by Anne Mather
‘Don’t hurry back on my account,’ Mrs Matthews averred, apparently determined to be awkward, and Lesley’s twitching lips scarcely formed a smile as she walked towards the door.
She walked quickly along the corridor to the lift, and to her relief it was already occupied when it stopped at their floor. She and Carne squeezed inside, and the door closed behind them creating an absurd intimacy that would have been suffocating without the presence of other people.
It was an escape to cross the entrance hall and emerge into the cool evening air. It was pleasantly warm now, not so humid as it had been earlier in the day, and Lesley allowed the scarf to fall loosely about her waist and over her forearms.
Realising she could not continue leading the way as she had been doing, she looked up at Carne as they reached the bottom of the apartment building steps, eyebrows raised in polite question. There was no sign of the station wagon she saw apprehensively, and she was very much afraid her mother was going to be right about him leaving it at his hotel.
‘I’ve booked a table at a small Italian restaurant in Greek Street,’ he informed her. ‘Do you feel up to the walk, or shall I hail a taxi?’
There was a challenge in his eyes, and before she could help herself Lesley exclaimed: ‘I can walk!’ although her feet quailed at the anticipation of nearly a mile in the sandals she was wearing. She should have accepted her mother’s advice for the good sense it was instead of assuming she was just being obstructive, but she determined that Carne should not suspect she had doubts.
By the time they were passing the railed environs of the British Museum, she was almost ready to concede defeat. Carne had kept up a blistering pace, striding along beside her with a complete disregard for the length of her legs when compared to his. She was not a small girl, but she was not an Amazon either, and she was not accustomed to walking much anywhere, although she would never admit it to him. She should have dressed in a sweat shirt and cords and Wellingtons, she thought resentfully. Obviously he imagined he was out on the Fells, and that his dinner would get cold if he didn’t get back in time to eat it!
Gritting her teeth, she forced herself to keep pace with him, but she was never so relieved than when St Giles Circus hove into view. The towering mass of Centre Point was ringed by traffic lights, and they crossed with a crowd of other people to go down Charing Cross Road.
Antonionis was not a new restaurant, but Lesley had not been there before. She couldn’t help wondering how Carne had known about it, but she had no intention of asking. It was no business of hers how often he chose to come to London, but she did wonder if he came alone.
The lighting in the restaurant was low and discreet, the tables set between trellises twined with climbing shrubs and vines. There was music provided by two men who played an assortment of instruments between them, but mostly arranged for piano and guitar.
Seated on the low banquette that made a horseshoe round the table, Lesley surreptitiously slipped off her sandals and pressed her burning soles against the coolly tiled floor. She closed her eyes for a moment, the relief was so great, but opened them again hurriedly when Carne asked: ‘Are you feeling ill?’
‘What?’ Lesley’s response was guilty. ‘Oh, no. No.’ She swallowed. ‘I—er—I’ve never been here before.’
Carne studied her slightly embarrassed features for a few moments longer, and then transferred his attention to the white-coated waiter hovering at his side.
‘We’ll have the wine list,’ he said, speaking with the cool assurance Lesley had always admired. ‘And bring us two Campari and sodas to be going on with.’
‘Yes, sir.’
The waiter withdrew and Carne’s attention turned back to Lesley. But she had had a few seconds to compose herself, and to shuffle along the velvet seat so that now they were seated at right angles to one another. It was easier than facing him, although she was conscious that if she moved her feet too recklessly they would touch his ankle.
‘So,’ he said, toying with his dessert fork. ‘Isn’t this civilised?’
Lesley decided there was nothing to be gained by antagonising him again, and forced a faint smile. ‘Isn’t it?’
‘And how is he?’
‘How is who?’
For a moment her mind had gone blank, but Carne patently didn’t believe her. ‘Well. I don’t mean Lance Petrie,’ he retorted coldly. ‘Or your latest boy-friend.’
‘I don’t have a boy-friend!’ exclaimed Lesley indignantly, and then cursing herself for allowing him to get under her skin, went on more evenly: ‘I’m sorry, I was miles away. You mean Jeremy, of course.’ She paused, striving for control. ‘Well—he’s fine. So far as I know.’
