What Women Want

by Fanny Blake

  A huge weight seemed to be crushing Bea’s chest. She sat upright and took several deep breaths as she absorbed everything she had just heard. Although she had been suspicious of Oliver, she had never imagined his background would contain anything like this. The one thing of which she was certain was that she must not go rushing to Ellen on the basis of this conversation alone. She remembered what Suzanne had said: ‘If he’s the same person . . .’ There was still a chance that he might not be. She had to talk to someone. She picked up her mobile. Ten o’clock.

  Kate had texted back earlier to say she would be too exhausted after a day on call to come over but Bea could ring her any time before ten. So, too late. In any case, she wasn’t sure she really wanted to share this with Kate just yet. She had a feeling that Kate would blame her for nosing around where she shouldn’t. Without this conversation, they could all have carried on as before. There was no chance of that happening now. But she had to talk to someone she could trust and rely on for sound objective advice.

  She flicked open her phone, found Mark’s number and dialled.

  Chapter 27

  Despite the cold, five or six people holding glasses of wine stood on the pavement outside the gallery. Wrapped in overcoats and scarves, they were wreathed by a pall of cigarette smoke. Inside, there was still a throng. Standing on the other side of the street, Kate was relieved to see things were still going strong, even though it was past eight o’clock. She had meant to get there much earlier but just as she was about to leave work she’d been called out on a home visit.

  Only thirty minutes earlier, she had been a fifteen-minute drive away in a large, run-down estate, standing in a small bedroom: no paintings, no books, one wardrobe with a lock on the door, a few knick-knacks, clothes draped everywhere and a mirror on top of a chest of drawers that was missing several handles. A faint smell of urine hung in the air, almost masked by the distinctive, unmistakable smell of death. In the centre of the room was an old double bed in which Mrs Thomson lay, quite obviously dead. At its foot, her two middle-aged daughters were weeping. Kate had offered them awkward condolences. It was hard to know what to say in the circumstances. Her job was to give the body a full external examination but, with the audience, it seemed hideously inappropriate. She decided to get by with the bare minimum. She got out the stethoscope and torch from her bag, aware that to reach the body, she was going to have to crawl over the bed.

  Now, across the road from the gallery, watching the party, she could still feel the twang of the springs as she had knelt on the mattress, aware of its sag taking her towards the middle. She had shone the torch into Mrs Thomson’s sightless grey eyes and checked for a heartbeat. Nothing. Just the sound of her daughters’ sobbing as they watched her poke and prod their dead mother. At the age of ninety-five, the old woman had simply faded away. Nothing untoward had happened. Kate hurried to do her bit so that the body could be removed, then left the flat with relief and the dull sadness that she always felt after the death of any patient. She would have preferred to go straight home to take stock alone, but she knew how much it meant to Ellen when they all showed up at her private views. She thought she saw Paul through the window, beside Ellen’s desk, so, bracing herself, she crossed the road.

  Inside the gallery it was hot and noisy. She crossed towards her husband just as he began to make his way into the back room, not having noticed her arrival. She followed him, glancing at the paintings she passed. At every private view she was impressed by Ellen’s ability to find such varied but talented artists. She seemed to have a real eye for what people wanted. Kate stopped short by a wall of vibrant still-lifes, their labels already peppered with red dots. She was pleased for Ellen, knowing how personally she took the success of her exhibitions. She felt a tap on her shoulder. Bea was standing right behind her, suited and booted from the office, bold electric blue swing jacket over a calf-length black skirt and boots.

  ‘I’ve been trying to get hold of you.’ She was obviously bursting with whatever it was she had to say.

  Kate’s heart sank. If only she hadn’t called Bea after she’d seen Oliver with that woman. Bea was like a terrier when she got wind of something and wouldn’t let this go until she’d shaken the life out of it. Just like the time when she’d suspected Colin of having an affair. Kate still remembered her own shock at Bea’s tales of checking Colin’s mobile and emails, then going through his pockets and briefcase until she eventually found the clichéd tell-tale evidence: the Bath hotel receipt. It was almost as if Colin had wanted her to find it and take on the responsibility of unravelling their marriage for him. He must have known that once Bea suspected something she wouldn’t let it rest until she’d got a result. But to Kate that kind of detective work was an invasion of privacy. It was wrong. If Bea had been burrowing into Oliver’s affairs in the same sort of way, she didn’t want to know. She made a snap decision.

