Summer Madness

by Susan Lewis

  However, the champagne had oiled up his limbs nicely and his wife seemed so impressed by his writhings and jivings, even if his children didn’t, that he threw himself into it body and soul. He wished, when he came to see the video later, that he hadn’t, but at the time it had felt like sweet revenge on a family who had dished out more than their fair share of embarrassment.

  Louisa, he told her, as he attempted to emulate her fantastically supple rendition of the twist, looked ravishing. So did Erik. In fact Erik looked so delicious with his recently acquired tan Morandi decided to kiss him. The two of them then proceeded to rock and bop with such astonishing vigour and expertize that they drew a hand-clapping, foot-stomping crowd around them that burst into uproarious laughter as their heads collided whilst taking a bow.

  The revelries continued long after Sarah and Morandi had departed for their secret honeymoon destination. Both families knew how to have a good time and everyone agreed, even Morandi’s previous two wives, that they’d never enjoyed a wedding so much. But by midnight it was time to be getting back to their various homes and hotels, the children were tired, three of them had been sick and Sarah’s grandmother was about to get started on her ‘When I was a girl in the war’ stories.

  When Louisa and Erik returned to their hotel Erik stayed in the bar for a nightcap with Danny’s parents, while Louisa went on to bed. It had surprised everyone that Danny’s parents had come, Sarah had thought they’d back out at the last minute. But they seemed to have enjoyed themselves, even though just to look at them it was plain to see that they were no closer now to getting over Danny’s death than they had been a year ago. They had tried in a rather awkward and embarrassing way to draw Louisa into their family, but Louisa had gently resisted, knowing that she could no more fill the gap in their lives than they could in hers.

  Throwing her hat and her bag on the bed she went to sit in front of the mirror and resting her chin in her hands stared back at her reflection. She’d drunk a lot more than she’d realized and now that it was beginning to wear off she could feel herself becoming maudlin. Another reason not to have stayed downstairs with Danny’s parents. It had been a wonderful day, too wonderful to spoil with painful memories and tears. Which, she realized, suddenly springing up from the chair, she was about to do because her mind was so full of Jake that her heart just couldn’t stand it.

  Of course she’d known that she couldn’t get through the day without thinking about him, that would have been too much to expect, especially when she didn’t get through any day without doing that, but today had been even more difficult than she’d expected. In its way, it had frightened her, or was it just the alcohol that was making her afraid that this awful, unbearable waiting for something that just might never happen was going to go on for ever?

  It wasn’t that her life had stood still this past year, or that she had spent her time living in the blind, self-deluding hope that one day the phone would ring and it would be him, for that had already happened. The first time he’d called had been last October, a year ago yesterday. They’d only spoken for a few minutes, just long enough for him to tell her that he was sorry he hadn’t stayed around to say goodbye and that he hoped she was recovering OK. When she’d asked him how he was his answers were vague and she’d got the impression that someone else was in the room with him. He’d rung off then saying he’d call her again in a couple of weeks, but he hadn’t, not until the new year, by which time she had managed to convince herself that she would never hear from him again.

  The second call had come early one morning as she was preparing to sit down and write. It would have been midnight in San Diego and though there was no slur in his voice to suggest it, she couldn’t help wondering if he’d been drinking. He’d sounded much more positive than he had the last time and to her amazement he had actually talked about Martina. He knew now, through the confessions of her kidnappers, that Martina had never suffered physically during her three years of imprisonment. She had been moved from one luxurious hacienda to another and given everything she wanted, except of course her freedom. Jake now had in his possession the journals that had been in the attic where Louisa was held hostage, so he knew that Consuela hadn’t actually been Martina’s mother, but it was something he’d never made public. He’d gone on to ask how things were going with her and had sounded pleased to hear she was getting her life back together. Perversely this had upset her, mainly because she’d sensed that once she’d got her new series off the ground, the one she’d started in France, he could disappear quietly from her life and stop feeling guilty about the mayhem and madness he had dragged her into.

