A ripple of guilt hits him as he enters and sees on a table a DVD of the film Gervaise, untouched since he and Eva sat in this room and watched it. How many evenings, how many old Continental movies have we enjoyed here over the years? he wonders. The question has a ring of finality.
Luke sits back in one of the two Edwardian leather chairs and removes from his pocket the slip of paper with Rhona’s name and mobile number. Again he looks at the hastily scrawled note, its black ink written with a fountain pen in a large script, the figure nine formed with two cursive strokes like a large lower case g written by a child. The two lines of the kiss perfectly bisect each other. He looks up at the Carolean silvered mirror hanging incongruously on the wall above the TV screen, stares into the grey, decayed mirror plate and for the first time wonders when on Sunday afternoon Rhona had had the opportunity to scribble this note. She was not out of his sight for a moment after Alden appeared and as far as he can remember, from the time he arrived at Saffold Farm he was continuously with her, apart from those few minutes when he was left alone in the parlour while she prepared tea. That was when she probably wrote it. If not, she must have written it before he arrived. He sits up and looks out of the window on his left into the empty street, wondering which alternative is true. Uncertain, he turns his head to a film poster of Theodora, the eponymous empress dancing provocatively as chariots race in the background. The note may not have been a last minute afterthought on her part, he tells himself. The realisation sends a new surge of excitement through him. At the same time it imparts a new confidence. He dials her number and waits, his eyes drifting to the figure of Monsieur Hulot on a poster of Jacques Tatti’s Trafic.
‘Hello-o,’ answers Rhona, half singing.
‘Rhona, it’s Luke, I . . .’
‘How lovely. I did so enjoy seeing you on Sunday. I’m really sorry Alden was so rude.’
‘I’ve dug out a mirror which may suit your parlour.’ He fixes his eyes on the blank TV screen and tries to sound relaxed. ‘I could bring it over some time.’
‘How exciting. You’re a star. I’m in London right now, but I’ll be back tonight. What about tomorrow? I can’t wait to see it. Is eleven o’clock a good time? My gang have got the day off, so we won’t be interrupted.’
‘Eleven is perfect.’
‘Any more thoughts about joining us in Santa Marta?’
‘I’m having a word with Russ this afternoon.’
‘Do try and come. With or without him.’
Eva grips the arms of the wing chair. ‘The rat,’ she says.
‘You cannot be certain,’ cautions Stella.
‘If it’s true I would . . .’ Eva scowls at the anemones.
‘What would you do?’
‘If I were twenty years younger I would smash every mirror in his shop.’
‘But now?’
‘I’d break the ones in his house. He’s more attached to those.’
‘Will you?’
‘No. No, what does it achieve? Of course, over the years I’ve sometimes thought he might meet someone else. We’ve none of the usual ties – children, a millstone of a mortgage and . . .’ Eva looks up at Stella for a moment. ‘You don’t think this is the past catching up with me, do you? Get into a relationship with a client and inevitably, sooner or later . . .’
‘You’ve been with Luke longer than many relationships survive.’
‘Perhaps in my case the sooner or later has happened much, much later.’
‘Would it help to revisit the time you and Luke first got together?’
‘No, not now. I’m too upset.’
‘I don’t want to be a cracked vinyl record, but you still cannot be one hundred per cent certain anything is awry.’
‘No, but I’m one hundred per cent suspicious.’
‘How will you be with him when you see him next?’
‘I don’t know. I’ve really no idea.’ Eva repositions herself among the cushions, too many for comfort. ‘We’re meant to be meeting for supper in the pub tonight and I’m not sure if I can face it.’
‘And if he did have an affair and it didn’t last, would you want him back. Or, to ask an old-fashioned question, is he worth fighting for?’
‘I don’t know.’
Stella nods. After a long silence, she reaches for her diary. ‘Come and see me after the weekend. How about Tuesday? Come after work. Shall we say seven? That way we can talk for as long as we wish. And perhaps you can stay for supper.’
