by Lesley Lokko
34
MADDY
New York, December 1996
He won’t call. Of course he won’t call. Why would he? Why should he? It was a one-night stand, nothing more. I know he said he would call … but he won’t. The disjointed sentences floated around and around in her head until she thought she would explode. After Rafe left, she ate an entire tub of Ben & Jerry’s ice cream, two packets of salsa-flavoured potato chips, a piece of leftover chicken Kiev that she’d brought home from Sunshine’s a couple of days earlier and – for no other reason than it was there in the fridge – a bowl of cold creamed spinach. When she brought everything up a few hours later, she couldn’t bring herself to look at what she’d deposited in the toilet bowl. It would have genuinely made her feel sick. She rinsed her mouth, twisted her curls into a ponytail and resumed the crazy monologue in her head. When she couldn’t stand it any longer, she picked up the phone and rang Sandy.
‘You did what?’ Sandy’s voice was predictably astonished.
‘I know, I know. But he’s really nice … I mean, really nice. He’s a doctor.’
‘Meaning what? That you’ll hear from him again? Maddy … are you nuts? What do you know about this guy? Nothing. For all you know, he’s probably married. In fact, he is married … of course he is. In New York for a weekend, meets some waitress in a bar—’
‘No, it wasn’t like that. OK, it was … but it was different.’
‘Like how?’
‘Like … like … I don’t know. He’s English. They’re not like that.’
‘Oh, Maddy.’
Maddy chewed the inside of her lip nervously. She’d phoned Sandy to make her feel better, not worse. ‘Anyway, it’s only been two days. Maybe he’ll call tomorrow …’
‘Yeah, and maybe his wife will.’
She put down the phone a few minutes later feeling even worse. Sandy was right. She was mad. Not because she’d slept with him – this was New York, after all, and Maddy was no innocent fool. It wasn’t as if she’d never had a boyfriend, or a one-night stand, for that matter, although the decision about those two encounters turning out to be one-night stands hadn’t been hers. She’d never had a boyfriend or slept with someone without thinking – or hoping – it would lead to something else, something more. If that’s what you want, Sandy told her crossly, then don’t sleep with them. She didn’t know how to explain to Sandy that she simply didn’t have the courage to say no. If a man she liked singled her out, she was generally so astonished that it didn’t occur to her to say ‘hold on’ or ‘wait until I’ve got to know you better’. Deep down she was both hopelessly romantic and romantically hopeless. She’d read enough self-help psychology books to know that the issue was somehow tied to her father’s abrupt disappearance and the fear it had produced in her that everyone else would do the same – but she’d have no sooner understood what to do about it than she could bring him back. So she muddled along, oscillating wildly between elation and despair, punctuated by late-night trips to the refrigerator and the toilet and the gnawing sense that something wasn’t right … and then she’d met Dr Rafe Keeler. Whom she knew was different, only she didn’t know how. Or how to explain it to Sandy.
The phone rang suddenly, causing her to jump. She picked it up. It would be Sandy, of course, feeling remorseful. ‘Besides,’ she said quickly before Sandy could get a word in, ‘I really don’t care if it was just a one-night stand. It was great … best sex I’ve ever had.’
There was silence on the other end. And then a faint cough. A male cough. The static of an international line crackled momentarily.
‘Sandy?’ Maddy croaked, feeling faint.
‘Um, no … it’s not Sandy. It’s Rafe.’
‘Rafe.’ She closed her eyes.
‘Maddy.’
‘I nearly fell over,’ Maddy told Sandy a few hours later. ‘I mean … I was so sure it was you.’
‘So tell me this again … he’s invited you to London? For Christmas? And he’s paying?’
Maddy nodded. She lifted the bottle of beer to her lips, enjoying the look of stunned disbelief on Sandy’s face. She felt the slow burn of excitement in the pit of her stomach. She was going to London! At first she thought she hadn’t heard him properly. ‘London? London, England ?’
‘Um, not sure which other London there is,’ he’d said, his deep baritone voice coming down the line towards her.
