Chapter Seventeen
Francesca had sent Nanny and the children to Stylings. In her raw, distressed state, even Jack’s cheerful company jarred, made her feel worse. She needed peace, solitude, to be able to think. Bard had phoned, at midnight, after she returned from Devon, to say he wasn’t coming back until Saturday: she had managed to sound calm, to express regret, not to mention the convent – it would have been fruitless, frustrating even – and his voice, even across the Atlantic, was exhausted, heavy. But when she put the phone down, she raged at him, silently, pacing the house, unable to sleep.
In the morning, Liam phoned: ‘I’m being sent home today,’ he said. Francesca burst into tears: she had been so longing to see him, to talk to him, to get some sympathy, some understanding.
‘Hey,’ he said, ‘what’s this about, you should be pleased for me.’
‘I am,’ she said, desperately dragging her voice back under control, ‘of course I am, I just needed – well, wanted to see you so much, something’s happened – ’
‘What sort of something? Not Kitty?’
‘No,’ she said, smiling through her tears, thinking even in her misery how thoughtful, how sweet he was, ‘no it’s not Kitty. Something quite different.’
‘My father?’
‘No. Yes. Oh, Liam, I – God, you must think I’m neurotic.’
‘Of course I don’t. If you’re upset it must be something important. Look, I can’t talk now, I’ll ring you later from home, if I possibly can.’
‘Yes, all right.’
God, she was neurotic. Beautiful yes, desirable certainly, but quite neurotic. Neurotic and spoilt. Well, never mind. It actually made everything rather easier. Neurotic women were far more inclined to rash, reckless behaviour than level, placid ones.
He phoned her at midday; she picked up the phone immediately. ‘Hallo?’
‘Hallo, Francesca. That was very quick.’
‘Yes, well, I didn’t want Sandie picking up the phone.’
‘Oh don’t worry about Sandie,’ he said easily, ‘she likes me. I could always pretend I was ringing her.’
‘Oh,’ she said. She sounded surprised, almost shocked. Careful, Liam, he thought. Don’t rush this, won’t do to sound too practised, too self-confident.
‘Now then,’ he said, ‘what is it, what’s happened?’
‘Oh – it’s so hard to talk about, so hard to explain.’
‘I’m very good at listening.’
‘Is Naomi there?’
‘No, she’s not. Haven’t seen her yet. She sent a cab for me. Very caring.’
‘Oh Liam! That’s really – well, that isn’t very nice.’
‘Well,’ he said carefully, ‘well, she is working. And she is very high powered.’
‘Yes. Like Bard.’ She laughed, clearly trying to sound cheerful. ‘No place in their lives for us ordinary folk, Liam.’
‘When’s he back?’
‘Oh – not till the weekend. And I’ve sent the children to Stylings with Nanny. I’m beginning to regret it, it’s very quiet here. I’ll go down tomorrow, I think.’
‘Please tell me what the matter is.’
‘I will. Soon. How are you?’
‘Bit tired. But fine. Come on, tell me.’
‘Well – I’ve just had an awful shock.’
‘What sort of a shock?’
‘Oh – oh God, this is so difficult on the phone. I wish you were still in hospital, wish we could still talk. Is that very mean of me?’
‘Very. Tell you what, why don’t I come down there and see you? I’m dying to test out my freedom.’
‘Oh don’t be absurd. How can you, you can’t walk, you can’t drive.’
‘I could get a cab. It’s not far. Providing you pay for it,’ he added, laughing. ‘Haven’t had my pocket money yet.’ (Nice one that, stressing his situation, setting out Naomi’s arrogant attitude towards him.)
‘Oh, Liam, I’m sure you – well, I’m sure she doesn’t – ’
‘Doesn’t what? Treat me like a child, make it plain she holds the purse strings? Of course she does. And I expect I deserve it.’
‘Of course you don’t. It’s not your fault if – well anyway, Liam, of course you mustn’t come down here. What if – hang on a minute — yes, Sandie, what is it? Oh – yes, all right, fine. No, you go, there’s only me here. Bye. Sorry, Liam. Sandie wanted to know if she could have the rest of the day off.’
‘And what did you say?’