  ‘Not now, Bea. I’ve had a long day and I’m bushed. Let me get a drink first and look at the paintings. Please.’

  ‘But we must talk about Oliver. So if not now, when?’

  ‘Why don’t you just let it rest?’

  Bea stared at her, obviously taken aback by her unexpected vehemence. ‘But I thought . . .’

  ‘Whatever you thought, you thought wrong. I really don’t want to be part of it. I’ve got enough on my plate right now.’

  The hurt she saw in Bea’s face made her instantly regret her rebuff. But too late. She’d said what she felt and couldn’t take it back. ‘Bea, I’m sorry . . .’

  ‘Well, I’m sorry too. I thought we both had Ellen’s interests at heart. I was obviously wrong.’ Bea turned and headed to the drinks table where she refilled her glass before heading to the front of the gallery.

  An almost unbearable weariness settled over Kate. After a day of patients and colleagues all wanting a little piece of her, she simply didn’t have enough left for Bea. She poured herself some tonic water and scouted the room for Paul, finding him in a corner studying one of the abstracts. That new haircut had taken years off him, as had losing his job. Seeing him so relaxed made her realise how stressed he must have been in the last months. Habit and the everyday demands of life made it easy to miss such changes. She went up behind him and slipped her free arm around his waist.

  ‘Darling! You are here. I was beginning to think you weren’t coming.’ He pecked her cheek. ‘Aren’t those still-lifes something? Though I’m not so sure about this. What the hell’s it meant to be?’

  She smiled. His predictability was endearing. He only ever appreciated the figurative artists Ellen found.

  ‘Doesn’t the title help?’

  ‘Landscape number three? Nope. Looks like random brushstrokes to me.’

  ‘I don’t think it matters if you don’t know exactly what it is. It’s your response that counts.’

  ‘What – total bewilderment? That can’t be right.’

  ‘In that case, if you’ve had enough, I’m ready to go home.’

  ‘But you’ve only just got here.’

  ‘I know, but I’m dead on my feet. We can say goodbye to Ellen on the way out. She won’t have noticed I’ve only been here a few minutes.’

  As they moved together towards the front of the gallery, they heard Ellen’s raised voice. ‘How dare you?’ Then a hissed ‘I think you should go. Now.’ They found Oliver, Ellen and Bea standing together in the short passage between rooms. Ellen was obviously battling to control herself, not wanting to make a scene in front of her customers; Oliver stood expressionless, silent; Bea’s face was flushed as if she was angry and upset. One or two heads had turned to see what was going on. The situation clearly needed to be defused before the evening was spoiled.

  Taking matters into her own hands, Kate slipped her arm through Bea’s, ignoring her attempt to shake it off. ‘Time to go, Bea. You can sort out whatever this is another time.’

  ‘Bea’s said what she has to say. There won’t be another time,’ said Ellen, slipping her arm th
rough Oliver’s.

  ‘You can’t mean that,’ said Bea, disbelieving.

  ‘I do. Just go. Please.’

  Oliver nodded in Ellen’s support.

  ‘Fine. I can manage on my own, thanks.’ Bea shook off Kate’s grip and left the gallery.

  ‘What on earth’s happened?’

  Ellen was close to tears and Oliver still looked rattled, but Kate’s question seemed to focus him. ‘Nothing. Bea’s had one drink too many, that’s all.’

  ‘How dare she?’ Ellen said under her breath. ‘My oldest friend.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter. There’s nothing I wouldn’t have told you if you’d asked. You know that.’ Oliver’s self-assurance was back. ‘Forget it. She’ll see sense in the morning. Let’s enjoy the rest of the party.’

  ‘Oh, my God! Jed! Yes, we must.’ The mention of Jed’s name seemed to jog Ellen back to the present. Apparently shrugging off whatever had been said and forcing a smile, she was the owner of the gallery once more.

