Wordlessly, Liz did as she was told, asleep before her head touched the pillow – she tried to say thank you, but her mouth wouldn’t behave properly. She thought she heard the click of the door but then blissful oblivion took over.
Anjali woke Ronnie with his early morning tea rather earlier than usual. Before he could protest and once he was properly awake, she told him what had transpired. “No, no,” she said hastily, sensing he was about to rush to see Liz. “She must sleep, that is what she needs most. She will need you later.”
Several times during the next twenty-four hours Liz thought she heard the click of the door, but when she opened her eyes there was no one there. Anjali and Ronnie checked on her every hour afraid that if she woke alone, whatever had happened might mean she needed instant support.
Ashok and Nina came to the house at intervals to check on her. They had been shocked at her haggard appearance and crumpled clothes. This was not the Madame O’Malley they knew.
The door clicked again, Liz dragged her eyes open, quite surprised to find she had actually arrived home. Ronnie had just come in. He looked so anxious that despite herself she smiled. “It’s alright Ronnie, I’ll survive, but I’m so thirsty.” As if on cue Anjali arrived. She had a tray with two tall glasses of lemon with some added feni – the local drink. She felt perhaps Madame needed a kickstart!
“Ronnie,” Liz patted the bed beside her. “Come and sit here. How are you and what have you been doing whilst I’ve been away?” Ronnie made a few brief comments. “But it’s you Liz – what happened to you for you to arrive home in such a state?” he asked. She felt immeasurably tired.
“Not now Ronnie, dear.” He sensed that she wanted to be alone and he was correct. She wanted to think. Just once she was going to go over the whole time she had spent in Greece.
Left to herself, she started thinking about the happy times. Jamie and the dolphins and their secret pact. Hugging him and, probably foolishly, letting him call her Mummy when they were alone. The lovely walk along the front at Nidri and the most delicious pizzas, then the whole evening spoilt by the Frenchwoman’s comment about what a lovely family they were. What had she said, like a film-star family? It had caused Jack to resent her, had actually said he hated her.
The night they had made love, she and Philip. He had been so gentle, so caring, yet asserting himself, so that she felt taken as well as given to. The taverna, the lights twinkling below them in Fiskardo. Jack at the door of her cabin, seeing his father naked by the bedside of an obviously naked woman, albeit under the covers. She shuddered at the memory.
Her attempt to talk to Jack when they were alone, Philip having taken Jamie to find a hospital. Philip arriving back with, at least, the news that Jamie would be alright. Leaving the yacht without even a kiss or a squeeze of the hand. It was over before it had even properly begun.
For the first time, she allowed herself to cry. Not simple tears, but howls from deep within her – some depth she had never known before. With her face buried in her pillow, her cries went unheard, but Ronnie knew she was suffering and felt powerless to help. He telephoned Tim at the embassy in Delhi. Tim was mystified, as far as he knew the Ambassador was spending another week in Greece. He hadn’t been informed about the appendix problem and the schedule had been to take his sons to Athens, then back to the apartment in Cadogan Square, before returning Jack to Eton and Jamie to his prep school in Kent. He promised to keep Ronnie abreast of any news.
chapter 22
Cadogan Square was their London home. Philip opened the door, and he and a still strangely uncommunicative Jack went in. Wordlessly, Jack went into the large drawing room where, hanging over the fireplace, was the beautiful painting of Helen with a two-year-old Jamie on her lap and Jack leaning against her, looking adoringly up at his mother.
Philip watched the boy. He couldn’t ever remember Jack looking at the picture before and certainly not as he was now. Philip started to say something but Jack either didn’t hear or didn’t want to hear. He turned and picked up his travel bag which he had dumped by the door and went to his bedroom, firmly closing the door behind him.
Philip ran his fingers through his hair. The gesture reminded him of Helen, who always asked when he did that what he was worried about… It had been a hellish few days. Jamie had started to recover, but Philip wanted him home. He pulled every string he could pull and a helicopter was sent from the British base on Cyprus to fly the three of them to Athens, where he had paid a heavy but worthwhile price for a Red Cross team to collect and escort them back to England. The charter company had fortunately been understanding about him not returning the yacht to the base and had arranged for two of their flotilla crew to collect and sail it back to Lefkas.
He walked to the drinks cabinet and poured himself a stiff, and for him a rare, whisky. At least Jamie was in Guy’s Hospital now, he had stayed with him long enough to make sure the exhaustion of the flight hadn’t done him any harm. He had hated leaving him but explained that he must get Jack home. “I want Liz,” Jamie had said, which gave Philip a real jolt. He’d almost forgotten all about her in the turmoil of Jamie and the convoluted arrangements of getting him home. “She’s back home in India old chap,” he had answered with more confidence than he felt. Jamie’s face had crumpled. “I want her here,” he had sobbed.
Now Philip was conscience-stricken. He had let Elizabeth leave, barely even saying goodbye to her. He had almost wanted her out of his life. At that moment his only concern was his two sons, especially at that moment, Jamie.
