An Unsuitable Match

by Joanna Trollope

  ‘You do that.’

  ‘Jenny . . .’

  ‘Yes, darling?’

  ‘Help!’ Laura said in a whisper.

  *

  They were gathered in the kitchen. It was after ten o’clock, and a few people still lingered in the sitting room. Rose was on the sofa, her silk skirts spread around her, and Tyler was perched on the arm of the sofa beside her. They were talking to the Gaffneys and a couple who lived further up the mews, and from the kitchen, the siblings could see that the Chinese lanterns still flickered beyond the now-closed glass doors, and the group around the sofa were illumined as softly and dramatically as if they had been on stage. Quietly, saying nothing to his sisters, Nat closed the kitchen door.

  He said, his back still to the room, ‘Don’t say anything.’

  ‘I have to,’ Emmy said.

  Laura slumped into a kitchen chair. ‘It was a big success.’

  ‘But it was awful. Awful,’ exclaimed Emmy.

  Nat turned round. ‘I don’t want to talk about it—’

  ‘We’ve got to!’

  ‘—until I’ve had time to think about it. For now, we’ve done our stuff. We have surely done our stuff.’

  Laura said miserably, ‘I just want to go home. I want to get back to Angus and the boys.’

  Emmy folded her arms and flung her head back to stare at the ceiling. ‘None of us can go anywhere until we’ve talked.’

  ‘I can’t,’ Laura said.

  ‘Nor can I,’ agreed Nat.

  ‘OK,’ Emmy said, still staring at the ceiling. ‘Not tonight, then. But soon. This week, OK? This week.’

  Laura said sadly, ‘He was fine. He was really fine. He didn’t show off or get all possessive, or anything. He was fine.’

  Emmy’s head slowly swung back until she was looking at the floor. She said simply, ‘It was Mum.’

  ‘Yes.’

  There was a silence. Nat went on standing just inside the door, Laura was on her chair, Emmy was leaning against the central kitchen island. They became aware that the handle of the door that led to the sitting room was turning slowly. Nat moved away and twisted round to watch it. Noiselessly the door opened to reveal Rose herself, in her full-skirted dress with, now, smudges under her eyes. She slipped into the kitchen and closed the door behind her. Nobody spoke. Then she composed herself, linking her hands together in front of her skirts and turning to look at her children’s faces, one after another. They stared back at her, dumbly.

  ‘What?’ Rose demanded.

  *

  Tyler said to Emmy, when she – to his delight – called, that he would like to take her out to dinner, in order to talk about Mallory. He suggested three evenings, but Emmy said that she was afraid she was busy on all of them. He then said, ‘What about lunch, then?’ but Emmy said she didn’t really do lunch these days because work was so busy and so unpredictable, so that it was often just soup at her desk. Tyler tried for a quick meeting after work then, a drink that wouldn’t eat into either her working day or her evening, and Emmy, plainly squirming at her end of the telephone, said guardedly that a drink would be fine. And then as an afterthought, she said thank you, hurriedly, like a child belatedly remembering its manners.

  Tyler chose a bar in Spring Gardens. Emmy knew, the moment she walked in, that he had chosen it carefully as being a place that someone of her age would think was hip and cool. He was sitting in a purple armchair when she arrived, and the whole bar area was bathed in purple light, glowing around the polished metal pillars and falling from huge purple lampshades suspended above the bar itself.

  ‘Goodness,’ Emmy said.

  Tyler leaned forward and planted an awkward kiss on her cheek.

  ‘Lovely to see you. Did you enjoy the party?’

  ‘Mm,’ Emmy said, nodding. ‘The garden looked amazing.’

  ‘So did your mother.’

  ‘Yes,’ Emmy said, nodding again.

  ‘Thank you for coming,’ Tyler said, indicating a second purple armchair. ‘And what can I get you to drink? Have a cocktail.’

  Emmy sat down primly. ‘Just water, please.’

  ‘Surely not.’

  ‘Yes, honestly. Just water.’

  Tyler said sadly, ‘As you wish.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  He eyed her for a moment, and then he said, ‘I’m so glad you’re in touch with Mallory.’

  ‘We Skype.’ Emmy said.

