Something Stupid

by Victoria Corby

  ‘So that’s where you get your skill at playing pat-a-cake,’ I said.

  She smiled. ‘Yes. Isn’t it funny how much prettier the babies seem to be over here?’

  I can’t say that I’d noticed, but the heavy sigh that accompanied her statement set bells ringing even in my befogged brain. Was this the problem? But surely Stefano had been talking about when the children came, I thought, confused, so he couldn’t be refusing to let Cressida have any. Another possibility raised its head. You read about it all the time, don’t you? Even people like me. As Cressida continued to look longingly out of the window in the direction of the now vanished baby I cleared my throat nervously and, desperately afraid I was about to put my foot in it, said carefully, ‘Do you want to have a baby, Cressida?’

  She turned her face towards me with a slightly sur­prised expression. ‘Well, yes, I do. But it’s all so difficult.’

  ‘Can’t the doctors help with problems these days?’ I asked.

  She stared at me in astonishment. ‘What for?’ she said indignantly. ‘So far as I know I don’t have anything wrong with me. Neither does Stefano for that matter,’ she added furiously as if I’d just accused him of impotence.

  I felt like going and hiding my burning face in the loo for a quarter of an hour. ‘I’m sorry, I thought that when you said it was difficult...’

  ‘That I was in need of IVF?’ she finished for me. ‘Well, I’m not.’ She sighed again. ‘It’s all so complicated,' she said plaintively and began gazing out of the window again. I waited hopefully, praying that my silence would make her feel the need to rush in and fill it. To my faint surprise it worked. She turned tragic eyes towards me and said, ‘You see, Stefano said before we even got engaged that he’d want me to start trying for a baby soon after we got married. He doesn’t have any children from his first marriage, his wife kept miscarrying, and he’s desperate for a family before he gets, as he puts it, too old to enjoy his own children. And I agreed that after six months I’d go off the pill and we’d see what happened.’

  She began tracing invisible circles on the table top in front of her with the tip of her finger. ‘I really meant it at the time, but I hadn’t thought about… I mean, he virtually forced me into saying I’d have a baby. Said he wouldn’t marry me unless I agreed.’ Her voice was indignant. ‘I understand his wanting a baby, and I want one too - eventually - but I’m still young. There’s lots of time. I think a promise that’s been forced out of you like that doesn’t really count. Don’t you agree?’

  I didn’t know what to say. Actually I didn’t think I did agree but I knew it wouldn’t be sensible to say so. I kept my eyes down as I said, ‘So what did you do?’

  ‘I went off the pill,’ she said promptly.

  I raised my head and stared and her in astonishment. ‘But you said...’

  She tapped the side of her nose. ‘I’m not always as stupid as I look. I couldn’t risk Stefano’s finding them and the chances were, since I’m always leaving things about, he would, no matter how carefully I hid them, so I had a coil put in. He had no idea.’ She smiled at her own cleverness and then seeing my expression said defensively, ‘I had to do it that way. I couldn’t have told him. He’d have worn me down until I agreed to do exactly what he wanted. You see, I’m not strong like you.’

  ‘Me?’

  ‘You don’t let people walk all over you. Look how you stood up to Stefano when he came into your office, I could never have done that. I can shout at people, lose my temper, but I’m no good at standing up to people.’ So instead of standing up to Stefano, I thought, she provoked him instead. ‘I only got interested in Arabella’s course because I thought it might show me how to be firm with him. It was no bloody use at all. But it was too late by then.’ She looked down at her lap and said in a low voice, ‘He opened a letter from my gynaecologist by mistake. It asked me to contact him because there had been problems with my type of coil.’

  ‘Oh,’ I said inadequately.

  ‘Quite,’ said Cressida grimly.

  ‘So that’s what the big row you had before he went to Milan was all about?’

  Cressida looked as if just the memory of that cataclysmic argument was enough to make her feel queasy. ‘He’s never, ever spoken to me like that before. He said that he’d never be able to trust me again. He even said,’ she laughed harshly, ‘that his mother was quite right when she said that I was completely unreliable and not fit to have care of so much as a hamster.’

