‘But that’s precisely why I’m telling you this, don’t you see?’ she said earnestly. ‘My situation is not a happy one. I’d give anything not to have fallen for a married man, and apart from anything else Sam’s not a patch on Nick.’
‘Pippa!’ I exploded. ‘You’re way off beam here. I have not fallen for a married man! Just because I’m enjoying myself for a change – God, you were the one who told me to have a bit of fun, get my act together, lose weight, go blonde, shorten my skirts, get up to London – and now that I’m doing all that you go off the deep end!’
Pippa shook her head sagely. ‘Polly, I know when you’ve got the hots for someone – you get that look in your eye.’
‘What look?’
‘That sort of glazed goldfish look. Also your boobs heave around like nobody’s business and you hold your tummy in – come on, you definitely fancy him, any fool can see that.’
‘Well, OK, maybe I do, so what? Doesn’t mean I’m going to do anything about it, does it? I mean, I fancy Jeremy Paxman but I don’t sniff around the Newsnight studio waiting for him to emerge, do I? I quite fancy the sheep-shearer in the next village in a bit-of-rough sort of way, but I don’t make myself available to him every time he gets to grips with our sheep. So what if I fancy Sam? So what if I indulge in a little harmless banter, flirt with him even, where’s the harm in that? Married people are allowed to talk to each other, you know, it doesn’t mean we’re about to embark on a full-blooded sex romp.’
‘No, but –’
‘Pippa, you see adultery at every corner. You live with it so you automatically assume everyone’s up to it.’
Pippa opened her mouth to argue – then hesitated. She sat down at the kitchen table and sighed. Her lips compressed and she gazed past me.
‘Maybe you’re right,’ she said softly, ‘perhaps it’s me. I’m so obsessed with a married man I think everyone else must be too. I’m sorry, Polly.’ She looked down and abruptly covered her face with her hands. ‘Oh God, what am I going to do?’ she whispered.
I sat down next to her and put my arm round her. Even though it was upsetting for her I was relieved we’d got off the subject of me and were talking about her suddenly. I sighed.
‘I don’t know, I don’t know what you’re going to do. I just know it must be awful for you.’
‘It’s not awful, it’s hell!’ she snapped, looking up for a second. ‘It’s an absolute living hell!’ She sighed and looked down again, ‘Oh, Polly, I don’t even like myself any more. I don’t like what I’m doing but I just can’t help it. It’s so destructive – for Josh, for his wife, not to mention me – God, it’s tearing me apart!’ She gulped. ‘Look at me, I’m falling to pieces here, and for what? He’s never going to leave her, is he?’ She looked at me pleadingly, willing me to say he might.
I hesitated. ‘Well … put it this way, Pipps, I wouldn’t set your heart on it.’ Her face crumpled. ‘Isn’t there anyone else?’ I said quickly. ‘Anyone – you know – single? Charles was lovely, what happened to him?’
‘Charles?’ She looked wistful for a moment, then shook her head. ‘Oh, I don’t know, I suppose I bished it up as usual. You just don’t know how lucky you are, Polly, you don’t know what it’s like to be still out there, still on the market, still sitting on the shelf and getting staler by the minute.’
‘Pippa! You don’t think like that, do you?’
‘Not usually, no, but in my darker moments I do. I see myself as a stale old bun with a few mouldy currants on top. Only for a second, of course, then I pick myself up, brush myself off, read a few “think positive about being single” articles in women’s magazines, remember my great job, my friends, my sort-of relationship with my sort-of boyfriend, and I’m all right for a bit. But it’s still there, you know, however much I disguise it, that nagging feeling that I haven’t quite got life in the bag.’
‘You mean a man in the bag.’
‘I suppose so,’ she mumbled. ‘Christ, not very feminist, is it? What would the editor of Cosmo say?’
‘I won’t tell on you.’
‘Thanks. But, you see, that’s why I find it so hard to see how two married people like you and Sam can be just good mates. I think all married people are secretly looking for a bit on the side. But I suppose that’s just me being jaundiced – sorry.’
‘Forget it.’ I squeezed her hand. ‘I have.’
