An Unsuitable Match

by Joanna Trollope

  Jenny Dodds had accepted the invitation to the party and would be bringing her husband, Al. All the friends from the Highgate days said they would be coming, plus several of their grown-up children, who were, as one them had excitedly texted Laura, ‘Busting to meet this new guy of your mother’s!’ Laura had felt slightly sick when she read that text, but then feeling slightly sick was a familiar sensation these days. It happened every time she thought about Rose, or her houses, or the party. It was safer, she discovered, not to let her mind even tiptoe towards the engagement ring.

  ‘It’s all very well for you,’ she’d said to Jenny Dodds. ‘You’re a friend. You can detach yourself. But Rose is my mother.’

  ‘Exactly my point,’ Jenny said. ‘Not worth it. He makes your mother happy and that is what she wants. End of story.’

  Except it wasn’t, Laura thought, because – well, because it couldn’t be. It just couldn’t. Her mother, who had endured so much and won her freedom so magnificently, while never maligning those who had, often deliberately over the years, caused her such pain, could not simply step out now into empty air. Of course, Rose would insist that it wasn’t empty air, it was rosy clouds of possibility and happiness, but from Laura’s standpoint right now, those clouds looked treacherously insubstantial.

  ‘I’m fretting,’ she said indignantly to Angus. ‘There isn’t a better word. I’m fretting.’

  He moved to stand behind her as she sat gazing restively at her iPad on the kitchen table. Then he dropped a kiss on her head.

  ‘At last,’ Angus said.

  ‘What d’you mean?’

  ‘It gives me hope,’ Angus said, moving away to clean up Adam’s high-chair tray, ‘that you’ll fret about me and the boys when there’s cause to, one day.’

  Laura got up and came hurriedly over to the high chair, laying a restraining hand on Angus’s damp-cloth-wielding one.

  She said insistently, ‘You three have always been my priority. You know that.’

  He didn’t look at her.

  ‘I don’t know it but I’m very glad to hear it.’

  ‘Angus!’

  He pulled his hand from under hers and stood to face her.

  ‘Let’s not do this. Let’s not have a row. We never have rows.’

  ‘I don’t want a row,’ Laura said, ‘I’m not trying to have one. I’m just – miserable about Mum. And muddled.’

  ‘You know something?’ Angus said, looking down at her. ‘You are very like your father, in temperament. You’ve got the same focus about work, the same single-mindedness. And being a doctor means that society sanctions your single-mindedness. Actually, I think you’re wonderful, but I’d like to matter to you more, I’d like to be at the top of your list of priorities rather than comfortably taken for granted somewhere in the middle. And if worrying about Rose is the first step in promoting me up the pecking order, then fine by me. Don’t get me wrong: I love Rose. Mothers-in-law don’t get much better than Rose, and I don’t want her to be anything other than happy. But if she’s the catalyst, then I’m pleased. Pleased and grateful.’

  Laura reached to take the damp cloth out of Angus’s hand and put it on the tray of the high chair. Then she looked up, not at Angus’s face, but at the base of his throat.

  ‘Sorry,’ she whispered.

  ‘Don’t you want to fight back?’

  ‘No,’ Laura said. And then, ‘Am I really like my father?’

  ‘In some ways, yes.’

  ‘Oh,’ Laura said.

  ‘Look at me.’

  ‘I – can’t.’

  ‘I’m not angry, Laura. I’m not about to flounce off and exact some clichéd revenge. I’m just so pleased and relieved to see you worrying about Rose. What I want to say, actually, is, frankly, about time, Laura. About bloody time.’

  Laura nodded, slowly. She didn’t raise her eyes, but she lifted both hands and held Angus’s upper arms.

  ‘I do mind about you. I do know I couldn’t do what I do without you being so brilliant at supporting me, at holding the fort.’

  He waited, not moving. Very gradually, Laura’s gaze travelled up his neck and chin and nose until she was looking at him. She said, more confidently, ‘I know I take you for granted, but it isn’t deliberate. I suppose I always thought of it as a manifestation of real partnership.’

  ‘OK.’

  ‘This whole Mum thing should have made me realize what I have in you.’