  ‘People say dreadful things when they’re angry, and often don’t really mean them.’

  ‘He meant it. He said he was cutting off my allowance until I was pregnant, and he was going to send me back to Italy where I could have a peaceful time with his mother, contemplating my familial obliga­tions. As if I was just some form of baby-producing machine,’ she added loudly enough for a couple of people to turn around and look at her curiously. ‘And that he would visit every week or so for a service until it had the desired result!’

  I didn’t dare ask her to speak in a lower tone in case she shut up completely. I sank down in my seat and hoped with all my might that no one in this carriage spoke English. ‘Um, maybe he was just hurt and upset.’

  ‘Furious more like. He’d even taken himself off to a fertility clinic to get himself tested on the QT, see if it was his fault that I wasn’t pregnant. That hit his pride where it hurt most and he blames it all on me,’ Cressida said gloomily.

  This was one of the rare occasions when I found myself fully in sympathy with Stefano. ‘But what I can’t under­stand, Cressida, is why you’ve decided you don’t want a baby. I saw you with that one just now and you adored her. You looked like a natural.’

  She smiled at me, pleased. ‘Oh, do you think so?’ Her face fell. ‘You see, I’m so frightened—’

  ‘You don’t want to believe those old wives’ tales about being in agony for days on end,’ I cut in reassuringly.

  ‘You should hear what the old Contessa has to say about biting through the bedpost having Stefano,’ Cressida said dryly. ‘I’m not afraid of pain but—’ She cleared her throat. ‘I know perfectly well that Stefano didn’t choose me for my scintillating conversation, my keen mind or because I can take an active interest in his business interests like his first wife did. Or for my child-bearing hips for that matter. He wanted me for my looks, and because I can talk to people and I’m a good hostess who can make people feel comfortable. I can even run a house pretty well and knock up classy flower arrangements. But it’s my looks that are the most important thing. Once I’m pregnant I won’t be attractive any longer.’ I stared at her in amazement. ‘Everyone knows that men go off their wives when they’re pregnant. Once their wife has lost her figure and is being sick each morning and demanding coal to eat they’re haring off in search of the next bimbo with a twenty-two inch waist and large breasts that are for them alone, and not about to be devoted to the next generation.’

  ‘That’s complete rubbish.’ I said. Surely Cressida couldn’t have so little confidence in herself that she believed she could lose Stefano’s affection so easily? Or have such a cockeyed way of thinking that she’d been prepared to risk losing his love by her deception? But a quick glance at her pretty, frowning face showed she was being absolutely sincere. ‘Lots of men find their wives even more attractive when they’re pregnant. My cousin Helena complained that her husband would never leave her alone and she found it quite exhausting.’ Quite untrue since Helena was a vinegary spinster in her fifties but what does a little lie matter when it’s in aid of curing a heavy bout of self-pity? ‘And so what if the first thing that attracted Stefano to you was your looks? There’s got to be something that draws people together in the first place.’ She was still looking unconvinced so I began to elaborate on my theme, as usual rushing in where angels fear to tread and not thinking about what I was saying.

  ‘Look at me, for instance. James didn’t go straight to the top of my personal hunk parade the moment I saw him for his
nifty way of valuing tables and his good results from university. It was what he looked like in a pair of over-tight Levi’s that set me going. I couldn’t have given a damn what his views on anything were or what he spoke about - in fact, since he spent a fair amount of time putting me in my place I’d have been glad if he was conveniently dumb - all I wanted was to get my hands on his body. Though I was a bit vague about what I’d actually do with it once I had,’ I admitted.

  ‘And now you’ve found out,’ said Cressida demurely. ‘Worth waiting for, isn’t it?’

  I went bright red and turned quickly to stare out of the window until the heat left my face. I can’t cope with this, I thought in panic. Being me, I was bound to say some­thing in a minute that would show I’d never had anything more exciting than a grapple in a box hedge with James, OK, that encounter stood pretty, actually very, high on my list of things to be remembered with a smile and a raised pulse rate. Perhaps I should talk about Daniel and just substitute James’s name. I realised with a pang of dismay that for some reason I couldn’t think of a single thing about Daniel that made me want to do a pleasurable squirm. Usually when I tried this I was wriggling around as if there were ants in my clothes. I must be very tired.