God, what must she have thought! He’d behaved appallingly. He wondered whether to telephone her and looked at his watch. No, she would be asleep at this hour with the time difference.
Jack came out of his room and went to the kitchen. Philip clapped his hand to his head. He had arranged for his cleaner to stock the fridge for his return, but of course, they were way ahead of schedule. “Jack,” he called. When Jack didn’t answer he followed him into the kitchen. Of the boy there was no sign – he had gone out via the staff exit. Where he had gone Philip had no idea and he felt a sense of utter despair.
Walking back in to the drawing room he looked at the portrait of Helen. “What a pig’s ear I am making of everything Helen,” his voice low and defeated.
Jack was hungry. He left the apartment without telling his father and headed straight for the food hall at Harrods. He was only thinking about himself and bought what he wanted. His father didn’t care about him anymore so why should he care about his father. He bought pain au chocolat, orange juice, eggs and bacon. He was going to cook himself breakfast. He hadn’t done it before but he was sure it wasn’t too difficult.
By the time he returned his father was frantic and, of course, shouted at him for going off God knows where without telling him. “There isn’t anyone to tell except you,” Jack replied, “and you don’t care.”
Philip felt angrier than he could ever remember feeling in his life. He got hold of his recalcitrant son, marched him into the drawing room and pushed him down in a chair facing the portrait. “We’ve never talked, you and I, have we about your mother since she died?” Jack didn’t answer, just looked down at the carpet as if the design was particularly fascinating. “Jack, look at me when I am speaking to you.” With reluctance, Jack looked at him squarely in the face. “Jack,” Philip spoke more quietly now. “Jack I loved your mother, you probably don’t remember but I used to call her my angel.” He saw Jack bite his lip to stop a wobble that was becoming difficult to control. “When she died it was like,” he searched for the words. “It was like a light going out inside me. I had no feeling – nothing. It was only because of you and Jamie that I pulled through. Your mother loved you so much and I knew I had to try, not to be just a good father, but try to be a mother to you as well.”
“You failed,” Jack said bluntly.
“Yes I did, I have. But life is like that. I tried my best in my
way and it wasn’t good enough and for that, I am truly sorry.”
“I don’t like that woman.”
“Jack, that woman’s name is Elizabeth. She is a dear friend and she has left us, all of us, and has gone back to Goa, her home.”
“I saw you…” He couldn’t finish.
“Jack you saw two adults, behaving in a way adults do. No one can ever replace your mother.” The boy gave a sob and, for the first time, he started to cry. All the pent-up tears he hadn’t shed when Helen died were shed now. Philip knelt on the floor in front of him and held his son tightly in his arms, wishing above all he had done this a long time ago.
They cooked breakfast companionably together. Philip drank his coffee black without saying what he might have said previously: “You didn’t get any milk.” He had learned a lesson and they had crossed a bridge together, but he knew he would have to build their relationship again on a new and closer understanding.
chapter 23
It took time for Liz to recover – it was as if she had been ill and was convalescing – but slowly, after a few weeks, she appeared to be her old self. Ronnie had tried to draw her out, but Liz would not be drawn and Ronnie resorted to finding out what he could from Tim.
The Ambassador had delayed his return, staying in London long enough for Jamie to make a full recovery after his emergency appendix surgery performed in Greece. When he eventually returned to Delhi, the boys having commenced their new school terms, he looked a bit gaunt (according to Tim) and seemed to have lost a certain spring in his step.
More, Tim didn’t know. Ronnie had planned to tell Liz on her return that he was moving with Tim to his new posting in London. They were planning to share Ronnie’s flat for Tim’s two-year Foreign Office stint. Now Ronnie had to tell Tim he would have to live there alone for a while, he just didn’t want to leave Liz quite yet. The two men commiserated with each other about the fickle finger of fate, realising though it was only a matter of time.
Bernadette had fallen in love. There had been an inevitability about it, but now it had happened. Liz was so happy for Bernadette, but wondered what she would do without her. Fortunately, Bernadette had that all worked out. Shantaram was a doctor and he had long felt the need to provide family-style homes for abandoned babies. Not in any way like an orphanage but with a couple acting like father and mother. He decided the acceptable number would be eight to ten children only. “Marie and Therese are like my children already,” Bernadette had said.
They agreed that once they had found a suitable house they could get married and start on their plan. They decided to call it the D’Souza Home for Children and Shantaram had plans to, one day, have them all over India!
When Liz heard their excited voices and exciting ideas she almost clapped her hands in delight. Dear Bernadette had given her so much and looked after the little girls so wonderfully that she felt determined to give them something special as a wedding present. Bernadette smiled happily, she would be delighted, she knew, with whatever Madame chose for them.
“I would like to buy the first of the D’Souza homes,” she told the delighted girl.
“Oh Madame O’Mal you can’t, you shouldn’t. I can’t believe it.” Liz smiled at Bernadette’s obvious excitement while Shantaram looked stunned.
