The Yellow Villa

by Amanda Hampson

  Ollie’s expression morphs to one of wide-eyed horror, and I spin around to see Roxy and Ben standing in the doorway.

  Chapter Thirty-one

  Christmas Eve brings thunderous skies and misty rain. Susannah surveys her bedroom, now in that indefinable state between chaos and organisation. All the preparations for her last hurrah tomorrow and the emotions stirred up by the packing have left her feeling wrung out. She is both determined to leave on Boxing Day and ambivalent at the same time. It doesn’t absolutely have to be Boxing Day, but she should definitely start the new year back home.

  The thought of living with Reggie is not terribly attractive. Although he’s quite good company, and his little mews house is convenient, she and Becky have always shared jokes about him being ‘Reggie-mented’. Every day scheduled from start to end. Each day of the week has a dedicated meal that his housekeeper, Mrs Hemming, prepares in the afternoon before going home. He holds a firm belief in the power of the microwave to neutralise bacteria and reheats his meals until they blister and pop like molten lava. On Fridays he dines at the club, always at the same table, like the last remnant of a previous generation.

  Susannah will be expected to fit in with his schedule, without delays or disruption. If her mother were still alive, his life would be so completely different. All of their lives would be different. Susannah was only ten years old when she died and remembers her mother only as lively and fun. Her father was the strict and frugal one. He was the sobering influence. It was only after her mother’s death that he softened and became more indulgent. Perhaps he regretted not revealing that side of himself earlier. He has been a good father and Susannah determines to do her best to not create disturbance around him. Her greatest fear is that Dominic could turn up and scenes erupt. Reggie will not tolerate that for one minute.

  Once she has found some sort of work, she plans to use the money she has tucked away from her ill-gotten gains and rent a little place. She envisages a quiet little flat where the morning sun spills through the windows; a bowl of pink roses glow on a polished table. Perhaps there’d be pleasant neighbours who would invite her in for a drink or a meal occasionally. She will, she decides, be grateful for any sort of work, perhaps not cleaning or housekeeping, but she can see herself in a tasteful little shop somewhere, or perhaps a department store, wearing make-up and nice clothes. There is reason for optimism. That’s where her focus needs to be, holding tight to the lucky charm of her bright sparkly future.

  Downstairs the house is finally in order in a way that it hasn’t been for some time. His nibs has been in his study most of the day, oblivious to the industry outside his sanctuary. She opens his door and stands watching him tapping away at his typewriter. Look at you, she thinks. How many stinging insults I have tolerated over the last few years about my ‘faded glory’ and ‘decrepit old age’. And you, oblivious to the belly that strains against your jumper, your broken capillaries, sagging jowls and hairy nostrils. When you look in the mirror, you must magically see the man you once were. You’re pretty decrepit yourself, Mister.

  ‘Is there a reason you’re lingering wistfully at the door?’ Dominic asks without looking up. ‘Perhaps rethinking your strategy? Should I prepare myself to gracefully accept a heartfelt apology from you, or get my riot gear on?’

  ‘I’m going outside to bring some more wood up for the fire. I can bring up the wine for lunch tomorrow if you like.’

  He has a hearty fire burning in the grate, which explains where the logs for the living-room fire disappeared to. He ignores her, continuing to type, steadily tap-tapping at that antiquated typewriter.

  ‘Dominic, I really think we should declare a truce. Otherwise we’re not going to get through Christmas Day without an embarrassing incident.’

  ‘You’re negotiating a truce now?’ He looks up in mock surprise. ‘I wasn’t aware there had been a declaration of war. What I experienced was a pre-emptive strike that’s left me with possibly permanent injury. Perhaps you’re aware that there are protocols, the Geneva Convention, for example?’

  ‘Please, don’t try to rile me. You’ve had your revenge. Can we agree on a truce, just for the next few days? It’s freezing outside, I’ve got my coat on and I’m offering to go to the cellar for you.’

  ‘Yes, I see that. And I’m wondering what you’re really up to, you little minx.’ His tone is both mocking and hostile.

