Another Woman (9781468300178)

by Vincenzi, Penny

  But today was a little different. In more ways than one. Today was threatening, the waking less gentle than usual, the thoughts and memories that came into her head troubling. There was no question of her shaping the day ahead, that was all done for her, and for the other 299 guests at the wedding of Cressida Forrest and Oliver Bergin. There was the phone call to make; and there was no pool within reach, no comforting, happy routine in which to hide herself, to slough off the disturbing thoughts. She wished fervently she had insisted after all that they should drive down from London that morning, instead of staying with the Beaumonts, near neighbours of the Forrests, it would in every way be easier, more comfortable for her; but Alistair had said he’d rather they started the day down there, he didn’t want to be worried about traffic, and Annabel had said if they did drive down from London her outfit would get creased and Tom had said at least if he had to go to the horrible wedding he would be able to play tennis before and after it. (She thanked God that Lucy, her eldest, was in New York and needed no consideration in the matter). And so she had given in, as she always tried to, for the sake of ease, of greater pleasantness. Only Rufus had expressed no preference, had given her his sweet smile and said it didn’t matter where he began the day, he didn’t care, as long as he could end it with Mungo in London.

  ‘Darling,’ Susie had said, ‘darling, as long as you both get Oliver to the church on time, I don’t care either.’

  And Rufus had kissed her and said he would, of course he would, but it was hardly a danger, Oliver being so exemplary a citizen; their responsibilities were likely to begin and end with making sure he didn’t get to the church too early. ‘His stag night was the shortest I can ever remember, Mum, all over by midnight, and we had to send the stripper home. He’s a great guy and I’m very fond of him, but a lot of the time I do feel he’s another generation.’ Susie had laughed and said in that case she could relax and stop worrying about it all. In any case there seemed no excuse for them to stay in London, and so it came to pass that they travelled down and she was waking this morning in the Beaumonts’ large, indisputably charming but extremely uncomfortable house, with its even more uncomfortable guest room. One of the worst things about staying with friends, of course, was that she and Alistair had to share a room and in this case a bed; they had had separate bedrooms for years, not as a reflection upon their sex life, which was modest, though pleasant, but on the erratic hours Alistair kept as an international lawyer, and his insomnia. Well, the insomnia hadn’t been too much of a problem the night before, Susie reflected, since she hadn’t been able to sleep either, and had been quite grateful to be able to pretend to be reading, but the night had been a torture nonetheless. She had finally fallen asleep at four and dreamed of Jamie’s anguished face, exactly as she had last seen it in the garden of the Court House the evening before; and now it was – what? – after eight. God, she hated waking up late – and she felt wretched, thick-headed, slightly sick, and with this general sense of unease. And no swimming pool to work it off in.

  She got up, looked out of the window. What she saw lifted her spirits. The sky was clear; there was just a very slight trace of mist drifting still in the small valley below the house. The Beaumonts’ two hunters were grazing in the paddock; Janet Beaumont, smiling peacefully beneath the brim of her large straw hat, was in the rose garden clipping the huge white roses, some of which Susie knew would adorn the breakfast table. On the tennis court, just beyond the rose garden, Tom was playing tennis with Mike Beaumont, his normally cheerful face contorted into ferocious concentration, his heavy dark hair flopping into his eyes. Susie looked at him, and her heart tumbled over with love. Mothers weren’t supposed to have favourites and of course she didn’t; it was just that Tom was her baby, her last-born, and she felt more protective, closer towards him than the others. When Rufus had been fifteen, he had seemed almost grown-up, but then the way she felt about Rufus had never seemed to have much to do with the way she felt about her other children. It was a love that was differently shaped, differently experienced – scarcely recognizable as mother-love at all. But Tom – Tom was still to her a small boy. All mothers said that of course, that the baby stayed the baby; but there was something different, special about Tom. He still needed her, needed her a lot; and oh Christ, she thought, the ugly fear rising in her throat, hitting her hard, how would he be if – ‘Oh shut up,’ she said aloud, ‘don’t be negative, Susie, it’ll be all right, and you’ll know for sure in an hour or so.’ She forced her mind back (Susie’s mind was in general very biddable) to the day and to admiring Tom’s service, which was impressive; indeed she spontanously clapped an ace, winging down the line past Mike Beaumont.

