He picked up the phone, dialled Alice’s number. Jemima answered the phone.
‘Hi, Mimi. It’s Mungo.’
‘Oh hi, Mungo. How was the wedding?’
‘Er – interesting. Is your mother there?’
‘I’ll get her for you.’
Alice’s low, slightly husky voice came down the line; if you could see that voice, Mungo thought, it would have a cleavage.
‘Hallo, Mungo. I’m surprised you’re free so soon. How did your speech go?’
‘Well – it’s been a funny old day. I need to see you.’
‘Tonight? But Mungo, I thought –’
‘Alice, it hasn’t happened.’
‘What hasn’t?’
‘The wedding. The bride ran away.’
‘What!’
‘Yes. Nightmare stuff. Christ, it’s been awful. Anyway, I think I can get to London. There really isn’t much point me being here any more. Are you free this evening?’
‘Well – I could be. But –’
‘Good. I’ll disentangle myself and phone you when I’m on my way. It might be quite late. Does it matter?’
She hesitated slightly. Then, ‘No. No of course not. But ring me first, won’t you?’
‘Yes of course. Bye, Alice. I love you.’
He felt instantly better: in touch with reality. He phoned the Bergins’ hotel and was told they had all gone out. Great: that let him off the hook a bit. It would seem less uncaring to disappear if they’d all disappeared as well. And he could phone from Alice’s, could always come back if he was needed.
Mungo showered, changed into a clean white shirt and his beloved 501s, the ones with the rip at the knee and the tear at the crotch, and put everything else into the big leather Gladstone Sasha had given him for his last birthday. Nice girl, Sasha: he hoped she’d last. For some reason, he wasn’t sure what, he feared she wouldn’t.
He decided he’d better at least tell his father he was leaving; as far as he knew both he and Sasha were in the bar. He went downstairs; they weren’t there.
‘Mr Buchan is in the pool, sir,’ said the barman, ‘and Mrs Buchan has gone for a walk in the grounds.’
Mungo sighed, decided it would cause less trouble to leave a message with Sasha than his father and went to look for her.
It took a little while to find her; she was well out of sight of the hotel, sitting on a low wall beyond the tennis courts. She was talking on her mobile phone, no doubt gossiping with a girlfriend or fixing up to see some frocks, and she looked somehow different from how she usually did; Mungo, trying to analyse it, could only define it as an alertness, an air of purpose. She didn’t see him coming for a while, she was engrossed in her conversation, but he didn’t get near enough to hear what she was saying before she saw him, smiled, said Ciao – God, it was bimbo talk that – and switched the phone off.
‘Hi, Mungo. How are you doing?’
‘Oh – fine. You know. It’s been a funny old day.’
‘Certainly has. Where do you think she went?’
‘Oh – God knows. The general idea seems to be she was under some kind of terrible strain and she just scarpered, couldn’t take any more, but I think there’s more to it than that.’
‘Really? Like what?’ The blue eyes were sharp, watchful suddenly, beneath the long sweeping lashes; the sugary smile just slightly set.
‘I’m not sure,’ said Mungo quickly. He certainly wasn’t about to tell Sasha about Oliver’s panic the night before, about the overdose. She was sweet, but he didn’t absolutely trust her. ‘What do you think?’
‘I think she was certainly under a lot of strain. I talked to her yesterday. More than just normal wedding nerves, I would have said. I spoke to her briefly yesterday, in the garden here. I was quite struck by it.’
‘What did she say?’ asked Mungo, intrigued.
‘It wasn’t what she said. It was how she was. Tense, and – I don’t know – odd. She had a long rambling conversation with me about make-up, and then just casually at the end she asked me if Theo was around, she wanted to ask him for something.’
‘For something or just something?’ said Mungo. ‘There’s quite a difference.’
‘For. Definitely for. Anyway, he wasn’t here, he’d gone into Oxford, but I said I could call him, give him a message. She said no, she’d speak to him later. But she never did. I asked him. He even rang her, but she said it was nothing, nothing at all.’
‘And you’ve no idea what it was?’
