The organ was playing, lovely, lovely Handel and Bach, and the sun was streaming in and it all seemed rather joyful and Elizabeth wondered wildly, briefly, where she was and what she was doing there. And then she stiffened, for the church fell silent, and the rich voice of the vicar rang out into it, saying, “I am the Way, the Truth and the Life…” and Annabel was sobbing quietly, and huge tears were rolling down Tilly’s face as the organ broke into her choice for her father, “Lord of All Hopefulness.”
Annabel was reading first, the twenty-third Psalm, and she couldn’t imagine how she could possibly get through one line of it, let alone twenty. She felt her mother nudge her gently, and whisper, “Good luck, darling,” and she walked to the lectern and looked at them all and took a deep breath and began, heard her voice shake, stopped, thought she couldn’t go on, and then saw Florian smile very briefly and sweetly at her, and that got her through, even though her voice continued to shake at times and when she finally reached, “And I will dwell in the house of the Lord for ever,” she heard someone begin to cry very quietly and realised it was her, and she went back to her mother’s side, tears flooding now but no longer important, because she had done what she had to do for both her and for her father.
Catherine had continued to hold her children’s hands throughout the service. She felt a great need for human contact, for reality in this nightmare that made no sense at all. She recognised that she had—like so many women, she felt sure—been half in love with Simon, and it wasn’t just because of his kindness to her, or even because of his charm and his gift for making her feel important. He had been that rare thing, a joy to know; he had made everything sweeter, funnier, warmer just by being there.
His children; those poor children. She, more than anyone, knew what it meant to children to lose their father. These were older than hers, but still so vulnerable…She saw Toby, dressed in the absurdly idiosyncratic uniform of Eton College, mount the lectern and read with extraordinary maturity the very piece she had chosen for Frederick’s funeral, Canon Henry Scott-Holland’s lovely “Death Is Nothing at All,” and sat listening to this light, adolescent voice telling them what his father would have wished them to think, had he had any choice in the matter: “I have only slipped away into the next room…Call me by my old familiar name…”
“Oh dear,” she whispered, trying not to cry for she felt dreadfully and freshly alone: and then realised that Nigel was looking at her over the heads of her children, looking at her with great concern, and then he half smiled at her, and she smiled back, and suddenly felt a little better.
Toby had finished reading, and suddenly he felt the need to say something else, and he took a deep breath and said, “I expect many of you will be wondering why I’m wearing my school uniform in the middle of the holidays.” He even at this point managed a smile. “My father was incredibly proud that I got into Eton, and incredibly proud that I was there. I think today is about doing what he’d like, and I thought he’d like me to be wearing these ridiculous clothes.”
Everyone smiled; there was even a light wave of laughter. And then Toby went and said, “Budge up” to Tilly, and sat down very quiet and still, his head bowed, and then, as the organ rose again, he reached across Tilly for his mother’s hand and held it as if he would never let it go again. And when Tilly got up to read, he moved closer still to Elizabeth and he looked up at her and smiled and then, big boy that he was, put his head on her shoulder and stayed there, unmoving, for a long time.
Tilly read beautifully, her voice calm and confident. “This is a poem my father and I both loved, it’s by Gerard Manley Hopkins and it’s called ‘Heaven-Haven.’”
Flora sat listening to her, thinking of her friendship with Simon, the friendship that had become so important to her, and thought too, that he had exactly arrived “Where no storms come, Where the green swell is in the havens dumb, And out of the swing of the sea,” and in spite of her sadness, of the tears and sorrow in the church, the sad droop of Elizabeth’s lovely head, of Annabel’s fresh tears, she felt they were all briefly comforted.
Just the same she felt very much afraid that, in spite of his brave words, his refusal to accept defeat, it was likely that in the end it had all become unbearable, though she would have died rather than admit it.
They all stood now to sing the last hymn, “Jerusalem,” and as the organ drenched the church in wonderful, inspirational sound, Debbie felt she would be crying forever. It wasn’t just Simon she had lost, her friend and guide through nearly two years now, it was the previous years, the innocent happy-family years, that had ended as she had met him. Just now she felt absolutely lost and afraid; with no idea what might happen to her.
And then, as the choir sang “God Be in My Head,” the coffin was borne from the church, followed by the family and closest friends, bound for the crematorium and the fearsome, final goodbye.
Joel, surprised at his misery, had been sitting at the back of the church, carefully far from Debbie and her family, waiting for it to be all right to leave. And then, as if it was the most natural thing in the world, the organ stopped playing Bach and moved into Simon’s favourite song—“Your Song,” by Elton John. Joel would have expected it to sound inappropriate, cheap even, but it seemed to suit that moment of that day to an extraordinary degree. People were eased into smiling, moving, greeting one another, saying how lovely it had been, the Simon they had all known brought in some odd way back into their midst.
His desire to escape quite gone, Joel sat there, listening, not thinking very much at all; and then he stood up, turned to his left—and found himself staring straight into Debbie’s large brown eyes. And then he was struck by a great blow of emotion, emotion for her. He wasn’t quite sure what it was even, but love, tenderness, concern, they were all there, and he wanted to tell her, to show her, to make sure she knew.