‘What do you mean? So far as you know?’
Lesley sighed. ‘I mean I get a weekly letter from him. All the boys are expected to write home at least once a week. It’s not much of a letter usually,’ she reminisced, forgetting for a moment to whom she was speaking, and then recovering again, added: ‘He was all right when he wrote a week ago.’
Carne’s eyes glittered in the muted lights. ‘It never occurred to you to suggest that he might write to his grandmother and me, did it?’ he demanded, and she flushed.
‘You showed no interest in him,’ she exclaimed defensively, and ignoring his angry oath, finished: ‘Besides, it’s possible the boys at school imagine his parents live together. Jeremy might not have confided in them. And writing two letters would create—difficulties.’
The waiter reappeared with their Camparis, and accepting the wine list Carne said they would order their meal in a few minutes. The waiter smiled, and after bestowing a warm glance on Lesley, departed once more.
Carne cradled his glass in his hands, warming its frosted surface with his fingers. ‘What have you told him about me?’ he asked at last, and Lesley chose her words carefully.
‘He—he doesn’t remember you at all …’
‘You haven’t told him I’m dead, have you?’ Carne demanded savagely, and she hastened to reassure him.
‘No. But—well, since he’s been old enough to understand, you’ve not been around, and—I don’t suppose he’s had time to formulate any ideas.’
‘Did you tell him you walked out on me?’
Lesley concentrated her attention on the ice in her glass. ‘I—I told him we weren’t—happy together. Until recently, he was just a baby, remember?’
‘So as soon as he was old enough to start asking questions, you packed him off to boarding school.’
‘No!’ Lesley was horrified. ‘What else could I do?’ Then, realising this could lead to all kinds of alternatives, she added: ‘I went to boarding school myself.’
‘I didn’t,’ remarked Carne dryly.
‘No, well, that’s nothing to do with me.’
‘I know. But what kind of education my son gets is to do with me.’
Lesley took a gulp of her Campari and soda before asking doubtfully: ‘What—do you mean?’
Carne hesitated a moment, and then shook his head. ‘Later. Right now, let’s get back to why we’re here, shall we?’
‘Mother’s—illness?’
‘Among other things.’ Carne frowned into his glass. ‘Look, Lesley, I think I ought to come straight to the point.’
‘To the point?’ she echoed faintly.
‘Yes.’ He paused. ‘I want you to agree to letting Jeremy come and spend his summer holidays at Raventhor—–’
‘No!’ She interrupted him before he could finish. ‘No, I won’t agree to that, and you have no right to ask me.’
‘No right?’ He made a sound of annoyance. ‘My God, you’re a great one to talk about rights! Well, okay, maybe I have let you have your own way for so long that you’ve come to the entirely inaccurate conclusion that I intend to let you go on that way. But deep down, you must have known that sooner or later I’d want my turn!’
‘Your turn!’ She forced herself to return his cold gaze. ‘Jeremy’s not a toy you can pick up or put down
at your leisure.’
‘I know that.’ Carne glanced round as if afraid their raised voices were being overheard. ‘But I was fool enough to believe that given time you’d come to your senses.’
‘To my senses?’
‘Stop repeating everything I say, for heaven’s sake!’ He took a deep breath. ‘Lesley, you might as well know, I’ve been corresponding with your mother ever since you left Ravensdale.’
Lesley gulped. ‘Corresponding with—oh!’ She broke off abruptly as she realised she was repeating him yet again. ‘Checking up on me?’
‘In a manner of speaking. I wanted to be sure you were all right. You and Jeremy both.’
Lesley stared at him contemptuously. ‘You can’t seriously expect me to believe that.’
‘Whether you do or whether you don’t is immaterial,’ he retorted. ‘But like I keep telling you, Jeremy is my son. I haven’t forgotten that, even if you have.’
