‘Well, good for her. Doing something you enjoy is what matters most.’
‘Like you enjoy the furniture, yes?’
Steve laughed.
‘Like I enjoy the furniture. Some of it, anyway. And what about Lisa?’
‘This week, a model. Next week, maybe a film star. Later who knows? She a clever girl. We hope she go to university, like Gianni.’
‘They’re all a great credit to you and Luigi.’
Anna tapped her forehead with her fingertip.
‘The brains they get from Luigi,’ she said. ‘Now I must go. Maybe we talk later, yes?’ She still lingered a moment, however, to pat him on the shoulder. ‘Is good to see you, signor,’ she said, adding in my direction, ‘This a good man, my dear, with a warm heart. He do Luigi and me very, very good turn. We don’t forget, even if he makes out it was nothing.’
‘Some welcome,’ I said when she had hurried back to the kitchen. Steve was laughing, a little embarrassed.
‘I bribed her,’ he said.
‘It sounded pretty spontaneous to me.’
‘Well, we go back a long way.’
‘What was the good turn?’
‘It was nothing, really.’
‘Anna said you’d say that.’
‘Well, it’s true. They were pretty hard up when the business first started and I managed to get them a good price on some nice old pieces they wanted to get rid of. Apparently they’d been offered peanuts by other dealers. Their English was very poor in those days and I gathered that there were those who saw them as an easy mark. I just happened to recognise the quality and find the right buyer, that’s all. I was only doing my job. Now’ He was clearly trying to dismiss the subject. ‘Don’t you think it’s time we got down to the serious business of the evening? Have a look at the menu. It’s on the blackboard on that far wall.’
It was that kind of place. Checquered cloths on the tables, candles in Chianti bottles. Nothing fancy, but there was undoubtedly a wonderfully warm atmosphere, which clearly made Luigi’s restaurant popular in the neighbourhood, for by this time it was full and would-be diners who had neglected to book were being turned away. We made our choice, both of food and wine, and Luigi himself took our order.
‘I guess he or Anna wouldn’t know what had become of Caroline?’ I said thoughtfully when he had gone.
‘Well, we can ask him, but I doubt it very much.’
His doubts were confirmed when, a moment later, Luigi brought over our wine and two glasses. No, he said. He had no idea what had happened to Jim’s girlfriend. He couldn’t even remember the young lady clearly, though he did recall that one had come several times with Jim.
‘It was a long time ago,’ Steve reminded me when he had left us.
‘I guess so. Tell me more about her.’
He took a thoughtful sip of his wine.
‘I’ve told you what she looked like, the kind of girl she was. I don’t quite know what else to say. There’s no doubt that she was something special. I used to tell Jim he was lucky that I hadn’t met her first — not that I kidded myself it would have made any difference if I had! She didn’t have eyes for anyone but Jim, and as for him well, he was just crazy about her. They were great together.’
‘Where did they meet?’
‘At someone’s house.’
‘Whose house, Steve?’
He chewed at his lip for a moment, then shook his head, defeated.
‘If I ever knew I’ve forgotten. But I think -’
He paused and I waited, hanging on his words.
‘What do you think, Steve?’
‘Now I think of it, I believe it was somewhere on the river. Henley, or Marlow somewhere like that. I remember hearing about a boat that Jim nearly capsized. It was a joke between them, that Jim came close to drowning her before they’d been properly introduced. They’re pretty grand houses in that neck of the woods so I guess it must have been someone with plenty of loot, someone out of our usual class. Jim knew people that I didn’t, of course. Various Americans, people connected with the art world, and so on.’
‘You must have known where Caroline worked.’
‘Yes, of course. She was PA to the managing director of a property development company in the City. Greenway Development, it was called. I don’t know that I ever heard the boss’s name.’
‘Might he have lived in any of these places you mentioned?’
‘I suppose he might have done. Now I come to think of it. I believe Caroline did socialise with him a bit — his wife, anyway. Jim got a bit agitated about it towards the end.’
‘Why?’
