‘As you know, folks,’ said Phil, making it all about him again, ‘family is at the true heart of Christian life, and therefore Maria will be leaving Rose to stay home and raise our children.’
Eliza didn’t meet Harry’s eye – he’d probably be looking somewhere between overjoyed and relieved.
‘I, of course, have my responsibilities at Hapsburg, and will be dividing my time between the US and the UK. So we have decided Maria should prepare for the birth in a place where she’ll be cared for by someone with similar views on childbirth to our own.’
‘Phil,’ said Eliza. ‘Perhaps Maria could tell us herself? I think we’d all like that.’
Phil’s dazzling smile faded. ‘My wife likes me to speak on her behalf.’
‘Maria?’ said Eliza.
‘I’m happy for Phil to tell you.’
Chess caught Eliza’s eye and shook her head a little.
‘If I might continue?’ said Phil. ‘As you know, Maria grew up with her mother at a retreat in Wales.’
‘Can we move along to something we don’t know?’ said Harry, looking stroppy.
‘Maria will stay at the retreat as a guest of Cassandra Lisle. She’ll be in a nurturing environment where natural childbirth is practised, in line with Maria’s belief that there should be no medical intervention in this beautiful process. She will be in Cassandra’s hands, and God’s.’
‘Make ready the beanbags,’ said Charles.
‘Shh, Dad,’ said Chess, trying not to laugh.
Eliza remembered Cassandra well from her visits to the retreat. A recovered alcoholic, she had, according to Harry, changed radically from the time she’d been Charles’s fun-loving wife. She remembered floaty dresses, home-grown veggies, a propensity for talking in inspirational quotes.
‘I object,’ said Harry.
‘Why, Father?’ said Maria.
‘The child will be Welsh.’
‘Unacceptable,’ said Charles.
Eliza spurted out some of the wine she’d been sipping. ‘Stop it, you two,’ she said, attempting to swallow her laughter. ‘This is important. Maria, is that wise? What about monitoring the pregnancy? And what if there are any problems during the birth? It’s miles from the nearest hospital.’
‘Giving birth is the greatest joy given to a woman by God,’ said Phil. ‘Maria would rather put herself in His hands than the hands of your National Health Service.’
‘Probably a lot safer,’ said Harry.
Eliza noticed the hurt in Maria’s eyes. Not only had Phil hijacked her news, Harry was treating the whole thing as a joke. He was incorrigible.
She leaned across Charles to Maria and grabbed her hand. ‘Maria, I’ll come and see you. I’m so looking forward to being an auntie.’
‘Thank you,’ she said, smiling gratefully.
Poor Maria. Eliza’s words had been spur of the moment, based on a sudden protective instinct. She didn’t trust Phil, and Cassandra, while well-intentioned, was virulently anti-science. Putting Maria under her care, with no input from medical professionals, was surely a risk.
‘Hey Clare,’ said Eliza later. ‘Can we take a little walk?’
‘Love to!’
They set off down the steps to the lawn, and Clare hooked her arm through Eliza’s.
Eliza took a breath. She’d been rehearsing what to say.
But Clare spoke first. ‘It’s lovely to see you and Rob so happy together. He’s a real charmer, but genuine with it. I like him very much. And I have to say, he reminds me of Harry.’
That’s not helping.
‘Clare . . . can I tell you something majorly embarrassing that’s worrying me quite a lot?’
‘My goodness! Of course you can. Anything at all.’
She swallowed. ‘It’s . . . well, me and Rob. We haven’t . . . slept together. What I mean is, I haven’t ever gone all the way. With him or anyone.’
‘Oh, I see.’
Eliza glanced at her step-mother. She was looking surprised.
‘Well, you once said you wouldn’t give it up for anybody! You’ll know when the time is right.’
‘No – it is right. I want to. We tried, but . . . ’ Eliza stopped walking, her eyes fixed on the ground in front of her.
Clare put an arm round her. ‘What happened, sweetheart?’
‘I freaked. I couldn’t go through with it. I don’t understand why.’
‘Gosh, Eliza. You poor thing.’