  ‘It’s wonderful. That you are friends, I mean. It – well, it makes me feel a lot better about the fact that she and I don’t seem to be doing too well together, at the moment.’

  Emmy looked at the nearest purple-lit pillar. ‘No.’

  ‘Which is very sad,’ Tyler said. ‘And I’ve spent a long time wondering what to do about it. I thought we were doing fine, and then suddenly we weren’t. And that makes me very sad.’

  Emmy said awkwardly, ‘I really can’t talk about this.’

  ‘No. No, of course you can’t. And I don’t expect you to, of course I don’t. I just felt I should say, somehow.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Let me get you that water.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Emmy said unhappily.

  Tyler got up and went over to the bar. Emmy didn’t watch him. She sat where she was and thought how hurt and puzzled Rose had seemed to be, in her kitchen after the party, and how they had all been too tired and too wretched to be at all articulate, so she had ended by saying crossly that if they were all so exhausted, they only had themselves to blame for insisting on working at the party, rather than being guests, as both she and Tyler had wanted them to be.

  Tyler came back to the table with a glass of water and a second glass full of ice cubes.

  ‘I wasn’t sure if you wanted ice.’

  ‘I do,’ Emmy said. ‘Thank you.’

  He sat down again in his own armchair. ‘I’d have loved to have bought you a proper drink, you know.’

  ‘This is fine,’ Emmy said, splashing ice cubes into her glass. ‘Honestly.’

  ‘I wonder . . .’ Tyler started.

  Emmy took a swallow of her water. ‘What?’ she said politely.

  He leaned forward and put his elbows on his knees. ‘Would – would you tell Mallory something for me?’

  Emmy said guardedly, ‘It depends on what it is.’

  ‘Of course,’ Tyler said. ‘I wouldn’t ask you to say anything you weren’t comfortable with. It’s just – well, I wonder if you’d tell her that I’m going to California soon.’

  Emmy shot a look at him. It was going to be easier than she thought.

  ‘California?’

  ‘Yes,’ Tyler said, ‘San Francisco actually. I’m taking your mother. She doesn’t know anything about it yet, so don’t spoil the surprise. But I want to show her all the places, all my places, in San Francisco. And above all, I want her to meet Seth.’

  Emmy thought of the photograph of Seth, of his tied-back hippie hair and his Doughboy apron and his serious-faced little Japanese partner. Then she thought of Rose.

  ‘You – you’re planning to take Mum to San Francisco?’

  ‘Of course. She’s going to be Seth’s stepmother after all.’

  ‘And she doesn’t know?’

  ‘She doesn’t know yet,’ Tyler said. ‘But of course she will. In good time, of course. She’d hate not knowing what to pack.’

  ‘But you haven’t discussed it with her?’

  ‘No,’ Tyler said, still smiling. ‘Do you think I should?’

  Emmy said emphatically, ‘I certainly do.’

  ‘Whoa,’ Tyler said, raising his hands and fanning them in her direction, ‘steady on! It’s just a trip to California.’

  ‘But it’s a significant trip,’ Emmy said. ‘The kind of trip that should be a joint decision.’

  ‘But I want to surprise her!’

  Emmy took another gulp of water. ‘And you hope that I’ll tell Mallory.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And that Mallory might th
ink of joining you in San Francisco?’

  ‘Ideally,’ Tyler said, smiling again, ‘yes.’

  ‘Sorry,’ Emmy said, ‘but no.’

  ‘No?’

  ‘No to telling Mallory. No to telling anyone, actually. The only person who ought to be told, who should be told, in fact, is Mum. And she shouldn’t be told, she should be asked.’

  Tyler looked down at the table between them. He said quietly, ‘Oh dear.’

  Emmy picked her bag off the floor and put it on her knee. ‘Sorry.’

  ‘I think,’ Tyler said carefully, ‘that for all your undoubted cleverness, you sometimes don’t understand about emotions and relationships. And what makes people happy, and feel safe. I don’t want to change one single thing about your mother, except how she’s been treated. I only haven’t told her yet about California because I want to be able to present it to her as a whole package, a sorted, organized package about which she has to do nothing but pack a suitcase. As I did with the party. I wanted her to have nothing to do but make herself look gorgeous. Which she did.’

  Emmy gripped her bag.

  ‘Who paid for the plane tickets to San Francisco?’

