‘I love it here,’ Eleanor said. ‘I love the people. Have you noticed how they parade about in the evening wearing their best clothes and strutting their stuff?’
‘They look very smart,’ Paula admitted, thinking that the poor youngsters at home could not compete with the easy style of the young people here.
‘It’s called la passeggiata, a sort of showing-off to each other. At least it’s better than throwing up in the gutter, which our youngsters seem to do at home. It’s got worse or are we getting old, Paula? I never got drunk when I was young, not deliberately. Did you?’
‘No I didn’t. I don’t much like drinking although we’ve had some lovely wine here.’
‘All Italian, you notice. They don’t do French or Australian wines. I love that.’ Eleanor laughed. ‘Do you fancy a drink? Non-alcoholic of course.’
‘I’d love one and a sit-down for a while. My feet are killing me. Where have the men got to?’
‘I have no idea.’ Eleanor glanced around and then shrugged. ‘It doesn’t matter. They know where to pick up the coach. Let’s get ourselves a lemonade. Come on.’
She set off, a vision in a flowing ankle-length white cotton dress, a silky pink scarf casually draped around her neck, various items of silver jewellery hanging from her ears and around her wrist. Unlike Paula, she was wearing flats, a much more sensible choice for a walking tour. Her hair was in a pigtail today, a statement style, a heavy solitary twist secured with a pink ribbon. Only somebody with as much confidence as Eleanor could get away, at her age, with a style like that. Catching a glimpse of the two of them in a shop window, Paula thought her own ensemble had pretty much hit the mark too, although she wished now that she had opted for more comfortable shoes. Trying to up her height so that she was closer to eye level with Eleanor was proving a challenge.
They found a café with outside seating and Eleanor ordered them soft drinks from the waiter – in Italian – and they settled themselves under the shade of the parasol and watched the world go by. Various languages jostled for attention; Italian, the harsher Germanic sounds, the American drawl, even some English voices – complaining, unfortunately – drifted their way.
‘I adore Verona,’ Eleanor said. ‘Keep it to yourself, but they say that Shakespeare never visited, in fact. But you have to admit that the balcony is something special even if it’s all in our imagination that it was the actual balcony.’
Paula looked at her, puzzled. It was all pure fiction.
‘I hope I haven’t spoilt it for you. You did know that balcony we’ve just seen was built sometime in the thirties?’
Paula didn’t know that, but who cares? She had just watched two actors re-enacting the little scene at the balcony and it was magical. Completely oblivious, looking gorgeous as in the way of the Italian youth, several pairs of young lovers had clustered all around them, arms entwined, gazing at each other; and it reminded Paula of her youth, bringing with it of course that sadness for times long gone.
As if they were thinking the same thing, they both sighed deeply.
‘This is lovely, thank you,’ Paula said, suddenly aware that she had never thanked her properly for all this. They had offered to pay something but Eleanor had seemed affronted at the very idea of that, although Alan took some persuading because he did not want to be in her debt.
They might not be in the same league as Henry and Eleanor’s business, but Alan was doing OK because people still needed to learn to drive whatever the economic climate. He had a good reputation as an instructor but the prices had been pegged for a while now and they were feeling the pinch. They were cautious with money and although she often accused Alan of being tight, she was also built in that mould and did not like to spend their hard-earned money foolishly. They had a nice amount saved and she took pleasure in adding a little to it each month, although what the hell they were saving up for she had no idea because there was only Matthew to leave it to and he was in a good job earning a good salary so he did not need it. Still, she liked to dwell occasionally on the savings which she knew would see them through not only a rainy day, but a monsoon. ‘We appreciate it, Eleanor,’ she added, determined, though, that they would reciprocate in some way at a later date. The last thing she wanted was for Nicola’s mother to think they were spongers. ‘It is very kind of you.’
‘Not at all. Henry’s rolling in it. I help out but he does the bulk of the work, the boring nitty-gritty stuff. I asked you to come because we need some time together to get to know each other. After all, one day we will share a grandchild, won’t we? I can hardly wait, although if I know my daughter it’s not going to happen for a while yet.’
Paula nodded, half-listening to the chat from the nearby table. It was pleasant in the shade under the parasol and the little blocks of ice jostled against each other in her glass as she sipped the cool liquid. Eleanor had ordered ice-cream as well, which she was quickly realizing was nothing like the ice-cream back home. Italian ice-cream was something else. ‘I don’t think Matthew’s in a hurry to have children either,’ she said. ‘Not that he’s said anything but it’s just the impression I get.’
‘No, we must be patient,’ Eleanor agreed. ‘They don’t seem in a rush to have children these days. Nicola is doing very well at the hotel and I know she wants to build a career in hospitality management, there or somewhere else. They won’t move far, though, I can assure you of that. She loves this area.’
‘Matthew did say he might move once upon a time, but now that he’s married I think he will think twice about it. When two of you have got to find new jobs it isn’t as easy, is it?’