I poured her a glass of wine and she downed it practically in one. Then she looked at her watch. ‘God, is that the time? I must go, Josh will kill me if I’m late.’
She quickly put on some lipstick and dragged a brush through her hair, then we hugged each other and she went on her way, off to join the crew and then back to London.
When she’d gone I got up and moved slowly round the kitchen, thinking about what she’d said. I put a few things away and wiped the last traces of dirty dog tails from the walls. I poured myself a drink. Nick came in from the farm.
‘Everything all right?’ His lips were still quite tight.
‘Well, they’ve gone, thank God, and everything’s shipshape and tidy again – very little damage, actually, just the vase,’ I breezed as brightly as I could.
‘Good,’ he said shortly. ‘Well done for clearing up.’
‘Oh, it didn’t take long.’
We smiled politely at each other, then Nick went upstairs for a bath, taking the newspaper with him. I felt guiltily glad to be on my own. I sat at the table, smoking one cigarette after another, trying hard not to think too much.
Chapter Ten
Two days later I set off for London. Nick heaved my heavy case downstairs and round to the car in the drive.
‘God, how long are you going for, Polly, a fortnight?’
‘Don’t be silly, just a couple of days, but I couldn’t decide what clothes to take so I ended up packing half my wardrobe.’
‘So I see.’ He slammed the boot shut. ‘I hadn’t realized it was a fashion parade. You’ll be back by Saturday morning, won’t you?’
‘I’m not sure, why?’
He sighed. ‘Don’t you remember? I asked you to make sure you were. Foxtons are delivering a whole load of corn and feed at nine o’clock and Larry and I won’t be here to check it. You know what Foxtons are like – they’re bound to short-change us if no one’s around, and it takes months to get them to deliver again.’
‘But where will you be?’
‘I told you, Polly,’ he said patiently. ‘Larry and I are going to Yorkshire to look at some stock. We’ll have to stay over on Friday night. I told you all this yesterday while we were having supper, don’t you remember?’
‘Er … well it sort of rings a bell now you mention it.’
Nick shook his head. ‘Sometimes I really wonder about you. You’re in another world half the time, aren’t you?’
He had a point there, though it was actually more like three-quarters of the time. And, funnily enough, the other world I’d been inhabiting lately was the glamorous world of stage and screen.
You see, in the space of just two short days I’d graduated from being spotted by Sam to star in his dog-food commercial to taking the leading role in his latest blockbusting feature film. Of course, he’d taken a major gamble casting an unknown newcomer in the starring role, but my goodness it had paid off. The film – a sort of arty-farty English thing with lots of twirling parasols and bags of good taste, the sort of thing Helena Bonham-Whatsername does – had been a phenomenal success, so I now lived a glamorous peripatetic life flitting back and forth between Hollywood, London and Cornwall, still madly in love with my divine husband, of course, but now the darling of the film world too.
Sam, naturally, had fallen headlong at my feet, but I made sure I kept him at arm’s length. Obviously we still had to go to expensive restaurants and I had to lean over tiny little tables looking beautiful and sexy to discuss scripts and things, but whilst he tried desperately to look down my top – no, too tacky – to gaze into my eyes, I remained fr
iendly but aloof, maintaining a purely professional relationship with him at all times.
Eventually he poured out his heart to the tabloids – ‘The love I can’t have’ by Sam Webster, ‘The Forbidden Fruit I crave’ by Sam Webster – but I kept a dignified silence. I tried gently to discourage him and was only ever seen on the arm of my incredibly good-looking husband – attending first nights, accepting awards, holidaying in Antigua – the sort of thing one sees in Hello!, though of course we’d never stoop to that. Well, I suppose we might just consider one photograph in the drawing room at Trewarren with me reclining gracefully on the sofa in a gorgeous white silk affair, Nick standing proprietorially behind me, his hands resting protectively on my shoulders and two or three enchanting children playing at our feet … Ah yes, the children. I sighed. Even in my fantasies that was quite a stumbling block. Nick seemed to be saying something.
‘Polly? Are you with me?’ He knocked on my head. ‘Is anyone at home?’
‘Sorry, what?’
‘I said, what’s this?’ He picked up a black leather box from the front seat of the car.