And Debbie, staring back at him, felt it too, and acknowledged it; and she knew quite clearly, they both did, she and Joel, that this was a new and important thing between them, only just beginning, and it had only a little to do with what had happened before.
The party, for such it became—and to which Debbie went, but Joel did not—was surprisingly splendid, held in the garden of the house. There was champagne, there was sunshine, there was a jazz band, people talked and laughed and regaled one another with stories about Simon, and the children felt briefly better, released from the formality of the morning and the horror of seeing their father’s coffin slide through the curtains in the crematorium chapel.
Only Elizabeth remained absolutely unhappy through it all; and even she, as the shadows crept into the garden and lengthened, felt at the very least a satisfaction that she had done her best and that Simon would have been pleased.
Chapter 40
AUGUST 1990
Morag Dunbar was a pretty woman, blond and blue-eyed, in her mid-forties, Debbie thought, dressed exactly as she would have expected in a pale-blue twinset, tweed skirt, and navy leather loafers.
“I can’t tell you,” she said, “how thrilled I am that you and your husband are going to join us. And your delightful family, of course. Alexander seems to like what he’s seen of the school and I can tell you the school will certainly like him. A cricketer! We’re rather short of them. Now for the girls, I’d suggest St. Margaret’s, in Calderigg; it’s only about ten miles away, a delightful school, quite academic, and very caring. I know the head very well and—”
Debbie shot a beseeching glance at Richard. To her immense relief, he responded. He really was trying; she had to give him that.
“Well, the thing is, Morag, Debbie has her job in London, and needs to give them proper notice, and we don’t want to rush the decision about the girls’ school.”
“Oh dear.” Morag’s face was sterner suddenly. “I thought you had made your minds up. That is certainly what you led me to believe.”
“I’ve made my mind up,” said Richard, smiling slightly nervously, “and indeed we will be coming,
but Debbie and the children possibly not until next term. I can do a term here solo, as it were, and then—”
“That won’t be nearly as satisfactory,” said Morag. “I need a wife who can provide the pastoral care the children need: that would be very much your role, Mrs. Fielding—”
“Debbie,” said Debbie politely.
“Debbie. Very much your role. And I’m sure your employers would understand that you need to be here for the beginning of term. That is just over four weeks away now, so they would have a little time to replace you. What is it you do, Debbie? I’m sorry, your husband did tell me, but I’ve forgotten.”
“I’m in public relations,” said Debbie.
“Really? My goodness, we can put you to work on the school’s behalf; we desperately need our profile raised—is that the right expression?”
“Yes, it is. Yes, but you see—” Don’t get excited, Debbie, don’t get aggressive. Just stay calm.
“I’m sorry, Morag,” said Richard. “I’m afraid that we do have to ask for this term’s grace for my wife. She’s hoping to continue working for her firm on certain projects, you see, much easier now with this wonderful new e-mail—and then we have to sell our house, which won’t be easy long distance, with the property market in disarray. I’m very sorry.” Richard smiled at Morag. “It’s my fault for not—not planning it all properly. But there is one other thing: my mother has lost all her money at Lloyd’s and she’s got to sell the family home, and I think one of us should be near her while she’s going through that.”
“Of course,” said Morag. This seemed to be a far more reasonable excuse for Debbie’s delayed arrival. “How dreadful. I’ve got friends in her situation—I think we all have. Well, it’s far from ideal. But I’ve made my decision that you are the perfect candidate, and the governors are in agreement. We’ll just have to muddle along for the first term.”
“Well, that’s wonderful.” Richard was flushed with relief and happiness. He grinned at Debbie and he suddenly looked young again, young and happy, the person she had fallen in love with. And then out of love…
She was trying very hard indeed not to think about Joel. It wasn’t easy. She seemed to think about him all the time. But if Richard ever found out, it would be the end of their marriage, it was as simple as that. And she had realised, in the dreadfully sad, difficult days after the funeral, that he might be boring and fussy and demanding, and he might have done some fairly mean things recently, but he was basically kind and good, and he loved her. And she loved him. Of course she did.
She would be a good wife and mother, and plan her life around Richard and the children, which was quite easy a lot of the time, especially as Richard was being so extremely nice still…
There was a short paragraph in the Telegraph about the funeral and about Simon, describing him as a successful and popular City figure.
Maurice Crane’s wife, Daphne, brought the paper out to him as he sat in the sun, drinking his coffee.
“You knew him, didn’t you, Maurice?”
“Who?”
“Simon Beaumont.”
“Yes, I do. He does all his personal insurance through us. Why, what’s happened to him?”
“He’s dead,” said Daphne. “Drowned in a sailing accident.”
Maurice was very shocked; he took the paper from her and read the report three times.
“What a terrible thing,” he said. “What a really terrible thing.” And wondered if he ought to get in touch with Mrs. Beaumont, whom he had spoken to once or twice, to say how sorry he was; and decided that it might be better not to.
Jamie had arrived three weeks after the funeral. “Just for a few days, is that all right, Mummy? I’d so love to see him, it would help, and I don’t want to go over there.”