  ‘Maybe.’

  ‘Sorry,’ Laura said again. She moved her hands up to encircle his neck. He didn’t react. Instead, his tone softening, he said, ‘What’s the matter, Laura? What’s especially the matter? These houses of your mum’s?’

  Laura let her hands slide until they were lying flat on his chest.

  ‘Yes. Yes, all that. But what’s bugging me in particular is this party. This – oh, Angus, this effing party. Everyone’s coming to have a gawp at him. Of course they are! And I just feel that throwing a party and flashing your engagement ring round a party kind of locks Mum into it all, like she’s being quietly, smilingly, herded somewhere until the door clangs shut behind her and that’s it.’

  Angus linked his own hands loosely behind Laura’s waist. ‘You can’t stop it.’

  ‘No. No. If I ever could have.’

  ‘Then you must join it. We all must.’

  Laura’s gaze sharpened. ‘What?’

  He smiled down at her. ‘We all go. We offer to help. We make sure we are all just there.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘To support her,’ Angus said. ‘And – well, to keep an eye.’ He bent towards her and lowered his voice. ‘Whatever happens, Laura, you need to see it with your own eyes. And she needs to see that you do.’

  *

  Mallory WhatsApped Emmy a photograph of the view from the new apartment she had been lent on the Hudson River. It was far too far up, she said, way beyond 125th Street, so the subway took an age to get to the theatre where she was currently understudying – again! – off Seventh Avenue. The view was of a huge dun-coloured stretch of water. Mallory said it was worth it all to have a rent-free river view. Emmy thought it looked very dull, and said so.

  ‘Yes,’ Mallory wrote back, ‘it’s dull. The theatre is dull. Waiting, even with odd walk-on parts, is dull. I AM FEELING DULL DULL DULL EMMY! I want to come back to London. I want to see you. I want to see your folks. I want to see my damn daddy. Speaking of whom – did you know he’s planning to take your mom to California? To meet Seth and Yuhui? Seth said so. Call me, pumpkin, call me. I am dying here.’

  Emmy re-read the message several times. It was after midnight in London, so Mallory would have written it before she set off for the long trek to the theatre, in New York. She would, she thought, send a holding reply, an expression of sympathy and reciprocal affection, but she wouldn’t call until she had discovered more about this plan Mallory mentioned, of Rose and Tyler going to San Francisco. It was a perfectly natural thing to do, on one level, and on another, it was – well, odd. Emmy put her phone down and stretched. Odd wasn’t really that out of the ordinary just now, because plenty of other things seemed to be, too, and the world wasn’t coming to an end. Or didn’t seem to be. A week ago, she hadn’t been on a single date with ginger Matthew, let alone a second one. And he had proved himself to be great company and with surprisingly lovely manners, ordering an Uber to take her home after an evening eating street food in Hoxton, and dancing on the pavement to an impromptu band. He’d even insisted the taxi was on his account, and when she protested, had said, ‘When you earn as much as I do, you can pay for your own cab,’ and then he’d kissed her cheek in a way that made her want it to be her mouth next time, and waved until the cab turned a corner.

  The evening had emboldened her. It had definitely been confidence-building, as was the very fact of being asked out a second time by the same person – who was, after all, a person in authority over Emmy at work, however little he made of that, either inside or out of the office. Her evening ma
de Emmy want to smile, and hum a little, and do a few dance steps as she sashayed across the floor towards the bathroom.

  She would, she thought, do no more tonight than reply to Mallory with a brief and affectionate response. But tomorrow she would take more definite action, and she might, she thought, reaching for her eye-makeup remover, take action without checking with her siblings first. She would, she thought, ring Tyler. She never had rung Tyler, she had never even thought of ringing Tyler, but now she just might. She peered into the mirror and inspected her teeth. Yes, she would ring Tyler and say she had heard from Mallory who mentioned some idea of going to San Francisco and she, Emmy, was just wondering if that was true? That’s all, she’d say, no big deal. Just – are you taking my mother to California, to meet your son? And wait, just wait, to see what happened.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  The glass doors of Rose’s sitting room stood open to the late-spring evening. Tyler had hung Chinese paper lanterns in the trees, and dotted candles in glass jars here and there, and encouraged Rose to put a huge and spectacular flower arrangement outside the front door to signal to all their arriving guests that this was the party house. He had hired glasses, and organized plastic sacks of ice cubes in which to cool the wine, personally wrapped melon slices in prosciutto and topped miniature blinis with sour cream and smoked salmon. He had, Rose noticed, been humming as he worked, and every time he passed her, laden with something purposeful, he would smile at her and pause to kiss her in a way that suggested that they were in some particularly delightful conspiracy together.

