My Husband's Wife

by Jane Corry

  Lily! Did this man know her? Or was she merely a symbol of everything that he clearly despised?

  ‘What do you mean?’ she whispered.

  Those dark eyes now turned their focus to her. ‘I think you understand perfectly.’

  He was speaking as if they were old acquaintances.

  ‘But –’ she began, mystified.

  ‘Shh,’ hissed someone.

  And before she could say any more, the man with the short haircut slipped out of the church door behind them, as silently as he had come in.

  ‘What are you doing for Christmas, Carla?’

  It was the phrase on everyone’s lips, from the auburn-haired boy with the floppy fringe who had started following her around at law school, to Lily when Carla – frustrated at not having heard from her old ‘friend’ since the call about Tony Gordon’s funeral – had called to check on her postcode ‘so I can send you and Ed a Christmas card’. With any luck, it would prompt another invitation.

  ‘What am I doing for Christmas?’ she repeated for effect. ‘I was hoping to go back to Italy, but my mother is visiting a widowed aunt in Naples and says it would be better if I stayed here.’

  Carla didn’t have to fake the note of sadness in her voice. Indeed, she had felt a pain in her chest when Mamma had written to outline her plans. Never before had they spent Christmas apart! Her mother’s loopy writing made her feel homesick. She so desperately wanted to feel Mamma’s soft cheek against hers. To speak her own language every day. To eat Nonna’s bread which she baked herself. Not only that but she was broke! Studying abroad was so expensive and the small allowance from her grandfather was running out. If it hadn’t been for Lily and Ed’s £ 1,000, she wouldn’t have been able to pay the hostel fees or even eat. What would happen when she’d got through their money?

  ‘Then you must come with us to my parents’ home in Devon.’

  Yes! Yet there had been something in Lily’s tone which made Carla feel that the invitation was slightly reluctant, made out of politeness. Ed, she was sure, would have been warmer. She’d noticed last time that out of the two, he had seemed the friendlier.

  ‘There’s just one thing,’ Lily added. ‘Tom, our son. He’s … different, as I said before. We never quite know how he’s going to behave in front of strangers. So be prepared.’

  Different? Carla understood ‘different’. Had she not felt different for most of her life at school in England, even when she had tried so hard to be the same?

  And now here she was, on a train heading out of London along with lots of other passengers, who were, unusually for English people, chattering away. Asking her where she was going for Christmas, and didn’t she think the lights in Oxford Street were beautiful?

  In her bag, she had some small presents. An embroidered purse for Lily, an artist’s notebook for Ed and a plane kit for Tom. All clever buys from a charity shop in King’s Cross. She was particularly pleased with the plane kit. It had been hard finding a present for a boy. Besides, she couldn’t remember exactly how old he was. Still, even if he didn’t like it, it was a gesture. Meanwhile, Carla sat back in her seat and watched the green fields roll past. ‘We are by the sea,’ Lily had said. ‘You will love it.’

  ‘You must ask them for more money,’ Mamma had reminded her in another letter which had arrived just before she left.

  But that would be so awkward, thought Carla as she opened her law books and began to study, despite the rocking motion of the train. How was she to just come out with it? You’ll think of something, sang the train as it rocked along. You’ll think of something …

  ‘But why can’t it fly?’ demanded the tall, skinny boy, waving his arms around in frustration.

  ‘I’ve told you, Tom. It’s only a model.’

  ‘But the picture on the box shows it in the air.’

  ‘That’s to make it look exciting,’ Ed groaned.

  ‘Then they shouldn’t show it like that, should they? We ought to report them to the Advertising Standards Authority.’

  Carla was impressed. ‘You have a point, Tom! You’ll have to be a lawyer like your mum.’

  ‘Heaven forbid.’ Ed grimaced. ‘One in the family is more than enough. Sorry, Carla, no offence intended.’

  She flashed him a smile. ‘None taken.’

  Up until Tom’s outburst, her present of a model plane set had been a great success. The boy had assembled it in ten minutes flat, even though it was much more complicated than she’d realized. But it was afterwards that was difficult. All these questions! Questions that could not be answered. It was exhausting for them all, including Lily’s parents, who had been kindness itself to her.