  Paul said their goodbyes but Kate hung back as he left. She couldn’t leave Ellen without a word. ‘Will you be OK?’

  ‘Don’t worry, I’ll be fine. I thought Bea was above something like this.’

  ‘But what’s she done? Tell me quickly.’

  ‘In her wisdom, she’s decided to poke about in Oliver’s past. I don’t know what she thinks she’s found out and I don’t want to know. Just the fact that she would do such a thing behind my back is enough.’

  ‘I’m sure she did it for you.’

  ‘Did you know about this?’ Ellen scrutinised Kate, making her feel awkward. ‘Actually, you know what? Don’t bother answering. I can see that you did.’

  ‘She did say she was going to do something but I didn’t think—’

  ‘To stop her? I suppose that would have been too much to ask. Call yourselves friends? Oh, forget it.’ She cut across Kate’s stammered attempt to explain. ‘I’m going back.’ She merged into the party again where Kate saw her approach a grey-bearded man to introduce him to a couple of besuited clients who appeared to be discussing one of the larger abstracts. If it weren’t for the heightened colour in Ellen’s cheeks, no one would have guessed that anything was wrong.

  Somehow Bea had managed to lob a bomb at their friendship, and simultaneously cemented further the relationship between Ellen and Oliver. Long experience told Kate that there was no point in trying to piece things back together while Ellen was in this mood. Things would no doubt look very different to all of them in the morning. As she reached the door, she turned and caught sight of Oliver. He was standing alone by the big abstract behind Ellen’s desk, watching her. As he caught Kate’s eye, he inclined his head, his mouth in a taut half-smile. But his gaze was icy.

  *

  The cold night air hit Bea like a smack in the face. She strode down the street, barely aware of where she was heading until she stopped to take her bearings. At once, she was aware of the adrenalin rushing through her body. Her legs felt shaky and her heart was still pounding as the red fog of rage began to lift. Ellen’s expression when she realised what Bea had been doing behind her back was imprinted on her memory. She had only seen her look like that once before, when a school friend’s mother had accused Emma of lying. Ellen protected those closest to her with a formidable ferocity. Once crossed, she didn’t forget or forgive.

  Ellen’s belief that Bea had betrayed their friendship had brought the shutters crashing down between them. She didn’t understand that Bea had been acting out of concern for her, and now it would be twice as hard to persuade her. Bea cursed her big mouth. Adele had always warned her to think before she spoke: sage advice that she’d failed to follow yet again. As she began to walk, more slowly now, she rewound the evening and began to play it back to herself. How pleased she had been to see Kate. Through the day, she had texted, emailed and left a message on her voice-mail, but typically Kate had been too busy to reply. Not that she wouldn’t have wanted to but Bea knew those sessions on call could be interminable. Mark’s advice had been to talk everything through with Kate. He was as shocked as Bea had been by what she had unearthed but agreed that now she had the knowledge she couldn’t bury it – for Ellen’s sake – but he had also suggested she take things slowly. She had to be absolutely certain that the facts were incontrovertible. And, she cursed herself again, that was exactly what she had failed to do.

  Trying to tell Kate what she knew at the end of a working day and at the private view had been unbelievably stupid. Nonetheless her friend’s unexpected rebuff had hurt badly. That and two glasses of wine on an empty stomach had been enough to tip Bea into that dangerous zone between sobriety and recklessness. So when Oliver had approached her, in dark jeans and pink cashmere sweater, a smug glow emanating from him, her hackles had instantly risen.

  ‘Enjoying yourself?’ His opening remark had been innocuous enough.

  ‘Mmm. Thanks.’

  ‘Ellen’s got a wonderful eye, hasn’t she? I’m so proud of her. She’s worked so hard on this.’

  ‘As hard as Suzanne used to, I expect.’ Why had she said that?

  Standing in the street now, she could see that her response had popped out for all the wrong reasons. His patronising attitude towards Ellen had irritated her beyond belief. She didn’t need him to point out aspects of her friend she had known for years as if he was the first to spot them. Was that because she was as jealous as the others joked she was? At last the answer was clear to her. Actually, no. As she’d explained to Adele, she wanted a man, yes, but she didn’t want one who would take over her life. The first months after Colin’s departure had been hard, but now she was used to having control of the TV remote, of having the food she wanted in the kitchen, of not having to eat at night if she didn’t want to or of just having a couple of well-chosen chocolates and a glass of wine or two, of making her own decisions. Having a man in her life was great but only as long as she could keep a bolt-hole for herself.