  She had to admit that the room and the house and the garden all looked wonderful. It had been Tyler’s idea to invite the Gaffneys, and Rose could not help but feel an enormous pride, however tinged it was with anguish, at the impression her house would make on them, lit up in every sense for a party. Tyler, she thought, had remembered everything, even ashtrays in the garden for the smokers, and courteous notes to the neighbours, and had simply got on with listing what needed to be done, and then done it. She watched him for a while, hanging up the Chinese lanterns, and could not help noticing anew how thick his hair still was, how good his figure, how deft he was with his hands. She folded her arms and leaned against the doorframe. Only the last of those things, she thought determinedly, and then strictly in a professional sense alone, could ever have been said of William.

  There was a new dress hanging upstairs. She had not wanted a new dress, had argued forcefully in favour of dresses she already owned, but Tyler had insisted, had taken her shopping, had refused to let her see the price on the dress she had chosen. So the new dress – silk, sleeveless, patterned in swirls of duck-egg blue and cream with a long, full skirt, an undeniably romantic and feminine dress – hung upstairs, like a picture, on the front of her wardrobe. Tyler was going to wear dark-blue trousers and a pale-blue shirt whose double cuffs would be linked with the silver knots she had given him. He had held the knots against the shirt cuffs with the same air of triumph with which he had held her aquamarine ring against the silk of the dress. His face was alight with certainty and she had felt a flash of despair with herself at not being able to – quite – surrender as not only he could, but also expected her to. He’d turned to her, still holding her ring.

  ‘I had no idea,’ he’d said, his voice full of emotion. ‘All my life, my entire life, I had no idea it was remotely possible to be so happy.’

  There was a beat. Then Rose smiled at him.

  ‘Nor me,’ she said.

  *

  Nat had told Tyler that he and his sisters would be waiters at the party. At first, Tyler had said no, no, wouldn’t think of it, he wanted Rose’s children to be free to enjoy themselves, but then, faced with Nat’s inflexibility, had given in, if reluctantly. It became clear that he envisaged the party being run in a particular way, as a kind of showcase for Rose and her very different, very promising future, and definitely not as some kind of Woodrowe family affair. Nat heard him, with difficulty. He said, ‘Would you rather we weren’t there?’

  Tyler looked shocked.

  ‘Of course not. Rose would be horrified. So would I. I just don’t want this to be some extension of your family parties in the past. For any of you.’

  Nat said truthfully, ‘It won’t be. It couldn’t be. But we will be better off with a job to do. All three of us.’

  ‘I can see that.’

  ‘The girls can hand round the food. I’ll do the wine.’

  Tyler glanced at the ranks of polished glasses.

  ‘You can help me do the wine.’ He gave a little laugh. ‘I’ll need something to do myself. Exhibit A, after all.’

  Nat felt a brief softening towards him, and quelled it.

  ‘It’ll be fine.’

  Tyler went on looking at the glasses.

  ‘I so want it to be. For her.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I – wish Mallory was here.’

  ‘Yes.’

  Tyler squared his shoulders and smiled at Nat.

  ‘Would you like to bring your girlfriend? She’d be very welcome.’

  ‘She’s rehearsing,’ Nat said. ‘But thank you.’

  Tyler dropped his gaze. He said to the floor, ‘There’s nothing wrong, is there, in loving someone more than they love you?’

  Nat was startled. He said uncertainly, ‘N – no.’

  Tyler rallied himself instantly.

  ‘It’s very good of you and your sisters to help like this.’

  ‘We’re glad to.’

  ‘I’d better go and see if your mother is ready.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Are your sisters on their way?’

