The barman blushed. 'I'll see what I can do,' he said, disappearing again.
'Why are you here?' Charlie said. 'And why are you pretending you've no idea who I am?'
Lisa smiled, her eyes sparkling with amusement. 'Relax, Charlie. You already played the incognito trick on me, remember? I thought it might be fun to turn the tables. And I wanted to see you. Is that so bad of me?'
Charlie felt herself softening. If Lisa's feelings were anything like her own, it made perfect sense. She could imagine doing the same thing. 'No,' she said. 'I just wish you'd given me some warning.'
'That would have taken all the fun out of it.'
'It's not a game, Lisa. Maria's here. How do you think she's going to feel down the line if I leave her for you and she remembers this weekend? She's going to feel humiliated.'
Serious now, Lisa nodded. 'You're right. I'm sorry. But I couldn't help myself. I know this is going to sound a little strange. But you know what I really wanted?'
'No, I don't. Because what is happening to me now is so out of my experience.' Charlie forced a smile in Maria's direction.
'I wanted to see what you're like when you're not with me,' Lisa said. 'I wanted to see the sides of you that I would never see otherwise. If I'm going to be with someone I want to make an informed decision.'
Charlie's reply was sabotaged by the reappearance of the barman with a bottle of Wolf Blass Shiraz. 'That'll do fine,' Charlie said. 'Charge it to my room.'
He reached for a corkscrew and set about the bottle. 'So I wanted to see you with Maria and I wanted to see how you chased your crazy chimera,' Lisa said.
'By "crazy chimera", are you referring to yourself or to Jay?'
'Oh, Charlie,' Lisa said reproachfully. 'Jay, of course. I wanted to try to understand why it's got such a grip on you.'
'Because I think Corinna's right.' Charlie shook her head at the barman. 'Just pour, I'm sure it's fine.'
'You see, that's what I don't get,' Lisa said. 'Why are you investing so much of yourself in this? It's going nowhere, but it's obsessing you and it's not where you should be focusing your energy.'
'What should I be focusing on?' Charlie said, responding to the flirtatiousness in Lisa's voice.
'Something that has the potential to go somewhere, of course.' Lisa smiled. 'I could offer some suggestions?'
Charlie could feel a blush climbing her neck. 'How can you be so sure it's going nowhere?'
Lisa's smile grew mischievous. 'Because you'd have told me if you were getting somewhere. You couldn't help it. You want to impress me, so you'd have told me.' She picked up the first two glasses and started to turn away.
'Not necessarily,' Charlie said. 'I think you're forgetting how wedded I am to the notion of confidentiality. I'm a medical doctor, it's an article of faith for me. And I've worked with the police enough to understand the importance of holding information close.'
'I still think you'd tell me,' Lisa said as Charlie signed for the wine and picked up the other glasses.
'Maybe you don't know me quite as well as you think you do, then.' And with a smile, Charlie walked past Lisa and headed for Maria.
3
Plugging back into that shocking surge of emotion had unleashed a flood of words. Producing this memoir had hardly been a struggle for Jay, but now she was writing with the brakes off, she was unstoppable. Of course, most of it would end up on the cutting-room floor, but there was something liberating about letting it spill. Just so long as it never made it out into the wild. She'd have to be careful with this. She was saving it directly to a memory stick rather than the hard drive; the memory stick itself would have to go into the safe-deposit box that was so secret it didn't even feature in her will. When she died, the contents would stay in limbo for ever.
Jay stood up and put herself through the sequence of stretches her osteopath had devised for her. The legacy of that terrible day on Skye had to be combated both emotionally and physically. Hence the osteopathy and the hypnotherapy. Luckily she had enough on her hypnotherapist to protect anything unguarded that might come out of her mouth while she was in an altered state. There was nothing quite like Mutually Assured Destruction to keep the power in a relationship balanced, whether it was personal or professional.
She rubbed some almond oil into her hands, enjoying the aromas of the essential oils of rosemary and black pepper she'd infused it with. She thought back to that afternoon in Oxford and how the minutes had dragged. Recalled the irresistible urge to share this extraordinary experience in spite of herself. As if she'd had a premonition of what might happen. Of what had happened.