  Susannah forces a smile. ‘Just trying to be helpful, dear. I don’t want to live in a state of siege any more than you do.’

  He seems to buy it and writes down his instructions to bring up four wines, giving her the exact locations among the numbered racks. ‘You know where the key is, don’t you?’ he adds, going back to his work. Of course she does.

  She’s so relieved, she practically runs from the room. As she steps outside, an icy wind whips at her face. The pugs resist coming out and then, in desperation, charge out for a pee and hurry straight back inside to their cushion by the radiator, now on low in preparation for tomorrow. As she closes the door behind them, she notices that Dominic has had his nasty little chainsaw out and her yard broom now lies in a dozen pieces.

  Chapter Thirty-two

  Ben catches Roxy as she runs down the front steps, grabbing her arm. ‘Look, I’m sorry,’ he says. ‘I’m really sorry. That was so embarrassing. I don’t know what to say.’

  ‘Forget it. I never should have come here. Susannah hates me. Mia hates me.’ She pulls away from him and walks quickly back to her car.

  Not knowing what to do, Ben keeps pace with her. ‘I don’t think you should drive like this, you’re upset. And you’ve been drinking.’

  ‘I’ll be fine!’ She opens the door angrily. ‘Go away, go inside.’

  Ben holds out his hand. ‘Give me the key, I’ll drive you up the hill and walk home.’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous! You don’t need to do that.’

  Ben peels her fingers open and removes the key from her grip. He leads her around to the passenger door and opens it. Calming upset women is something he does well. She obediently gets in and puts on her seatbelt. They are both silent as he drives up the hill to the village.

  Ben has always understood that his loyalties lie one hundred per cent with Mia. He would back her against his mother, even against Ollie if it absolutely came to it, because that was the terms of his contract. However, he’s less and less certain about the contract and its validity. He and Mia hardly see eye-to-eye on anything; right now it’s hard to imagine what they have in common and how and when that changed. He wonders if their separation, and her hooking up with that lame-arse Isaac, has caused a permanent scar that will never truly heal.

  It’s a struggle to get his thoughts straight and work out what to do. It was beyond embarrassing to walk in and hear Mia bagging out not just Dominic and Susannah but Roxy as well. Skank? He’d never heard Mia talk about someone like that before.

  He’d got a lift back from the Harringtons’ with Roxy and had invited her in for a cup of tea, hoping that Mia would still be up. Maybe the two of them would be more relaxed and it would make things easier for Christmas lunch tomorrow. Mia making Roxy her enemy was doing his head in. According to Roxy, Susannah seems to want nothing to do with her either. Susannah avoids him as well but she isn’t his stepmother, so not such a big deal.

  When she realised that Ben and Roxy were there, Mia tried to pretend nothing had happened. Ollie just bailed and quit the call. Easy for her.

  Ben parks Roxy’s car in the ramparts parking area. He switches off the ignition and hands her the key. When she takes it from him and wraps her hand around his, he knows he’s in trouble. When she leans over and presses her lips to his, he has a sense of being cut loose from his life, like an astronaut floating helplessly in space. The soft warmth of her mouth on his, a faint smell of citrus perfume on her skin. They kiss as though both knew this moment was coming, it just needed to find its tipping point and over they go. She slips her hands inside his jacket and tugs at
his shirt. ‘Come up to my room,’ she whispers.

  He gets out of the car as if in a dream. He allows her to take his hand and lead him towards her hotel. The front door is locked at night and, as she fumbles in her handbag for the key, he feels a wave of nausea as though his gut is being compressed, his mouth instantly awash with saliva. He turns away and rushes down a side path until he finds a piece of garden where he heaves up the contents of his stomach. He leans his burning cheek against the wet stone wall and wipes his mouth on his sleeve.

  Roxy appears, walking down the path towards him. ‘Found it. Come on. Are you okay?’

  ‘Yeah, fine. Sorry. I don’t know what I’m doing,’ he says. ‘I need to go home. See you tomorrow.’

