And with that, she replaced the receiver.
She waited until Matthew was changed and they were having a glass of pre-dinner wine before bringing it up. Quickly she brought him up to speed with what had happened.
‘You didn’t tell me you’d met this woman,’ she said, trying her best not to sound accusing.
‘No, I didn’t because it wasn’t that important.’ He was flushed with annoyance. ‘I was in a café in the Barbican and she just happened to come in. I hadn’t seen her for years but we recognized each other and we had a spot to eat together. What else could we do? The café was empty. We could hardly sit at separate tables. You didn’t know her so what was the point of me telling you? I told Mum.’
‘Is she unhinged?’
‘Who? Mum?’
‘Don’t be daft. This Chrissie woman.’
‘I don’t know. Why?’
‘It was just the way she spoke. Very clipped. Very precise. As if she was reading from a script. Very uptight.’
‘She is a bit intense, but she seemed rational enough, although she was very keen to tell me how well she was doing.’
‘She was keen to tell me that too. In about ten minutes she told me her life story. She is married to a pilot with two kids at private school and they live in a house worth a million. In excess of a million.’
They shared a small smile but hers rapidly vanished.
‘Come on, Matthew. What were you doing at the station?’ she asked quietly. ‘And don’t you dare tell me you weren’t there.’
Matthew put down his drink. He could kill Chrissie for this. How had she found out his telephone number, for one thing, but then they were not ex-directory so it was hardly rocket science. What had possessed her to ring his wife, other than a desire to cause trouble between them?
‘Look, I admit, I went to the station like she says but I was meeting a client off the train that afternoon …’ The lie – why? – was out before he could stop it.
‘A client? Who? Since when do you meet clients at the station?’
He knew he was digging a big hole for himself, and how he wished he could retract the lie, but he had no choice but to bluff his way out of it.
‘I do sometimes,’ he said, not even convincing himself. ‘Anyway, I most certainly was not harassing her.’
He followed Nicola into the kitchen where the table in the alcove was prettily laid with a little vase of freshly picked roses as a centrepiece. Knowing she must have been out in the garden hacking away at the rose bushes, knowing also the extent of her cooking skills, Matthew felt a great fondness almost overwhelming him as he viewed the efforts she had gone to. When she put her mind to it, his wife could really hit the mark.
What was all this in aid of? Was he missing something? It wasn’t his birthday, her birthday, or their anniversary but she was obviously softening him up for something. Just now though, he was in trouble, with her trust shaken, and he needed to convince her that there was nothing in it. Could he get away with a change of subject?
‘That smells good.’
‘And so it bloody well should. I’ve been slaving over this stove ever since I got in.’ Nicola was standing there, knife in hand and looking as if she might use it. Flushed, but that could be from standing over the cooker, eyes bright, hair ever so slightly frizzed; and she looked pretty fantastic. He nearly told her so, but that would go down like a lead balloon in the mood she was in. He was so lucky to have this woman, this exciting awkward, unpredictable, gorgeous woman. She might be all those things, but she was not sullen or sulky or miserable, not for long anyway. She was not perfect, but then neither was he and neither, he now realized, was Chrissie: the girl he had put on some sort of pedestal for years. Frankly Chrissie, the new version, was proving to be a pain in the arse.
He tried to advance towards her but she waved the knife threateningly so that he laughed because he could not believe for a minute she would use it.
‘Don’t build this up into something it’s not. I love you, darling,’ he said.
‘And I love you, you bastard.’
‘I admit I used to think I loved Chrissie but that was a long time ago and meeting her again made me realize that I don’t any more. She was just a kid and now she’s grown up and she’s different. It was nice to catch up in a way but that’s all. I won’t be seeing her again and good riddance if all she can do is come up with this. Harassing her? Who does she think she is?’
Nicola put the knife down, picked up a spoon and took off the lid of a pan so that steam shot in the air.
