Why didn’t she stay away and shut up?
You could say that. I think she wanted to be part of his death somehow. Belong there. Not thinking what it would do to his wife.
Angus sighed, and touched Janice’s hand across the table. Sometimes she thought that he regretted the ending of their marriage, would like still to be with her. But she knew he would never say.
William, he said. I wouldn’t have thought he’d have done such a thing. With a wife like Lynette.
Janice raised her eyebrows. She is the third Mrs Cecil, she said. It is clear that William liked women, and he liked change.
What about you? said Angus. Did he ever crack on to you?
Only at parties.
What?
You remember those parties. William used to range round sort of feeling you up but you knew it was just the party . . .
Did you?
Of course. And I was a happily married woman who believed in being faithful to her marriage vows.
And, she said to herself, had the kind of husband who didn’t notice what was going on under his nose and who I thought would always be faithful too.
Angus clapped his hands slowly, very softly.
Well, I was, said Janice. I can say it. She smiled. I don’t care any more, she said.
She remembered a certain party, when she was wearing a loose but clinging silvery-grey dress with very high-heeled green platform-soled crocodile-skin (fake to be sure) sandals; for a moment she mourned the absence of such fuck-me shoes in her life these days. She’d been sitting on a big cushion on the floor, and William had come and sat slightly behind her. She was talking to someone and didn’t pay much attention to him. He put his hand in the small of her back, an affectionate gesture, you could say. And suddenly, she didn’t know how he’d done it, but it wasn’t the first time, he had undone her bra, she knew it when her breasts tumbled, that was the first she’d felt of it. She ignored him, folding her arms across her chest to hold herself in place, and then after a bit going to the loo and doing it up. It was a party trick of his, a great skill, he thought, and Janice did wonder how he did it, since she didn’t find it that easy to undo her own bra, and certainly couldn’t with one hand. William never did anything more, he smiled dreamily, innocently, and apparently took no notice of the confusion he had caused.
She smiled herself now, a gentle thoughtful smile, not so much for William’s sleight of hand as for that past time and the people they were, young, and heedless. Mainly young. Compared with now. At times since she had wondered, what if something had come of this interest of William’s? He had made it clear that he fancied her. She was the one not interested. She felt her smile becoming sad, as she thought, now he is dead. That carry-on at parties: these days young women would say it was sexual harassment, but William was so charming, so comically wicked about it, nobody seemed to think that.
That party: it had been because William had just got his partnership, and he had bought a lot of different brands of French champagne (a tautology, he kept saying, if it was champagne it had to be French) and went steadily around filling glasses, saying, Come on, finish that, this is a different one. So she’d swallow down the last bit and he’d give her the next. There’s a viva at the end of the evening, he said, I shall quiz you on their different properties. Of course he didn’t. She remembered how sick she’d been afterwards. Angus had to stop the car in the pine forest and she’d opened the door and vomited.
Angus saw the smile. I reckon he succeeded, he said.
Oh Angus, don’t be silly. What’s it got to do with anything now? I was remembering how nice it was to be young. Well, a good bit younger. She looked at him. You think he had a go with Sarah? She likes older men.
Janice! You’re making him out the most frightful old lech.
Not me. It’s you that’s doing that.
Suggesting that Sarah . . . He snorted. Meaning to convey speechlessness, she thought.
Suggesting that I . . .
Angus looked at her strangely. Janice wondered if he was jealous. In some mad retrospective irrelevant fashion. Maybe . . . maybe, during those years when she was a good wife, she ought to have made him jealous. Things might have been different. She might have still been married to him.
Not a good thought. She was happy the way she was. A woman with a career, a lover, soon a grandchild. All passion spent. Ugly passion, not the good kind, there was still plenty of that. It doesn’t get better than this, she murmured.
What? said Angus.
Pardon? Oh . . . She realised she’d said the words aloud. Poor William, she muttered vaguely.
Poor everybody else, it sounds like.
He’s the one that’s dead.
