by Susan Lewis
Carla jumped in first. ‘Nothing happened,’ she said firmly. ‘He just gave me a quick peck, like everyone else, and said happy birthday.’
‘And the atmosphere was so charged up,’ Avril added, ‘you’d have electrocuted anyone who touched you. And I mean both of you.’
‘She’s exaggerating, as usual,’ Carla retorted, glancing over at Graham. Then seeing the way he was beaming at her too, she cried, ‘Honestly, I don’t know what’s got into everyone. So John Rossmore gave me a quick kiss for my birthday. I expect he’s down there in France now, giving lots of other people quick kisses for Christmas, and they’ll all mean just the same.’
‘Oh come on,’ Avril said. ‘You know he’s nuts about you.’
Carla’s heart took a dive, as the colour flooded back to her cheeks. ‘I know no such thing,’ she said sharply, ‘and nor do you.’ Then, ‘Why are you doing this? He’s a colleague – and a friend, I suppose. But much more of a colleague, and we have to work together, so let’s just drop this shall we?’
‘OK. OK,’ Avril responded. ‘Keep your hair on. But there’s nothing wrong with finding the man attractive, you know? After all, the rest of us do, and we’re not trying to hide it.’
‘I’m not hiding anything!’
Everyone looked at her.
Carla took a breath, then surprised even herself as she started to laugh. ‘OK,’ she said, picking up her wine, ‘he’s an attractive man, and the kiss was … nice. But let’s not get carried away, all right?’
‘Oooh, Auntie Carla had a kiss,’ Courtenay was singing.
‘Does that mean she’s got a new boyfriend?’ Kitty demanded of her mother.
‘No, it doesn’t,’ Carla said forcefully.
‘It might,’ Sonya corrected.
‘All right. I give up,’ Carla said. ‘You all think what you want, and I’ll know the truth. Now, can we please change the subject?’
‘More wine?’ Graham offered, holding up the bottle.
No-one refused, and as the conversation finally moved on to who’d had what in their stockings that morning, Carla, though glad the teasing was over, found herself enjoying the moment when Avril had claimed John was nuts about her – not because it was particularly what she wanted, simply because of how good it made her feel to hear it.
Since the night of her birthday they’d seen each other only twice, and though nothing had been said, she’d known instinctively that he was remembering the kiss too. Whether it had had quite as powerful an effect on him, as on her, she had no idea, though she guessed not. His sex life was undoubtedly a lot more active than hers, so it was highly unlikely that a simple kiss had thrown him into the same fever of lust as it had thrown her. And the fact that the next time she saw him would be in Zanzibar wasn’t helping much either, for the very idea of being in such exotic and romantic climes, feeling the way she was now, was just too unsettling for words. As was the chance of somehow finding out that she was sleeping in a bed Chrissie and Richard had shared. The mere thought of that was enough to send her into a state of near-panic. There were just too many emotions attaching themselves to this trip, and most of them seemed to be running out of control, so she could only try her level best not to think about any of it until she had to.
‘Have you told Richard yet that you’re going?’ Avril asked, when Carla finally confessed some of her fears. It was Boxing Day morning now, and they were both still snuggled up in their dressing gowns, hot tea cupped in their hands as they watched the sitting-room fire smoke and flicker into life.
Carla shook her head. ‘He thinks I was there before, remember? On the recce. He didn’t say anything about it then, thank God, because the last thing I want is him telling me all the places to visit or things to do, or anything about when he was there. Can you imagine?’ She shuddered, then, sighing, let her head fall back. ‘Ow,’ she groaned, as her hangover throbbed. ‘I think we should go for a long walk with Eddie,’ she suggested. ‘If nothing else it might blow away some of these cobwebs.’
‘Good idea. You go, and then you can tell me what it was like.’
They sat quietly for a moment, then Avril said, ‘Is he still asking you to see him?’
‘All the time.’
‘So how’s he dealing with your reticence?’
‘The way Richard deals with most things, patiently, non-judgementally.’
‘Did he say what he and Chrissie were doing for Christmas?’
‘Spending it at home, just the three of them.’ Carla’s eyes closed as her heart caught on the image. Then, forcing a smile, she said, ‘I wonder what sort of time John’s having in France?’