‘Absolutely not. Fortunately we have never had that problem. I thoroughly enjoyed teaching but when Henry’s business expanded into Europe, my knowledge of languages was really helpful, so I started to go with him on his trips and I decided at that point to give up the teaching.’ She smiled a little. ‘It was becoming a little too stressful, Paula. I was teaching older children and these days some of them are seventeen going on thirty-five and they think they know it all already.’
‘Matthew says you travel to France a lot.’
‘Yes, we do. We pick up wonderful stuff from the open markets and house sales in France, sometimes things with a client specifically in mind. We get things for a bargain price and then sell them on. One person’s tat is precious to another person and it’s just a question of matching up items with the right people. The French have always been so stylish and their furniture has that edge. It’s very exciting.’
‘It sounds it.’ Paula smiled, wondering if Eleanor expected her to try to compete with that. As if she could, for how on earth could her job working in a card shop compete, and although people thought Alan’s job was a doddle, it most certainly was not. You had to have patience, a lot of it, to cope with what he had to put up with. Some of these wouldbe drivers had a death wish from the word go and one dear lady, a long-time pupil, insisted on continuing with her weekly lessons when the chances of her ever acquiring a licence were nil. After more than a hundred lessons, Alan had broken the news to her, being very straight with her and more or less saying he didn’t want to take her money and give her false hope but she rejected that, saying it was her money and she could do what she wanted with it.
It did cross Paula’s mind that the lady was madly in love with him and cherished the moments she spent with him, so perhaps she was deliberately fluffing the driving so that she could continue to see him on a weekly basis. She had told Alan and he laughed and said what on earth would she see in him?That’s what she loved most about her husband. He had no idea how attractive he was to the ladies. She had seen the look Eleanor shot his way and it amused her and did not worry her for she could never imagine Her Ladyship settling for a man like Alan in a million years. Unless of course she fancied what might be thought of in her circles as ‘a bit of rough’.
She would be wrong about that. Alan was a lot of things but he was not that. He was a diamond in the dust, a very intelligent
man but he had never gained his full potential, giving up the chance of university to go straight into work. He did not start off as a driving instructor but he had never been out of work since leaving school and, thirsty for knowledge, had gained a degree from the Open University a few years ago, although he preferred not to tell people about that.
Paula excused herself from the outside table of the café in Verona and with some trepidation went to the Ladies. You never knew in these places whether it was going to be ultra-smart and fully tiled with mystifying fancy taps or one of the old-fashioned hole-in-the-floor affairs which she would never in a million years get used to. Thank God, it was the former and she brushed her hair and redid her lipstick before returning to the table where Eleanor was settling the bill, finishing off her conversation with the waiter and leaving what must be a lavish tip because the chap was all smiles as they left.
Next day, Paula was sunning herself at the poolside when Eleanor appeared. She hid a sigh because, although the trip out to Verona had been great, it had not been a total success because she could not escape Eleanor’s clutches. They had not caught up with the men until they picked up the coach but it seemed the two gents had enjoyed themselves finding a nice restaurant to have lunch before picking up some English newspapers – yesterday’s – and relaxing in a shady spot by the Arena.
Today was a free day with no planned excursions and it was something of a relief.
‘I thought you would be here,’ Eleanor said, arranging herself on the sun bed beside her. ‘Henry’s taken the boat across to Sirmione but I’ve seen it before and I wanted a breather. Where’s Alan?’
‘He’s taken a stroll into town to see if he can find a museum or something,’ Paula said, looking at Eleanor but keeping her sunglasses on so that she could avoid direct eye contact. She noticed, could not fail to notice, the smooth, golden-tanned legs nor the elegance of Eleanor’s swimwear; a flowing beach cover-up with just a tantalizing glimpse beneath of a white bikini. She was wearing a swimsuit herself, a structured black one-piece from M&S, her bikini days long gone. ‘I’m just enjoying the sunshine,’ she added unnecessarily. ‘Isn’t it gorgeous?’
‘It certainly is. If only we had weather like this in Cornwall, although when it is like this, it is absolutely beautiful on the coast. May I join you?’
Paula nodded, feeling a confession coming on. She had felt for some days that Eleanor wanted to talk to her about something but could not quite bring herself to do it.
‘You needn’t answer this if you don’t want to …’
Ah.
‘But Matthew did mention something about his sister and I wondered if you might like to tell me about it. I have some experience in counselling and I’m told I am a good listener,’ she added with a little laugh.
There was a short silence as time stilled. Suddenly it was as if the two of them were inside a bubble with outside sounds diminished. Paula watched guests swimming and playing around in the cool blue waters of the pool, the Italian guests parading round as only they could do, but in a heartbeat she was back to that awful day, that awful October day when, to put no finer point on it, her whole world fell apart. In the blink of an eye, her life changed. They gave it a name which made it real but it didn’t matter what they called it, it could have been bubonic plague for all she cared for it had the same effect.
‘I’m sorry.’ She roused herself with an effort, the shouts and splashes poking through her bubble and bursting it abruptly. ‘If you don’t mind, I really don’t want to talk about it just now.’