  When she’d arrived at this beautiful house, Carla had been astounded. She’d thought the place in London was lovely, but this was extraordinary, with its huge sash windows, a hall that was big enough for a whole family to live in, and a large airy conservatory facing out over an expansive lawn! Just the kind of house she would love to own.

  ‘My grandparents used to live here,’ Lily had explained.

  They must have been very rich, thought Carla, to have afforded such a palace by the sea. It stood high on the cliff overlooking the water; the view from her bedroom was staggering. Below twinkled the lights from the town, just as the lights would be twinkling in the Florentine hills right now. But Carla had forced herself to bite back the homesickness and concentrate instead on the tall Christmas tree in the hall – what a wonderful smell of pine! – with the presents at the bottom. There was even a small pile with her own name on it.

  The drawing room, as Lily’s mother called it, was tastefully furnished with a sage-green carpet and old mahogany wood hinting of lavender polish. There were pictures hanging on the walls; not Ed’s, but older ones, showing scenes of fields and setting suns.

  ‘Copies,’ Ed had said dismissively when she’d admired them, although he’d spoken in a low voice so no one else had heard.

  There were photographs too. Everywhere. On the mantelpiece. On the side tables. Pictures of Lily as a child and also pictures of a boy who was a little taller than she was. ‘That’s Daniel,’ Lily’s mother had said in a bright voice.

  Daniel? Dimly, Carla remembered a conversation she’d had with Lily about her brother, all those years ago when she’d first lived in England.

  I don’t want to talk about him.

  Wasn’t that what she’d said?

  ‘Is he coming here for the holiday?’ Carla had started to ask, but her question was drowned in confusion because Tom had suddenly started ripping open his presents, even though they hadn’t been to Midnight Mass yet.

  And now there was all this fuss about why the model plane couldn’t fly. It had become heated, Carla noticed. Tom was getting increasingly upset, tugging at his own hair and pulling out strands. Lily was really edgy, although she’d been like that since she’d picked Carla up from the station. She didn’t remember Lily being so irritable when she used to know her. Lily’s mother, who looked just like her daughter, with the same height and hair colour, was apologizing profusely.

  Different, Lily had said. Tom, our son … he’s different. When people said that, they usually meant they were embarrassed by the difference. What they didn’t consider was how it affected that person.

  The only thing that would help was to make him feel good about himself. Reassure him. And since no one else was doing that – Lily constantly had her nose in files – the task clearly fell to Carla. ‘Actually,’ she said, ‘Leonardo da Vinci got his models to fly.’

  Who is Leonardo da Vinci? she expected Tom to ask. But his face had begun to clear. ‘The artist? The man who drew Christ like a clock?’

  ‘Exactly.’ That was the way she had seen the picture as a child too. A Jesus-like figure, spread-eagled at quarter to three. ‘He designed one of the early aeroplanes. Did you know that?’

  Tom shook his head. ‘I haven’t got that far. I’ve only just got the book out of the library …’

  ‘I didn�
��t know you were studying Leonardo at school, darling,’ said Lily, emerging unexpectedly from the study. Her expression reminded her of Mamma’s all those years ago when she was trying to help her understand her maths homework.

  ‘I’m not. I just liked the picture on the cover.’ He frowned. ‘If Leonardo could make his models fly, why can’t I?’

  ‘It’s a different kind of model.’ Carla was kneeling down next to him now. ‘Tell you what, in the morning we’ll see if we can make our own design.’

  Tom frowned again. ‘How?’

  ‘We can use paper.’

  ‘That’s not strong enough for us to fly in.’

  We’re not going to get in it, Carla almost said. It’s just a model. But already she could see that Tom didn’t reason like any of the children she’d known in Italy.

  ‘Then I will teach you Italian instead,’ she said suddenly.

  ‘Italian?’ Tom’s face brightened. ‘I would like that. Then I could tell the man at the pizza place that I don’t like tomatoes. He will listen to me if I speak his language. I’m teaching myself Chinese as well, you know. I bought a book on it.’