‘I said she could – there’s no-one here, even Barnaby’s gone away for a few days. I miss him.’
‘Well, then, I shall definitely come. You shouldn’t have told me all that,’ he said, laughing.
‘Liam, I – ’
‘I’m on my way. I need to talk to you anyway. I’m feeling pretty blue myself, deep down. Put the kettle on.’
He arrived twenty minutes later; she ran down the steps, paid off the cab. She was looking very pale, scruffy almost, her dark hair dragged back off her face, dressed in jeans and a T-shirt. She was obviously very upset. This was good.
‘Come in,’ she said. ‘Can you manage the steps, do you think?’
‘Oh yes. I got up ours this morning. I’m very nifty with these things now,’ he said, waving one of his crutches. ‘Lead the way.’
‘I still think this is crazy,’ she said, walking slowly beside him into the kitchen.
‘I don’t see why. Who would care? This is my father’s house, you’re my stepmother – what a strange thought that is – and anyway there’s no-one here.’
‘I – I suppose so. Do you want some coffee?’
‘Yes please. Now come on, tell me what the matter is.’
‘Oh – it’s – it’s just – oh God, Liam, this so hard.’
‘Come on,’ he said, fighting down the impatience now, settling on the rather battered old sofa that sat in the corner of the kitchen – he remembered that sofa, he had sat on it with his mother even. ‘I haven’t come all this way for nothing.’
‘All right. Well, I’ve just found out something horrible. Well — ’ she tried to smile, he saw her lip tremble. ‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘I’m just being such a wimp.’
‘You’re not a wimp at all,’ he said. ‘I think you’re very brave. Now what is this horrible thing? Come and sit over here and tell me.’
She told him, and he could see it was indeed an extraordinary, a literally shocking story. And that she was deeply upset and shaken – and with good reason. On the other hand, the crucial thing, Liam thought, was not to seem too obviously on her side. To appear to be taking a balanced view, to be examining both sides of the situation – and at the same time to make sure she knew how he did understand, that he knew all too well how much it must have hurt her. And – and this was crucial – to stress that nobody understood better than he that there was no-one more masterly than Bard Channing at most brutally sweeping the emotions of others aside when he was concerned with his own.
‘I wouldn’t mind,’ she said, ‘I wouldn’t mind nearly so much if Bard hadn’t known. That’s what hurts most. That he and my mother should have – well, I feel so totally discarded, humiliated, I suppose. Why did they do it, Liam, why? And why didn’t he talk to me, tell me about – about her? Why not do that, why not tell me?’
‘Well,’ he said, carefully truthful, ‘I presume he’d promised your mother. That’s what she said to you, isn’t it?’
‘Yes. But – but I’m his wife. How could he keep something so enormous, so important from me?’
‘Well, I suppose because he was in this instance concerned with this convent place. The latest intrigue. The deal.’
‘Hardly a deal. It’s not going to make him any money. Absolutely the reverse.’
‘I don’t think,’ said Liam slowly, ‘that’s got much to do with it. What turns my father on, if you like, what excites him, keeps him happy, is anything new, any new concept. Isn’t that right? A new deal, a new company, a new toy, a – ’ He stopped himsel
f, quickly. ‘Well, anything.’
He saw in her eyes she had read that pause, knew what he meant by the ‘well, anything’. Saw the hurt, the fear, saw he had touched a nerve, didn’t like doing it, was glad he had. He picked up her hand, to comfort her from the hurt.
He had never touched her before, except to kiss her briefly when she arrived or left the hospital; he saw her look at his hand, holding hers, saw her look at him, startled, flush, pull her hand away. He went on talking, quietly, steadily.
‘And this is a new game, that intrigues him, but he has to play by the rules. Your mother’s rules. A chance to play benefactors. Another favourite game, of course. It eases a very guilty conscience.’
‘Yes,’ she said absently, ‘yes, I suppose so.’
‘I mean,’ he said, and he had been waiting a while to find out if she knew, saw his opportunity, ‘look at the Clarkes.’
‘What have the Clarkes got to do with it?’
‘Well, the way he looks after them.’
‘Oh, Liam, he doesn’t do anything out of the way for them. Helps Oliver, the odd present.’