  He walks all the way home in the dark, a light rain falling, his jacket nowhere near warm enough for the damp cold of the night. He tries to think his normal rational ordered thoughts about what happened this evening but it’s all so tangled and upsetting that he wonders if he drank more than he realised. He must have been pissed to let his guard down like that. To compromise everything, absolutely everything, for someone he barely knows. One thing is certain, he’s not himself. He doesn’t even know who he’s become. How did he not know how difficult this whole thing would be? It seemed like such an unbelievable adventure. All their friends were so envious. He didn’t think it through and sees now that it’s absolutely doomed to failure.

  As he walks, it dawns on him that he’s done exactly what his mother did. She was unhappy and she found an escape route; led a double life. He remembers her expression that afternoon when she walked in the door, before she realised he was home. She looked flushed and alive, almost carefree, like a younger version of herself. That is not how he feels right now. He feels like shit. Like an idiot. He doesn’t know what he’s going to say to Mia. All he wants to do right now is get straight on his computer and book his ticket home. Make a run for it.

  Chapter Thirty-three

  As soon as Ben gets into bed, I can smell that woman on him. She wears a perfume that smells like lemon detergent. She must have been pretty close for it to rub off. I’ve never been here before, never had a moment’s mistrust of Ben. I don’t know what to do or what to say without making things worse. I can’t even work out if I want to know what has happened between them or pretend I don’t notice. Knowing could be worse than not knowing.

  I don’t speak and neither does he. I don’t sleep and neither does he. We both lie quietly, breathing and saying nothing. Sometime in the early hours of the morning I ask, ‘What’s happening?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ he says.

  ‘Are we finished?’

  There’s the longest silence and finally he says in a sad voice, ‘I don’t know.’

  That’s not Ben. Never has he doubted. I’m the doubter, the mercurial one. I’m the one who needs talking down off life’s ledges. I rely on his solidness, his commitment, his belief in us. Ben is the constant in my life.

  ‘Did you sleep with her?’ I ask the darkness.

  ‘No,’ he says.

  Ben wouldn’t lie but he might use a technicality.

  ‘I can’t talk to you while you smell of her.’

  ‘Who says I want to talk? It’s two in the morning. Go to sleep.’

  ‘Do you want to go home?’

  He thinks about this for a while and says, ‘It’s not what I thought it would be. It’s not working. And it’s not going to work.’

  ‘You haven’t given it a chance,’ I say, wide awake now.

  He gives a groan and half sits up, pulling his pillow up behind him. ‘Okay, we have to talk now, do we? Everything can’t be your way all the time, Mia. This is too hard, there’s nothing in it for me. I thought I’d be fine with it, but I’m not.’

  ‘And, if I want to stay?’

  ‘That’s up to you,’ he says. ‘You make your own decision.’

  ‘You don’t love me any more.’

  ‘Mia, it’s got nothing to do with that. That doesn’t change. It’s just stupid asking me that. Like blackmail: “if you love me you’ll do what I want”.’

  ‘Is there something going on with Roxy?’

  ‘She kissed me is all that happened.’

  ‘Did you want her to? Did you kiss her back?’

  ‘Look, it’s something that happened. I walked into it, but then I walked away and that’s what matters. And I’m not going back. I’m just completely lost. I don’t know where to turn.’

  In that moment I understand that it’s down to me to try to make this work. I want to tell him to turn to me, but I’m afraid that it won’t be enough to make him stay and I am silent.

  Chapter Thirty-four

  The boiler has done its work overnight, and the house is pleasantly warm. Susannah has set the kindling ready to light the living-room fire an hour before the guests arrive. The kitchen is clean and organised. The vegetables are prepared and hors d’oeuvres artfully arranged and soon the smell of roasting turkey will waft from the oven. She has surpassed herself.

  When the Tinkers arrive, their faces pinched with cold, both seem beset by some unnameable misery. They are usually so sweet and dewy, like the proverbial breath of fresh air cutting through the stagnant disappointment of the Harrington household. Not today. Both look wretched. Ben undertakes to coax Dominic out of his study. Mia follows Susannah into the kitchen with the pavlova she has semi-prepared for dessert.