Leaving a number of clients in the lurch.
Angus! Surely someone else can do them.
Of course. But it’s messy.
That’s death for you.
Angus looked uncomfortable.
Leaving lots of loved ones in the lurch too, said Janice. That’s messier. Well, she said. How’s Archie? How old is he now? Though she knew.
Fifteen months. Very cute. Terrible sleeper. Sarah thinks it’s his active brain. Won’t let him relax.
Janice thought Angus would have liked this child to be a girl. He already had two boys, Richard and Antony. She’d have liked a girl, once, but the two boys were a great pair. She didn’t regret them. It was her policy not to regret, but here it was no effort. Richard lived in Geneva and was about to have a baby. It would be a little girl, Jasmine.
Janice said to Angus, I think it spoils the fun, knowing what sex the baby is going to be.
Richard had said, Mum, its sex is known, and if it’s known I want to know it. That’s how it is these days.
Angus said, It’s the modern way. He and Sarah had known about Archie, but they pretended they didn’t.
He told Janice that Sarah was going back to uni. She was going to do a Master of Business Studies, she thought it would help her in her career as a lawyer, when she went back to it. Janice pulled a face. Sounds hard work, she said. Dull.
She won’t find it so.
They were silent for a moment. They weren’t drinking wine, Angus in the middle of a working day, Janice because she was going out for dinner with Maurice and didn’t want to eat or drink too much for lunch. They sipped fizzy water.
Will you mind being a grandmother? he asked.
Mind? I’m thrilled.
Janice was going to go to Geneva to see Jasmine as soon as she was born. Maurice would come after a bit and they would go to Venice, and Provence, and Paris and London. All by train. But she didn’t say that. She said, And Sarah will be a step-granny. She kept all malice out of her voice. Sarah was younger than Richard.
I don’t suppose that will worry her. Just another baby.
Just another baby! I don’t think so.
They were silent again. Janice said, Heard from Antony lately?
Not so’s you’d notice. Is he still with that . . . bloke?
You could hear in Angus’s voice that he had rejected a number of words before coming up with bloke.
Marcel? Oh yes. They’re very much an item, you know.
Do I? I know he buggered off to New York with him. Well, went off, I should say.
It’s not a slight thing, you know. They’re really in love. Yes, Angus, that’s the word for it. And Marcel knows the theatre scene very well, he’s helping him enormously.
Angus shrugged his handsomely suited shoulders. You’d feel happier if it was a more, a more professional relationship.
I don’t see why. Marcel knows the scene, who better to help him? He’s really got Antony’s interests at heart. And emotional involvement won’t do any harm, here.
How do you know all this?
I ring him up. Best way to stay in touch.
Expensive.
If he came for a visit I’d feed him, open bottles of wine; this is a lot cheaper. And I can easily afford it, it’s not even extravagant.
He’s got some sort of stage-managing thing. Off-Broadway.
Doesn’t sound very grand.
Well, of course it isn’t solid, like the law and MBAs and stuff. But it’s his lifelong desire. And you have to start somewhere. Beginnings are always humble.
Janice had a round-the-world ticket. When she’d seen Richard and the new baby and done the European travelling she was going to see Antony and Marcel. Antony had already told her about the marvellous loft in TriBeCa that he and Marcel were doing up. Plenty of room to stay, provided they didn’t mind being in the thick of things. Maurice said, Perhaps a hotel would be easier. She didn’t say anything of this to Angus either.
Well, time will tell, I suppose, said Angus.
It usually does, said Janice. You should go and visit him, she said, still without malice in her voice.
Are you kidding? MBAs don’t come cheap, you know. And the rest of it. I thought he might come out here.
I think he’s got to concentrate on his career.
I suppose.
They ordered coffees. The little cafe was emptying. It was mainly a place for lunch hours. There were some Manuka lunching ladies drinking tea, and grandparents with a toddler slurping up a babycino.
Does Archie like babycino?