Avril grinned. ‘I’m more interested to know what sort of time he’s going to have in Zanzibar,’ she teased.
Despite herself Carla laughed, and Avril ducked as a cushion came flying her way. ‘That’ll be Sonya,’ Carla said, glancing at the clock as the phone started to ring.
‘You get it, the bath should be full by now,’ Avril said. ‘Then I might join you on that walk.’
Going into the study for the portable phone, Carla was in the process of picking it up when she noticed Betty driving past in her car. Surprised she was back so soon, then thinking no more of it, she said into the receiver, ‘Good morning, Sonya.’
There was a pause, then the voice at the other end said, ‘Not Sonya.’
Carla’s heart jolted. ‘John?’ she said, already knowing it wasn’t.
‘Try again.’
She was in such a commotion now that she could neither speak nor think. It couldn’t be Richard, it just couldn’t, yet she knew it was. ‘Richard?’ she whispered.
‘How are you?’
Her heart was thudding, her mind racing. This was the first time she’d heard him in over eighteen months, yet the warmth of his voice, the intimacy of his tone, made it feel like yesterday.
‘Are you still there?’
‘Yes, I’m here.’
‘I can’t stay,’ he said, ‘I just wanted to hear your voice.’
Her hand went to her mouth as a strange sound erupted from her throat. ‘I wish you hadn’t done this,’ she said.
There was a moment’s hesitation before he said, ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.’
‘You haven’t. I mean, you have, but … Oh God, don’t you realize how much harder this makes it?’
‘I do now. Are you all right?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘It’s been so long.’
Her heart felt so tense it might tear itself apart. ‘Richard, please, don’t do this again,’ she said, hardly knowing what she was saying.
He didn’t answer.
‘It’s not that I don’t want to hear you,’ she continued, ‘it’s just …’
‘It’s all right. I understand. I just want you to know that I’m sorry, and …’
‘No, don’t,’ she gasped.
‘I have to go,’ he said.
There were a few moments of silence, then the line went dead.
She remained where she was standing, still so caught up in the shock of it that her body could only shake, while her heart increased its pounding. ‘I don’t believe it,’ she mumbled. ‘I can’t believe that just happened.’ Then, without really thinking, she snatched up the receiver and dialled 1471, but the message told her that the caller had withheld their number.
Though it didn’t surprise her, it angered her, and, slamming the phone down, she ran up the stairs and burst into the bathroom.
‘Jesus Christ!’ Avril cried.
‘No, me. You’ll never guess who that was on the phone.’
Avril’s tone was dry. ‘Evidently not Sonya.’
Carla shook her head. ‘Richard.’
Avril’s eyes and mouth opened, then, groaning, she sank beneath the bubbles.
Carla waited for her to surface.
‘So what did he say?’ Avril asked.
Carla repeated what she could remember. ‘It was all such a shock,’ she said, �
�I mean, I can still hardly believe it was him. If I hadn’t heard him with my own ears …’
‘Shit,’ Avril said, for lack of anything else, though it was clear she was a lot less delighted with this surprise than Carla was. ‘Where was he calling from, do you know?’
‘I presume home, but he’d blocked the dial-back.’
Avril’s lip curled.
‘I know, it pissed me off too. But actually, I don’t want his number. I don’t want the temptation.’
Avril picked up a sponge and began smoothing it over her arms. ‘I wonder why he chose now,’ she said. ‘What makes today different from any other, that he should have picked up the phone now?’
Carla was shaking her head.
‘I mean, why has he never done it before? God knows there’s been enough opportunity, and you can’t tell me Chrissie’s with him every minute of the day.’ Her eyes started to narrow. What was coming into her mind wasn’t making much sense, but she was going to try it out anyway. ‘Tell me,’ she said, ‘do you think there’s any chance that call you got yesterday, at the pub, could have been from Chrissie?’
Carla’s eyes widened with amazement. ‘What on earth makes you say that?’ she asked.
‘I don’t know,’ Avril answered truthfully. ‘But could it?’