  By the time his third call came Morandi had put her back in touch with Gaston Olivier, the Parisian film financier she had met at the Colombe d’Or, who was already a fair way down the road towards getting together a group of European producers to back her series. Jake had sounded impressed, had wanted to know all about it and had even offered a few words of advice in dealing with the Germans, something, as it turned out, he had considerable experience of.

  His calls had continued to come, on and off, ever since, but instead of making her feel closer to him, they somehow seemed to make him more distant. She put it down to the time difference, to the thousands of miles that separated them, but in her heart she knew that it was because he rarely talked about himself or his daughter. That part of his life was completely closed to her and there were times when she felt she was talking to a stranger. A few months ago there had been hazy, badly focused pictures of him and Antonia in one of the Sunday supplements. Obviously the photographer hadn’t been invited into the grounds of the Mallory ranch, but what he had managed to capture was enough to tell the tale. A little girl trotting around a paddock on a pony, her father holding the reins, then swinging her up in his arms and laughing and shaking her. Then the same little girl on her father’s shoulders, clutching his hair as he jogged her around the garden and obviously shrieking with delight. The two of them rolling in the grass, or walking hand in hand, or gazing earnestly into each other’s eyes as they talked. A sleepy Antonia with a thumb in her mouth and her head on Jake’s shoulder as he carried her towards the house. And then a few weeks later, the one that had torn at Louisa’s heart, the picture of Jake and Antonia Mallory sitting at the helm of a yacht, both with patches over their left eye.

  She’d told him the next time he’d called that she’d seen the pictures, but he hadn’t wanted to discuss it and afterwards he hadn’t contacted her again for over a month. She realized it was because she had intruded further into his life than he was prepared to allow, but she hadn’t known what she could do to repair it. She couldn’t be blamed for what she saw in the press and Erik had tried to comfort her by telling her how hard Jake was finding it to deal with his conflicting emotions. His love for Martina had by no means died with her and his grief, his sense of failure and guilt combined with his feelings for Louisa were tearing him apart. To love another woman after what his wife had been through, to have loved that woman while Martina was still alive, was, to him, unforgivable. And now he was punishing himself by denying himself something he desperately wanted while devoting his life to his and Martina’s daughter. Louisa understood all this, but there were times, like now, when the need to hold him, to comfort him and show him that it wasn’t wrong for him to love her was so urgent she could hardly bear it. And of course there were other times, usually when she was tired or hadn’t heard from him in a while, when the hope that they would eventually make it was eroded by the fear that he was never going to allow it.

  Sarah had been to California. She and Morandi had gone to see her photographs hanging in the Mallory yacht clubs along the coast and to carry out the commissions she had received as a result. That had been three weeks of pure agony for Louisa, as she’d lived in dread of what Sarah might say if she saw Jake. And her worst nightmares had come to fruition when she’d next spoken to Jake and he’d asked if she was serious about any of the men she’d been seeing. It was
true, in her less optimistic moments she had tried dating other men, but it hadn’t worked. She’d even tried sleeping with one of them, and that had been a disaster. It all felt so wrong, so disloyal and out of sync with the truth. It was like looking at yourself in the mirror and seeing someone else’s face. It didn’t belong, just like these other men didn’t belong in her life. Of course Sarah had told him in the hope of jolting him into some sort of action, but if she’d consulted Louisa first Louisa could have told her that she was wasting her time. To lose Louisa to another man now was exactly what Jake felt he deserved, but like it or not, she’d told him angrily, he wasn’t going to get it. There had been a long, excruciating silence before he’d said that she had to make up her own mind what she did with her life, that it had nothing to do with him.

  To her surprise and relief he had called again after that, just over three weeks ago now and probably because it was that time of the month and she was feeling tense anyway, she had told him she was fed up, miserable and whether he wanted to hear it or not she still loved him and she was sorry if it offended him, but there didn’t seem to be any signs that she was going to stop. It hadn’t been what he wanted to hear and his answer was something she wished to God she had never heard.