  Tom looked up at the house, saw her and waved; she waved back, and decided to go and join them on the court. Susie was never troubled by self-doubt, by the thought that she might not be welcome anywhere: she knew with a sweet certainty that she was. And sure enough, as she left the court, three-quarters of an hour later, hot, happy, her ill-ease worked away, she heard Mike Beaumont say, ‘Your mum’s top of the range, Tom.’

  Susie rewarded him with one of her most dazzling smiles.

  She was lying in the stained roll-top bath in what had once been the nursery bathroom, idly soaping herself, anxiety creeping back into her head, when she heard the phone ringing in the hall downstairs. Janet answered it.

  ‘Maggie!’ Susie heard her say, in her low, headgirl voice. ‘Hallo, dear. Lovely day for you. All set I – what, dear? No, no of course not. Well, how extraordinary. I can’t imagine – oh, look, Maggie, of course she can’t be far away. I expect she’s gone for a walk, calming her nerves a bit. Or a little drive. I – oh I see. Well, dear, I wish I could – yes, Maggie, of course I will. At once. Yes, of course. Can I phone anyone for you? Yes, all right, my dear. Don’t worry, I’m sure it’s perfectly all right.’

  Susie sat up, dropped the soap in the bath. The sense of foreboding had suddenly increased, and it had nothing to do with Jamie. She climbed out of the bath, put on her robe and padded down the stairs. Janet was standing at the kitchen window, staring out.

  ‘Janet, what did Maggie want? What’s wrong? I heard you on the phone.’

  ‘Oh – nothing’s really wrong I’m sure,’ said Janet, turning with a quick, rather stiff smile. ‘It’s just that Cressida’s gone walkabouts. I’m sure that’s all it is. But I can see why Maggie would be worried. That she’s not there, I mean.’

  ‘Well I can’t,’ said Susie. ‘And we all know how Maggie worries. Poor darling,’ she added hastily, anxious as always that not a breath of criticism might drift from her in Maggie’s direction. ‘I mean, it’s not even nine yet. I expect she’s gone to find some peace and quiet.’

  ‘Susie, dear, I think there must be a little more to it than that,’ said Janet, a touch of reproof in her voice. ‘Apparently she’s been missing for well over an hour, Maggie said. It does seem very strange. I would be beside myself, if it was my daughter. She’d have to be feeling very upset, surely, to disappear for so long. Without saying a word. And you said she seemed so calm last night, not nervous at all. What on earth could have happened to her?’

  ‘I can’t imagine,’ said Susie. ‘And yes, she did seem very calm. But maybe it was all an act. She’s a very good actress, Cressida, always was. I honestly think the most likely thing is she’s just gone off to be by herself for a bit. Such an ordeal, one’s wedding day. However lovely.’

  And she was back vividly, clearly, at her own, twenty-nine years earlier, alone in the house with her father, waiting to leave for the church. He had handed her a glass of champagne, and she’d caught sight of her face in the drawing-room mirror, so pale it was almost corpselike, her dark eyes huge, and she’d seen her hand tremble as she took the glass.

  Neil Carrington came over to her, gave her a bear hug.

  ‘Darling, there’s no need to be quite so frightened. It’s not like you. Where’s the girl who was calmly playing tennis an hour before her coming-out bal
l?’

  ‘A bit older and a bit more thoughtful,’ said Susie with a rather shaky smile.

  ‘You’re not – doubtful are you? Because if you are, it’s still not –’

  ‘Oh Daddy,’ said Susie, hugging him back, a great rush of love filling her for a man who could genuinely contemplate cancelling a wedding for which a church was already filled, a lunch prepared, champagne iced, ten bridesmaids dressed, and a huge amount of money spent. ‘Daddy, you’re an angel and of course I’m not doubtful, Alistair is an absolute darling and the perfect husband, and I’m a lucky girl.’

  ‘All right. As long as you mean it. I’ve never actually heard you say you love him –’

  ‘Haven’t you?’ said Susie, draining the glass quickly. ‘Well, you must have missed all the occasions when I did. Of course I do, who couldn’t? He’s sweet and kind and good and –’

  The phone rang suddenly, shrilly, through the house. She knew who it was; she froze, hesitated just for a moment, then said, ‘I’ll get it. It’ll be Bunty calling from LA, she promised she would.’