‘What were you doing at the station? And don’t give me that crap about meeting a client either.’
‘I admit I was curious. I wanted to see what this husband of hers looked like. I wanted to see what this marvellous-sounding pilot looked like, this guy who earns so much money that he can afford to buy his wife a house worth a million when all I can afford for my wife is this hovel.’
There was a little silence. She had her back to him but he sensed a softening there. ‘It’s not a hovel,’ she said quietly.
‘Isn’t it? Anyway, I don’t know why I did it but perhaps I wanted to get some closure,’ he finished, wondering where on earth he’d dug that one up from.
‘Oh, please, Matthew.’ She almost laughed.
‘It’s true. I needed to see him. And now I have and I’ve sussed it all out. She made it sound as if she was living the dream and she’s not. Not by any means. She’s married but I don’t think she’s particularly happy. Not like we are,’ he added carefully, smiling at her as she turned, and heading her way to put his arms round her. ‘What can I say? I’m sorry that you had to listen to her and I’m even sorrier that I ever met up with her again. And I’m sorry that I can’t afford to buy you the house of your dreams. We have to wait a while, my darling.’
She was busy now at the hob but she had relaxed and he did too. Turning, she gave him a rueful but forgiving smile.
‘You are pretty wonderful,’ he said. ‘Husbands have been shot for less.’
‘Don’t push it, babe,’ she said. ‘I am simply giving you the benefit of the doubt because I happen to be in a good mood so I will forgive this barmy Chrissie woman. But, just think about it, she must still fancy the pants off you,’ Nicola said, unable to hide a smile now.
‘What makes you think that?’
‘Because she wouldn’t go to all this trouble if she didn’t. She told me you had never got over her, not completely, when she means the opposite. She means that she has never got over you. It’s obvious. Don’t you know anything about women, Matthew?’
‘Only that you are a race apart,’ he said.
So, Chrissie had seen him at the station, not surprising because he was not James Bond and his attempt to stay hidden was pathetic, but why had she ignored him and why on earth had she called Nicola? Harassing her? Nothing was further from the truth.
Big mistakes had been made in the way he had handled this. He should have come clean with Nicola right away instead of keeping it quiet, because by keeping it quiet, it made it a secret and secrets between husband and wife were dangerous.
He vowed that, in future, he would tell his wife everything.
And later, he had to admit that his wife certainly knew how to choose her moment because he found himself agreeing to view a property at the weekend, one that sounded altogether too big and grand and far too expensive.
However, with all this Chrissie business looming large, he was in the doghouse and he needed to keep a very low profile for some time to come.
Chapter Fifteen
ELEANOR PUT THE finishing touches to the display of autumnal flowers on the side table in the hall. The mirror beside it doubled the impact and she stood back admiring the effect.
She loved autumn, even though it was the toughest season of the year in the garden. It was all to do with the dratted leaves of course, and the constant clearing-up, but John kept it all under control leaving her to enjoy the more leisurely jobs of pruning, tri
mming and cutting flowers for the house. This arrangement in a sturdy ceramic pot was predominantly orange and yellow with masses of greenery. She liked an arrangement to look as if it had just been thrown together in passing, when in fact it had taken all afternoon to get it just right. She had taken evening classes in floral display some years ago, but the woman taking the classes had been officious and patronizing and Eleanor decided that she knew most of what the woman was telling her anyway. She had a creative flair that was essential to the business, for Henry, even with his background in fine arts, was apt to miss things.
She was expecting Nicola for afternoon tea, a meal sadly neglected these days, but she liked the idea of tea and fancy cakes at four o’clock – how civilized – and Nicola looked as if she needed feeding up having lost weight recently. That, and a vaguely lost look, was enough to cause Eleanor to worry a little and she had confided in Henry, asking if she ought to make a mention of it, because she did not want to upset Nicola or to imply that she was in any way criticizing her. Like her father, Nicola was quick to fly off the handle.