‘Of course. I’m sorry to have brought it up,’ Eleanor said stiffly. ‘But it really does no good to bottle things up. It’s just that sometimes it helps to talk about things to a friend.’
A friend?
Were they friends? Their relationship was complicated and only brought about because they had become related – sort of – and the truth was that they would never have come across each other if Matthew had not married Nicola. Paula was still uncertain about how she felt about Nicola, the girl whom Matthew loved. She was not at ease yet with her daughter-in-law and she knew the feeling was reciprocated. It was taking time and she had not yet given up hope that they might eventually become friends.
What would Lucy make of her? Lucy, despite her young age, had been great at seeing through people and Paula had placed a lot of faith in what her daughter thought. Paula had not liked Chrissie much but then nor had she.
‘What does Matty see in her?’ Lucy had asked, her teenage wisdom shining through and saying what Paula had long been thinking. ‘She’s so needy. Clinging onto him like she does. She’s like a barnacle on a boat.’
‘Don’t you dare say anything!’
‘As if I would. Honestly, Mum, you treat me like a child.’
She wished Lucy was here now and she could ask her if she liked Nicola. ‘What’s her mum like?’ Lucy would have asked.
One word sprang to mind. Shallow.
And there it was. Like mother, like daughter. Already Nicola was showing a few worrying tendencies to think and act like her mother.
God help Matthew.
Chapter Eight
IT WAS SOME time after they met before Matthew introduced Nicola to his parents. It had been a few months since that evening at the hotel and it was all ticking along nicely. There had been some dinners together, the theatre, a few trips out and although they kissed after the first date, she wanted to wait a while before going the whole hog with him. So, she kept him at arm’s length until neither of them could stand it any longer, but his flat was little more than a hovel – albeit neat and tidy – and at that time she was back to living at home so meeting there was out of the question.
It felt furtive and ultimately unsatisfactory.
After graduating from university with a job in the hotel industry already lined up, Nicola got a flat-share in Barnstaple with a girlfriend but although it worked for a few years, it had to come to an end eventually and did so when the girlfriend found a man and moved out. She could not afford the place on her own and did not want to go through the hassle of trying to find some other girl to share with. Although there was the option of staff accommodation at the hotel, it was just one poky little room up in the eaves – the servants’ quarters, no less and a bit reminiscent of student digs – so although moving back home was a dreadful thing to do, it did make sense. Financially she could save some money and she had several rooms at home to call her own, and in addition, her laundry was done and her meals were cooked for her.
With several years experience under her belt, she moved jobs at that point to her current hotel, which was so very different from the modern ‘safe but dull’ one she had worked at before. Nethersley Hall tucked away in its secret valley – or so the brochure claimed – was a one-off, old and grand retaining much of its original style, although not at the expense of up-to-the-minute bathrooms with decent showers and so on. There were spectacular views of the Devon countryside from all the guest windows and with its antique furniture and surplus of chintz, it had a comfortable old-fashioned feel. The chef was trained in London and Paris so the cream teas they served took on a special quality.
It was not a job to be missed, a heaven-sent opportunity but it made for a longish commute from her parents’ home in Cornwall. However, as she loved to drive her brand new little car – a twenty-fifth birthday present from her father – it was not a huge problem. Her mother was thrilled to have her home, her father less so, but she knew in her heart that even though she had her own space at home, things had changed. She had grown up and she objected to her mother treating her as if she was the teenager she had been before she went off to university, complaining about the state of her room, would you believe?
After a few months of sleeping together whenever they could, she and Matthew had already talked about getting somewhere together, renting a bigger place, but it was a big commitment moving in with a man and she was less sure than he was about the wisdom of it. She needed a ring on
her finger first so for the moment she was holding back, but when Matthew said he wanted to introduce her to his parents she knew then that this was getting serious. And when the M-word was finally mentioned, it came as a surprise but a pleasant one for after all they were both well established in their careers and approaching thirty seemed as good an age as any to consider marriage.
Although Matthew had told her about his parents, not holding back from saying what they did, which immediately put them in a particular financial bracket in her head, the terraced house in the street in Plymouth had been a bit of a shock.
The area was close to the city, walking distance, and not the best district, although she liked the pastel colours of the little houses and the fact that the sea and the sound of seagulls were just around the corner. She could cope with it for she did not think of herself as a snob. She had been privately educated and counted a lot of snobs amongst her schoolfriends but she was certainly not one of them. At university she had mingled with all sorts of people, some of them from northern comprehensives, although in the end when it became obvious that attitudes you were born with were bloody hard to shift, she had drifted towards people from similar backgrounds because it was easier.
When Matthew said the name of the street where his parents lived, and not knowing the city that well, she had pictured a row of newish semi-detached properties with little front gardens and wrought-iron gates. So, seeing the little steep cobbled street with the houses directly off for the very first time, the row of ugly brown bins standing all the way along the street because it was bin day, she just about stopped herself from making a negative comment.
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