‘Oh, I haven’t forgotten,’ she exclaimed bitterly. ‘What part has my mother been playing? Watchdog? A spy to let you know if I went out with another man so that you could gather a case to take Jeremy away from me? Your mother would like that, wouldn’t she? She was always jealous that there was one person who preferred me to her!’
‘Stop it!’ His jaw had hardened angrily. ‘I expected you’d have grown out of such childish ideas by now. Why bring my mother into it? This is between you and me.’
‘Oh, no.’ She shook her head. ‘It was never just between you and me. She was always there to take your side, to assure you that you could do no wrong.’
‘Oh, God!’ He raked back his hair with long impatient fingers. She noticed it was longer than he used to wear it, brushing his collar at the back, but still as thick and straight as ever. He had never worn a hair dressing, and she had loved to slide her fingers through it …
Now, he controlled his features, and said: ‘The fact remains that I stayed out of Jeremy’s life when it seemed that you could do most for him. Coming down to London to see him wasn’t a satisfactory arrangement, and you know it. So I decided to wait—–’
‘Like a vulture!’ she muttered, but he ignored her.
‘—until he was older and could be told the truth.’
‘And you think that time has come?’
‘I don’t know. All I know is, your mother wants out of the present arrangement. So far as I’m concerned, the boy can come for a holiday and nothing need be said. It’s up to you.’
Lesley’s mouth felt dry in spite of her steady sipping of the Campari and soda. ‘Let—let me get this straight,’ she got out unsteadily, ‘you’re saying that if I let Jeremy come to you for the holidays, you’re prepared to take it no further?’ She put a confused hand to her head. ‘What do you intend to tell him?’
‘I’ve told you, that’s up to you.’
‘Oh, no.’ Lesley moved her head slowly from side to side. Raventhorpe meant Mrs Radley, and Mrs Radley would not be prepared to say nothing. ‘Your mother would see that Jeremy was told exactly what a poor substitute for a wife I had been. Somehow she’d make him believe that I was the guilty party.’
‘And weren’t you?’ demanded Carne violently. ‘I didn’t walk out on you—take your son away from you!’
Lesley shifted uneasily on the banquette. ‘You know, this is getting us nowhere …’
‘I agree.’ He finished the liquid in his glass, and summoned the waiter. ‘I suggest you consider the alternatives. Either you give me the temporary custody of my son willingly, or I’ll take you to court and prove that I can give him a better home life than you ever could!’
CHAPTER THREE
THE menu was not large, but it covered many of the traditional dishes of Italian food. Lesley chose a chilled fruit juice and lasagne, although she doubted she would be able to eat any of it. Still, the waiter was not to blame for her present predicament, and she hoped he would not blame her if she did not do full justice to the chef’s ability. Carne ordered spaghetti with a bolognese sauce, and then studied the other diners indifferently as Lesley sought to open the conversation again.
She would not have believed he could present her with such an ultimatum. Either … or … How could he be so dogmatic after all this time? For over two years now, she had had complete charge of Jeremy’s welfare. He couldn’t opt out like that and then opt in again just because it suited him.
Clearing her throat, she said: ‘I—I don’t want this to degenerate into a slanging match, Carne, but I doubt a court would approve of your abandoning Jeremy for more than two years …’
‘Damn you, I did not abandon him!’ he exclaimed, turning to glare at her. ‘I’ve told you. I corresponded with your mother. I was aware of what was going on.’
‘Then why did you let me send him to school? Why didn’t you step in before he started his education?’
Carne sighed. ‘Last year—last year there were problems.’
‘How convenient!’
‘No, it wasn’t convenient at all, as it happens.’ His mouth tightened. ‘But what we’re talking about right now is this year, these holidays.’ He paused. ‘What are you afraid of?’
Lesley gasped. ‘I’m not afraid of anything.’
‘Then why don’t you want me to see the boy?’
‘You can see him any time you like.’
‘In your presence—I know.’
‘What’s wrong with that?’