Henry’s opinion was that it was best left and that if anything was worrying her, Nicola would tell her mother in due course. She wouldn’t bet on that, because they had never gone in much for the mother/daughter thing.
Content at last with the flowers, she scrunched up the tissue paper and carried it into the kitchen, checking that everything was on hand for when Nicola arrived. The tray was laid with pretty china cups and the little cakes on the cake-stand looked tempting and she hoped she might persuade Nicola to have at least one. It might only be her daughter she was entertaining, but that did not matter for she disliked letting her considerable standards slip. Lately, with Henry being in a mood most of the time, something to do with work that he was keeping quiet about, it was easy to forgo those standards, but she was damned if she was going to ask what was the matter with him. Like his daughter, he would no doubt deign to tell her in due course, although she was becoming increasingly frustrated with him these days, her willingness to forgive his past misdemeanours in a meltdown.
It was a chilly start to autumn and, going through to the sitting room where she had lit a fire, Eleanor reflected that on cool overcast days like today it was hard to remember those heady summer days, particularly the ones spent with Paula and Alan in Italy.
Henry had been proved wrong for, in her eyes, it had been an excellent holiday. Since then, they had not seen much of each other, although they took the Walkers out for dinner at one of their favourite hotels, following which Paula invited them to her home and, unable to come up with a suitable excuse on the spur of the moment, she had initially accepted only to pull out at the last minute, pleading illness on Henry’s part.
‘She’ll see right through that,’ Henry said when she told him that should anyone ask he was suffering from sickness and diarrhoea. ‘Why the hell can’t we go along? It won’t hurt us, will it? Are you sure we’re asked to the house?’
‘Absolutely. The invitation was perfectly clear.’
‘Oh, I thought they might book us into some country pub because Alan will want to treat us for a change. I’ve told you before that it upsets him when you insist on paying for every bloody thing. Or rather, insist I pay. Can’t you see how he hates it? He’s a proud man.’
‘Nonsense. We can afford it and they can’t.’
‘Can’t they? What’s this I hear about an inheritance? They didn’t mention it last time we saw them, did they?’
‘No, they didn’t. They were probably embarrassed. Alan’s father died and I gather they’ve been left a few thousand or so which I suppose will be a lot to them.’
‘Good for them. Even a few thousand is not to be sniffed at.’
‘No, but it’s hardly going to change their lives, is it?’
Since dropping out of the invitation on account of poor Henry’s incapacity, she had heard nothing from Paula and, as time went by, she was disinclined to be the first to phone to check if all was well. She had made up her mind, however, that if another invitation was forthcoming she would have to bite the bullet and accept or risk an atmosphere for years to come.
She wished she could erase some of the things that had happened on holiday, particularly that night in the hotel bar when she and Alan had the heart to heart and he took hold of her hand. What man does that to another man’s wife? It could be excused because he was emotional, talking about his dead daughter, but nonetheless she felt uncomfortable still at the memory. But they were bound together for the long haul, the four of them, in-laws, and there was no option but to put it behind her and make sure that in future she avoided a one-to-one situation with him.
Nicola was right. There was no need for them to be in each other’s pockets.
Or in each other’s hearts.
Sitting waiting for Nicola, Eleanor looked happily round the room, her favourite room in the whole house. She had help with the original design but over the years, she had added her own touches and having recently redecorated, she thought the present scheme was the best ever. They had used some of their collection of special pieces brought from France but they were flexible and Eleanor was not overly precious about any of them. She would happily hand any of them over if a client particularly wanted something on those lines and they had nothing in the shop stock.
There was Nicola at last. Eleanor did not rush to get up, watching as her daughter parked the car and climbed out carrying that over-large handbag of hers, casual in jeans and short padded jacket. Her hair was just scrunched back in a ponytail and even from a distance she looked tired.