“You must start looking straight away, and somewhere nearby so that I can visit you and the girls, and eventually all your children.”
It was only a few days later that Bernadette came to see Liz again. She was bubbling with excitement. “There is a house Madame, half-built, so we can add more as we need it.”
They handed the little girls to Anjali’s care and Ashok drove them the ten minutes or thereabouts to the house. It was down a narrow track that led to the beach and it was on two floors. The roof was on but the interior was unfinished apart from the wiring and plumbing.
Shantaram was waiting for them, looking, Liz thought, a really earnest young man with his bushy moustache. He greeted her solemnly. His ready smile in evidence as he showed Liz around, explaining how and where additional rooms could be built, but that to start with, three bedrooms would be sufficient. He seemed embarrassed to talk about the price but finally was cajoled into telling Liz the total sum the contractors wanted for the land and the build. Liz’s first reaction was a pleasant surprise and she confirmed that would be her wedding present to the young couple, with the proviso that Marie and Therese would be cared for as their own. She knew she could trust Bernadette, who adored them, and her gut feeling about Shantaram was good.
Within three months or less the house would be ready so the young couple could begin to plan their wedding day. It was, Liz told Ronnie a lovely new project. Ronnie felt relieved, for the first time for weeks there was a bit of the old sparkle. Soon, quite soon now, he would be able to return to England and be with Tim.
Liz started writing again. A new idea had been taking shape in her head and she started making notes. Whilst sitting at her desk, she came across the letter she had received from Philip shortly after his return to India. When it had arrived she had still been recovering and the letter had helped not one bit. Now calmer and with more time passed she re-read the letter:
My dear Elizabeth,
I feel so bad about the way I let you leave so precipitously, but my mind was totally on Jamie and thoughts of how to help him, maybe even flying straight back to London. Once the operation was over and he was beginning to recover a little I was able to make rather special arrangements to get him home and straight into Guy’s Hospital. We obviously made it back safely and I won’t bore you with the details.
Jamie, thankfully fully recovered, has returned to school. Jack was a problem for a while but he and I have done some serious talking, not, you may think, soon enough. I hope the experience won’t put you off the Greek islands forever.
Kindest regards,
Philip.
She sighed, what a hopeless letter. Not even warmest regards. It was over before it had begun. Her first reading of the letter hurt her feelings but now she was angry and tore it into tiny bits, letting the pieces fall into her waste-paper bin. She mentally closed the book on their ill-fated relationship. Liz had wrongly presumed he would be in touch before long but the letter was of a finality that brooked no argument. Once again she picked herself up and resolved she would never, ever allow herself to be hurt like this again.
chapter 24
Ronnie had left. He had noticed Liz’s new determination. She was writing three to four hours a day, she was visiting Bernadette’s new house once or twice a week, and she had bought herself a horse, having had an air-conditioned stable built, and she was riding in the early mornings and evenings along the beach, often through the breaking waves.
Ronnie realised Liz needed things in her life to make her feel she was making a real contribution. It had started with the house and Ashok and Nina. Ashok’s driving lessons and making their home even better with the air-conditioning. The two little girls she had “rescued”, and the employment of Bernadette to care for them. Even rescuing the cat and kittens!
He was delighted she had started entertaining again which pleased Aarav who loved and excelled at special lunches and dinners. He liked nothing better than providing “party food”, as he called it.
Finally, Ronnie told her he was leaving. She hardly demurred which made him wish he had left sooner, though in his heart of hearts he knew she had needed him until now. She didn’t show her emotions like she used to, and he hoped she wouldn’t develop into a withdrawn and lonely woman.
Ronnie was perhaps more aware than Liz was, that she needed life and vitality around her and to his mind there was not enough of either in her life at the moment. Liz had not wanted him to know how much she would miss him and almost managed to convince herself that it would be good to have the Villa to herself again, though she knew she would miss his cheerful and good company desperately.
To her surprise and immense pleasure, she had received a letter back, almost written by return. It was such a sweet letter, and it brought the memories of the warmth between them flooding back. Soon they were corresponding regularly and it was from him that she first learned that Philip was moving to Paris. A few days later she received a formal invitation to a farewell party for the out-going Ambassador. Across the bottom, Philip had written. “Had you heard I am off to Paris? Hope to see you at this event.” No signature, nothing. She sent a formal refusal stating a prior engagement – then regretted it – but it was too late, she couldn’t undo her refusal.
*
It was, thought Philip, quite wonderful to be in Paris. He had always loved the city, indeed he and Helen had spent their honeymoon there. He even visited the small boutique hotel where they had spent a few halcyon days. He tried not to think about Liz. She had not come to his farewell party, which he had quite deliberately not pressured her to attend. If she wanted to come it would be because she wanted to see him. When she sent her apologies claiming a prior engagement he took it that she did not want to see him again – so that was that.
The Portuguese House Page 12