She kept her eyes on the ground. ‘Without going into embarrassing detail, we’ve found ways. Rob’s . . . he’s quite experienced and he’s taught me things, does things . . . So we’ve done all the other things, but we haven’t been all the way.’
She finally looked at Clare. ‘I – I don’t know what to do.’
‘So it’s just . . . intercourse that’s the problem?’
‘Yes.’
‘You probably need time, to take things slow.’
‘But what if there’s something wrong with me? What if bits of me don’t work? Or maybe my mind’s messed-up?’ She heard the note of panic in her voice. ‘I thought maybe it was to do with Dad and what happened with Mum – a trusting men thing.’
‘Does Harry know?’
‘No! God, no.’
They started walking again.
‘Talk to Rob, tell him it’s a big deal for you. If you love each other, I’m sure it’ll work out. Unless . . . ’ She frowned.
‘Unless what?’
‘Well, obviously, if there’s been sexual abuse—’
‘No. Not that.’ She wondered whether to mention Seymour. Did being touched by a pervy uncle count as abuse? It probably did, but she found it hard to believe her problem could stem from that.
‘I think . . . maybe I need professional help?’
‘I see. Well, I have plenty of contacts through RoseHealth, people in the field of psychiatry and so on. There are probably some sex therapists in there. Do you want me to see if I can find someone?’
‘I think I do. I’m scared, Clare. I know I seem really up front, but I find it difficult to talk about. It’ll have to be someone I feel comfortable with. Someone like you.’
‘Leave it with me, Eliza. I’ll be in touch.’
The night before her first session, Eliza couldn’t sleep. The thought of talking to a complete stranger about her sex life was terrifying.
But talking to kind, calm Dr Thompson turned out to be easy. It was all so matter of fact, like discussing the weather.
‘Now we’ve talked about the physical side of things,’ she said, at the end of the first session, ‘I feel we’re ready to move on to the psychological side. Next week I’d like to talk about your relationship with your father.’
‘Oh god. I knew it.’
‘Let’s see how we get on. And, Eliza, I think this will work for you. It’ll take time, but I can tell you’re a very determined young lady.’
Maria’s baby bump grew in direct proportion to her waning interest in work. She was transformed – and distracted – by her pregnancy, and by September was only going through the motions. Finally she announced she would leave at the end of October, and began delegating her remaining work to Eliza.
Phil had been picking up Maria’s slack, keeping the family values mission on track. But Eliza had been meeting with the heads of department: Go along with it for now. Can’t say too much, but things will change.
Maria’s last day arrived, and staff scraped together enough money for a few baby clothes. Most wrote Good luck! and little else in the leaving card. There was no party.
Eliza took over Maria’s office, which was the largest on the top floor, though still nothing like the size Harry’s had been. That had been turned into a soundproofed crèche. Eliza always enjoyed the surprise on people’s faces when they came in for meetings and found themselves walking past a colourful room full of kids.
Harry had been biding his time, and came in the week after Maria’s departure, along with Cecil. Phil was in the States.
The American would be expecting them to make a move, Harry said, so they needed to tread carefully, time it right. Not yet. Not while Phil was on the alert. They pencilled in a board meeting for the end of the year.
Later, Eliza, Cecil and Harry made their way to The Shard, for a dim sum lunch.
‘There’s one more coming,’ said Eliza as they took their seats. Leigh was several months into her internship, and her managers were keen to keep her on. But Eliza had other plans for her.
She’d given Leigh the venue and time, but hadn’t told her who else would be joining them. So her friend’s face when she saw Harry was a picture. Eliza grinned as she remembered Leigh sighing over him, back in Oxford: ‘Imagine, Harry Rose . . . ’
As Eliza made the introductions, she didn’t miss the appreciative look Harry gave her friend. Leigh scrubbed up well in her work clothes, all long dark limbs and glossy black hair, her almond-shaped eyes currently obliterated by stars.
‘Delighted to meet you, Leigh,’ said Harry. ‘I look forward to hearing first-hand what Eliza got up to at Oxford.’