Was she pregnant? Maybe she was waiting for confirmation before she told her, although Eleanor thought it unlikely as Nicola had never been one for holding onto a secret. The cottage had been up for sale for a while but they had withdrawn it when there was no interest, and the last time Eleanor had visited she was just a little concerned at the state of it. Matthew was no do-it-yourself man, but surely they could get somebody in to attend to the myriad of jobs that needed attention. It was the details that mattered and she thought she had drummed that into her daughter. She had always been a touch slovenly and without Eleanor on hand to pick things up, without cleaning help, her daughter’s home was starting to look like a tip.
With a sigh, for how on earth could she say anything without getting her back up, she got up, adding another tweak to the flowers in the hall before opening the door just as Nicola arrived in the porch.
They hugged each other and Nicola took off her jacket, discarding it casually on a chair beside the hall table. Pointedly, Eleanor retrieved it and hung it up.
‘Do I need to take my boots off? They’re not muddy,’ Nicola said, indicating the knee-length boots into which her jeans were neatly tucked.
‘You’ll be more comfortable without them,’ Eleanor said with a smile. ‘They are very smart, I have to say. Where did you get them?’
‘That shop in Wadebridge.’
‘Do you want to borrow some slippers?’
‘No. I hate slippers.’
She unzipped and tugged off her boots anyway, leaving them parked in the hall, and followed her mother into the sitting room.
‘Do you want tea straightaway or shall we have a chat first?’ Eleanor asked, taking in her daughter’s pale face and tired eyes as she sank onto the enormous off-white sofa, tucking her legs up and yawning.
‘Chat about what?’ Nicola asked warily. ‘You haven’t got me here to give me the third degree, have you?’
‘Of course not. What an idea!’ Eleanor laughed although it had crossed her mind that before this afternoon was out she would get to the bottom of whatever it was that was bothering her. ‘We don’t get the chance very often to get together so we should do it when we can.’
‘How did your trip to France go?’
‘Very well. We got some super stuff.’ She was not going to admit that the trip had been fraught, that Henry had been in a foul mood throughout and that he had been insufferabl
y mean when it came to spending money. He said their normal hotel, the one they usually stayed at, was fully booked and they stayed instead for the two nights at a substandard one. ‘How’s Matthew?’
‘Fine. I think …’ she added, lips pursing so that Eleanor had the confirmation – if she needed it – that something was wrong.
‘Don’t you know?’ The question was sharp and she saw Nicola jerk her head and chew on her lip, a sure sign, a childhood sign, that she was fighting hard to keep her composure. She could not remember the last time she had seen her daughter in tears, other than a few joyful ones at her wedding – which frankly she had her doubts about. ‘Have you two had a tiff?’
‘Not exactly, but it’s all a bit flat at the moment. It’s the house thing, Mum. I want to move and I just can’t get him to do it. That one we viewed a few months ago is still on the market so we could get it for a song if only I could get him to see sense. I can’t stand that place a minute longer. I hate it. It’s getting me down. It’s freezing now, like living in an igloo, so what the hell will it be like in winter?’
Eleanor smiled. ‘Igloos are very warm, I understand.’
Nicola frowned. ‘You know what I mean.’
‘Don’t I remember you saying how romantic a coal fire would be? You’ve got a beautiful inglenook fireplace. Use it. You’ll be wonderfully warm.’
‘I’ve tried it and I can’t be arsed with it.’
‘Nicola, please, I do wish you would watch your language.’
Her daughter gave her a look. ‘It takes forever to light it and then it’s smoky. It stinks the place out and it burns logs like nobody’s business. And you are only warm if you stand right beside it. Give me a gas fire any day or best of all underfloor heating.’
‘Do stop complaining. If you are like this at home it’s no surprise that Matthew is fed up. Being petulant will get you nowhere. You have to learn how to handle the men, darling. Look at me and your father.’
Nicola gave a little snort. ‘You two are a fine example.’
A Close Connection Page 13
