ronnie filled his new pen with ink and wrote an affirmative reply. Two weeks would seem a long time to wait b
ut he had a painting he was working on and hoped to complete it and take it as a gift.
chapter 17
Dinner that night was quite a quiet meal, with both Liz and Ronnie wrapped in their own thoughts. Liz had attended the meeting as arranged with the group of mothers and at ten forty-five she said a tired goodnight to Ronnie and went to her room. Usually, she enjoyed having him as a semi-permanent house guest, but tonight she could have done with being on her own.
The telephone was ringing as she opened her bedroom door. She made her desultory way across the room rather hoping whoever was ringing at this time in the evening might hang up thinking she was already in bed. No such luck. Liz picked up the phone. “Villa O’Mal,” she answered automatically.
“Elizabeth.” Only one person called her Elizabeth.
“Philip,” she responded her spirits lifting and her heart giving irregular thumps.
“I know it’s late, but I remember you saying you were seldom in bed before eleven.” There was a pause. “Are you there Elizabeth?”
“Yes, I was just surprised to hear your voice.”
“I was so sorry and disappointed that I didn’t have an opportunity to say goodbye before you left. I was somewhat caught up!”
“I know.”
“So I just rang to apologise.” Liz felt a stab of disappointment, he only rang to apologise.
“Apology accepted.” There was a slightly uncomfortable silence, then they both spoke together, causing the tension to lighten. “Elizabeth I really wanted to tell you how wonderful you looked. Like a shaft of gold last night. You were wonderful too, the way you socialised. The Prime Minister took to you as well.” The last sentence Liz could have done without, but she very much enjoyed the first part of what he had said. “Elizabeth, we need to see each other again don’t we, quite soon?”
Liz threw caution to the wind. “I want to see you too Philip.”
“Right, that is settled then. This is my plan – I just hope it will fit in with your schedule. Over the telephone is not the greatest place to have this conversation, but I have no option.”
“Oh,” was all Liz could think of by way of response, wondering what was coming next.
“I have two sons aged ten and twelve, they are at boarding school and I am taking them sailing for three weeks of the Easter holidays to Greece. I wondered if you would like to join us for a week. I’ve chartered a forty footer so there is plenty of space for us all. Do you sail?” he asked. “Not that it matters,” he added hastily.
“I’ve been sailing a few times, I know how to leap off at a quayside and tie up. I am sure I can manage a week, and yes I’d like to come, and I’d like to meet your sons.” She said it all in a rush. What was she thinking, the rational voice in her head was asking. You hardly know the man, yet you are thinking of spending a week on a yacht with him and with two boys in tow who could be a nightmare.
“I will send you all the details,” Philip continued. “As we will already be there, will you make your travel arrangements and we will, of course, meet you at the airport.” It was, she felt, good that they were travelling separately – a long flight would not have been the best place to talk and get to know his sons.
Following her conversation with Philip, Liz had to make a number of phone calls, particularly to Kathy to let her know the exact timing of her stay in London. She had decided it would be an opportunity to have a catch-up with her agent and do a bit of shopping for the holiday.
She went through her bikinis and decided she needed at least three new bikinis and a pareo or two. Philip had told her that suitcases were unacceptable on board, so whilst in London she wanted to purchase a smart holdall. She had a soft Italian vanity bag she used from time to time – it was a well-known brand and she recalled seeing a pull-along holdall in the same brand which she thought might be good to have and she liked the idea of a matching set!
Her memories of sailing were of very limited hanging space and shelves, rather than drawer space, and extremely narrow bunks. Admittedly, her memories were of a thirty-foot boat with four healthy teenagers on board so, hopefully, Philip’s charter would be more upmarket. Her wardrobe, she decided, must be limited but interchangeable. Several pairs of capri pants with a number of tee shirts. One long floaty and totally uncrushable skirt, with slightly smarter tees for a possible dressing-up occasion should there be one. Little makeup and loads of sun protection, a large squashable hat, and a baseball cap for when sailing would complete her wardrobe apart from undies which took up no space at all.
In London she and Kathy both had hysterics when they looked at the size of her bag compared with the number of things spread out on her bed. She started to cut back, the towels were replaced with smaller ones, that helped. Underwear was minimised. Philip had told her she had her own “head” – the marine name for a bathroom. When she showered she could wash out her undies too, which meant taking half what she had planned. Finally, all was squeezed in and, in case of cooler weather, she carried a particularly cosy fleece.