‘We’re here to talk work, Dad.’
‘But it would be impolite to do so straight off. Leigh, come sit beside me, tell me everything.’
Leigh was blushing, giggling.
Chrissake!
‘Well, Mr Rose—’
‘Call me Harry.’
‘She worked very, very hard. She put the rest of us to shame.’
‘Well, that’s all quite boring. What about the interesting part?’
‘OK. She loved a good party. Partial to cider and Pimm’s. Would you like to hear how she swam naked in the Isis on the last night of Eights Week?’
‘Leigh!’ said Eliza. ‘Oh god, what have I done?’
Cecil was laughing heartily. Eliza had got to know him better over the past months, and was in awe of his abilities. He’d proved an enormous help, guiding her, teaching her the finer points of corporate management. Most importantly, he’d made it clear that in future, she’d be able to leave most of that to him, enabling her to focus on strategies and ideas. Talking of which . . .
‘So can we discuss work now?’ she said, interrupting Leigh’s description of that time when Eliza and Will had sown cress seeds in their tutor’s computer keyboard.
‘Perhaps we should,’ said Cecil.
‘To be continued,’ Harry said to Leigh. She was just lifting her glass to her lips when he followed through with a smile and a wink. Leigh mistimed the sip, and wine dribbled down her chin. Embarrassed, she dabbed at it with her napkin.
Really, if Leigh was to come on board at a more senior level, she’d have to get a grip.
‘If we’re all ready?’ said Eliza.
‘Are we?’ said Harry to Leigh.
‘I think so,’ breathed Leigh.
‘As you know, I like to plan ahead,’ said Eliza.
‘She does,’ said Harry to Leigh.
‘So once we . . . well, once we’re able to make decisions unencumbered, I’d like to move my ideas on Rose TV forward.’
‘Summarise where you’re at,’ said Harry.
Eliza felt the rush. She’d been bursting to share more of her thoughts with him. Harry loved a good movie, a well-told story, a great play.
‘You know I’m planning a big expansion in the production side of things. Films, TV series, like Netflix. Original content. Here, in the UK, but expanding into the US, selling to the networks over there as well as broadcasting on our own TV channels here. I want to get two writers I know from university on board – Will Bardington and Kit Marley.’
‘They’re in a league of their own,’ said Leigh to Harry.
‘Their latest script has been optioned by Rose TV,’ Eliza continued. ‘And I’d like to involve Leigh on the development side – she’s already done a feasibility study on this for her thesis – and Rob on the sales side. We should start small, contracting in the best industry professionals while we’re still learning the ropes. We’ll need to properly research the market, assess the competition and so on.’
Eliza paused, waiting for Harry’s reaction.
He was sitting back in his chair, listening carefully. He looked over at Cecil, raising his eyebrows.
Cecil nodded.
Harry smiled. ‘Make it happen, Lizzie.’
Chapter 23
Eliza
Eliza sent a message into the group chat: Will + Kit – where are you?
It remained unopened. The boys seemed to have dropped off the face of the planet. It could have been for any number of reasons, but Eliza was hoping it was a creative one.
‘If you really want to employ those two, you’ll have to take them in hand,’ said Rob. He was sitting on Eliza’s sofa, flicking through the TV channels while she loaded the dishwasher. ‘I mean, you can’t have them flouncing around Italy or wherever, just emailing you unfinished bits of things with a vague promise to turn up at some point.’
‘Any email would be good. Even a postcard,’ said Eliza, sighing. It was frustrating, not being able to get the ball rolling properly on Rose TV, plus she missed the boys. A lot. Especially Kit.
‘I wanted to talk about something else,’ said Rob. ‘You done with the dishes?’
‘Sure. Coffee?’
‘I’ll make it,’ he said, getting up. He’d bought her an espresso machine like his own, but she hadn’t been able to get the hang of it.
‘What did you want to talk about?’ she asked, hoping it wasn’t her therapy. She’d been keeping him up to date, and he was being wonderfully supportive.
‘Well . . . us,’ he said. He came over, putting his arms around her from behind. ‘Amy’s coming to terms with things. The divorce will be in the pipeline soon.’