  Tyler didn’t flinch. ‘I did, Emmy. With my money. We are staying with friends of mine and will have our final two nights in a hotel. All sorted. All paid for.’ He paused. ‘Are you sure you can’t tell Mallory for me?’

  Emmy stood up and slung her bag on her shoulder. ‘Quite sure.’

  He looked up at her. ‘Why are you angry with me, Emmy?’

  She glanced at him and sighed. ‘It isn’t you, especially. It’s – it’s, oh, it’s something I can’t explain.’

  Tyler stood up too. ‘Why?’

  She took a step away. ‘Just something doesn’t feel quite right.’

  ‘In my seriousness about your mother?’

  Emmy took a further step. ‘No. Not that.’

  ‘Then what?’

  She opened her mouth as if to say something and then lost her nerve.

  ‘I don’t know,’ she said eventually. ‘Just a feeling. Just – something. Sorry I can’t tell Mallory. And thanks for the water.’

  He sketched a little bow. ‘Thanks for coming.’

  *

  ‘I’ve found another room,’ Tim said to Nat, catching him as he was about to leave for work.

  Nat was looking at his phone. He had his business suit on, with a bulge in his jacket pocket indicating his rolled-up tie, and a small black rucksack hitched on one shoulder. He looked up, bemused.

  ‘What?’

  Tim was still in his running gear, grasping a bottle of energy drink. He made a face at Nat.

  ‘Wake up, boyo. I’ve found another room. Not as good as this but in a great flat off Finsbury Park. Good for the journey to work.’

  Nat said, ‘But I don’t want you to go.’

  Tim gestured. ‘Hey mate, I thought you said . . . ?’

  ‘I did. But things have changed. You can stay.’

  Tim looked at Nat’s closed bedroom door. ‘Has Jess—’

  ‘No,’ Nat said, ‘she’s in there. Still sleeping.’

  ‘But I thought—’

  ‘So did I,’ Nat said.

  Tim put his bottle down and laid a hand on Nat’s arm.

  ‘Hey,’ he said softly, ‘sorry.’

  ‘Don’t be.’

  ‘No need to bite my head off.’

  Nat put his phone in his pocket. ‘You weren’t to know. I wasn’t to know. But the whole thing’s a bloody mess right now and if you sugar off and leave me with the whole mortgage to pay, I’ll probably shoot myself.’

  Tim regarded him. ‘Want to talk?’

  ‘Not much.’

  ‘OK then. I’d like to stay, if that helps.’

  ‘It does,’ Nat said shortly. He put the back of his hand briefly up against his eyes. ‘Sorry, mate.’

  Tim waited. Nat said, from behind his hand, ‘It’s my mum and money and my sisters and Jess and money again and it’s shit.’

  ‘It goes like that sometimes.’

  Nat took his hand away and focused on Tim. ‘Your mum OK?’

  Tim shrugged. ‘She’s like she always is. She’s a single mum getting on with it. Works nights in an old people’s home.’

  ‘I know,’ Nat said. ‘I knew that.’

  ‘So,’ Tim said, ‘she doesn’t have a fancy mews house in central London.’

  ‘Are you getting at me?’

  ‘Just reminding you,’ Tim said.

  ‘My sister Laura did that too.’

  ‘I’d like to help you,’ Tim said. ‘I’d like to stay here and help you. All the same.’

  ‘Thanks, bro.’

  Tim glanced at the bedroom door again. ‘Is she moving out?’

  Nat glanced too. ‘Hasn’t said anything.’

  Tim looked round him. ‘It’s a nice gaff.’

  ‘I’m lucky,’ Nat said, ‘I know I’m lucky. I’m not just quite as universally lucky as I thought I was.’

  Tim picked up his bottle and took a swallow from it. ‘We can all get lucky if we don’t want too much.’

  *

  Jenny Dodds rang Rose and got her answering machine. She left a message for Rose to ring her back. Rose didn’t. Jenny rang again and left another message, and then a third time, with a much more peremptory message saying that if Rose didn’t ring back this time, she, Jenny, would simply come to the mews and squat there, until Rose opened the door to her. Rose rang back early the following morning.

  ‘About time too,’ Jenny said.

  ‘You sound like my sister.’