Ten minutes before nine, I slipped down the back stairs of the Sackville Building and into the night garden.There was no one in sight. The conference attendees were drinking in the Lady Hortensia Sinclair Room or sitting out on the front lawn. The looming bulk of Magnusson Hall cut the wedding off from view. I moved into the shadows and flitted down the narrow avenue of plane trees that led to the meadow. Just before I emerged, I stopped and checked it out. There were a few dozen cars parked on the far side of the grass but they all seemed to be empty.
I stepped clear of the shadows and walked down the river bank to the dilapidated remains of the boathouse where Jess Edwards had met her end. More memories from the distant past surfaced, every bit as complicated as my memories of the Newsam family. After Jess's death, the college decided to set up a fund for a new, larger boathouse. Now, the Edwards boathouse graces the main stretch of the Isis alongside the older, richer colleges. Left empty, the old boathouse has mouldered to the point where it's caving in on itself like a decayed tooth. That night, I could see that the roof beam sagged hopelessly, the windows were long broken and the side walls bowed like the hull of a galleon. The collapsing structure hunched behind a paling fence that would have taken a determined squatter all of five minutes to penetrate.
I skirted the boathouse and found a small clearing a few yards wide between the fence and the spiked berberis hedge that marked the end of St Scholastika's domain. I'd brought a light wrap with me in the forlorn hope that the night might turn chilly, and I spread it over the ground. Not because it was damp, but because a bride shouldn't have grass stains on her dress. I leaned against a tree and waited, wondering if she would have changed her mind. Somewhere down the river, ducks splashed and cackled. I heard the heavy beat of a heron's wings, then the last wittering cries of the birds.
I didn't hear Magda approach, but she was right on time. In the beginnings of twilight, everything about her was heightened, as if someone had adjusted the contrast control of a TV. She'd changed into her going-away outfit, a simple dress of midnight blue silk with a full skirt. She'd taken off her hat and unpinned her hair, and it cascaded over her shoulders in gleaming waves the colour of pound coins whose initial brassiness has been blunted in the hand. The fading of bright sunshine brightened the blue light of her eyes and deepened the matt gold of her skin. Magda took a couple of steps towards me and smiled. 'You came,' she said quietly.
I shrugged away from the tree. 'It would be hard to break a promise made to you.'
'I think I've made a seriously bad mistake,' Magda said, taking another couple of steps forward.
It wasn't what I wanted to hear. I swallowed the lump that had lodged in my throat. 'I'll go, then.'
Magda shook her head and put a hand on my arm. Where the flesh touched felt like the burn of ice. 'Not about meeting you. About marrying Philip.'
Our eyes stared hungrily at each other. At that moment, the words didn't matter. Magda could have recited 'Mary Had a Little Lamb' and it would have mattered as much or as little. All I was aware of was her touch, her face, her scent. Something was exploding inside my head and I couldn't make sense of anything except Magda's closeness. Knowing it was the most dangerous thing I'd ever done, I leaned into her and kissed her.
I thought we were never going to be able to stop. When we finally broke free, we were both trembling, our breathing ragged and noisy. 'Oh dear
,' Magda gasped.'
I didn't mean…' I stuttered. 'I didn't mean that to happen.'
Magda touched my cheek with her fingertips, making my skin tingle. 'You'd have had to leave the country to prevent it.'
'Come and sit down,' I said, my voice thick and rough, like I'd never heard it before. 'We need to talk, Magda.'
We sat carefully on the wrap, side by side, my arm round her shoulders, hers round my waist. 'This didn't just come out of nowhere,' Magda said.
'It did for me.'
I could sense her smile. With her free hand, Magda fiddled in the evening bag slung across her body. She came up with a packet of Gitanes and a lighter then fumbled a cigarette out. She offered it to me but I shook my head. She gave a little shrug and lit it. The familiar aromatic smell hit me like a time machine. I hadn't smoked French cigarettes for ten years, but the taste was as familiar as my morning blend of coffee beans.
'Smoking's bad for you.' I was only half-teasing. Already I didn't want bad things to happen to Magda.