‘Me?’
‘Well, who else? I don’t know anyone else called Maddy. Do you?’
She’d blushed violently. ‘But I … I don’t even have a passport. I’ve never been anywhere before. I’ve never even been in an aeroplane.’
‘Oh. Well, the plane bit’s not difficult. I send you a ticket, you go to the airport and pick it up and then you get inside this big metal bird and it hurtles down the runway, gathering speed until it takes off. I can explain the principles of flight if you like … insofar as I can remember them, of course, but—’
‘Rafe,’ she protested weakly, laughing. ‘I know what a plane is … I’ve just never flown anywhere before. But … what if I can’t get a passport in time?’
‘You’re not a felon, are you? Haven’t killed anyone lately, or been to jail?’
‘No,’ she said, shaking her head as if she could see him and laughing. God, she really, really liked him.
‘Then it shouldn’t be a problem. Can you find out and let me know?’
‘Yes,’ she whispered, her voice suddenly disappearing on her. They’d chatted for a few more minutes … and that was that. The following morning she rang the passport helpline. For $165 she could get one in forty-eight hours. She gathered together all the documentation and practically ran to the nearest passport agency offices. She waited behind the bulletproof glass window as the clerk checked her application, too nervous to even speak. Finally, the woman looked up.
‘OK, Ms Stiller. Everything’s here. If you’ll come back on Wednesday morning, we’ll have your passport ready for you.’
She left the building in a daze and walked all the way uptown to Sandy’s. It was barely lunchtime but she had to have a beer. Sandy, predictably, demanded to hear all the details – from the minute Maddy first set eyes on him until she put the phone down after he’d called a few days later. She couldn’t believe it either. A good-looking, English neurosurgeon. Did such a thing exist? Clearly. Maddy happily answered all her questions. A week in London over Christmas. Even her mother was excited. ‘Of course you should go,’ she said emphatically. ‘I’ll be fine. I’m going over to the Steenkamps’. I won’t hear another word.’ Maddy put down the phone, her stomach trembling with nerves. Sometimes, it seemed, fairy tales did happen. Even to her.
35
DIANA
London, December 1996
Diana checked her reflection in the gilt-framed mirror in the hallway. She’d never quite trusted the soft, weak light that came in through the small window above the front door. She suspected it of being too flattering. She swung her head slowly from side to side, checking her new cut. Claire, her hairdresser, had persuaded her to add a few warmer, lighter highlights to her hair. She’d worn the same expertly cut bob that framed her face for the past twenty years. She brushed away a stray strand, turned up the collar of her crisp white Armani shirt and made sure the heavy silver and pearl necklace Harvey had given her for her fiftieth birthday was properly balanced around her slender neck. She turned sideways … the shirt was tucked into dark blue wool palazzo pants with a lovely thick hem. Patent black stiletto boots completed the outfit. Ferragamo, of course. She’d seen them in the window at Selfridges and walked straight in. Not cheap, naturally, but she’d wear them for the rest of her life. She pulled a face. She hated such phrases, especially now. At fifty-four, it sounded as though the rest of her life might arrive sooner than she thought. It was the ridiculous sort of phrase her mother had always used. She turned away from the mirror, irritated with herself. Why on earth did she have to think about her mother now? She looked at h
er watch. In a few minutes Rafe would be here. With this woman he’d met in New York. Once. At a bar. She’d listened to him the night he came round for dinner in pained silence. Now he was bringing her to their house. Well, at least they’d get a chance to meet her before Christmas lunch, she’d told Harvey that morning. She was staying for a fortnight.
‘It’ll be fine,’ Harvey said in his typical, reassuring way. ‘I know you’ve had your misgivings before, but she does sound rather nice.’
‘An actress?’ Diana couldn’t help herself.
‘Classically trained, I think. There’s a difference, my love.’
‘I hope so,’ she answered darkly.