‘Oh,’ he said, carefully flustered, ‘oh, I – ’
‘Liam what is this; what are you talking about?’
‘I – I thought you must know.’
‘Know what?’
‘That he pays for practically everything for them. I mean it’s wonderfully generous of him. The flat the kids had, expensive holidays, and of course Mrs Clarke’s nursing home – ’
‘Liam, are you sure about this? I mean surely it comes out of some insurance or other, that’s what I always thought – ’
‘Well – well, no, it doesn’t. Actually. No, he pays for it himself. Personally. Always has done. They don’t know, but – I thought you would.’
‘No,’ said Francesca slowly, ‘no, I didn’t. Bard’s always said – well, it doesn’t matter what he’s always said. I’m very surprised – ’ She hesitated, clearly shocked again by this new piece of information, the revelation of this new secret; then, clearly making an effort to set it aside or at least to explain it, ‘but I suppose it’s the sort of thing he would do. He’s so incredibly generous.’
‘Yes, of course he is. His worst enemy couldn’t deny that. And it’s the same with this thing of your mother’s. And also, Francesca, you’re angry because he didn’t tell you, but it really wasn’t his secret. To tell. Was it? Be honest.’
‘No. No, I suppose it wasn’t.’
‘Well then. You have to like him for that at least.’
‘I don’t like him for anything at the moment,’ said Francesca. ‘I can’t.’
She spoke quite lightly; but her eyes were shadowy. She looked very unhappy. ‘Oh Liam. It’s all gone wrong so fast, we’re growing so far apart, he seems a stranger half the time these days, he shuts me out so much, won’t tell me things, I suppose he’s always done it, but it’s got so much worse lately. And I thought – I thought after Duggie died he would come back to me, at least some of the way, but he hasn’t, he seems almost hostile to me a lot of the time, and – oh God.’ Her lip trembled; she looked away. ‘I’m sorry, it’s very wrong of me to talk to you like this, very disloyal, I don’t know what’s got into me – ’
‘Nothing’s got into you,’ he said. ‘You’re upset.’
‘Yes,’ she said, and her voice was almost unbearably heavy, filled with pain and tears, ‘yes I am, so very upset.’
He suddenly felt guilty, sick at himself, stopped playing with her, playing on her vulnerability. ‘Don’t cry,’ he said. ‘Francesca, please don’t cry.’
‘I can’t help it,’ she said, breaking down, really crying now, her face dropped into her hands. ‘I can’t bear any of it, any of it at all. Not Kitty, not Bard, not my mother – ’
He put his arm round her shoulders, very gently; he was afraid of startling her, sending her away. She didn’t react in any way, neither shrugged him off nor responded, and for a long time neither of them moved. Then she suddenly looked up at him, her face tear-stained and smudgy, and said, through the tears, ‘Oh Liam, I’m sorry, I’m being pathetic. Please forgive me.’
‘There’s nothing to forgive,’ he said, wiping her face tenderly. ‘Come on, blow your nose.’
She did, laughing weakly; he put the handkerchief away in his pocket. ‘I shall keep that for ever.’
‘How disgusting.’
‘Nothing you did could seem disgusting to me,’ he said, laughing back at her. ‘Absolutely nothing. I think you’re wonderful, nice, kind and very, very brave. So try to stop fretting, try to set all this aside. Tell you what, what about a proper drink? What about a glass of champagne? I’m sure you have plenty, nothing like champagne for raising the spirits.’
‘Oh dear,’ she said dashing her hand across her eyes, ‘what a pain I am. Yes, I’d like some champagne, how clever of you to think of it, it suddenly seems the best idea in the world.’
She opened the fridge and there were three bottles lying on the top shelf; he’d half forgotten about the way of things in his father’s house, the day-to-day luxury, the careless extravagance. A wave of resentment rose in him; he found it hard for a moment to smile as she handed him the bottle, asked him to open it. He poured two glasses, handed her one.
‘To you,’ he said.
‘No, to you, and your continuing recovery. Thank you. And thank you for listening.’ She looked at him, for a moment, and then said, ‘Oh God, I’m a self-centred bitch. Going on and on about myself. You must feel pretty bad. Can I listen to you now?’