‘I’d like that.’
Luke throws the phone on the other armchair, takes a deep breath, springs out of his seat, punches the air in triumph, claps his hands and raises his two arms to the window in a victory salute. Now for a celebratory drink. Champagne would be great. There’s a case in the cellar but why trundle down the narrow steps and get covered in dust? There’ll be a bottle of something in the kitchen. The elm cupboard in the kitchen reveals several bottles of red wine, gin and an unopened bottle of vodka – not the usual drink of choice but today is not an ordinary day. He pours himself a large measure, adds a splash of tonic and goes into the garden.
Alone outside, raising his glass to the neighbouring roofs, he is hit by another pang of conscience, remembering that vodka is Helen’s favourite drink? How will she feel if he and Eva split? When she was growing up, hadn’t he been as much a parent to her as her own father? ‘Oh, hell. To whatever,’ he says to the sky and downs most of the drink. At the end of the garden he sits on a wooden bench under the fig tree. Starlings return to one of the gravel paths; they no longer annoy him. When the time is right I will tell Eva, he thinks. It will be hard but it’s not as if we’re married. Maybe we’ll remain close. Doubting this last thought, he frowns and drinks a few last drops of vodka. And now for Russ, he tells himself. I’ll be a better listener this afternoon, even ask for more details about his return to Chiswick. At the correct moment I’ll raise the possibility of Corsica.
About to leave the house, he is hit by elation as he passes the front room. It is as if Rhona’s voice on the telephone has lingered here. He stands in the doorway and hears her say, ‘I did so enjoy seeing you on Sunday.’ Walking to the shop he wonders if there has ever been a day when he has felt so alive.
At midday Eva returns to Brick Kiln Cottage with every intention of gardening herself into mental equilibrium. The strategy has been successful when facing minor problems in the past; perhaps it will help now. She will work for an hour, stop for a sandwich, work through the afternoon. First task, to prune the laurel branches which have grown so much that they are stealing light from the irises. Next it will be necessary to check again for any reappearance of ground elder. Maybe, after these and a dozen other jobs, a sufficient reserve of emotional strength will have been built up in order to face Luke tonight. She is pulling on her gardening clothes, wondering if saying nothing to Luke is the best policy – the Esther strategy – when the phone rings. It is Annie.
‘Eva, you free later? We’re having a girls’ night out to Cromer flicks. Want to join us? Fish and chips afterwards.’
‘What’s the film?
‘Choice of two. We could either see . . .’
‘Yes, of course I’ll join you. Don’t tell me what’s on. I’ll go along with whatever you choose.’
She replaces the phone with the pleasure of reprieve. Seeing Luke has been avoided – at least for a day.
As soon as Luke opens the front door a grinning Russ appears from the workshop.
‘Guess what’s gone,’ he says, waving an arm around the shop.
Luke looks around, wondering what has been sold, a search made harder by the fact that Russ, after the sale, has rearranged much of the remaining stock. The old game, he thinks, but today, to humour him, I will play along until closing time. Standing in the centre of the shop, he casts his eyes around the walls and the floor. From his vantage point he can see into the workshop. With a quick glance he checks that Russ has not taken it upon himself to sell the only item of stock wh
ich has any importance. No, Rhona’s mirror is still there.
‘I can see everything’s moved, Russ, but I can’t for the life of me see what’s missing.’
‘You must do. Surely.’
‘No.’
‘Sometimes I think a customer could steal a six foot pier glass and you wouldn’t know it had gone.’
‘That’s why you’re so vital to the business, Russ. Give me a clue.’
‘Definitely not.’
‘Is it mirror or furniture?’
‘You tell me.’
Luke realises that the missing item is a large Regency oval mirror which this morning had been hanging over the bookcase, but which now has been cunningly replaced with a slightly smaller oval mirror from the store room. Nevertheless, he will continue guessing until at least lunchtime.
‘I’ll get there, Russ. Give me a minute or two.’