‘Everything.’ He waited until the waiter had set Lesley’s fruit juice in front of her, and then continued in a low voice: ‘Let’s put the record straight, shall we? You had a hard time having the boy, I accepted that. I also accepted that you found it hard to recover your strength after you got back to the farm. It was a hard winter, I know. It wasn’t conducive to recuperation. But I did everything I could. I gave you a room to yourself—I even kept away from you because I knew you couldn’t bear me to touch you—–’
‘That’s your story!’ she burst out hotly, and he heaved another sigh of resignation. For several seconds he continued to stare at her and then, with a gesture of defeat, he left her to drink the glass of orange juice.
Lesley tried to calm herself. At every turn he was able to disconcert her, forcing her into reckless retaliation, destroying the façade of composure she was trying so unsuccessfully to maintain.
She swallowed the fruit juice and the waiter removed her glass. If he wondered why his two customers should be talking so earnestly one minute and then so obviously estranged the next, he was too professional to show his curiosity, but Lesley sensed the sympathetic looks he cast in her direction.
Realising it was up to her to say something, she murmured: ‘How serious do you think my mother’s condition is?’
It was an effort to get him to respond to her again, and she could tell by his expression that he knew that as well as she did.
‘All heart conditions need to be taken seriously,’ he retorted shortly. ‘I suppose it depends on the age of the person and how strenuous a life they lead.’
‘Well, Mother doesn’t have a particularly strenuous life,’ Lesley ventured consideringly. ‘I mean, she has Mrs Mason come in three mornings every week to do the housework, and I usually prepare dinner when I get home. She doesn’t bother with much at lunchtime, unless she’s having a friend over for the day, and occasionally she goes out to play bridge.’
‘Until Jeremy comes home,’ Carne put in dampeningly, and she was forced to concede that this was true. ‘Which brings us back to the point of this meeting,’ he continued coldly. ‘Well? Are you going to fight me?’
Lesley’s brown eyes, so unusual with her fair colouring, flickered upward. ‘Fight you?’
‘Didn’t you always?’ he retorted. ‘God knows why you ever married me! God knows why I was fool enough to ask you!’
The lasagne lay in thick tomato sauce, a meaty filling between thin slices of pasta. Looking at it, Lesley wondered how she had ever imagined she could taste it. She felt sick, and her fork moved
it sluggishly round her plate. It even made a sickly sound, and she pressed her lips together and looked anywhere but at her plate.
Carne didn’t appear to be particularly hungry either. He was only picking desultorily at his spaghetti and then, noticing she wasn’t eating, he said dryly: ‘They’re going to think there’s something wrong with the food, you know. You don’t have a plastic bag in your pocket, do you?’
It was the least aggressive thing he had said to her since they met that afternoon, and unaccountably Lesley’s eyes filled with tears. It had all been too much. The problems that morning, coming home and finding Carne there, and now this ultimatum …
With a gulp, she dragged her handkerchief out of her bag and getting to her feet looked around desperately for the ladies’ room. She had forgotten she had taken her sandals off, however, and when she tried to put them on, she found she couldn’t. Half sobbing, she rummaged under the table, and this brought Carne to his feet, too, and the waiter to see if anything was wrong.
As Lesley struggled into her sandals, hiding her face beneath the level of the table, Carne explained that nothing was wrong exactly, the lady simply wasn’t feeling too well, that was all, and several notes exchanged hands as Lesley blew her nose and used the excuse to keep her head down as she hobbled across the floor behind Carne.
Outside it was just beginning to get dark, and lights were appearing in store windows and cars were turning on their sidelights. The tall skyscraper blocks of offices and apartments winked with intermittent illumination, and here and there a coloured bulb gave an illusion of festivity.
The first thing Carne did was summon a taxi, and Lesley made no protest when he ushered her inside. ‘Why didn’t you tell me you couldn’t walk in those things?’ he demanded disgustedly, as she limped to her seat, and she stared down unhappily at her hands.
‘I didn’t want you to think I was incapable of walking,’ she replied in a low voice. ‘Besides, it was taking them off that did it, not keeping them on.’
Carne’s hard profile revealed his disbelief, but he made no further comment about her sandals. ‘So,’ he said, as the cab joined a line of others heading for Shaftesbury Avenue, ‘have you decided what you’re going to do?’