Elizabeth had said of course it was all right, and anyway, it would do them all good to have to make an effort for someone, talk about other things.
He really was very sweet, Elizabeth thought; she liked him a lot. Extremely good-looking too, and with the most perfect manners. And he adored Annabel, and was endlessly considerate of her, even if she was being a bit difficult. Which was quite understandable. Apart from the grief which was still awful, they were all on edge. The inquest would be months ahead apparently, because of the French police and their enquiries, and it was going to be hideous. Whatever the outcome.
Toby was particularly haunted by the whole thing, not only that his father might have killed himself but that everyone was about to be told that his father had killed himself.
“I mean, Dad had lots of reasons to do it, didn’t he? Losing his job, losing all the money.”
“He did, darling, yes, I’m afraid.”
“But it’s such an awful thing to do. So cowardly. So…so kind of giving in. And so awful for us. He must have thought of that!”
“Of course he would have done. And I don’t believe he would have hurt us like that. He would just have stuck it out.”
Tilly was outraged at the very suggestion, said she knew he wouldn’t have done such a thing, that he was too brave, too positive, “Just too happy. He stayed happy through it all. Everyone said so.”
Just the same, the whole process of the inquest haunted her; and she had the ordeal of going away to a new school.
Elizabeth was planning to go back to the agency in another week. She asked the children if they’d think it very bad of her, that she might seem uncaring, and they’d all stared at her as if she’d suggested joining a nunnery.
“Of course we wouldn’t mind,” said Tilly. “You need your work, Mummy, and it needs you. It’ll help you, I’m sure.”
And then Tilly asked if, for the same reason, she might go and stay with Flora for a few days, see lots of Boy, before she went off to school. A little anxious, for the question of Boy’s future had occurred to Elizabeth as it didn’t seem to have occurred to Tilly, she had said yes.
“I’ll drive you down this weekend—I’d like to see Flora, anyway. She’s been a good friend to this family.”
And she’d like to say so to Flora’s face, Elizabeth thought; she knew she had been less than friendly to her.
“Work seems to cheer Annabel up,” Jamie said to Elizabeth. “She really seems to love it.” He sounded slightly surprised; Elizabeth smiled at him.
“I know you probably think it’s a funny job for a clever girl like her. We did too, at first. But she’s very good at it and you know, Jamie, being good at your job and enjoying it is the most wonderful thing. Having fun with it—that’s really lucky. Do you enjoy your work?”
“Well, yeah, I guess I do. But law’s pretty dry and dusty, and because Dad runs the firm and tells us all what to do, I don’t feel like that too much.”
“Yes, I see,” said Elizabeth.
“But I mean I’m really glad Annabel has her job, if it makes her feel better. Um…did you feel like that when you were young?”
“I did indeed, and I still do. I started work really young—I was only nineteen. I decided, rather like Annabel, not to go to university. I had this chance to go to an agency as a PA, and I just knew I could work my way up. You could then, you can’t now—you need degrees and so on.”
“Yeah? And when did you have Annabel?” said Jamie.
“Oh, I was twenty-one.”
“But you went on working?”
“I did indeed. It was that important to me. And it was very hard sometimes and I’m sure for her as well, and the others when they came along. But I was me, and Simon was Simon, and for both of us that was how we liked—well, me to be. Working, passionate about something. And good at it, which is where we came in.”
“Yes, I see.” He clearly didn’t.
“Your mother didn’t work, I know.”
“No, she didn’t.”
“And what about your sister? She’s having a baby, I believe?”
“Oh, yes. Well, she’ll give up work, pretty soon now. She’ll be like my mother. Dana, she’s my sister-in-law, she’s more l
ike you. She just loves her job. She’s a lawyer and she’s very successful. But the—the what-do-you-call-it, the clock…”
“The biological clock?”
“Yeah, that’s it, it’s ticking away. And Kathleen being pregnant makes the pressure on her harder. And Bif wouldn’t want her to work, if she had a baby, so they’re kind of trying to work things out. Mother says she knows she’ll come round in the end,” he said, clearly unaware of the irony of what he was saying.
“Right. Well, it’s a difficult one. And there isn’t a right answer. You just have to find your own way.”
“I guess so. Er…Mrs. Beaumont, my mother is still keen for us to have an engagement party—over in Boston—so that all our friends can meet Annabel. Not yet, of course, but maybe in the New Year. And of course she’d want you and Tilly and Toby to come. She’s really looking forward to meeting you all.”
“And I’m looking forward to it too. Well, it’s a little hard to think about just yet.”
“Of course. Now…I was going to speak to Mr. Beaumont about all this, of course.” More unconscious irony. “But I…well, I take it you’re happy about our engagement. And I’m very sorry I didn’t ask him—and you, of course—before. I got a little carried away. I do love Annabel very, very much. I promise you I’ll do everything in my power to make her happy.”
“I know that, Jamie. And of course we’re…that is, I”—how long was it going to be before she ceased to think of herself as herself and Simon—“am very happy about it. But I do have to say, I think she is very young. I imagine you won’t think of getting married too soon?”
An Absolute Scandal Page 43