‘No idea at all. But I didn’t get the impression it was nothing. At the time. I wondered if she needed money. Anyway, whatever it was all about, it’s certainly a fairly drastic thing to do, run away on your wedding day. I would say she was pushed into it, that she didn’t have any real choice.’
‘What – you mean some kind of – well, blackmail?’ Mungo was increasingly intrigued, excited even.
‘Maybe not blackmail. But there has to be another element in it all somewhere, I think, some other person or factor forcing her hand. She really didn’t seem to me the sort of person to just crack.’
‘Oh I don’t know,’ said Mungo. ‘She was very gentle, you know, very – well, soft, and sweet. Not a bit like Harry.’
‘No, she didn’t seem a bit like Harriet.’
‘Now that sounded interesting,’ said Mungo, grinning at her, sitting down beside her on the wall.
‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean it sounded as if you’d rather she had been like Harriet.’
‘No. I mean I don’t know either of them well,’ said Sasha. ‘But I like Harriet – what I’ve seen of her. I think she’s clever and gutsy. She’s got balls.’
‘And you like your women with balls, do you?’
‘Yes I do,’ said Sasha, smiling at him.
‘I’m surprised.’
‘Why?’
‘Oh – I don’t know. You seem more of a Cressida to me. Than a Harriet.’
‘Oh really? You mean you don’t think I’ve got balls?’ She was relaxed now, smiling more broadly; she was obviously enjoying herself. She seemed a rather different person suddenly. Mungo stared at her.
‘Well, I –’
‘I do hope, Mungo,’ said Sasha gently, ‘that you don’t think I’m just a pretty little bimbo, with nothing in my head but getting my hands on your father’s money.’
‘What? No, of course not.’
‘I think you do,’ she said with a sigh, ‘but it doesn’t terribly matter.’
‘Yes it does,’ said Mungo, finding somewhat to his surprise that it did. ‘If it matters to you, then it matters to me.’
‘Oh Mungo, why?’
‘Because you’ve been so nice to me,’ said Mungo, suddenly picking up one of her hands. She had beautiful hands, very slender and delicate, the nails just a tiny bit too long (they were always a giveaway, nails, he was amazed girls never realized), longer than Susie or Alice would have worn them. She looked at him, startled, and then smiled again.
‘Well, it wasn’t very difficult,’ she said, ‘being nice to you. You were nice to me. Most people weren’t.’
‘Who wasn’t?’
‘Oh – most of your father’s friends. Most of his business colleagues. All his employees. His dear son, Michael.’
‘Michael sucks,’ said Mungo briefly. ‘You don’t want to take any notice of him.’
‘I try not to. Anyway, I’ve got used to it. But it isn’t very nice. People are polite of course, but that really is all. It’s a very – thin politeness, most of it.’
‘I’m sure –’
‘Mungo, it’s inevitable. Everyone thought I was a gold-digger looking for a sugar daddy. And I suppose they were right. In a way. Although when I met him, I did genuinely fall in love with him. I found him irresistible. I suppose most women do. But of course money is very nice. Nobody could pretend it wasn’t. And later, when it all began –’
‘When what began?’
‘Oh, you know, the patronizing, b
oth by him and everyone else, and knowing he wasn’t in love with me –’
‘Sasha, I’m sure he is.’ Mungo was beginning to feel uncomfortable now, felt she was telling him too much.
‘Mungo, he isn’t. He’s only been in love twice. Once with your mother and once with – well, it doesn’t matter who.’
‘Tell me.’
‘No. I won’t. It’s not my secret.’
Mungo felt a fierce curiosity. ‘Did he tell you?’
‘No. No of course not. I found out.’
‘God. Sasha, please tell me. I won’t tell anyone.’
‘No, Mungo, I’m not going to. Now listen, this is getting out of hand. You look as if you’re going somewhere.’
‘I – well, I do want to go somewhere. Yes. To London. Do you think it would be all right?’
‘And what’s in London, Mungo?’ She was grinning at him again, that easy, casual grin, so different from her careful neat smile. ‘Love?’
‘Yes. Actually. But don’t tell Dad. Please.’