  ‘Bad timing,’ said her father. ‘The car’s just arrived. Be quick, poppet.’

  ‘They can’t start without me,’ said Susie, going out into the hall.

  ‘Susie?’

  ‘Bunty! Hallo.’

  ‘Who the hell is Bunty? It’s Jamie.’

  ‘You’re sweet to ring, Bunt. Really lovely. Perfect timing! Daddy says I have to be quick.’

  ‘Susie, don’t, please don’t. I can’t bear it. I love you. You know I do.’

  ‘I don’t know, actually,’ she said, hearing her voice, cold and controlled. ‘And as you couldn’t be with me, I’ve had to do it without you. Very sadly. I know you’ll be thinking of me though. Look, the car’s here, I have to go. Sweet of you to call. Bye, Bunty.’

  She put the phone down, very carefully, as if it might shatter, and stood there quite still for a moment, staring at it; then she lifted her hand and pulled down the short veil over her face. A tiny tendril of dark hair had escaped from the crown of lily of the valley on her head; she left it, falling onto her forehead, symbolizing, she felt, a last-minute, last-moment bid for freedom, a last look at love. Then she walked back into the drawing room, took her father’s hand. ‘Come on, Daddy,’ she said, ‘time to go.’

  She smiled and she smiled and she smiled until she felt that her face would never ease into any other expression. She smiled at the guests and she smiled at Alistair and she smiled at the best man and the bridesmaids, and she smiled at her mother; she smiled at the cameras, she smiled at the manager of the Dorchester, she smiled at the maître d’, and she smiled most determinedly and blindly at Serena Hammond, her best friend and chief bridesmaid, as she helped her to change out of her dress, her exquisite wild silk, rose-strewn Belinda Belville dress, so suited to her dark beauty, and into the cream silk Ossie Clark suit in which she was to embark on her first journey as Mrs Alistair Headleigh Drayton.

  ‘It was wonderful, wasn’t it?’ she said, setting down her bouquet, looking at it, pulling one single pink rose out of it, handing it to Serena. ‘Would you be terribly sweet and press that for me, give it to me when I get back?’

  ‘Of course,’ said Serena, ‘of course I will. Are you – OK, Susie? I mean really OK.’

  ‘Serena, I feel wonderful,’ said Susie. ‘Absolutely wonderful,’ and then quite suddenly her heart, her aching, tender heart, which had through the long day grown physically heavier, until she felt she must hold with her hand the area beneath which it lay, to support it, to keep it from falling, crushed, somewhere deep and desolate within her body, it stirred, that heart; and the pain was sharp, uncontrollable suddenly, and she winced, heard a faint strange whimpering sound escape her, so faint she wondered if it had indeed been real, and then she saw Serena staring at her alarmed, and she sat down on the bed, and buried her head in her hands and wished she could stay there forever in the quiet darkness and never move again.

  ‘Susie,’ said Serena, ‘Susie, what is it, are you ill?’ And she could not answer, dared not move even, in case the tears came, broke free, alongside the grief. She sat for what seemed a long time, was indeed a long time, on such a day, such an occasion. She heard first the phone ringing, then a knock at the door, heard Serena say, in an anxious whisper, that she was all right, but had a sudden headache, needed five minutes to recover, that they must all wait, Alistair, the guests, everyone, was that so much to ask?

  She sat there, thinking of Jamie with such longing, such love that he seemed to be physically beside her; she saw him, saw his slightly untidy face, with its wide, laughing blue eyes, his wild fair hair, heard his voice, his slightly husky voice, saying ‘Christ, Susie, I love you, I love you,’ and then, harsher, colder, filled with brutality, saying, ‘I’m going to marry Maggie Nicolson, I’m sorry, Susie, but that’s what I’m going to do.’ And she saw him again, no longer laughing, his face no longer untidy but neat, controlled, forbidding; and she felt him now, felt his hands on her, felt her body rising, throbbing with desire for him, heard her own voice, her own laughing exulting voice saying, ‘Jamie, Jamie, this is heaven, this is so good’ and then that same voice, dead, leaden, saying, ‘Fine, absolutely fine, I understand, I hope it works for you, Jamie.’