‘Oh, that’s my new camera, I bought it in Truro yesterday.’
‘Really? I didn’t know. You should have said – I’d have come with you to choose it.’ He took it out of its case and turned it around. ‘Is it a good one?’
‘Oh yes, it’s brilliant, the man in the shop said so, and I know Sam’s got one exactly the same.’
‘Ah.’ Nick put it back and snapped the case shut. ‘I see.’ He put it down on the front seat again. He seemed strangely silent.
‘See you on Saturday then?’ I ventured cheerily, and went to peck him on the cheek.
‘Sure.’ He kissed me back, but as I turned to get in the car he suddenly grabbed hold of me and held me tight. I looked up in surprise. His face seemed troubled.
‘What’s wrong?’
‘Nothing.’ He shook his head.
I gave him a hug. ‘Have a good time in Yorkshire, give my love to the cows!’
‘Will do. Listen, Polly, I’m sorry if I’ve been rather – well, bad-tempered lately. I’ve blamed you for everything that’s gone wrong around here and it hasn’t all been entirely your fault. Sorry. You know me and my short fuse.’
I looked at him incredulously. Good grief, whatever had come over him? ‘That’s all right, don’t be silly. Most of it was most definitely my fault, and anyway, as you well know, it’s water off a duck’s back with me. Most of the time I don’t even listen to you.’
‘I know, but …’ He bit his lip and frowned. ‘Look, Poll, are you bored down here?’ He looked searchingly at me. ‘Because if you are there’s nothing to stop you from doing something. I’d go along with it wholeheartedly, you know I would. I remember when you first came down you said the shops round here were lousy and talked about opening a boutique or something – you could still do that, you know. I could raise a bit of money if I had to, it wouldn’t be that much of a problem, we could always sell something.’
I was amazed, and very touched. Sell something? Nick?
‘That’s sweet, Nick, but honestly I went off that idea ages ago. I think I’d be even more bored sitting in a shop waiting for customers. But thanks anyway.’
His brow puckered. ‘So you are bored?’
‘No! No, of course not, I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just – well, I don’t want to start another career really – not that I had much of one in the first place. I suppose somehow I thought … well, I think I thought I’d be doing something else by now.’
I paused and looked at the ground, kicking a bit of gravel around with my foot. I didn’t want to bang on about it. Nick nodded and looked at the ground too.
‘I know. Babies.’ He put his arms round me again. ‘It’ll happen, Polly, really it will, there’s nothing wrong with either of us and there’s no reason why we shouldn’t have a whole brood one day. We just have to be patient, that’s all.’
‘I know.’
We held each other silently. I felt rather choked up. Eventually we disentangled ourselves, Nick kissed me hard on the mouth and deposited me in the front seat. I buzzed down the window.
‘See you then.’
He smiled. ‘Will do. Drive carefully.’
‘I will.’
I let the clutch in and moved off slowly, looking in my rear-view mirror at him standing there. He watched until I was out of sight. I waved as I rounded the corner into the lane, still feeling rather choked. Gosh, he could be sweet, couldn’t he? I flicked a cassette on. Simply Red blared into action. I flicked it off. I didn’t feel like that quite yet. I lit a cigarette. Odd, Nick had seemed strange, emotional … troubled, even, so unlike him. Usually he was so – well, pragmatic. I shook my head, perhaps I was imagining it. I gave Simply Red a second chance, put my foot down and headed for the London road.
When I eventually arrived in London I made straight for the centre of the universe, Harrods car park. I had absolutely no idea where Chalk Farm was but it was bound to be somewhere central; there was no way a man like Sam would shoot a commercial in the back of beyond, was there? I dumped the car at vast expense and whizzed into Rymans for an A to Z. Blimey, Chalk Farm was in the back of beyond. I suddenly remembered Pippa saying something about it being a bugger to get to and it was best to drive, but I couldn’t possibly get the car out now, having invested a fortune in its installation, so I dived down the Underground steps and headed north.