  ‘Ten minutes, they said.’

  ‘Good,’ Tyler said heartily. ‘Good, good. So kind. And,’ he added gallantly, ‘decorative, too.’

  ‘We’ll do our stuff,’ Nat said. ‘We’re well trained.’

  Tyler moved to the door.

  ‘I’m sure,’ he said. He paused, and then he said again, ‘I so want it to work. For her.’

  *

  The sitting room was full. The terrace outside also seemed to be full, with some women guests wearing their husbands’ suit jackets over their shoulders. Tyler wasn’t wearing a jacket. He was in his immaculately ironed blue shirtsleeves, with Rose’s silver knots in the cuffs, and he seemed to be everywhere at once, topping up glasses and smiling and smiling. Even Rose, approving of both his appearance and his hospitality skills, found herself wishing that he wouldn’t smile quite so extravagantly and perpetually, and that he didn’t keep directing people to look at her and pronounce on how beautiful she looked in her new dress. Passing him at one point in the crowd, she murmured, ‘No need to try quite so hard, darling. Just relax a bit.’

  And he had replied, whirling on past her, a bottle in either hand, ‘I am relaxed, Rosie! I have never been so relaxed or happy in all my life!’

  Perhaps, she thought confusedly, watching him, he was right and she was being oversensitive. Perhaps she should just let him be, in the way she was trying to let her children be, without constantly trying to comfort them, or congratulate them, or encourage them to make some small adjustment in their thinking or behaviour. Perhaps—

  Someone put a hand on her arm. It belonged to a woman she couldn’t immediately put a name to, a thin woman in an electric-blue sheath dress.

  ‘Rose,’ the woman said warmly, ‘and looking as lovely as that adorable guy of yours keeps saying you do. Let me see this ring.’

  *

  Laura and Emmy, by mutual agreement in black dresses, had circulated ceaselessly with plates of Tyler’s canapés and managed, on the whole, not to catch each other’s eye when a friend of Rose’s, from the Highgate days, made some comment about Tyler, or Tyler’s appearance, which was designed to elicit a revealing response.

  ‘Mum looks wonderful, doesn’t she?’ they had agreed they would say. ‘Yes, we’re all fine, getting along well. But doesn’t Mum look amazing?’

  Nat was behavin
g as he had when Rose had first broken the news about Tyler to them. He was refusing to let his sisters unburden themselves whenever they returned to the kitchen to refill the canapé plates, but was insisting, with a military precision that made them roll their eyes, that the kitchen was ordered as they went along, empty bottles stowed in the cartons they had come in, dirty glasses marshalled beside the sink. He behaved towards Tyler, as he swung in and out with full and empty bottles, with a kind of determined deference that defied mockery or challenge, and when Emmy tried to corner him over something outrageous that someone had whispered to her, said grimly, ‘Later. Later. We’re here to work.’

  Laura, however, was cornered in the garden by Jenny Dodds.

  ‘Come on, darling. I’ve known you since you were three, for God’s sake. Very attractive man. Very. And your mum looks a picture. But something’s not right. Is it? Something’s—’

  Laura held her plate of blinis between them. ‘No, Jenny,’ she said firmly.

  ‘Don’t be silly, Laura. Don’t try and pretend with me. He’s fine. But your mother looks – is – kind of brittle. You know she does.’

  Laura gripped her plate. She said, looking at Jenny, ‘You told me to go along with whatever she decides. You told me not to jeopardize my relationship with her. Why else do you think we’re doing this? For her, of course. For her.’

  ‘I’ll let you go in a second,’ Jenny Dodds said. ‘Al hates drinks parties anyway so he’s been champing to leave for half an hour. It’s just seeing her – and she looks gorgeous – makes me wonder if . . . well, if she wouldn’t quite like to be rescued?’

  Laura pushed forward, holding her plate in front of her. She suddenly felt like crying.

  ‘Then you tell her, Jenny. You’ve known her for nearly forty years, haven’t you? None of us can do any more.’

  Jenny stepped back to let Laura pass. ‘Of course.’

  Laura didn’t look at her. ‘I’m going to find the others.’