  She had intended to do as Mark advised and say nothing to anyone until she had cast-iron evidence but she hadn’t been able to hold back, and now she knew the two Oliver Shepherds were one and the same person. During the brief second in which Oliver’s mask slipped, she had seen all she needed to see.

  ‘Suzanne?’ He cleared his throat. ‘I’m sorry, you’ve lost me.’

  ‘You know exactly who I’m talking about,’ Bea said, louder than she meant to. ‘I could see it in your face.’

  ‘I don’t know who you’ve been talking to but I advise you to stay well out of my affairs.’

  She saw him click one nail against another. ‘We’re not going to talk about this now, but be very clear, I’m not going to let you hurt Ellen.’

  ‘I don’t know what you think you’ve found out but I’ve got absolutely nothing to hide.’

  ‘You can bluff as much as you like but I know about the gallery in France and I will tell her.’

  He was about to say something, his eyes narrowed with dislike, when Ellen materialised at his elbow. ‘Is everything all right?’ She had only to take one look at both of them to know that it was anything but. ‘What’s going on?’

  ‘Nothing to worry about, darling.’ Oliver slipped a proprietorial arm around her and kissed her forehead. ‘Bea seems to have been digging about in my past on your behalf.’

  ‘You’ve been doing what?’ Ellen turned to Bea, all warmth gone from her expression.

  ‘I made a couple of phone calls,’ Bea had blurted out. ‘I found out one or two things about Oliver that I think you should know.’

  ‘How dare you?’ Ellen’s voice had trembled and even though she was making a huge effort to control herself, her anger was obvious. She had taken Oliver’s hand and looked up at him, then at Bea. At that moment, Bea had known she had lost her. ‘I think you’d better go. Now.’

  Then, to make things worse (if that were possible), Kate and Paul had chosen to appear. With neither friend on her side, her only course of action had been to beat a retr
eat. But what was she to do now?

  She started walking slowly towards home, letting the cold night air clear her head, thankful she’d chosen her flat boots that morning. She berated herself for knocking back that second glass of wine. Without it, she’d probably have kept her mouth shut. But there was no point in dwelling on what might have been. Despite being wounded by Ellen and Kate’s rejection, she would find a way to put things right. Her long-time friendship with Ellen and what she knew about Oliver meant that she couldn’t possibly walk away.

  She passed a parade of shops where a small branch of the Co-op was still open. Having picked up half a dozen eggs, some mushrooms and new potatoes for Ben’s and her supper, plus milk for the morning, she skirted a group of hoodies lurking near the entrance with their beer cans and fags. Turning right, she passed a new police sign asking for witnesses to a fatal incident that had occurred three nights earlier. She quickened her step, tightening her grip on her bag, aware that the short cut she was taking through the estate was not entirely well advised. The sounds of reggae and rock floated from a couple of dimly lit windows. Knots of disaffected youth hung about on corners, shouting and smoking, but to her relief, none of them appeared to notice her. For once, she thanked the Lord for the anonymity bestowed by middle age.

  She emerged onto the main road feeling calmer. She took her mobile out of her pocket to call Mark. To her annoyance, she saw that the battery was almost dead. As she walked on, she thought about how considerate and sensible he’d been when she’d regaled him with Suzanne’s story. What would he say to her now? He’d lean back in his chair, rub his right cheekbone with his fingertips as he thought, close his eyes and exhale loudly. Then he’d talk slowly as if weighing every word. His advice would surely be what it had been all along: she must obtain her evidence and she must talk to Kate. Of course.

  Hastening down her street, she was relieved to see the light in their hallway, like a beacon welcoming her home. Ben was back from football practice. She made omelettes and chatted, catching up with as much of his day as he’d allow. Then she excused herself to go upstairs where she could talk to Kate uninterrupted.