by Anne Weale
‘Men too...slaves of poverty. Save your feminist polemics for someone else, Holly. I know more about the world’s underclasses than you might imagine.’ His dark eyebrows drew together. ‘Too damn much,’ he said, in a harsh voice.
Holly wondered what he meant. Before she could ask, a bell rang.
‘That’ll be our food arriving. Stay and finish your drink. I’ll call you when lunch is served.’
He sprang up and strode off towards a door in the far corner of the room.
When he had gone, she rose from the sofa and wandered about, looking at his pictures and possessions. Had she been shown this room before meeting its owner, she would have formed a very different impression from the one fixed in her mind by their first encounter at her stepmother’s party.
Everything here indicated a man whose inclinations were intellectual and artistic rather than solely sybaritic. His library was as wide-ranging as her father’s had been, with many books on philosophy and history that she had seen before on Professor Nicholson’s shelves.
After his death, his second wife had lost no time in clearing his study and having the room redecorated. Holly had come home from secretarial college to find his books had been sold to a second-hand dealer. It had been a betrayal of trust she still couldn’t bear to think about. After that, as soon as she’d been able to she had left the house which was no longer home to her, to stand on her own feet.
Taking a well-worn leather-bound copy of An Introduction to Kant’s Ethics from the shelf, she opened it, expecting to see Pierce’s signature on the flyleaf. Instead, to her amazement, she found herself looking at her father’s book-plate with his name written in ink under the printed ‘Ex Libris’.
Overcome with excitement, she ran to the door in the corner, calling, ‘Pierce... Pierce... where are you?’
He appeared in another doorway at the end of a passage. ‘Here I am. What’s the matter?’
‘Where did you get this book?’
‘What is it?’
‘Kant’s Ethics.’
Like her father, he obviously knew every book in his possession. ‘A dealer I know rang up and said he’d bought a collection of books which might interest me. That was one of them. Why?’
‘Because it belonged to my father. Look, here’s his book-plate.’ She thrust the book at him. ‘All these years I’ve been wondering where his books were...imagining them scattered in houses all over the country. I never go past a second-hand bookshop without hoping to find one and buy it back. And the first time I’ve ever seen one is here, in your house. It’s incredible.’
‘P.J. Nicholson... Good Lord, was he your father? I didn’t make the connection. I suppose, never having met him, it didn’t occur to me that the previous owner of this book could be Chiara’s stepfather, even though she had mentioned he was “boringly brainy”, as she put it.’
‘Can you remember how many of his books you bought? Several... a dozen...more than that?’
‘About a hundred, as far as I can remember. Tell you what, after lunch why don’t you pick out as many as you can carry and take them back with you?’
‘Oh, no, I couldn’t do that. They belong to you now. It’s just so lovely to know where they are...that they’ve found a good home.’
‘That’s a change of tune,’ he said drily. ‘You didn’t feel that way the second time we met.’
‘Well, I do now. I’m beginning to think I misjudged you. I’m not saying I think it was right to make Chiara your mistress, but it wasn’t as bad as it seemed to me at the time.’
They ate lunch at a small fruitwood table in a corner of the studio, with Louisa watching from the arm of a nearby sofa.
Pierce did not feed her titbits but occasionally glanced in her direction with an affectionate look which she returned with a blink of her beautiful eyes. Holly wondered if, on evenings when he wasn’t out, she lay on his lap, being gently caressed by one of his long, tanned hands while the other turned the pages of a book.
‘How did you spend this morning?’ he asked.
‘I didn’t do very much. I was up later than usual. I packed my things and then I went out and found a nice card for my thank-you note to Mrs Shintaro. Then I roughed out my note and rewrote it in my best handwriting. Then I posted it, and then I came here.’