An hour and a half later, I emerged from beneath the ground, panting, swearing and hoping to God I was somewhere in the region of Camden Town. It had indeed been a bugger of a journey. First a suicidal commuter had to be prized from the rails three stops down before we could even begin our journey, and then our driver had taken it into his head to do a funereal crawl, perhaps as some sort of misguided mark of respect. If anything was designed to make people speak ill of the dead, it was this, and the mutterings around me ranged from ‘Odd how they always choose the rush hour to top themselves,’ to ‘selfish, inconsiderate bastard’. I must say, by the end of the journey I was very much lining up with the sentiments of the latter.
I trudged the last half a mile on foot and eventually arrived at the impossibly difficult-to-find location, which, far from the glamorous studio I’d imagined, seemed to be more of an enormous converted garage next to a fish and chip shop. Frankly, by this stage I couldn’t have cared if they were shooting the commercial in a human abattoir I was so exhausted, and I crashed through the double doors like a thing possessed, crazy for a seat and even crazier for a cup of tea.
‘Hi!’ I gasped, stumbling into a gloomy cavernous room with one very bright spotlight shining at the other end. ‘Ooof!’ I collapsed gratefully on to the nearest chair, brushing off a few tapes and things so I could sit down.
‘Phew! Bloody hell, Pippa, you weren’t joking, were you, that was a hell of a trip!’ I cried, peering around in the darkness for her.
‘Ssshhhhhh!’ hissed someone furiously.
‘Christ, who the hell’s that?’
‘CUT! Damn it!’
I gulped and slid down in my chair. Oh no, they hadn’t been shooting, had they? At the far end of the room the very bright light snapped off.
‘Shit,’ said somebody.
I gulped again. They had. An overhead light flicked on and about twenty people turned to look at me. I felt a boiling blush unfolding from my feet.
‘Oh it’s you, Polly!’ cried Pippa, appearing from the back of the room. ‘Didn’t you see the red light?’
‘Er, sorry, what red light?’
‘The one we put outside to let people know if we’re shooting! Oh well, never mind, you weren’t to know, you’re not used to this sort of thing, but next time – oh my goodness, you look dreadful!’ She peered at me. ‘Look at you, you’re all hot and sweaty, and look at your hair! You didn’t walk here, did you? I told you not to walk. Honestly, you’re such a moron, you never listen, do you?’
By now the entire crew, a
ctors, technicians, Josh, and of course Sam, had turned to look at this hot, sweaty moron who never listened and had terrible hair. Vowing to disembowel Pippa later, I blustered, ‘Of course I drove, Pippa, I’m not that stupid. I’ve been here millions of times!’
‘Have you? When?’
‘When I worked for Nick, of course.’
‘But I thought he never took you to a –’
‘Sam! Gosh, sorry I’m late, and sorry for barging in like that.’ I jumped up, brushing brusquely past Pippa with a mighty glare, and gave Sam my very best smile as he came over to greet me.
He gave me a resounding kiss on the cheek, ruffled my already extremely ruffled hair and grinned.
‘Not to worry, although I must say I was beginning to get worried. This is a hellish place to find, but somehow I thought you might know it from your advertising days.’
‘Of course, of course! I was just saying to Pippa, I’ve driven here millions of times. No, the reason I’m a bit late is I stopped off on the way to shoot a couple of rolls of film!’
I indicated the camera swinging jauntily from my neck.
‘Oh, excellent,’ beamed Sam, ‘got to seize the moment, a good shot doesn’t wait for anyone.’
‘Absolutely, and you see there was this marvellously surly London Transport guard who I just couldn’t resist, bags of character, so I just – well, as you said, seized the moment!’
‘But I thought you drove here?’
‘Oh! Oh yes, I did, but luckily he just happened to be standing outside the station, probably getting some fresh air – after all, it’s awfully muggy on the Underground – so when I drove past and spotted him, I leaped out, and snapped away – like this –’
I stepped back and took a quick shot of Sam at an artistic angle, then flexed my fingers in a professional manner.
‘Thanks, Sam, I think that was a good one.’ I patted my camera knowingly and pursed my lips. ‘Yep, bags of depth.’
‘Er, yes, that’s the idea, although you’ll probably get more depth if you take the lens cap off.’
Going Too Far Page 13