‘She was demanding. Wanting Caroline go to here and there with her. Oh, I don’t suppose it was a big issue between them just that Jim mentioned it once when we were having a beer together. He said that this woman can’t remember her name was becoming a pain.’
I took out a notebook.
‘What was the name again? Greenway Development?’ I wrote it down, but as I glanced up at him I saw that he was looking at me with a dubious expression on his face.
‘It’s an awful long time ago, Holly. Don’t get your hopes up. People forget, move, retire — die, even.’
‘So that horrible guy in Lovells said. He remembered Jim, though, even if he wasn’t any help.’
‘Higginson?’ I’d already mentioned my encounter with him to Steve, and to my far from flattering description of the man he had instantly added some acid, highly amusing comments on his own account.
‘Higginson,’ I confirmed. ‘I could have killed him! Whatever low opinion he had of Jim, he could surely have kept his feelings to himself in my presence. He was barely polite.’
‘To say the two of them didn’t get on is the understatement of the year. Jim couldn’t stand the man. Of course, being in his department, he had a lot more to do with him than I did.’
‘He seemed to imply that Jim’s social life interfered with his work. Yours, too.’
‘That simply wasn’t true, not for either of us. Jim loved his job.’ He stopped as if something had just occurred to him. ‘Actually, the boot was on the other foot. Jim complained sometimes that Higginson was less than meticulous.’
‘In what way?’
Steve took another sip of his wine as if thinking his answer over carefully.
‘I don’t want to make unwarranted accusations,’ he said. ‘There have always been forgeries in the art business, and mistakes happen in the best-regulated companies. A place like Lovells has to be on the lookout all the time; its reputation is on the line at every sale, but even experts can be fooled and it’s still possible for the odd fake to get through the net. I remember there was one occasion when someone brought in an alleged He hesitated. ‘Monet, I think it was. No I remember now, it was a Corot. Higginson authenticated it, but Jim didn’t agree and, being Jim, he told him so.’
I laughed at that.
‘Yeah Higginson said he was forthright.’
‘I think some pretty forthright opinions were exchanged on both sides that day.’
Conversation was interrupted as our food was served, but was resumed after a suitable pause for appreciation of the delicious aroma and taste. Maybe the salad wasn’t the most imaginative in the world, but Anna sure could cook pasta.
‘Jim loved this place,’ Steve said. ‘It hasn’t changed since the days when we saved up our pennies for an occasional splurge.’
Saved up? Jim? To come here?
I must have looked as surprised as I felt.
‘Lovells are notoriously mean,’ he explained, seeing my expression. ‘The prestige of working there is supposed to compensate for low salaries, and we were pretty hard up in those days.’ He gave a short laugh. ‘So what else is new?’
‘Is business bad?’
‘Comme ci, comme ça.’ He tipped his hand this way and that. ‘It’s not so bad as it was - in fact, things seem to have been picking up quite nicely lately. It’s a damned shame I didn’t have more capital to stock
up a few years ago, before everyone began to feel a bit more affluent. People were keen to sell off the family treasures in those days. Now everyone’s more inclined to buy than to sell.’
‘But that’s good, surely?’
‘Yes, of course, up to a point — just so long as you have the stuff to sell. And of course, to acquire stock one needs capital...’ His voice trailed away and he was silent for a moment.
I was still thinking about Jim, realising with astonishment that while we were living in luxury in the States, he’d had a tough time making ends meet. As far as I knew, he’d never mentioned it or asked for anything. Well, good for him — but it made me madder than ever about the paltry thousand dollars that Mom had seen fit to send to Caroline.
‘A penny for them,’ Steve said.
I hesitated, then told him about my mother’s niggardly response to Caroline’s letter. The easy relationship that had sprung up between us encouraged me to speak frankly. My mother, much as I loved her, had always possessed the ability to make me more angry than any other living soul, and I was conscious, suddenly, of saying more than I should. Conscious, you could say, of revealing myself as the worst kind of daughter.
‘I find it awfully hard to make excuses for such a total lack of generosity,’ I said hastily, by way of explanation of what seemed like terrible disloyalty to my recently dead single parent.