‘Thank god for that.’
‘So, I was thinking. Now things are progressing, maybe we could move in together? How about it, Lizzie?’
She turned to face him, putting her arms around his neck. ‘It’s a lovely thought.’ She kissed him. ‘But like I said before, can we hold off until it’s all finalised? I’d rather wait until you’re properly free. You know I have to think about my public image.’
‘Lizzie, it’s the twenty-first century. Nobody gives a stuff if I’m technically still married. I’m separated, I’m getting a divorce. I just want us to be together. I want to come home with you after work, wake up with your crazy hair across my pillow, bring you coffee, go food shopping with you. I want us to be—’
‘I’m sorry, Rob. I’m . . . it’s too soon.’
He kissed her nose. ‘Come on. I’ve been waiting for you since I was eight.’
She smiled. ‘Rob, can I be honest? It’s not only about my image. I don’t think I’m ready for that level of commitment. I love you, so much. But I want to be . . . independent. For a bit longer. I like living by myself. I love having you over, going to yours, but keeping my own space. And with so much going on at work at the moment—’
‘At the moment? You think that’ll change?’
‘Well . . . probably not, I suppose.’
He looked so disappointed; she felt bad. She wasn’t entirely sure why she’d said no, in spite of the reasons she’d given him. It had been a gut reaction.
He sighed, running his fingers through his hair.
‘You know I love you, Rob.’
‘Do you? You won’t sleep with me, you won’t live with me. Lizzie, I need more.’
She kissed him again, this time with feeling, and felt him respond. He picked her up and sat her on the countertop. ‘Lizzie, I want you so much . . . ’ He kissed her neck, and she gasped as the sensation zipped down her body.
Things progressed, steamily, but this time took a different turn.
‘Can we try?’ he said. ‘It’s been so long.’
She froze. ‘You know I’m still having therapy. You said you’d be patient.’
‘No one could have been more patient.’
She wondered – should she try again, while her therapy was still ongoing? Show
ing willing might help smooth things, now she’d turned down his invitation to move in.
‘Well . . . I suppose we could give it a go.’
He carried her to the bedroom. This time there was no taking it slow, no waiting for his cue. It was like being ravaged. She could have said stop, but she didn’t want to. It was wildly exciting.
Maybe this was the key. Maybe she just had to give in to it, let him do his thing. Lord, but he was on fire, kissing her deeply, losing himself in her, driving her on.
‘Yes, Rob. Do it,’ she gasped.
But then, out of nowhere, the panic hit and she was fighting him off. She squeezed out from underneath him and flew to the bathroom, slamming the door behind her.
Eliza sat on the edge of the bath, her head in her hands. She was trembling – this time the fear had been more intense than ever.
What’s wrong with me?
There was a tap on the door. ‘Lizzie? Are you OK?’
She opened it with shaking hands, and he took her in his arms. ‘I’m so, so sorry,’ he said. ‘I should’ve waited.’
She said nothing.
‘Lizzie?’ He looked down at her. ‘God, you’re white as a sheet.’
She pushed him away and grabbed her robe from the bathroom door, quickly putting it on and tightening the belt round her waist.
‘Lizzie, for chrissakes. Talk to me.’
But she couldn’t. How could she explain, when she didn’t understand herself? All she knew was that right now, she wanted to be alone.
‘I’m sorry, Rob, I need some time by myself. To think. I’ll call you.’
His expression was bewildered. ‘Don’t shut me out. I love you, Lizzie. Please talk to me.’
‘I can’t. I need to work things out, and I really, really need to be alone.’
He continued staring at her, and his eyes filled with tears. ‘Lizzie—’
‘Please! Just go!’
Finally he swung round and returned to the bedroom.
She waited in the hallway until he reappeared.
‘I’m so sorry, Rob,’ she said, touching his arm. ‘I’m messed-up and I need to find out why. I’ll call you,’ she said again, as he opened the front door.
He looked down at her, went to speak but stopped. He shook his head and closed the door behind him.
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