'I save them for special occasions. You remember these?' she asked. There was no need for a reply. 'You had no idea, did you? I worshipped the ground you walked on. When you and Mum went to the pub, I used to struggle to stay awake till you got home so I could sneak halfway down the stairs just to listen to your voice. I used to try and persuade Dad to take Mum out for the evening, so you would come and babysit. You were my first major crush.'
I took a deep breath, inhaling the second-hand tobacco taste. 'You're right. I had no idea. Eight years is a huge gulf at that age. I'm sorry, Maggot, I never noticed. I thought we just got on really well.'
'Which we did, of course. But I was crazy about you. If I was meeting Mum at Schollie's, I'd always try to get there early and hope that I'd see you. Then, suddenly, you were gone. One day you were part of the family, the next day you were anathema.'
'What did she tell you?' I really wanted to know.'
Patrick said you'd come to the door and Mum had told you a lie to make you go away.' Unconsciously, Magda had slipped straight into the dialect of childhood. 'I asked Mum what was going on and she said that she didn't want you in her home. She said she'd found something out about you and it meant you couldn't come to the house any more. I asked what you'd done that was so terrible, and she got all bad-tempered and said I'd just have to take her word for it.'
'And you never found out what it was I was supposed to have done?'
Magda chuckled. 'Not in so many words. But I read an interview with you a few years ago in a magazine where you talked about being gay. And that answered the question for me, really. Knowing Mum's views on "homosexuality".' She dropped her voice and stretched the word out syllable by syllable.
'And that's why you've married? Because Corinna hates gays?'
Magda hung her head. 'Sort of. It's what I do, Jay. I keep everybody happy. After you, I had crushes on other women, but lots of my friends did too. It wasn't exactly totally weird. But I had all that oppressive Catholic conditioning dumped on me. And then there were the parents. I've always had a really good relationship with Mum, and Dad's OK if you catch him before the fourth gin. But they're really anti-gay. Dad especially. He genuinely believes it's a mortal sin. So I never had the nerve to do anything about all these crushes I had.' She sighed. 'I just couldn't imagine the conversation. '
I understood. Better than she knew. I could never have had that conversation with my stepfather. Unlike Henry Newsam, he would have had no hesitation in trying to beat it out of me. And my mother wouldn't have stood in his way. Not when it came to following the word of God. 'And so now you've got married.'
Magda nodded, leaning into me. 'Philip's been asking me for ever. His baby brother was in med school with me, and we've sort of been going out for the last three years. We've only just started living together, but we've been an item, kind of. He's a nice man, Jay. He's kind. And he's undemanding. He's also as crazy about his work as I am about mine.'
'Which is?'
Magda gave a quick, puzzled frown. My stomach cramped. 'This is all new to me,' I said gently. 'I know nothing about the last fifteen years of your life, Magda.'
'Of course. Why should you? Philip's a partner in a specialist printing business. They produce a lot of financial instruments and confidential corporate stuff. And I'm a junior registrar in paediatric oncology. I work mostly with children who have been diagnosed with leukaemia.' She pulled a face. 'Another good reason for not experimenting with my sexuality. Hospitals run on rumour, and consultants don't like the combination of queers and kids.'
'Never been tempted?' I asked. I'll be honest, I was having trouble getting my head round the picture Magda was painting of an emotionally starved life.
Magda nuzzled my cheek. 'Of course I've been tempted,' she said. 'But I wimped out. You can sublimate a hell of a lot of sexual energy in the business of learning to become a doctor, you know. All that adrenaline, and the total exhaustion in between. It was just easier to go with the flow. Besides, it never seemed to be the right time and the right place with the right person. Until today.'
'It's your wedding day, Maggot,' I forced myself to remind her.
Magda sighed, a deep, empty sound that seemed to move her even closer to me. She flicked the end of her cigarette into the river. It was so still I could hear the hiss of the dying ember above the pounding of my blood. Then Magda looked up at me. There was still enough light to reveal her eyes glistening with tears. 'So why is it that I'd rather be here with you than over there with my husband?'