‘I won’t. As long as she’s nice.’
‘She’s wonderful,’ said Mungo simply. ‘I’m going to marry her.’
‘My goodness. Don’t you think –’ Suddenly, sharply the phone rang; she looked at him quickly, said excuse me, turned just slightly away. ‘Hallo. Yes, yes of course. Good. That’s excellent. Fine. Yes, later tonight. Lovely, thanks for calling. Have to go now. Oh, Mungo, there’s your father, coming now. You can tell him yourself.’
‘Tell me what?’ Theo’s voice was good-natured, indulgent. ‘Sasha darling, what on earth are you doing out here? I thought we had a tryst in the bar.’
‘We did, but I got tired of waiting for you.’ Sasha’s voice was clear, surprisingly firm. ‘And it is a lovely evening.’
Theo was silent; his face was hard to read. Then he said, clearly with an effort, ‘Yes of course. Shall we have drinks out here? Mungo, will you join us?’
‘Well –’
‘Mungo wants to go to London,’ said Sasha. ‘Is there any reason why he shouldn’t?’
‘London? Well – I don’t know. It seems a little – odd. We are in the middle of a very complex situation here, Mungo. Your friends need you; I need you. I really think it would be better if you stayed.’
‘But Dad –’
‘Mungo, I said I thought you should stay. All right?’
‘But I don’t see the point, what on earth can I do?’ said Mungo. ‘They’ve all gone out and –’
‘Mungo, please. I said I’d rather you stayed.’
‘Well I’m not going to stay,’ said Mungo, his skin pricking with the familiar violent irritation that his father should still seek to control his actions. ‘I’ve done my bit today. And last night. You have no idea –’ He stopped suddenly. He really didn’t want to start discussing the events of the night before with his father and Sasha, didn’t want to hear them start conjecturing, analysing it all.
‘That’s an extraordinarily selfish way of looking at it,’ said Theo. ‘I don’t think I like that very much, Mungo.’
‘Well I’m extremely sorry I can’t aspire to your own high standards,’ said Mungo. He knew he was sounding more and more like a spoilt sulky child, but he couldn’t help it. ‘But I have something important to do.’
‘Yes,’ said Theo heavily. ‘I can imagine.’
‘Theo,’ said Sasha suddenly. ‘Theo, I really do think –’
‘Sasha, this is nothing to do with you.’
Sasha got up in silence and walked over to the high fence that bordered the garden, stood looking out beyond it; Theo looked after her, seemed about to follow, then turned his attention back to Mungo.
‘Right then. Are you going to have a drink with us?’
‘No,’ said Mungo. ‘I’m not. I’m going to London.’
There was a silence, then Theo said, clearly struggling to keep his temper, ‘Then perhaps I could ask why? What is so important? I do hope it’s not just another poker game.’
‘No, of course not. I – want to see someone.’
‘Oh really? Who?’
‘Do I have to tell you that as well?’ said Mungo wearily.
‘You don’t have to, but I’d like to know.’ Theo’s voice was suddenly quieter, more reasonable again. Mungo looked at him; he was half smiling, seemed genuinely interested. Go on, Mungo, go for it. You have to do it some time. Tell him, break the news.
‘All right, I’ll tell you. She’s called Alice.’
‘Pretty name. What does she do?’
‘Works for a charity.’
‘Oh, very debby.’
‘She’s – not a deb.’
‘Ah. A power-suited executive then?’
‘Not exactly. She – well, she’s supporting her family.’
‘Her family! What, you mean her parents?’
‘No, her children.’
‘Her children! Mungo, what are you trying to tell me? That you’ve got involved with some single parent? Very fashionable, very – what’s the phrase – politically correct.’ He was smiling now, his slightly dangerous, glittering smile.
Mungo swallowed. ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘yes I have. Alice is divorced.’
‘I see.’ Theo looked genuinely nonplussed for a moment, not sure how to react. Sasha had come back to join them, was listening intently. She smiled at Mungo; it gave him courage, that smile, hope.
‘How old is she, your Alice?’ said Theo. ‘How long has she been divorced?’