Well, in a few minutes she’d be here. Josh was upstairs; she hoped he would make an exception and come down. Aside from the one evening when Rafe and Aaron both came over for dinner just after his arrival, the three of them hadn’t spoken. She sighed. They’d never got on, not even as children. It wasn’t a question she could trust herself to answer, but it pained her nonetheless. Almost thirty years of murderous animosity between them; there would be no cure, no change. All she hoped for these days was a semblance of civility on the odd occasion they were all together – like tonight. Could Josh be counted upon to be polite? She hoped so. For everyone’s sake.
She took a quick look in the living room – everything was exactly as it should be. The cushions were plumped, pictures straightened, every surface polished. The hand-knotted gebbeh rug with its bold geometric patterns and rich colours brought a luxurious warmth to the room. There was a chilled bottle of champagne in the silver bucket beside the chesterfield and a tray of soft, pungent cheeses that they’d brought back from Mougins. Any second now Harvey would come down the stairs, put something soothing and classical on the stereo and open a bottle of red wine to breathe. She let her forefinger rest for a second on the gleaming surface of the antique console that stood beside the door. One of the few things she’d taken from her parents’ house when her father finally died. A beautiful piece; soothing just to look at. She heard a car pull up outside. She straightened one of the silver picture frames, brushed away a piece of lint from her trousers and walked to the front door, a smile of welcome fixed squarely on her face.
36
MADDY
London, December 1996
To say that Maddy felt sick was the understatement of the century. It was only her third night in London – fourth if one counted the plane journey over, which she didn’t. The first two nights had appeared to her as if in a dream, out of someone else’s life. She’d been too excited on the plane to even contemplate sleep. She’d sat stiffly upright in her seat, counting the hours until they landed. Rafe was at Heathrow, waiting anxiously for her to appear. She’d gone through Immigration, collected her bags and then had to rush down the corridor to the nearest toilet to be sick. She’d looked at her reflection in the neon glow of the airport toilet and nearly thrown up again. She was pale and wan and there were dark circles of exhaustion under her eyes. She’d barely slept in the previous week. She couldn’t quite remember what he looked like; what if he saw her and was disappointed? What if she wasn’t the way he remembered? What if … ? She’d walked out into the glare of chauffeurs and relatives and seen him immediately, standing at the back with the biggest bunch of flowers she’d ever seen and the widest smile across his impossibly handsome face. She almost fainted with relief. They’d gone back to his flat somewhere in the centre of town and stayed in bed for almost the entire day. They went out that evening to a nearby restaurant and he told her he was taking her to meet his parents. His parents? She’d met him just once … was he insane? But the circumstances were unusual; it was Christmas in a week’s time and there was no question she wouldn’t be spending it with them … it was only polite to introduce her first. Yes, he knew it was a little sudden and he certainly didn’t want to frighten her off, but what else could he do? In three months’ time he’d be in Basle, doing his long-awaited residency, and it would be difficult for them to meet. ‘Besides, they’re really easygoing. They’ll love you, I promise. It’ll be nice.’ She’d listened to him with a mixture of fascination and horror. Did she even have anything suitable to wear?
Now, sitting next to him, her stomach churning, she watched the elegant London houses sweep past in a blur. They turned left and right down one crescent after another, Maddy losing all sense of direction and time, until Rafe finally pulled up and switched off the engine. ‘We’re here,’ he said, turning to smile at her. ‘This is it.’
Maddy looked at the house and gulped. Tall, immaculate and elegant, it was a creamy white colour with a glossy black front door. A small garden in front, a short pebbled walkway leading to the front steps and two giant planters filled with some exotic blood-red flowers on either side of the door. The garden disappeared down one side of the house. It was about as far away from the farmhouse in Iowa as it was possible to be. She looked down at her plain grey woollen skirt and tights and her heart sank. ‘Rafe,’ she said, her mouth suddenly gone dry. ‘Wh … what if they don’t like me?’
‘Don’t be daft.’ He got out of the car and came round to her side. He gripped her hand tightly as they walked up the front steps together. ‘How could anyone not like you? Hmm?’ Maddy was too nervous to reply. She racked her brain for a character – any character – anything to help her get through the next few hours, but nothing came to mind.