I closed my eyes. I didn't want to see Magda any longer. I couldn't handle the contradictory emotions tumbling inside me. 'Cold feet. That's all it is.'
'You know that's not true,' she protested. 'You feel it too. I know you do. You can't pretend you don't.'
'It's too late,' I said, my voice cracking under the strain. 'It's too late.'
Suddenly she was on her knees between my legs, hands gripping my shoulders. 'Don't say that,' she wailed, frustration mapped across her face. 'It can't be. I won't let it be. I've only just found you, Jay, I can't let you go.' She was almost sobbing, hair falling over us both like a curtain closing out the world.
I put my arms out to steady Magda. But she fell into me, pushing me back, body to body, the heat of our summer madness between us. 'Magda,' I protested. But it was a weak protest. My body was giving out a different message. We clung desperately to each other, like children before they discover inhibition.
'We've got to do something, Jay,' Magda moaned.
'You have to go back,' I said, gently rolling over and disengaging myself from Magda's grasp. It wasn't what I wanted. But what I wanted was probably not survivable. 'This is not the end, I promise you. But you have to go back now. You can't change the fact that you married Philip this afternoon. If he's the nice man you say he is, he doesn't deserve to be humiliated. Go back now, and call me when you can. Any time, day or night.' I groped in my pocket for the business card I'd put there earlier. The one with my private mobile number. I pressed it to my lips and handed it to Magda. 'Sealed with a kiss.'
Magda looked twelve again, about to burst into tears. But she took the card and tucked it into her bag. I checked my watch. It was just after twenty past nine. 'You've got to go, Magda. People'll be wondering where you are. Philip'll be wondering where you are.'
Magda nodded. 'You're right. Walk back with me?'
I smiled, but it was bittersweet. I thought I was done with hiding who I was and who I loved. But apparently not. 'Not all the way back. For your sake, not mine.'
'I know.'
We started back across the meadow, carefully not touching. There was no innocent contact possible between us.That much was clear. As we reached the shelter of the avenue, Magda gripped my wrist again, as she had earlier by the washbasins. 'This isn't a game, Jay. I mean this.'
'So do I. I never thought I'd fall in love like this again.'
Magda smiled. 'You said the L-word first.'
I tr
uly hadn't meant to. And I'd regretted it the moment it passed my lips. Not because I didn't mean it but because I did. Still, love might well be a hostage to fortune, but I didn't think Magda was the person to use it against me. I returned her smile. 'One of us had to.'
'Right,' Magda said, suddenly sombre. 'One of us had to. Jay, this is scary. I feel out of control. Like we've started some chain reaction and I don't know where it'll end.'
'I know it's scary,' I said, stroking Magda's arm with my free hand. 'But I won't abandon you this time. I promise.'
Her breath exploded in relief. 'I've loved you for years, Jay.'
I moved closer, till my lips brushed her hair. 'I understand. I won't abandon you,' I sighed softly.
Magda released my wrist and without any further words, we walked up the twilight avenue to the gardens by the Sackville Building and into the shadows at the rear of Magnusson Hall. 'Chin up, Maggot,' I said, coming to a halt.
Magda looked over her shoulder as she rounded the corner of the building, her face ghostly in the cast of light from the porter's lodge, her smile a promise. Then she was gone, leaving me feeling dizzy and light-headed, wondering what I'd got myself into and how I was going to resolve it without Corinna assuming I was using her daughter to exact a long-delayed vengeance.
I turned away and walked into Magnusson Hall. This time, instead of going down to the JCR, I walked up to the first floor and followed the corridor down to the Mary Cockcroft Room, named after the college's first principal back in the 1920s and used for meetings and seminars.The Cockcroft was directly above the JCR, but only about half the size. Although it was almost dark, there was still light enough coming from the wedding party on the lawn for me to see that the room was in total disarray. Some sort of major refurbishment was clearly under way, with builders' and painters' bits and pieces scattered throughout. A couple of the windows were even out of their frames, the gaps covered with tarpaulins. Luckily, work on the deep pentagonal bay was either completed or had not yet begun, so I picked my way through the obstacles and crossed to the window.
Trick of the Dark Page 28