‘Well,’ he said, hurriedly concentrating his thoughts, ‘I’m not too bad. A bit low I suppose; I mean I don’t see where, how, I can get any sort of a life together. It was hard enough before; I thought I might seem a useless, pathetic failure, but there was still something I could do about it. Now I’m a cripple as well – even my children seem to have written me off, and as for Naomi – ’ He heard his voice shake; he wasn’t surprised, he wasn’t acting. The old familiar sense of futility, of self-distaste, of anger as much at himself as the forces of fate that had brought him to it overwhelmed him; he felt physically sick, infinitely weary of himself. There was a stinging of tears in his own eyes now; he brushed them away impatiently. ‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘Sorry, Francesca.’
‘Liam, don’t. I – oh God, Liam, don’t cry.’ And then her arms were round him, gentle, tender, and her voice, soft with sympathy, was talking to him, foolish, soothing nonsense, such as she spoke to her children, as he spoke to his, and he sat there, very still, drinking her in, her closeness, the feel, the smell of her, and then he turned in her arms and looked up at her and said, ‘I think you’re very lovely, Francesca. I really do. I – well, I seem to be falling in love with you.’
He had not meant to say it, had known it was not really time to say it; but having said it knew also that it was true, that whatever might be false in this complex, dangerous game he was playing, he did indeed most genuinely feel if not love, then certainly tenderness, tenderness and desire for her.
She dropped her arms away from him, drew back. ‘Of course you’re not falling in love with me,’ she said, and the expression in her eyes was wary, almost afraid, but at the same time tender, welcoming. ‘You can’t be.’
‘I can. I am. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to say it, to tell you, but – ’
‘Liam, please!’
‘But Francesca, I am. I know I am. The last few weeks all I’ve thought about, dreamed about, wanted, was you. In some ways it’s been the happiest time in my whole life. The only thing I don’t know, that I’m not quite sure about, is what I want to do about it. What I can do about it.’
‘Liam, you can’t do anything about it, the whole thing is ridiculous, you can’t – ’
‘Please stop saying that,’ he said, and leant forward and kissed her on the mouth. A gentle, tender kiss, warm, not in any way sexual – for that would be frightening, threatening, he thought, noticing how much even in the very real emotion of the m
oment he was enjoying this, enjoying orchestrating it, directing it; and hers in return was gentle too, gentle and very sweet, and then, ‘You must go now, at once,’ she said, staring at him, her eyes very wide, starry with tears.
‘Now I’ve made you cry again,’ he said.
‘Yes, you have. Liam, this is awful, terrible, you have to go, straight away, and I must never, ever see you again. You shouldn’t have come. No, don’t,’ she said, jumping up as he took her hands, turned them over, kissed the palms, ‘don’t, don’t, don’t. Leave me alone. I’m going to call the cab now, this minute.’
But she hesitated just for a moment before pulling them away, and he knew then that he had won; that he could have her, and whenever he chose.
He was just settling into the minicab, waving to Francesca who was standing at the top of the steps, when he saw Sandie coming round the corner of the street. Liam leaned right out of the cab window, and blew Francesca a kiss. She laughed and hesitated and then blew one back. She hadn’t seen Sandie. But he knew Sandie had seen both of them.
The Easterhope Council offices, Gray thought, were the worst yet. Some of them had been very smart, notably in places like Westminister (obviously), some even lavish (Esher), mostly not very nice. Easterhope, situated south-east of Romford, could only be described as fairly nasty: all right outside, ’sixties concrete, with an attempt at landscaping, Easterhope’s coat of arms planted out rather inexpertly in pansies, miniature roses and a particularly rigid variety of cineraria in a circular concrete surround in the middle of the car park. But inside dinginess ruled: grey walls, grey lino and green paint, with an overall odour that Gray could only describe as the opposite of fresh air and new polish. He stood patiently behind a rather timid little man while an overbearing woman told him that if he wanted to see someone about his council tax he would have to come back with his most recent demand, plus what she called all the prevalent documentationing — Gray, who found bad English as excruciating as some people find chalk scraping down the blackboard, had some difficulty in not correcting her on this – and then waited further while she went off to, as she put it, ‘consult a colleague on a point of issue.’
The Dilemma Page 43