The front door opened as soon as they reached it. Standing in the doorway was a petite, dark-haired woman, her arms outstretched in welcome. She lifted her face to be kissed by her son. Maddy bit down fiercely on the impulse to hide behind him. They followed her into the hallway. ‘Mother.’ Rafe turned to draw Maddy in. ‘Mother, this is Maddy.’
His mother held out a hand. Maddy shook it. Her touch was so brief, Maddy wondered if she’d imagined it. ‘Hi, it’s so nice to meet you, Mrs Keeler,’ she said enthusiastically, injecting as much warmth and friendliness into her voice as she could. She could practically feel the woman wince. Oh dear … too friendly? Too American?
‘Gosh, it’s been years since anyone called me that! Everyone calls me Diana. Even my sons.’
‘I … oh, yes, of course …’ Maddy managed to squeak.
‘Where’s Dad?’ Rafe asked, touching the small of Maddy’s back reassuringly.
‘He’ll be up in a minute … he’s just checking on dinner. I thought we might as well eat downstairs, but we’ll have drinks in here first. The kitchen’s a bit informal for champagne, don’t you think?’ She smiled at Maddy.
Maddy couldn’t think of anything to say in reply. She followed Rafe and his mother into the living room. It was quite simply the loveliest room she’d ever seen. Grey-blue walls; polished wooden floorboards covered in a collection of beautifully simple Persian rugs; an old leather chesterfield in one corner big enough to seat five; gleaming antique furniture scattered around, and at the enormous bay window, a pair of crushed silk curtains in a dusty rose colour. A glass bowl of giant white lilies stood on the centre table, releasing their pungent fragrance into the air. Leading off the sitting room was a dining room dominated by a long table and eight, perhaps ten chairs clustered around. An impressive mixture of paintings and photographs hung on the walls. There was a giant gilt-edged mirror above the mantelpiece. Maddy caught a glimpse of herself as she walked past – wide-eyed, obviously nervous and out of her depth. She had to think of something, a character, and quickly, too. It came to her in a flash. Audrey Hepburn. Gamine, wide-eyed, but charming, not gobsmacked and certainly not eaten up with nerves. Elegant, considered, feminine. She began to project herself into the role.
Suddenly a very tall, handsome silver-haired man entered the room holding a bottle of wine by the neck. He hugged his son affectionately and then turned to her. ‘And you must be Maddy. Is it short for something? Madeleine, perhaps?’ She shook her head, smiling in what she hoped was a charming, demure manner and was about to say, ‘Madison’, but he bent towards her and kissed her on bot
h cheeks instead. ‘I hear it’s your first visit to London,’ he said, standing back and beaming down at her.
‘Er, yes, sir, it is,’ she said eagerly.
‘Oh, call me Harvey, please. I never bother with the ‘‘sir’’. Ask my wife.’
Maddy looked hesitantly at Rafe, but before she could say anything, another figure appeared in the doorway. She looked up at him. He was dark-haired and dark-eyed, as tall as Rafe but leaner, somehow harder. The sun had ripened his skin, like fruit. A beautiful rosy darkness rippled up his neck, spreading across his face. Beside her, she could feel Rafe stiffen. It was as if the temperature in the room had dropped a notch. Maddy looked from the newcomer to Rafe and back again, confused. Who was he?
‘Josh, darling, don’t just stand there. Do come in.’ Diana went towards him, laying a hand possessively on his arm.
‘Rafe.’ His eyes flickered slowly over Rafe but there was nothing in his expression that even hinted at a smile or a welcome.
‘Josh.’ Rafe’s response was equally hostile.
‘And this is Maddy, Rafe’s, er, friend. She’s visiting London,’ Harvey said quickly, making sure she wasn’t left out. The man looked briefly at her, murmured some sort of standard greeting and then turned and disappeared.
‘Who was that?’ Maddy whispered as Diana hurried after him.