  As soon as they are alone, Mia says quietly, ‘Everything has sold.’ She holds up her phone to show Susannah the statement. Susannah puts on her glasses and takes the phone, frowning at the screen. It’s far more than she anticipated and she feels a rush of self-recrimination. She hadn’t known herself capable of such crimes. She’s been taking bottles randomly but when Mia told her the going rate for the Romanée-Conti, she knew they were out on a very dangerous limb. She attempts to extinguish her guilt with a blast of furious indignation. With all their money problems, despite all her tears and entreaties, Dominic has not once suggested selling any of these wines worth thousands – tens of thousands!

  ‘Well, that’s it, it’s finished. Thank you so much,’ says Susannah, handing the phone back.

  ‘What are you two whispering about?’ Roxy says, walking in. ‘Like a couple of schoolgirls!’

  Mia says nothing and turns away, ignoring her.

  ‘Just planning lunch,’ Susannah says. Opening the fridge, she lifts out the tray of hors d’oeuvres and hands it to Roxy. ‘Perhaps you’d like to put these on the coffee table and remind Dominic to get everyone drinks.’

  When she’s sure Roxy is out of earshot, Susannah whispers, ‘I brought the wine up for today, so it could be weeks before he finds out. Hopefully, I’ll be safely out of the way by then.’

  She and Mia join the others in the living room. Dominic has emerged to play host and bask in compliments for the splendid fire, flower arrangements and festive decorations. They’re going to play happy families today. Susannah feels a bitter satisfaction that he has unwittingly financed these fripperies and shown no curiosity whatsoever as to how they were purchased. He takes for granted that they still have electricity.

  On the surface, this scene is exactly what Susannah had hoped for when the Tinkers first arrived. And yet the reality is impossibly distant from her imaginings. Apart from the undercurrent with Dominic, Roxy strikes a discordant note and emits a strange confidence. That same sense of entitlement that Dominic possesses. There’s a smugness about her, as though she’s nursing a secret.

  Champagne is poured, toasts made – to France! La bonne vie! Friends! Family! – accompanied by a local foie gras on triangles of toast. They had agreed not to exchange gifts, but Mia gives her a beautiful drawing of Lou and Chou rendered in pencil and ink that almost undoes Susannah in her highly strung state.

  ‘Enchanting,’ remarks Dominic. ‘Which is which?’

  ‘It’s very obvious. Lou’s little teardrop. Chou’s almond eyes. You’ve captured them so beautifully, Mia. Thank yo
u,’ says Susannah, giving her a kiss.

  ‘Yes, well, let’s not get bogged down in argument when these folks are barely in the door,’ says Dominic. ‘Sit down, sit down – more champagne!’

  If drama school taught Susannah anything, it was the nuances of body language. When Roxy sits down next to Ben, there’s an unmistakeable sense of intimacy. Mia sits apart. She looks pale and peaky and Ben is very subdued. Dear God, what has this ghastly woman done to divide this beautiful young couple?

  Susannah is gripped by a sense of premonition that something will go horribly wrong today. As soon as she deems it acceptable, she busies herself with lunch, ignoring Dominic’s protestations at her haste, insisting the turkey with its chestnut stuffing will dry out. From the kitchen, she can hear the distant sound of the telephone ringing in her room above. It almost never rings but it’s probably Becky. She will call her back later and firm up the arrangements for her arrival.

  They move into the dining room and take their places. The table does look divine with the silver candelabras – which took forever to polish – her best silver, the crystal wine glasses and the gold-and-white dinner set. Flowers and napkins are all in green and red.

  Dashing between the kitchen and dining room, Susannah notices that Roxy’s phone, left on a side table, gives a slight buzzing and the screen lights up. Then it stops and starts again. With a quick look over her shoulder, Susannah picks it up. It stops buzzing and shows six missed calls, all from Michelle. Roxy often refers to her mother as Michelle, in fact ‘Mum’ sounds a little forced on the odd occasion when she uses it.