Carla shook her head. ‘No, I don’t think so. It was hard to hear, but I know Chrissie’s voice so well, and … No, it wasn’t her, I’m certain of it.’
Avril shrugged.
‘I’m intrigued to know what made you think it might be,’ Carla pressed.
‘To be honest, so am I. I suppose it’s just one of those hunches you get sometimes …’ She looked at Carla again. ‘What if she’s found out about you and Richard? That might make her call, mightn’t it?’
‘I suppose so. But I’m sure it wasn’t her.’ A few seconds ticked by, then she said, ‘You’re not thinking it’s her who the children and Maudie saw, are you?’
Avril looked perplexed. ‘I don’t know what I’m thinking,’ she answered. ‘I suppose it doesn’t seem very likely, does it, unless she’s lost her marbles.’
‘But even if she has, the kids know her. So does everyone in the village. Someone would have recognized her.’
‘Mmm,’ Avril responded, ponderously. ‘I guess you’re right. Anyway, what are you going to do now, about this call?’
Carla shuddered with nerves, then laughed. ‘Nothing,’ she said, ‘except thank God we’re going to Geneva right after the New Year, before we go to Zanzibar, because I feel very much in need of distancing myself, even if only for a couple of days, from everything to do with …’ She stopped, as Avril’s eyes started twinkling. ‘What?’ she said.
‘Nothing. I was just waiting for you to admit that this distance has to be taken from John, as well as from Richard.’
Carla’s expression was full of irony. ‘Well, I don’t need to, now you’ve just said it for me, do I?’ she retorted, and, flashing a grin, she turned and walked out of the door.
‘Everything all right?’ Graham said, coming into the kitchen where Betty was kneading dough on the big pine table.
Nodding, she said, ‘Barry’s coming for dinner. He likes freshly baked bread.’
Graham watched the pull and twist of her hands for a moment, then, helping himself to a mince pie from the pile on a plate, he sat down to eat it. ‘Why didn’t you stay longer?’ he asked her.
Her pale, tawny eyes came briefly to his. ‘I suppose I didn’t like to think of you here, on your own.’
He carried on chewing the savoury tart, apparently absorbed in thought, until she said, ‘Did you have a nice time at Carla’s yesterday?’
‘Very nice,’ he answered. ‘Though no-one cooks quite as well as you, my dear.’
Betty smiled. ‘How is she?’ she asked.
Graham’s eyebrows went up. ‘Apparently she’s got a new boyfriend.’
‘Oh?’ Betty responded.
‘Well, perhaps that’s rather overstating it,’ he confessed. ‘What I should say is, it seems there’s an attraction developing between her and John Rossmore.’
‘He’s a handsome man,’ Betty commented. ‘Wild though, if you believe the papers.’
Graham’s lower lip jutted forward as he considered that.
Betty said, ‘It should please you to think she’s getting over Richard at last.’
Sighing, he said, ‘I thought she was, but apparently he called her on the phone, which seems to have unsettled her rather.’
Betty’s surprise showed. ‘What did he say?’ she asked.
‘Not much, other than he wanted to hear her voice.’
Slapping the dough down on the table, Betty began to shape it.
Finishing the tart, Graham brushed the crumbs off his fingers, and got up to go and gaze out at the grey, bulbous sky that was descending over the apple orchards beyond their garden.
‘Do you think there’s any chance of them getting back together?’ Betty asked after a while.
With his back still turned he shook his head. ‘I don’t know,’ he answered.
‘But not if you can help it?’
Turning round in surprise, he said, ‘What on earth could I do to stop it?’
Betty merely looked at him. Then, carrying her loaf over to the oven, she opened the door and popped it in.
‘I just wish I could believe being back with Richard would make her happy,’ Graham said. ‘But after everything that’s happened …’ He sighed and shook his head.
Betty came over to pat his shoulder. ‘I know you care for her, but she’s not your daughter,’ she reminded him. ‘And even if she were, she’s a grown woman …’
Graham’s eyes went down.
Betty watched him, then, seeming to read him, said, ‘You’re afraid he’s found the letter Valerie wrote, aren’t you? That’s what you’re thinking. He might have called to tell Carla …’
‘If he’d found it, he’d contact me first,’ Graham assured her.