‘She’ll be pleased you took the trouble to write. Most people only ring up. Some don’t bother to do that. Being punctilious herself, Fujiko sets store in the traditional forms of politeness. In the past, some of Ben’s girlfriends have upset her with their offhand manners. Her own marriage was o miai which means arranged by her parents. An o miai marriage isn’t a matter of compulsion. It’s a bringing together of people who seem to their parents or friends to have plenty in common. Fujiko and her husband were so compatible that not long after their marriage they were as much in love as any Western couple.’
‘Does she want to arrange Ben’s marriage?’
‘She’d like to see him marry a Japanese girl. But as Fujiko herself is now very westernised and spends more time in London and New York than in her own country, I think it’s unlikely Ben will ever return to his ancestral roots.’
After a pause he added, ‘One of the books which was your father’s is a history of the Second World War and its aftermath. That war left hundreds of thousands of what were called “displaced persons”. They could never go back to where they had lived before, but they were never really at home where they ended up when it was over. Unlike the DPs, Fujiko and Ben have money and status. But in a sense they are both displaced persons, suspended between two cultures and not quite at home in either.’
‘Will you always live in England?’ she asked. ‘Have you transplanted completely?’
‘I think so, but always is a long time. Who knows? When I’m an old man, my wife and I might decide we would rather spend this time of year in a warmer climate. I shouldn’t want to retire to the Costa del Sol, but I have friends who live in the mountains behind that coast. They’re not far from an international airport but the way of life in their village dates back to a time long before flight was dreamed possible. It’s a lovely place... very peaceful. I can visualise living there.’
‘You are going to marry one day, then?’
‘That was never in doubt.’ Today they were drinking wine and he broke off to top up their glasses. ‘But until my own life was properly organised, it would have been premature to look for a wife.’
‘You make a wife sound like something that can be shopped for. I thought, like husbands, they cropped up when least expected.’
‘So they may, but the circumstances have to be propitious. For instance, the first time we met neither of us was ready for marriage. You were too young and I had problems with my working life. Let’s assume I had never met Chiara but had come to the party as somebody’s house guest. On the premise that we had taken one look at each other and thought, This is it, do you think it would have worked out?’
It was such a strange thing to say that Holly was momentarily nonplussed.
As she floundered for a reply, Pierce answered for her. ‘It wouldn’t have got off the ground. But now the situation is different. We both of us know who we are and where we’re heading. If I were to suggest that we pooled our resources, and if you were to agree, we’d stand a good chance of becoming one of those ideal couples whom everyone wants to emulate but very few do.’
Unable to meet the teasing gleam in his eyes, Holly looked down at her plate, at what remained of a salmon steak which had followed a first course of Chinese prawns on a bed of green tagliatelle.
‘Without being in love to begin with?’ Her mouth felt curiously dry.
‘What does “being in love” mean to you? Define it for me.’
‘Being very strongly attracted...liking a person’s mind as well as their physical looks...trusting them...wanting to be with them always...feeling that life without them would be an endless desert...’ With a gesture expressing the impossibility of putting such a compl
ex emotion into words, she gave up.
‘I would disagree with that last bit,’ said Pierce. ‘Life is never or rarely a desert. Happiness shouldn’t depend on being with another person. I’d go as far as to say you can only love someone else if you love and are satisfied with the life you’re leading before they show up. It’s all right to feel something’s missing...that there’s another dimension that will make it all even better. But I’d only marry a girl who had got her own act together...as, for example, you have.’
‘Well, yes, that makes sense,’ said Holly. ‘The only thing is, you can’t always go by appearances. When you came to that party with Chiara, you seemed to have life on a string. Now you say that was not so.’
‘I was making a lot of money, but I didn’t feel what I was doing served any useful purpose other than making me richer. I needed a greater challenge and certain intangible rewards. Now, by redirecting my energies, I have both.’
At this point the telephone rang. Pierce excused himself to answer it.
Holly, whose mobile phone had revolutionised her life, was a little surprised that he didn’t keep one within arm’s reach but went to a jacked-in set at the far end of the room.