‘Shout when you’ve worked it out.’ Russ goes back to the workshop, reappearing a second later to scoop away the invoice book from the desk. ‘No cheating.’
At 1.00pm Russ reappears. ‘I think I’ve beaten you this time.’
‘I’m not giving up yet. I’ll go and buy a pork pie to stimulate the brain cells.’ He leaves the shop, buys the pie and two cans of Guinness and returns to find the workshop prepared for lunch in the usual meticulous way. Since the guessing game will not be permitted for the next hour, alternative tactics are required to sustain Russ’s good mood. ‘So tell me again about the changes in Chiswick High Street,’ he says. ‘Are there any market stalls left?’
‘I think the big Sainsbury’s has had its impact. Mind you, a few stalls do a roaring trade on its doorstep. I bought some dahlias there for the church. What you wouldn’t recognise . . .’
Luke eats his pie slowly and makes an effort to listen. Patience is needed: after lunch, when shop business can resume, Corsica can be broached.
‘Of course Hogarth’s statue is still there and the Town Hall and the Old Pack Horse on the corner, but it’s the plague of new eating places which surprised me . . .’
I shall have to ask Russ to say nothing to Eva, at least not for the moment – that shouldn’t be a problem, but after today there will be no turning back. The moment Russ is informed, a critical line will have been crossed. I am not daunted by this, only aware of its gravity. And I am certain that Russ who, without ever being unfriendly towards Eva, has always been suspicious of the world of counselling, will be loyal enough to support any decision I make.
‘. . . and down Devonshire Road of all places there are at least four restaurants. It’s a different world now. And my old house in Kingswood Road, so I’m told, was sold last year for over a million. Not that I regret moving, mind. I’ve got no-one to leave my house to whether it’s worth a million or twopence.’
At 1.55pm Russ clears the table and neatly folds the tablecloth. When he reappears from the kitchen he is once again in his work coat. Meanwhile Luke has turned the shop sign to open and seated himself at his desk. Before Russ can resume repairs to a walnut dressing mirror, Luke turns towards the workshop. ‘Russ, can you spare a moment so we can talk about the summer?’
With a quizzical look Russ makes himself comfortable on a Sheraton chair.
‘Russ, I’m planning a radical departure from our normal routine this summer. It means closing the shop for a week in August. The business can certainly stand it, and of course it will be paid extra holiday for you.’
Luke looks to see if Russ’s face betrays any reaction to this suggestion. There is none.
‘Now the reason for this is that I’ve been invited – in fact you and I have both been invited – to join Alden and Rhona Mills for a week in Corsica, helping with a one night production of a play. Flights and accommodation will be paid for. What do you say?’
Russ frowns and takes a deep breath. Luke is certain the response will be negative.
‘Which play?’
‘Peter Pan. It will be performed in a small village in the mountains, miles away from the tourist centres.’
‘I thought something was going on.’
‘How d’you mean?’
‘Well . . . you and Rhona.’
There is a frown on Russ’s face.
‘Nothing is going on, but . . .’
Russ’s frown breaks into a smile. Luke takes it as a good sign. ‘Was it that obvious?’
‘Well, I’ve known you all your life. And I suppose that mirror in there with twelve hours faultless work on it is heading in her direction too.’
‘I’m delivering it tomorrow. I’ve said nothing about this to Eva.’
Russ holds up his hand. ‘That’s none of my business. Now I shall have to give some thought to this holiday plan. It’s all very sudden.’ With that he returns to the workshop and immerses himself in a cushion mirror’s loose veneer. Luke remains at his desk pretending to be busy with online catalogues. He even prints out a few pages to enforce the impression. Of course, he encourages himself, it doesn’t matter if Russ joins me or not, but the invitation was for the two of us and from Rhona as much as Alden and it would be a pity to disappoint her. When the shop phone rings he seizes the handset hoping it is not Rhona cancelling the meeting. It is Eva.
‘Change of plans for tonight. Out of the blue Annie has invited me to join her and some of the girls for a cinema trip. Couldn’t say no. Hope you don’t mind.’