‘Quite a long time. She’s – she’s thirty-nine.’
‘Thirty-nine,’ said Theo very quietly. He seemed to be thinking, processing the information. The phone still in Sasha’s hand rang again; she switched it on, listened for a moment, said, ‘I’ll call you back.’
‘Who was that?’ asked Theo.
‘It was Jackie.’
Jackie was their housekeeper in London; Sasha’s unkinder critics had been heard to remark that she was a blonde version of Jackie.
‘Oh really? Well, I’ll speak to her later.’
‘Theo, she called me.’
‘Yes, so you said. Look, Mungo, I hope you know what you’re doing with this relationship. Not getting in too deep.’
‘Dad,’ said Mungo, a sweep of rage, of outrage flooding through him, as he thought of how his father conducted his own private life, of the trail of misery, humiliation and chaos he left in his wake, ‘Dad, I know exactly what I’m doing with the relationship. And I am getting in very deep as you put it. I’m going to marry Alice. Actually.’
‘Oh really? I rather think you’re not.’
‘That’s up to me, Dad. And I rather think I am.’
‘That is a little open to debate, I would suggest,’ said Theo. ‘That it is up to you. Actually.’ His sentences were growing shorter, as they did when he was really angry. Mungo looked at him, defiant, hoping his fear didn’t show.
‘Of course it’s up to me. I’m twenty-seven years old. I can do what I like.’
‘Is that so? Are you really? Twenty-seven, eh? Good Lord. That’s hard to believe, Mungo, it really is. I mean the majority of twenty-seven year-olds are standing on their own feet, supporting themselves. I –’
‘Don’t start that,’ said Mungo, ‘don’t throw that garbage at me about supporting myself. My agency is –’
‘Oh Mungo, Mungo. You really are a child, aren’t you? Do you realize what that office alone costs? And who’s actually paying for it? Who put up the money for the lease, to pay your staff –’
‘Theo, don’t,’ said Sasha. She sounded very upset.
‘Stay out of this, Sasha. You don’t know what you’re talking about.’
Sasha looked at him, then at Mungo and turned and walked away towards the hotel. Mungo stood staring at his father, trying not to lose his temper, trying to be calm, rational.
‘Look,’ he said, his voice shaky with the effort of keeping it level. ‘Look, Dad, let’s start this again, shall we? I – know you’re very generous. I know I’
m very fortunate. But I really am making my own way now. I’d like that at least acknowledged.’
‘OK,’ said Theo. His voice suddenly sounded more even. ‘I’ll acknowledge that. You’re making your own way. Tell me, how old are Alice’s children?’
‘Jemima’s fifteen and –’
‘Fifteen! For God’s sake, Mungo, she’s almost as old as you are. You can’t be serious about this. You really can’t.’
‘I’m totally serious. I love Alice.’
‘And I suppose she loves you?’
‘Yes, she does. She’s agreed to marry me.’
‘Marry you! For Christ’s sake, Mungo, what are you talking about? Marriage! How long have you known this woman?’
‘Since the New Year.’
‘Well that’s a very long time. A very long time indeed. God Almighty, you’re more of a child than I even thought. What are you playing at?’
‘I’m not playing as a matter of fact,’ said Mungo, making an immense effort not to shout. ‘I’m being very serious. Trying to be responsible.’
‘Look,’ said Theo, sitting down gently on the wall, clearly struggling to control himself. ‘Look, Mungo, what’s the rush, for heaven’s sake? Why do you have to marry this – person? I’m sure she’s extremely nice, but six months really isn’t a very long time. Can’t you just – enjoy one another for a while? Why do you have to marry her? It’s crazy.’
‘You always do,’ said Mungo. ‘You always have to marry them. However crazy.’
He felt sick as he said it, knowing where it would lead. Many things made Theo angry, but being confronted by the truth about himself was the worst provocation. He had once hit Mungo when he was a little boy because he’d told his father he ate too much and that was why he was so fat. On the whole people went along with the comfortable untruths Theo managed to believe about himself.
Another Woman (9781468300178) Page 29