Kathy drove her to the airport and, as they kissed goodbye in the drop-off zone, Kathy murmured, “Be good sister dear.” Liz smiled. “On a yacht sister dear, there is no alternative!” But as the plane took off her heart raced, she was looking forward to seeing Philip again with a mixture of pleasurable anticipation and dread.
She had not liked to speculate about his sons. They might resent her terribly, she must prepare herself for anything. With no knowledge of prepubescent boys, she had no starting point, which she concluded was probably no bad thing.
Her week in London had gone well, her agent liked the new material she had forwarded, though he was pressing her for more. Liz had promised once she returned from Greece she would work harder! She and Kathy seemed to grow ever closer and Kathy’s modelling career was really going from strength to strength. There also seemed to be a new and mysterious man in her life who Kathy, unusually for her, was being circumspectly reticent about.
Liz herself had been fairly reticent too. Having confided her feelings to Ronnie, she was now able to chat about a widowed friend with two sons. Her sister had grimaced. “Keep it as friends – who wants a ready-made family.” It was perhaps an astute warning and Liz thought about the comment as the plane flew towards Greece.
The airport was near Lefkas where Philip had promised to meet her and they would then drive the short distance to the boat. Customs did not take long and, as Liz had found her holdall very quickly, it was not long before she was walking briskly through the doors to the waiting area, where Philip seemed to tower above everyone.
His smile was warm and welcoming as he kissed her on both cheeks. “I am glad you are here safely,” he said. “I felt bad about you flying out here alone.”
“Oh Philip,” she laughed. “What nonsense, I fly everywhere alone, but it was kind of you to be concerned,” she added hastily, feeling perhaps she might have hurt his feelings. She need not have worried.
“A spirited, independent lady,” Philip said. “How nice.”
They walked outside, Philip pulling her holdall behind them. The heat hit her. It was not the heat of India, but a gentler, less humid heat. “Where are your sons?” she wanted to know.
“I left them on board, under threat of serious penalties if they got up to any mischief. They had permission to go ashore near the yacht to buy ice-cream and lemonade but that particular bar was as far as they could go.” Liz could imagine him laying down the law to his boys. She had a feeling they would not want to get on the wrong side of him. She was right.
chapter 18
John and James were eating their second ice-cream apiece. They had decided two ice-creams and a drink on board was better than one ice-cream and a lemonade on shore. John and James, better known as Jack and Jamie, were wondering what this lady that was coming on THEIR holiday was like.
“Elizabeth sounds a bit of a ‘grand’ name,” Ja
ck commented.
“She writes books,” Jamie said, speaking with his mouth full of ice-cream and nearly choking in the process.
“I wonder what sort,” Jack speculated.
“Not the Harry Potter sort I’ll bet,” replied his brother. Jamie suddenly had “that look” on his face. Jack groaned inwardly. Jamie was going to talk about Mummy again. He hated it when Jamie did that. He missed her too, but he didn’t like to talk about her out loud – only in his head.
“Do you think Mummy would have liked this lady coming on holiday with us?”
“How can I know?” answered Jack a bit crossly. He saw his brother’s eyes fill with tears. He was sorry, but he hated to see his younger brother upset and it was a long time ago now. Jamie sometimes said he couldn’t even remember what Mummy looked like anymore except for the photos. “You were only seven,” Jack would say, feeling inadequate and always wishing Dad was around at moments like this, but he never seemed to be. Perhaps because the boys never mentioned their mother to Philip, and Philip never mentioned her to them, no possible issues had been resolved.
“Do the boys talk about their mother at all?” Liz asked as the taxi drove them towards the harbour.
“Never,” Philip replied a shade brusquely.
“Do you talk about her to them?” Liz said softly, as if walking on eggshells.
“How can I?” he replied. “They don’t want to talk about her.” A silence – a slightly uncomfortable silence – ensued and Liz wondered if she had said the wrong thing, but something had prompted her to ask – and now at least she knew. She sighed briefly. “A penny for them,” Philip said good-humouredly. The tension she had felt momentarily vanished. “Just a bit tired I expect,” she replied with a smile.
The yacht was, to her eyes, amazing. She had enjoyed a bit of sailing in her teens in Lasers, which were one- or two-man tiny water-skimming yachts, very susceptible to a sudden gust of wind that would blow them over and deposit whoever was sailing into the water, and of course the sailing with teenage friends on twenty- or thirty-footers. This was a real yacht.
The Portuguese House Page 9