‘Not at all. Enjoy the evening.’ He sits back, pleased at the prospect of an evening alone to compose his thoughts. In twenty hours’ time he will be with Rhona.
During the afternoon tea break nothing more is said about Corsica. Luke absorbs himself in the crossword in the local paper, while Russ stands by the door looking out into the market place. The uneasy silence suggests to Luke that there is little chance Russ will be joining him. It is not until 5.00pm that Russ gives any indication of his thoughts. As he switches off the lights in the workshop he says casually, ‘I suppose I’d better blow the dust off my panama hat.’
With equal composure Luke says, ‘Have you heard of an artist called Lynton Travers?’
‘No. There was an architect, Martin Travers, but no Lynton I’ve heard of. Why?’
‘He’s a friend of Alden’s and lives out there. This performance is in his honour.’
As they leave the shop Russ strokes his chin and says, ‘I wonder how they’ll do the flying scenes in an open air production. It was the large oval mirror, by the way – as I’m sure you’ve already noticed.’
11
Eva brushes through a rail of women’s jeans in the discount store. If she is to find a suitable pair, they will almost certainly be in the men’s section, but hope or habit makes her start here. She moves to the next rail, in an attempt with each hanger moved, garment rejected, to dismiss the canker of suspicion. A deep breath, eyes closed. It was Annie’s advice, quietly given last night, before the film, ‘Don’t look so sad. Go to the city tomorrow and buy some clothes. It may not cure what’s dragging you down, but it sure as hell will help, even if this film doesn’t.’ But watching a comedy at the Regal turned out to be a panacea. And the four of them had laughed so much in the Albion afterwards that they had attracted frowns and a murmur of ‘ladettes’ from a morose regular. Since the youngest of them was thirty-eight, this was the ultimate compliment and the cause of more hysterics. The emotional high had not receded overnight. Eva opens her eyes. Rhona was not going to ruin her life. From now on hers was the Esther strategy.
The women’s jeans prove as hopeless as ever and she walks towards the steps of the first floor men’s clothes, on the way passing the rails of dresses. Again from habit she lingers, brushing aside each dress, hanger by hanger.
A head on the other side of the rail looks up. ‘Eva, hi. What a surprise.’
It is Agnes.
Eva freezes. The shopping trip was devised as an escape from the unthinkable, not a reminder of Rhona.
‘Hello, Agnes. We both obviously have a nose for a bargain.’ She moves along
the rail, knowing that to meet a client between sessions is best avoided: the encounter ends here.
Agnes also moves along the rail. ‘I’m so glad to bump into you,’ she says. ‘I was going to phone to see if we could meet before our last session.’
Eva looks at a light cotton floral dress she has unhooked from the rail. ‘I think we should wait until next week. And this is hardly an ideal place to talk.’
‘Why don’t we go for a coffee? There’s a great place up the road.’
‘Agnes, that’s very kind, but we should keep our meetings on a professional basis. And this morning I have shopping to do.’
‘That dress will crease like tissue paper, you know.’
‘Don’t be offended but it’s really for the best.’ She returns the dress to the rail.
Agnes reaches forward, straightens the dress and slowly says, ‘I know about Luke and Rhona. I didn’t on Wednesday morning, but since then I’ve learned.’
The blade twists in Eva’s stomach. ‘Agnes, I don’t want to know,’ but the moving blade tells her she needs to hear everything. She unhooks another dress.
‘That’s no good either. See, you’ve creased the material just by holding it. Come on, the coffee shop’s only two minutes away.’
Eva looks down and sees she has gripped the shoulder of the dress so tightly that it has lost its shape. She throws it on top of the rail and turns to walk away, but her feet will not move. The Esther strategy does not cover this situation. She knows she should say, ‘Please phone or wait for next week’s appointment,’ and not lingering walk out of the shop. Instead, she hangs the dress back on the rail and says, ‘Very well. Coffee.’
The Mirrror Shop Page 12