  ‘I told you a long time ago there would never be a future for us,’ he’d said, ‘and now I’m telling you again. Get on with your life and stop kidding yourself there’s ever going to be anything between us.’

  Tears were streaming down her face and her heart was so filled with pain she could barely speak. ‘Then why do you keep calling me, Jake?’ she said. ‘Why are you doing this to me if you don’t feel the same way any more?’

  ‘Look, things are good for you now, Louisa,’ he said. ‘You’ve got it together, Olivier will open doors for you …’

  ‘Jake, please. Can’t we talk about this? Can’t we at least see each other and try to …’

  ‘Don’t make this any harder, Louisa,’ he interrupted. ‘Us getting together would be a mistake, you know that. It’ll only hurt you more and I can’t handle any more guilt right now.’

  ‘It’s all about you and how you feel, isn’t it Jake?’ she cried. ‘Well I’m sorry about Martina, really really sorry, but can’t you see the way you’re messing up my life, letting me think that there might be some hope, that the next time you call you might just say something that will show me you’re getting over all this. You’re keeping me hanging on, calling me, asking me how things are going, saying you’re interested in my life, when the truth is you don’t really give a damn, do you? All you want is one less person to feel guilty about.’

  There was a long and terrible silence before he said, ‘Louisa, it’s going to be easier on you if you try to come to terms with the fact that I don’t love you. I’m not sure now that I ever did …’

  ‘Oh Jake, please, don’t say that …’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, and the line went dead.

  She hadn’t heard from him since and this time she knew beyond any doubt that she wasn’t going to. It didn’t stop her hoping of course, but she knew she was a fool to do so. The trouble was he seemed to be filling her mind even more now than ever. She felt like a shell sitting in London or Paris while her thoughts and her heart were in San Diego – a city she didn’t even know. She spent hours writing him letters that she knew before she started she’d never send. Her eyes were always straying to the clock, calculating the time difference and wondering what he might be doing now. She even rang the airlines to find out flight times to San Diego whilst knowing she would never go. Everything she did seemed such a pointless exercise and she hated the way he had stolen the purpose from her life.

  Gritting her teeth in anger she kicked her shoes into the corner of the room. What was happening to her, for Christ’s sake? She was so eaten up with self-pity she could hardly think beyond it. Maybe Sarah was right, she should fight for him, she should get herself over there and make him tell her to her face that it really was over. Would he have the courage for that? Perhaps more to the point, would she? Besides, did she really need telling to her face? It had been bad enough on the phone, but at least then she had been in the privacy of her own home. And what was the point in making a fool of herself, of putting them both through such horrible embarrassment when he’d made himself perfectly plain – there was no future for them, he didn’t love her and maybe never had. So wasn’t it about time she started making herself believe that? Wasn’t it time now to put it all behind her and accept that as much as she liked to tell herself otherwise, he wasn’t coming back. He still belonged to Martina and as far as she could see he always would.

  The following morning Erik drove them both to the airport where he was getting a plane back to Rio to continue with the shoot he had interrupted. Louisa took his car on into London, spent twenty minutes trying to park it, then ran through the rain with her luggage back to her flat.

  There were four messages on her answer phone and as usual her heart tightened with the hope that one of them might be from Jake. The thought made her want to smash the machine against the wall. If just once she could look at that damned thing without thinking of him then there probably would be a message. As it was, her ridiculous, infuriating hope felt like a jinx. Deciding to ignore it she went to unpack her wedding outfit, made a cup of coffee and opened the mail. It was only when the phone rang an hour or so later that she remembered the messages.