She was wondering what form the redirection of his career had taken, and intending to ask him, when after a very brief chat with the person on the line he came back.
‘I’m sorry, Holly. I’m going to have to cut this short. I need to get back to my office. I was hoping to take you to the station, but you’ll have to call a taxi. This is the number to ring.’ He had already written it down on a page from a pad by the telephone. ‘But stay and finish your lunch. There’s no need for you to rush off because I have to. Maybe if I’m not around, Louisa will unbend and make friends with you.’
‘But what about locking up?’ she said anxiously. ‘Are there complicated burglar alarms which need to be set?’
‘No, it’s all completely automatic. You don’t have to worry about a thing...except the calories in the pudding,’ he said, with a smile. ‘Which, judging by the shape you revealed last night, isn’t a problem for you anyway.’
As she rose from her chair, he added, ‘About the problem with Chiara—I’ll give it some thought and call you... possibly tonight.’
‘Thank you for lunch, Pierce—’ she began.
‘My pleasure. I only wish I didn’t have to dash off. We must do it again... very soon.’
He put his hands on her shoulders and bent to kiss her on both cheeks.
Seconds later, while she was still in a whirl from the touch of his lips on her face, he was on his way to the front door.
Holly’s train journey back to Norfolk seemed to pass in a flash, her thoughts being in such a flurry of astonishment, joy and apprehension.
How could she be in love with a man who, only a short time ago, had been the one person on earth she heartily detested? Could it be, could it possibly be that his conversation at lunch meant that he was beginning to feel she was someone special, someone different from all his girlfriends—someone he could come to love?
Suddenly, to be loved by Pierce was more important than anything she had ever set her heart on since she’d been a little girl longing to find that one of the parcels under the Christmas tree had a camera in it.
Since then there had been many other things she had wanted, including the prize which had given her career such a boost. But none had been even fractionally as important as this. On this her whole life depended. For, if he didn’t want her, how could she ever make do with anyone else? It had to be Pierce or no one.
The instant his hard male cheek had brushed hers and she’d felt the slight movement of his lips in what, outwardly, had had no more significance than Ben’s kiss the night before, or a thousand other social kisses, her mind had at last acknowledged what her heart had known for a long time.
She had been in love with Pierce Sutherland since he’d first walked into her life. That was the real reason she had been so upset when he’d ditched Chiara: the man she had wanted to idolise had proved to have feet of clay and her nineteen-year-old heart, unable to come to terms with that, had taken refuge in pretending to loathe him.
After making herself a light supper and giving Parson his favourite evening meal—sardines in tomato sauce—she went to bed early.
She was reading the current issue of The Garden, with Parson curled on the outside of the old patchwork quilt she had found in a junk shop, when the telephone rang.
‘Hello?’
‘It’s Pierce. I’m sorry I had to desert you.’
‘It didn’t matter. It was good of you to see me in the first place.’
‘Nonsense. I wanted to see you. Lunching with you was a lot more enjoyable than having a sandwich at my desk. Listen, tomorrow I have to go overseas for a few days. I’m not sure when I’ll be back, but as soon as I am I’ll call you and we’ll pick up where we left off. Also something came up this afternoon which I need to consult you about. I won’t go into it now, except to say that it’s right up your alley.’
‘Something to do with gardens?’
‘It’s too complicated to explain on the telephone. Take care of yourself, Green Fingers.’
‘You too. Where are you going?’
‘Africa. I have to say goodnight now.’
‘Goodnight, Pierce...’ she waited until he had cut the connection before adding softly, ‘Darling.’
The day after Pierce’s departure two nice things happened, followed by something upsetting.
Holly was having her breakfast when Mrs Shintaro called to say she had a long-standing invitation to a golden-wedding lunch party at the country home of some old friends she had met when they and her husband, then a young diplomat, had been en poste in Rio de Janeiro many years ago. As their house was only ten miles from where Holly was living, and Ben was taking the place of her usual driver, she wondered if Holly would take him under her wing for a few hours until it was time for him to collect her for the journey back to London.