  ‘How fantastic!’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Ed as they made their way into the dining room with its big oak table, gleaming silver cutlery, red cloth napkins, cut-glass wine goblets and a circle of holly in the middle for decoration. ‘It’s kind of you to put yourself out.’

  A warm glow spread through her, and she gave him her best smile.

  ‘I enjoy being with Tom,’ she replied, allowing Ed to pull out a chair for her. ‘I understand how he feels.’

  ‘How?’ Ed was watching her. Instinctively, she could feel his mind sketching her.

  ‘Because I felt different as a child too and I know what it’s like.’

  His eyes were still on her. ‘I love it when the passion crosses your face like that.’ His fingers were fiddling with his cutlery now, as though he wished they were charcoal sticks. ‘I wonder, would you mind if …’

  ‘If you painted me again?’

  His face jerked as if he’d woken up suddenly after dozing off. ‘Exactly.’

  She flushed with excitement. Of course she didn’t mind. ‘I’d be honoured.’

  He grasped her hands. His felt hot and big. ‘Thank you.’

  From the corner of her eye she saw Lily watching.

  ‘Who’s for a walk along the beach tomorrow before Christmas lunch?’ asked Lily’s father from the other end of the table.

  ‘Me. ME!’ Tom was leaping out of his seat. ‘Me and Carla.’ Then his face creased with anxiety. ‘But I can’t make sandcastles. I don’t like the feel of wet sand.’

  Poor child! ‘I’m not keen on wet sand either,’ she said. ‘It makes you mucky, doesn’t it?’

  Tom nodded – so hard she feared he might hurt his head. ‘Exactly.’

  Carla glanced at Lily’s face. Carla knew that look. It meant she felt hurt. Shut out. Carla should be pleased. Yet part of her actually felt rather sorry for the woman.

  That night, she couldn’t sleep. If only she could ring Mamma to wish her a happy Christmas, but the aunt didn’t have a phone apparently, and Nonno considered mobiles to be unnecessary.

  Restlessly, Carla got out of bed and wandered towards the window. The moon was sitting on the line between sky and sea as if balancing on a bar. Perhaps she would go for a walk. Pulling on her coat, she tiptoed along the landing. Lights were out apart from a low line under the door of Ed and Lily’s room. What was that? Unable to stop herself, Carla paused to listen.

  They were rowing.

  ‘You should have given Carla money for Christmas,’ Ed was saying angrily.

  ‘How exactly? It would have made us even more overdrawn.’

  ‘A thousand wasn’t enough and you know it.’

  ‘Get real! It’s more than she deserves. Her letters were so pushy …’

  Carla almost let out a gasp but managed to stop herself in time.

  ‘So she did write?’ Ed’s voice rose with indignation. ‘You said you hadn’t received anything. Why didn’t you tell me?’

  Lily was pleading. ‘Because you were in no fit state. And because, as I keep trying to say, we can’t afford it. Tom is our priority. Perhaps you should sell some more paintings.’

  ‘How can I when you’ve dried up all my inspiration?’

  ‘Ed! That’s not fair!’

  She heard a tinkling of broken glass followed by Ed’s angry voice: ‘Now look what you made me do.’

  Carla shrank back into the darkness as Lily came flying out of the door, thankfully in the opposite direction. Swiftly, she slunk back to her room, shaking. So her first instincts had been right. Lily had received the letters. She had lied. As for being overdrawn, she didn’t believe it. Not with a house like that.

  If she’d had any qualms before, there were none now.

  37

  Lily

  What a relief to be back! London. Work. It may be that strange, half-asleep time between Christmas and New Year, but for us, there is always work to do. Finally I can relax.

  I was edgy all the while I was in Devon. Abrupt with everyone, including our guest. I was aware of it before Ed pointed out that I was like a cat on a hot tin roof every time the phone rang or someone knocked at the door. I’m still kicking myself for letting slip to Ed about Carla’s letters, which resulted in one of the worst rows we’ve ever had.

  Hardly surprising that I let the cat out of the bag. My mind was still whirling after that encounter with Joe Thomas at Tony’s funeral.