Steve shrugged tolerantly.
‘Well, a thousand dollars is a thousand dollars,’ he said. ‘Not a sum to be sneezed at. Maybe it wasn’t such a good time for her.’
‘She could spend twice that in a month on clothes and visits to the beauty parlour. If she’d sent Caroline ten times that amount she wouldn’t have noticed the difference. Even better, she could have told her to come to the States. Welcomed her into the family.’
I’d been looking down as I spoke, feeling — in spite of my undoubted justification — somewhat ashamed of my disloyalty to my own mother. His silence seemed to go on for quite a while, and when I glanced up I saw he was looking at me with an expression on his face that I couldn’t interpret. There was a blankness about it, a sort of stillness. He looked away, not meeting my eyes.
‘Well,’ he said almost absently. ‘What’s done is done.’
I sensed a change of mood, a kind of withdrawal of warmth. There was a distinct feeling of disappointment. Had he expected better of me? Had I failed some test? Maybe I had sounded disloyal and shrill and quick to condemn. I’ve blown it, I thought drearily. Just when I thought that maybe, just maybe, Steve Maitland might supply the answer to all the questions I’ve ever asked myself.
It was an atmosphere hard to define, for we continued to talk through pasta and dessert and coffee, finding no shortage of topics to discuss, from American politics to the current bestseller list. Among other things, Steve told me about places I ought to visit in London, plays to see, others to miss.
‘Not that I go to the West End a lot,’ he said, having given me a rundown on what was playing at the National Theatre. ‘It’s too damned expensive these days — but there are often tryouts in Richmond and I try to catch those. You really ought to see the new Tom Stoppard while you’re here, though. It had wonderful reviews.’
I said something non-committal, more aware of the impersonal tone of his voice than what he was saying. All the spontaneity seemed to have been dissipated, all that warm feeling of familiarity that had wrapped us round from the moment of our meeting. It wasn’t that Steve had suddenly become less charming or less polite — far from it. He was too polite, too considerate, as if I were a maiden aunt he was entertaining out of duty, or a busload of tourists he was paid to entertain. Without doubt, a mysterious blight had fallen on the evening, and I felt certain I was to blame for it.
Luigi offered us brandy on the house, but Steve declined it because he was driving. I felt bound, therefore, to do the same, though I wouldn’t have minded another drink, simply because my spirits had dipped, if not to zero, then not far above it.
He paid the bill, looked at his watch, smiled his charming smile.
‘Well, I don’t suppose you’ll want a late night,’ he said. ‘And I have an early start tomorrow.’
Oh, pul-lease, I thought. Don’t let me keep you out of your beddy-byes one more minute than necessary.
‘Let’s get going, then,’ I said, as if going or staying was all one to me. The heart that had leapt with joy at the sight of him not three hours ago lay heavy in my breast. I didn’t need to be an expert in extrasensory perception to get the message that he’d gone off me in a big way. Well, his loss, I told myself as I stalked out of the restaurant ahead of him.
As if in tune with my mood, it was raining when we left the restaurant. The street was wet and shiny and a car accelerating away from the sidewalk contrived to spray my new black trousers with the contents of a puddle. Steve expressed annoyance on my behalf, but coolly. To me the incident seemed quite appropriate, for there were no sparks flying between us now.
As we drove away he talked of some Georgian silver he was going to see the following day, out of London in some town I’d never heard of. I listened to him in a state of panic, suddenly desperate that I should be given another chance. The journey was passing rapidly. Wasn’t he going to say anything about helping me to find Caroline, or seeing me again? I recognised a street quite near to the hotel and panic turned to desperation.
‘About Caroline — what do you suggest I do now?’ I burst out, interrupting a prolonged silence.
‘Well - ’ He looked a little surprised. ‘You could check the birth certificates at St Catherine’s House for — when? January 1991? At least you’d know if Caroline had a boy or a girl.’
‘That’s true.’ It would be good to know, even if it took me no nearer finding her. ‘I guess the girl at the hotel can tell me how to get to wherever it is.’