Betty’s eyebrows rose. ‘Well, I suppose we’d better hope you’re right,’ she responded.
There was a barely discernible tightness to Graham’s voice as he said, ‘I don’t want to remind you, that were it not for you that letter wouldn’t even exist.’
They stood looking at each other, tension starting to crackle in the air, until a kind of weariness seemed to crumple him, and, returning to the table, he dropped into a chair.
They didn’t speak about Carla again until later that night, when Barry Fellowes was dining with them, and Betty told him about the call Carla had had from Richard.
Fellowes’s wide jaw and sharp grey eyes turned immediately to Graham. ‘Well, that’s incredibly bad timing,’ he commented. ‘Do you think she told you everything he said?’
Graham nodded.
‘If she didn’t, we can always …’
‘No,’ Graham interrupted. ‘She told me everything. Let’s leave it at that.’
Fellowes looked at Betty. ‘I hope you haven’t …’
‘Let’s leave it!’ Graham barked.
Fellowes seemed startled by his tone, but said no more.
‘So where did Chrissie and Richard spend Christmas?’ Betty asked, after a while.
‘At home, apparently,’ Fellowes answered. ‘Though I’m told they went out for dinner, the two of them, on Boxing night. Last night? Yes. I’m losing track of the days.’
‘After Richard had called Carla,’ Graham said almost to himself.
‘It would seem so.’
A long, pregnant silence ensued, broken only by the clatter of their cutlery, and the wind blowing outside. A car went past, then the sound of a dog barking carried from somewhere distant. Fellowes finished his wine and looked pointedly at the bottle, but Graham didn’t seem to notice. Then, quite suddenly, Betty got to her feet.
‘I’m tired of this,’ she declared. ‘I tell you, I’m tired of it.’
Graham and Fellowes looked at her agitated face, though neither man appea
red surprised when she stormed from the room.
The candles flickered in the draught as the door closed behind her, and a small cloud of smoke billowed out of the hearth. Graham looked across the table at Fellowes, then, refilling their glasses, he said, ‘She’ll calm down in a moment. Probably just gone to get the pud.’
Chapter 18
ZANZIBAR. AS IF the name weren’t evocative enough, the island itself, with its proud and shameful history, oozed such mystery and charm that the sun-dazzled reality of present-day life seemed to merge with centuries past and cultures forgotten as though the vast, disorienting swell of sound, smell, colour and heat were as imagined as true. Narrow cobbled lanes zigzagged erratically through the heart of the town, a confounding maze of grand Islamic style and Indian splendour, with lacy balconies and bulbous domes winking in the sunlight, though succumbing now to their years of neglect. Oblivious to all but their purpose, men in crisp white kanzos and intricately embroidered kaffiyehs – the Islamic prayer caps – rode motorbikes with dangerous abandon, swerving through the hustle and bustle, skidding and shouting urgently for a path to open. The bitter, musky scents of spices, and the stench of drains hung in the humid air, while the haunting wail of Arabian music harmonized with the throb of African drums and the persistent blare and buzz of car horns and bicycle bells. Hawkers whose wares made a sea of riotous colour, and whose baubles glittered like a child’s eyes, beckoned in languages as diverse as Swahili, Italian, Afrikaans and English. Clusters of seepingly ripe fruit passed from one hennaed female hand to another, and the flamboyant swathing of smiling women who toted baskets on their heads and jangled bracelets on their wrists made a striking contrast to those in the flowing black robes and secretive veils of their faith.
To Carla, as she and Avril observed it all from the back of a car, it seemed that everything the senses touched was part of a potion brewed for intrigue and seduction. Even the tragedies of history seemed to have yielded up their misery to combine with the heady, hypnotic amalgam of now. As easy as it was to imagine pirates and slaves, it was as easy to envisage sultans and princesses, harems and palaces, hovels and dungeons. Ghosts of red-and blue-coated soldiers tramped the dusty streets with European ladies in crinolines and bonnets. Echoes of Eastern traders jumped around the dirty, decaying walls, along with the agonized wailing of captured men, women and children, chains clanking at their wrists and ankles, despair and terror preying on their hearts.