  The first was from Sarah, ringing from the airport, with a message for Erik. Sarah was having her first major show when she returned from honeymoon and Erik was handling the publicity. The second was from Jean-Claude asking how the wedding had gone and apologizing once again for not being able to make it over. The third and fourth were from friends inviting her for dinner and to see a movie. Of course none of them had been from Jake, she knew he wasn’t going to call, so why, Goddammit, did she keep doing this to herself?

  ‘I hope that husband of yours has told you how fantastic you look tonight,’ Erik said, coming up behind Sarah and whisking her glass from her mouth to kiss her.

  ‘Erik!’ she cried, throwing her arms around him. ‘I was beginning to think you weren’t going to make it.’

  ‘As if,’ he laughed. ‘Anyway, seems like you’re doing pretty well without me,’ he added, casting an approving eye around the crowded gallery. ‘And a few red stickers, I see. My God, what’s that!’ he suddenly cried, spotting one of Morandi’s little chef d’œuvres nestling shyly between two towering framed pictures of the Esterel.

  ‘Sssh,’ Sarah giggled, ‘he’ll hear you,’ and taking Erik’s arm she turned him to one side to explain. ‘I said he could hang a few because he looked so down in the dumps that no one was showing any interest in his work.’ She started to laugh. ‘You know what Michael, the thirteen-year-old said? “You’re not going to let the old tosspot put his rubbish up, are you?” Erik, if you’d seen Morandi’s face! I’m not sure whether it was the tosspot, old or rubbish that did it, but he looked so devastated I couldn’t back out then. And besides, look, four of them have sold.’

  Erik was grinning and seeing the way Sarah’s eyes were sparkling he had no problem working out who Morandi’s mysterious, never mind misguided, benefactors were – in fact, even as they spoke Sarah’s father, under an assumed name of course, was making his bewildering purchase.

  ‘So where’s Louisa?’ Erik said, scanning the crowd again and waving to a group of his trendy staff over in one corner. ‘It’s a great turnout,’ he remarked, ‘better even than I expected.’

  ‘That’s because your name was attached to it,’ Sarah reminded him. ‘Anyway, Louisa’s not coming.’

  ‘What! You’re joking!’

  ‘Erik!’ Morandi cried, slapping him on the back. ‘When did you get here? I didn’t see you come in.’

  ‘About five minutes ago,’ Erik said, ‘and Sarah’s just told me Louisa’s not coming. I was really hoping to see her tonight …’

  ‘Has Sarah told you why she’s not c
oming?’ Morandi asked, gazing adoringly into his wife’s eyes.

  ‘Come on you two, the honeymoon’s over,’ Erik laughed as Sarah gazed back at Morandi.

  ‘That’s what you think,’ Sarah murmured. ‘Anyway, prepare yourself for this … Louisa’s not coming because …’ and pulling Erik’s ear down to her mouth she began to whisper.

  ‘I don’t believe it!’ Erik cried when she’d finished. ‘I just don’t believe it. I never thought she’d do it.’

  ‘Well she has,’ Sarah told him, glancing around and hoping that none of the press had overheard what she’d just said. They didn’t seem to have and as her eyes returned to Erik’s he started to laugh and shake his head as though he was still having a problem believing it.

  Someone who was having even more of a problem believing it was Louisa herself, for never would she have dreamt she’d do something like this. But it was only now, as she stood there on the tarmac at Los Angeles airport waiting in line to board the small plane to San Diego that the enormity of what she was about to do seemed to be reaching her. Right up until the moment the 747 had touched down at LAX she had been convinced she was doing the right thing. She’d talked it over with Sarah for days before booking the flight and once it was done it had seemed to strengthen her resolve even further. She knew he was never going to call her, knew that nothing so romantic and sixpenny novelish as him turning up on her doorstep was going to happen, so she’d taken destiny into her own hands and flown over six thousand miles to … To what? What was she going to do, apart from make a complete fool of herself? She took a deep breath. She was going to call him from the hotel and tell him where she was. Then she was going to say that if he still didn’t want to see her she would just turn around and go home.