  When in doubt change the subject, or at least get back to the subject before last. ‘But, Cressida, if you get pregnant Stefano’s going to love you even more, not less, because you’ll be beautiful and the mother of what he wants most in the world after you.’

  Her expression gave me hope that I’d struck a chord. Encouraged, I ploughed on. ‘Can’t you see how much Stefano must love you if despite your - um - not being frank on the birth control front and his being assured you were seen virtually having it off on the table in a public place, he still wants you back? Frankly he isn’t exactly in the forefront of liberal thinking so I can’t believe he’d be prepared to have an adulterous wife back unless he adored her.’ I held up my hand at her indignant exclamation. ‘I know you didn’t rush straight off to bed with James, but he doesn’t. I bet he’s already forgotten all that stuff about no credit cards and putting you in seclusion until you’re in a fecund state.’

  ‘Do you really think so?’ she breathed, eyes wide and hopeful. ‘I suppose he did have reason to be quite angry with me over the coil. I had broken a promise. But some of the things he said, and the threats he made...’

  ‘I never said he was perfect.’

  She giggled. ‘He certainly isn’t! I love him, really I do.’ Her eyes were very wide. ‘I know you won’t be able to understand why I preferred him to James.’ She was certainly right there. She coloured slightly and continued, ‘Some of my so-called friends said it was because he’s so rich, but that isn’t true at all. Only of course it’s a bit hard to imagine Stefano being Stefano if he was poor,’ she added seriously. ‘But he’s not always easy to live with and then I get angry and do stupid things. Like flirting with James to provoke him.’

  ‘Yes, probably best to leave that out in future,’ I agreed. ‘It seems to be the one way to make Stefano go com­pletely ballistic.’ To say nothing of exposing James to more temptation than was good for him.

  She sighed heavily. ‘Oh, I do so want to see him again.’ I felt lightheaded with relief. ‘That’s easy. All you have to do is ring him as soon as we get back to London.’

  My relief had come too soon. Her face fell. ‘I don’t know if I can,’ she whispered. ‘There’s something else, something I did that was really stupid...’

  What now? I thought in exasperation. One thing this little expedition had shown me was that Relate would have to do without my services. I just wasn’t cut out for this counselling lark. The temptation to grab the subject by the scruff of the neck and threaten to throttle her if she didn’t spill the beans, all of them, right now, was just too strong. I unclenched my jaw, loosened my fists, arranged my mouth into a nice smiley position and said in what I hoped was a calm understanding tone, ‘What’s that? I’m sure it can all be sorted out.’

  The speakers crackled into life with an announcement as Cressida said, ‘Maybe.’

  I waited for her to amplify this unilluminating state­ment, then a woman poked her permed head around the back of the seat in front of us. ‘Hey, honey, did you understand a word of what that said?’ she asked in a strong American accent. ‘I just can’t get my little ol’ head around this French they speak here. It doesn’t sound at all like the tapes I had back home. Did they say that we were going to be late getting into Paris? I’ve got a train to catch, your Eurostar to London, and I just know it’ll take at least an hour to cross Paris in a taxi, my travel agent told me so...’

  She had to pause to draw breath so I cut in quickly with, ‘It’ll be faster on the Metro if you’re worried about the time.’

  The woman pulled a face. ‘Honey, I went on the Metro before we left Paris and I couldn’t get anyone to understand me when I asked if I was going in the right direction. They pretend they don’t get my accent, but I think they’re downright rude.’

  ‘The Parisians have a reputa­tion for that,’ agreed Cressida. ‘We’re going to the Gare du Nord too so why don’t you come with us?’

  ‘Oh, honey, I would be so grateful, you can’t imagine,’ said the woman, getting up and coming to join us in the empty seat opposite. ‘I’ve gotten so tired of being by myself all this time. Not that I don’t appreciate the trip but I miss having someone to talk to...’