  ‘We have reason, your sister and I. It’s adolescent not to return phone calls. By the way, where was your sister the other night?’

  ‘She doesn’t like drinks parties. She didn’t want to come.’

  ‘Just that?’

  ‘Of course!’ Rose said indignantly. ‘What are you suggesting?’

  ‘Well,’ Jenny said, ‘you tell me.’

  There was silence on the other end of the line and then Rose said, with obvious difficulty, ‘I’m – so glad you came to the party.’

  Jenny softened.

  ‘It was a good party. The house and garden looked wonderful. So did you. And he’s a nice guy.’

  Rose said, too eagerly, ‘Did you think so?’

  ‘I did. Very attractive, lots of charm, clearly thinks the world of you.’

  ‘I know,’ Rose said.

  ‘Al was fed up at how much hair your man still has. Quite sulky, going home, in fact. I should have said, at the very least, that I was used to being married to a bald guy so it no longer made any difference.’

  ‘That wouldn’t exactly have helped.’

  ‘No. So I didn’t say it. I said instead that I really valued his fidelity – or apparent fidelity, at least – but that wasn’t what he wanted to hear, so he ignored me.’

  Rose said, almost aggressively, ‘Why did you ring?’

  ‘To thank you for the party.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘No,’ Jenny said, ‘not really. I wanted to ask what was the matter.’

  There was a second’s pause and then Rose said flatly, ‘Nothing’s the matter.’

  ‘Ah.’

  ‘What d’you mean, “ah”, in that heavy way?’

  ‘What I mean,’ Jenny said, ‘is that it all looked wonderful. House, garden, you, him, all fantastic on the surface, all apparently under control. But – don’t interrupt me – there was something uneasy in the air, something I couldn’t quite put my finger on, but it was almost as if you’ve got yourself up a one-way street with no exit.’

  There was another silence.

  ‘Rose?’ Jenny said.

  ‘It was the children, I’m afraid,’ Rose said firmly. They insisted on being the waiting staff, not guests, as we wanted them to be, and as they’d been working all day, they were exhausted and being tired made them cross, and being cross wasn’t good for the atmosphere.’

  ‘No,�
�� Jenny said.

  Rose said nothing.

  ‘It wasn’t the children,’ Jenny said, ‘it was you. Something about you. You looked lovely in that dress, but you didn’t look relaxed. Or serene. You looked – well, kind of haunted.’

  ‘Nonsense,’ Rose said.

  ‘You said that very quickly. Too quickly, actually,’

  ‘I’m happy,’ Rose said. ‘He adores me. I’ve got wonderful buyers for the house, and we’ve found the perfect cottage. I’m happy.’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

  ‘It means,’ Jenny said, ‘have it your way. Think what you are determined to think if that’s what you want. What you really want.’

  She could hear Rose breathing at her end of the phone, little shallow breaths almost as if she was panting.

  ‘Rose?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I’m just going to say one thing more. Are you listening?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I’m not going to quote anybody you love at you,’ Jenny said. ‘I’m not going to mention your children. But I’m going to talk about you. You, Rose. You were led a terrible dance by William and since he left, you’ve done brilliantly. OK, you had the benefit of a classy house in an expensive location, but you’ve lived there, you’ve managed to live there and not only keep it going, but have a good life there, an interesting, satisfying life where you are beholden to no one and not distorted in any way by having to accommodate anyone else. Giving all that up for another marriage is absolutely fine as long as you really need – not want, need – to get married. You can be adored without being married, Rose.’

  She couldn’t hear Rose breathing any more. Perhaps she was holding her breath. Jenny counted to ten, then she said, in as gentle a voice as she could, ‘That’s all, Rosie. All I wanted to say. See you soon, OK?’ and clicked her phone off.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Prue sent Rose an email. Usually, she rang when she had something to say, but on this occasion it was an email informing Rose that she was about to go away for a fortnight to look after a fellow ex-headmistress friend, who had retired near Bridport and who was having a hip operation which would preclude her driving for six weeks. After that, Prue said, she was joining a cultural group for a tour of the palaces and artworks in Emilia-Romagna and Umbria, so she would be away, altogether, for a month. She said she hoped to see Rose when she returned and of course, she would be thinking of her a great deal while she was away.