Holly agreed with alacrity, feeling sure that Ben would be able to explain many things she wanted to know about Pierce, as well as clarifying the remark he had made during supper at his grandmother’s party.
Unfortunately it was a horrible day for their drive, with rain sloshing down and no sign of a break in the clouds. As she wasn’t able to work outside, she spent the morning preparing a hot lunch. While she was cooking, the postman delivered a large padded bag which proved to contain half a dozen of her father’s books.
Pierce had written in handwriting as bold and incisive as his personality:
I’ve always believed that we make our own destinies, but now I’m beginning to wonder if there’s something in fate after all. The African trip is a nuisance just now but can’t be avoided. Keep a space for me in your diary in the early part of next week. It will be a professional assignment with personal intervals.
She was still pondering what the last sentence might mean when Ben arrived, wearing a leather aviator’s jacket over a coral sweater which set off his colouring.
‘This is very kind of you, Holly. I hope I’m not disrupting your life too much by descending on you this way. The people my grandmother’s lunching with would have fitted me in, but I would have felt like an interloper. They’re all around sixty or seventy. Lunching with you will be a lot more fun.’
‘You’re not disrupting anything,’ Holly assured him. ‘Because of the heavy rain I’d switched my schedule around to make this my day for house-cleaning. Now the chores are done, the rest of the day is free. If it should clear up later I’ll take you to see the garden I’m working on, but I’ve just heard a radio forecast and I think we’re going to be house-bound.’
Ben had run down the garden path with a yachtsman’s bright yellow waterproof worn like a cloak over his sheep-skin-lined leather jacket. Now, from its capacious pockets, he began to take various packages.
‘In Japan it’s the custom to take one’s hostess a present,’ he said. ‘As I didn
’t know I was coming until this morning, I had to shop in a hurry. These are not what, given more time, I would have chosen for you, but they may come in useful.’
As she unwrapped his offerings, Holly found he had paid a flying visit to the grocery department of Fortnum & Mason, one of London’s most famous stores, and selected a range of their special delicacies.
‘They all look delicious...thank you. Let me hang up your coats... Oh, this is Parson, my cat,’ she added as he, hearing an unfamiliar voice, came through from the kitchen to inspect the visitor.
Ben went down on his haunches. ‘Hi, Parson. You’re a fine fellow.’ He stroked the tabby’s broad head and tickled him under one ear, setting off Parson’s deepest, most friendly purr.
‘I wish I’d had that effect on Louisa, Pierce’s cat,’ said Holly, watching them making friends. ‘She was very uppity with me. Have you managed to win her over?’
‘She’s OK with guys but jealous of women,’ said Ben, standing up. ‘A long time ago, Pierce had a girlfriend who was allergic to cats and Louisa had to be shut in the kitchen whenever she was around. I think she was deeply offended and has never got over it. Forgive me if I’m being too nosy, but are you and Pierce starting something?’
Holly was disconcerted. ‘What makes you think we might be?’
‘My grandmother told me that when she gave you a ride back from New Covent Garden you were reacting to each other so strongly that she thought the atmosphere was about to ignite.’
‘That was because he was then at the top of my hate list,’ said Holly. ‘I don’t feel that way about him now, but our friendship is still very new. What did you mean when you said he cared about people more than anyone you knew?’
‘Pierce has been fighting a battle against corruption in the developing countries,’ said Ben. ‘He realised how much aid from taxpayers in the rich countries was never reaching the people it was intended to help and began a campaign to change that. Now he’s set up an organisation, of which he is the dynamo, that’s already made a big difference to the situation worldwide. Of course it’s also made him a lot of powerful enemies among the people who were making fortunes for themselves by siphoning off money and relief supplies. But I don’t think he’s as much at risk now as he was in the early days. If they could have got rid of him then, the whole project might have foundered.’