Oh yes, he’s quite keen. We don’t come here though, they do marshmallows. He doesn’t have sugar. Angus was spooning the last of the froth out of his cup. He said, And what about you, Jan . . . Janice? How are things with you?
Oh, I’m fine. No problems. A bit unsettling, this business with William, so sudden and all. I thought he was fit and healthy.
Yes, you never know. I thought he looked after himself.
Angus was William’s age.
Of course, he said, he liked to live well.
Don’t we all?
Some of us are a bit more . . . austere than others.
Austerity, said Janice. She thought of Sarah. There’d be the austerity. She was bone thin, back to the gym straight after the baby’s birth. Not austere where clothes were concerned, or possessions; plenty of extravagance there. Austerity wasn’t one of Angus’s words. It hadn’t been one to use when Janice was around. Not opulence or greed, but not austerity.
How’s the shop going? asked Angus. The Battery Hen.
Flourishing.
Making any money yet?
Janice smiled. Retiring to the tax haven of our choice any minute. Seriously, she said, with a faint note of anger in her voice, I know you don’t want to hear it, but it’s a good living. Brilliant, even.
I do want to hear it, said Angus. I’m very happy for you.
Janice laughed.
Outside the cafe the sun had gone from the square, leaving it grey and chilly despite the shiny green of the grass. There were several gas heaters on the terrace; it was probably warm, but not inviting. Nobody was sitting there.
Oh well, said Angus. Stern duty calls.
As ever, said Janice.
She imagined both of them thinking, no, not always.
They kissed with gentle pecks on both cheeks. Ciao, said Angus. Go well.
Yes, said Janice. She felt she did go quite well, after seeing Angus.
Janice called in to visit Lynette, keen to tell her about Barbara.
You mean I have to feel sorry for her, said Lynette. No, I don’t want to know.
But you want to understand, said Janice. You can sort of see why she did what she did. Imagine losing a child like that. Janice shuddered.
I don’t want to, said Lynette. I’ve got my grief and it’s keeping me very busy, thank you very much.
She went to William to see about suing, and he did her divorce for her.
All of which makes his conduct even more reprehensible. Taking advantage of someone in such a precarious emotional state.
I suppose he thought he was comforting her.
I don’t think he thought of her at all. He was only interested in a bit of pleasant fucking.
Janice sighed. She’d called in on her way home to get dressed for dinner with Maurice.
I had lunch with Angus, she said.
Was it nice?
You know.
I expect he’s been quietly terrified by William’s death.
He’s not going to let on.
Lynette said, I’ve had William cremated. It’s done.
What! You did mean it . . .
Didn’t you believe me? Yes, his body was released, so I went ahead. I’ll put a notice in Saturday’s paper.
You’ll have a service? A ceremony of some sort?
I don’t think so.
There didn’t seem to be anything more to say. Or rather, Janice couldn’t think how to say it. Lynette offered wine, but she declined. I have to be going, she said.
Lynette said, The shop’s going well, isn’t it.
Wonderfully well.
It’s a good business proposition.
Oh yes.
Janice wondered why Lynette was mentioning this, now. Not for long. She started thinking about wearing her Easton Pearson jacket out to dinner; it was new, and she was thrilled with it as well as slightly shocked by how much it cost. She had to work out what to wear with it.
AURORA DRINKS VODKA
Aurora rang up Cezary to tell him about the lost baby. She dialled his mobile over and over and listened to his voice saying he couldn’t take her call at the moment and please leave a message. The words lost baby echoed in her head as though it were a small live creature she had mislaid somewhere. That she should get a move on and try to find before it was too late. She hadn’t said anything to Flavia about being pregnant, partly because she didn’t say much to Flavia anyway, being at work on her computer in the morning and mostly not there in the evening. Partly because she had been exhausted by events at Lynette’s. And a lot because Flavia was still so sad about the loss of her own baby. Aurora telephoned her now to say she wouldn’t be back that night. Too much vodka. She’d gone back to the daybed in Lynette’s study and the cashmere throw. She thought she could spend the rest of her life there, waiting for Cezary to ring.