  There I’d been, all those years since his case, basking in the glory of being a criminal lawyer with a ninety-five per cent success rate. But it was all down to the help I’d received from an unknown criminal.

  A man who was considered innocent by the rest of the world. Because of me.

  Yet what’s really had me jumping at shadows this holiday are Joe’s continued allegations about Tom. I kept expecting my old client to ring or, even worse, just walk in through the door and insist (rightly or wrongly) that Tom is his child. After all, he knows where my parents live.

  No wonder I was edgy. On the verge of hysteria, more like. Time and time again, I almost told my husband but managed to stop myself. He wouldn’t understand. No one could. If my poor mother didn’t have enough on her plate, I might even have confided in her.

  But one look at her worn face – exhausted with looking after my son who should be our responsibility – stopped me. This was one I had to sort out for myself.

  In a way, it was a relief having Carla there. A stranger in the midst of a tense, wobbly family makes everyone behave themselves at a time of year when the whole world is meant to be happy. In fact, that’s why I’d invited her.

  Ed had jumped at the idea and I knew why.

  Hadn’t I realized at our reunion in the gallery that she could save us? Ed needed to paint her. It would revive his career. Then, at Christmas, I watched him from across the table as he thanked her. ‘I didn’t even have to suggest it,’ he’d said excitedly later on. ‘She brought up the idea herself. We’re going to arrange a sitting in January. Don’t you see, Lily? This could be the start of a new phase in my life!’

  He was so buoyed up that we almost forgot to argue about Tom. And work. Of course I’d had to check my emails (‘Yes, Mum. Even during the break’), but that was par for the course. And there were a few sticky moments when Carla kept asking about Daniel.

  ‘Why don’t you just tell her he’s dead?’ Ed finally demanded.

  I wanted to scream at him then. Couldn’t he understand? Daniel was mine. He was none of Carla’s business.

  And then there’d been that hideous row about Carla’s begging letters, where Ed accused me of killing his inspiration.

  ‘Did you have a good Christmas?’ asks my secretary as I settle into my desk.

  ‘Yes, thanks,’ I answer automatically.

  Then I glance at the sparkling diamond on her left hand. ‘Do I gather that c
ongratulations are in order?’

  She nods excitedly. ‘I couldn’t believe it. He put the ring in the Christmas pudding! I almost swallowed it when –’

  And that’s when the phone goes. It’s a woman. A frantic mother. Her son has been arrested for drink-driving. He’s in the cells right now. Can we help?

  Thank goodness for work. It shuts everything out. It seals the gaps where the gas is seeping through. It helps me to forget that Mum is, right now, helping Tom to prepare for his first week back at school, where he will go to bed every night without my bedtime kiss or Mum’s.

  ‘Oh, and one more thing,’ says my secretary. ‘It was in the in-tray when I arrived.’

  A photograph. It’s in an envelope bearing just my name and the word PRIVATE in handwritten capitals.

  The picture clearly shows a junction without any road marks.

  The night porter, who is just finishing his shift, confirms my worst fears. A man with a short haircut gave him the envelope last night.

  Slowly, I rip the photograph into little bits and then hand them to my secretary. ‘For the confidential waste bin,’ I say.

  ‘You don’t need the information then?’

  ‘No.’

  From now on, I win cases on my own.

  38

  Carla

  Not long after Boxing Day, Carla got up to find that Lily had already gone back to work on the 6.05 a.m. train. ‘A client needs her attention,’ Ed had muttered.

  After Lily’s departure, everyone seemed so much more relaxed. No more snide comments. No more, ‘Please, Tom. Just sit still for a moment, can’t you?’

  Yet even without Lily’s prickly presence, Carla still felt there was something wrong in the Devon house. Lily’s mother had been particularly nice to her, but in a way that suggested there was something to hide. She felt sure it was to do with Daniel, the son no one wanted to talk about.

  Perhaps they were estranged? Carla considered her own home in Italy, where many of the neighbours continued to snub her for her illegitimate status, even though her mother’s ‘disgrace’ had happened so long ago.