‘Then I think in your place I’d put ads in the personal columns of all the quality newspapers. The girl will give you the name of them, too. Then there’s Greenway Development, where she used to work. You can find their number in the phone book.’
‘Sure.’ I lifted my chin and stared out at lighted shop fronts shimmering through the rain. I was damned if I would give any indication of needing his help. I wasn’t that desperate! Why, I’d turned down better, richer, more fascinating men than Steve Maitland a million times. Who the hell did he think he was? Then a thought struck me and my attempt at self-sufficiency fell by the wayside. ‘The aunt!’ I cried eagerly, turning towards him. ‘I completely forgot the aunt! Caroline mentioned her in the letter. She was her only relation, she said, and had always been good to her. You must surely have met her.’
‘Yes — yes, I did, just once.’ It was clear that he had forgotten her, too. ‘She came over at Christmas to Jim and Caroline’s flat in Chiswick.’
‘From where, Steve? Think!’ But he shook his head, unable to tell me.
‘Near enough to come for the day. That’s all I can tell you.’
‘Maybe she was the one who had the house by the river?’
‘I suppose it’s possible — but no, on second thoughts, I don’t think so. I got the distinct impression that this was the first time she’d met Jim.’
‘You’ve got a lousy memory,’ I said bitterly.
‘Haven’t I just?’ He spoke lightly, as if this whole issue had somehow ceased to concern him. ‘But then I didn’t know it would be put to such a test, did I? As far as I recall, she was a scholarly kind of woman — a teacher, that was it! I remember her talking about it. She was — oh, in her late fifties, I suppose. She wore an interesting old ring,’ he added, inconsequentially. ‘Sorry, but that’s the sort of thing that sticks in my memory. I remember her saying that it was left to her by her French grandmother. I told her that if she ever fell on hard times, it would probably be worth a tidy sum. She said she’d never sell it — that it would be Caroline’s one day.’
We had drawn up at the hotel by this time and still he had said nothing
about seeing me again. I thanked him for a pleasant evening — outwardly polite, still controlled — but to my annoyance the panic was back and I didn’t want to part like this.
‘About the theatre,’ I began. ‘The play you mentioned. Have you seen it? I mean, I’d love to, and I’d welcome a chance to return the hospitality.’
‘A nice thought, but I think you’ll find they’re booked up.’
‘I could try.’
‘By all means.’
The street lights cast a strange-looking light on us, but I could see quite clearly that he had that polite, impersonal smile on his face again: and in that moment I felt, suddenly, totally in sympathy with my mother and her feelings regarding the British. He was cold and heartless and unfeeling and I could cheerfully have beaten him over the head had some suitable weapon been handy.
I turned and fumbled at the door handle, but before I had worked out the way to operate its archaic mechanism, he had gotten out of the car and come round to open it for me. To my jaundiced eyes it seemed more like a desire to get rid of me rather than common politeness. Still, he paused at the foot of the hotel steps and in the light of the lamps that stood on the gateposts I saw him looking at me. He wasn’t smiling any more. Maybe it was just a trick of the light, but it seemed to me now that he had an expression of real sadness on his face. What was going on? I just couldn’t figure out this guy at all.
‘It really has been good to meet you,’ he said softly. ‘Jim would have been so proud of you. You are a very lovely lady. Holly Crozier.’
‘Well, thanks. And thanks again for a great evening.’ I knew my manners, after all. It was another thing Mom had taught me.
Neither of us moved. It was as if we were both suspended in a moment of time, not breathing, not conscious of the thin rain that still drizzled down, and for one crazy moment I thought he was going to kiss me. He didn’t, though. He just gave a tight kind of smile and raised his hand to touch me on the cheek.
‘Take care,’ he said. Casual once more, he stepped back, lifted his hand in a kind of half-salute, and was gone.
I stood for a moment watching the back of his disreputable wagon as it disappeared down the street, then pulled myself together, afraid that that he would see me through the rearview mirror positively radiating wistfulness. Where the hell had it all gone so wrong?
The Caroline Quest Page 5