  And then because she was well disciplined, well behaved, because she had chosen this day and what it was to do to her and her life, she finally lifted her head and said, still dry-eyed, still somehow smiling, ‘Sorry, Serena, I’m so sorry. Just a bit faint, that’s all. Give me my hat, there’s a love, and I must go down quickly, they’ll think I’ve done a runner.’ And she stood up, seized her flowers, and almost ran to the door and out to the landing where Alistair waited, anxious, and she smiled at him too, and said, ‘Darling, I’m so sorry, bit of a hiccup with the buttons,’ and together they went down the stairs where she paused and threw her bouquet and was careful that Serena, whom she loved, would not be able to catch it, for she felt that anything associated with pain could not possibly bring anything near to happiness.

  ‘Mummy!’ It was Annabel, appearing in the doorway, the great fall of dark hair so like her mother’s, half covering her face. ‘Mummy, I’ve forgotten to bring any tights. Can I borrow some of yours?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Susie, endeavouring to hide the irritation in her voice, smiling determinedly at Annabel, ‘well, yes, you can, but I’ve only brought a couple of pairs myself. So –’

  ‘Well, I can’t see why you need more than one,’ said Annabel. ‘So that means there’s a pair for me.’

  ‘I like to have a spare pair,’ said Susie mildly, ‘in case of accidents.’

  ‘Yes, well, this is an accident. In a way. Honestly, Mummy, I’m only asking for a pair of tights. Not to borrow your entire outfit. Oh, and can I use your make-up, it’s so much nicer than mine?’

  ‘It’s nicer than yours because I don’t leave everything open all over the dressing table,’ said Susie.

  ‘I don’t actually and anyway, yours is obviously nicer because it’s better. I can’t afford Estée Lauder and Chanel.’

  ‘All right,’ said Susie with a sigh, ‘but please put everything back when you’ve finished with it. How are you feeling, darling, anyway? Sleep well?’

  ‘No, not terribly, I had awful dreams and I’ve got a really bad headache.’

  ‘Too much wine at supper, dare I suggest?’

  ‘I hardly had any wine, that’s not fair, about a quarter of what you were drinking. Honestly, Mum, you’re turning into a real alkie.’

  ‘Thanks,’ said Susie.

  ‘Well it’s true. Oh and by the way, Rufus has gone missing.’

  ‘Dear God,’ said Susie cheerfully. ‘I hope he hasn’t run off with Cressida.’

  It was a flip, thoughtless remark; she regretted it instantly, seeing Janet’s face set into reproach, Annabel’s into intense curiosity. ‘Sorry!’ she said. ‘Sorry, Janet. Bad form. Sorry, Annabel. Bad joke. Do you mean Rufus is not in his room as of now, or he
hasn’t slept in it?’

  ‘Hasn’t slept in it,’ said Annabel, clearly enjoying the potential drama.

  ‘Well that’s all right, darling. He went off with Mungo Buchan after dinner last night, he’s probably at the hotel with him still.’

  ‘If he was with Mungo, I should think they’re pissed as newts in some gambling den somewhere,’ said Annabel prissily. Susie sighed: if Tom was the nearest thing she had to a favourite, Annabel was the furthest from it.

  ‘Darling, that’s not fair. Rufus is quite sensible really, and he certainly wouldn’t let Mungo do anything awful on quite such an important occasion.’

  ‘Rufus isn’t sensible at all,’ said Annabel irritably. ‘And anyway, you know he just follows where Mungo leads. They’re a lethal combination, and we really should have kept them under lock and key last night.’

  ‘Oh rubbish,’ said Susie, realizing that Janet Beaumont was looking increasingly uncomfortable, ‘you’re being over-dramatic, darling. Go and have a bath or something and I bet you anything you like Rufus and quite possibly Mungo too will be here to join you for breakfast.’

  ‘Anything?’ said Annabel.

  ‘Anything.’

  ‘Peugeot 205 then. When I pass my test.’

  ‘Well, darling, I didn’t mean quite –’

  ‘Mummy! That is so exactly like you. Backing down when the going gets tough and –’