Finally Cezary rang back. Oh my poor Bunnie, he said, oh love, oh I am so sad. For you and for me, and our sweet little atom. Shall I come down? Or no, you should come home. Oh my poor Bunnie. I shall come down and bring you home.
Oh Honey. She was soothed by his honey-rich Polish voice. This was why she had started calling him Honey, and why with the logic of rhyme he called her Bunnie. She liked being Bunnie, it didn’t need living up to as Aurora did.
Then his voice firmed up. Aurora, he said, tell me exactly what happened.
So she did. She told him about the blood.
Doesn’t sound much, he said. Of course I’m not an obstetrician. Sounds like just a smear. Maybe . . . well, we won’t get our hopes up. Have you got a pregnancy test? Could be an idea to have a look . . .
So she did, and it was positive. She rang Cezary again.
Sounds as though you just had a bit of a show.
But oh, oh Cezary . . . Her voice was a wail.
What?
When I thought I wasn’t pregnant I had some vodka.
Is that all? That doesn’t matter.
But it was a whole lot of vodka.
My mother had a pregnancy book that said it was quite all right to drink alcohol when you were pregnant, so long as it wasn’t so much that you fell over. Did you fall over?
No . . .
There. But seriously, this no-drink thing, a good thing of course, is pretty new. A little drink never seemed to hurt women in the past. Takes more than that to cause foetal alcohol syndrome. And of course you aren’t going to keep it up. Your one-off won’t be a problem.
Oh Honey, I can’t believe it’s going to be all right.
Don’t be too hopeful. But I think you should be a bit. Dear Bunnie.
Come down soon, Honey.
I will. As soon as I can see my way clear. And in the me
antime, don’t you do anything. You hear? Rest. Calm. Let everything settle back to normal. And rest, real rest: feet up, doing nothing.
She was glad she hadn’t told Flavia. She wished she hadn’t collapsed in front of the family. She’d tell Ferdie, Ferdie could explain.
He came in, carrying a large glass of white wine. Dinner in a minute, he said. Lynette’s amazing minestrone and bread and cheese. You can feast on brie.
Well, the thing is, Ferdie, I can’t, after all. Cezary got me to do a pregnancy test. It seems I still am.
That’s marvellous. Fantastic. Oh, I’m so glad.
Unless it’s not true. I’m not quite game to believe it.
I think you can believe it, just allowing a tiny margin of error, in the corner of your brain.
You’re a good help, Ferdie. Anyway. Back to no brie or wine or vodka, definitely no vodka. And . . . can I get you to tell Lynette? I’m embarrassed, after that performance.
Okay. Ferdie picked up the wine. Minestrone’s all right, isn’t it?
LYNETTE WEEPS
Next morning Lynette said, Ferdie, would you be a love and ring up all the people and ask them to come round? End of the afternoon, early evening? We’ll have a glass of wine.
All the people?
Oh, you know. All the gatherers. Jack, Nerys. That Acacia person. Aurora. Janice. You know.
What if they can’t come?
Tell them they have to. I’m asking them. It’s all I’m asking. Put a few bottles in the friggo. Some beer, for Jack.
They did come. Nobody even demurred. They sat round the kitchen table. Ferdie had put out the tall-stemmed glasses. There were a lot of them. The wine was a riesling from the Clare Valley. He’d remembered to get some organic apple juice for Nerys and Acacia, and Erin. Lynette peered at the bottle. Free-range apple juice, she said. I wonder how they stop it wandering off.
Ferdie had set several cheeses and some biscuits on a platter and this gave people something to do. Aurora refused wine, took instead a glass of juice with a secret smile. Nerys looked at Acacia.
Is this a party? Erin whispered to Ferdie.
That’s a good question. No, I don’t think you’d say it was. I think your mother has something to tell us.
Goodbye Sweetheart Page 19