  Oh, well, I might get Cressida to produce what I devoutly hoped would be the last piece of this puzzle on the train to London. That is if we didn’t have Mrs Darleen Litsky from Idaho in the same carriage. Mrs Litsky was a widow and a thoroughly nice discreet woman. Not by so much as the flicker of an eyelid, did she betray that she must have been able to hear all of Cressida’s and my conversation. She had won a return ticket for two to London in a lottery at her workplace, plus train vouchers for travel all over Europe, journeys to be taken in the off season, hence travelling around in the rain. She’d taken another widowed work­mate with her, but on their first night in London they had decided to sample the delights of the genuine English pub opposite their hotel and the workmate suffered a coup de foudre in the unlikely shape of the portly barman of the Golden Apple. Being a sporting character Mrs Litsky had wished her friend well and set off for two weeks around Europe on her own. She was going to discover tonight whether passion had continued to blossom over the beer glasses and if her friend was going to stay to learn how to say, ‘And what’s yours, lover boy?’

  We had been placed at opposite ends of the London train so parted with best wishes and an exchange of addresses and promises that Mrs Litsky would let us know what had happened with the great romance. ‘I hope she does,’ I said to Cressida. ‘I’m tempted to go to the Golden Apple to take a look at Fred the great Romeo, aren’t you?’

  ‘Mmm,’ agreed Cressida, leaning her head back against the seat and closing her eyes. I can take a hint so I got out my book, a Mary Higgins Clark, and the sandwich I’d bought at the station and settled down to read as we began to speed through northern France.

  Cressida woke up as we were coming into a grey and grizzly English afternoon, no different from Bordeaux actually except the fields had hops in them instead of vines. ‘I don’t know why I’m always so tired these days,’ she said, yawning.

  ‘Stress, I expect,’ I said, nose deep in my book. I’d just got to the part about twenty pages from the end where it gets so tense that your heart starts to race and your mouth dries as you turn the page in anticipation of what’s coming next. If Cressida wanted to tell me what was on her mind, too bad. I’d got to finish this first.

  ‘Can I read that paper of yours?’ she asked.

  ‘Help yourself,’ I said, pushing it over without raising my eyes, ‘but it’s yesterday’s.’

  ‘Doesn’t matter. It’s got to be more amusing than my book, and I enjoy the gossip page.’

  I grunted and there was silence for a minute, broken only by the rustling of newspaper an
d the turning of pages until I heard her say, ‘Oh, no! Laura, look at this.’

  ‘At what?’ I said a tad grumpily. The heroine had been buried alive in a coffin, for heaven’s sake, and Cressida probably only wanted to point out something about one of her friends in the gossip columns.

  ‘This,’ she said, pointing.

  I looked.

  ‘Blimey, that’s not going to go down well, is it?’

  It was the understatement of the year. There, under a heading of ‘The French Contingent get rained out’ was a winsome picture of Cressida, holding the hotel cat, against a splen­didly theatrical background of cloud-tossed sky and flooded hotel. I was a few paces behind her, clearly recognisable. The picture caption was surprisingly accurate for this sort of thing, saying that the Freddie French sales conference had had to be rescued from the floods that were causing havoc in south-west France and plucky Cressida Buonotti had refused to leave until, in the best British tradition, she had found the hotel cat, which, added heartstring pulling here, was about to have kittens.

  ‘I suppose that photographer must be a stringer, or whatever you call it, for some of the English papers,’ I said. ‘You can’t accuse him of not being able to recognise a good story when he sees it, and for it to have been you who rescued the cat—’

  ‘Me?’ she asked blankly.

  She really was a bit thick sometimes. ‘Do you think the Mail would have been as happy to print a large picture of Mrs Harris, the dieter with the salt problem and the dripping nose?’ I demanded. ‘It’s because you’re so pretty, you dollop!’ She smiled faintly and I sighed, trying to look on the bright side. ‘At least Darian will be pleased.’ It was nice to know someone would be.

  ‘Why?’ asked Cressida with a palpable lack of interest. I enlightened her anyway. It took my mind off the main problem for a little longer.