On her next visit to Alicia Maureen decided to jump in with both feet.
“I’ve been seeing quite a lot of Carl these last few days.”
“Kathleen’s boy?”
“Yes, Arnold and Kathleen’s boy.”
“You said you had seen him. I’m not completely ga-ga you know. I do remember some things. But why should I care whether you’ve seen him or not?”
People moved around the ward, Maureen sat knitting by the bedside, waiting for Alicia’s curiosity to force her to show an interest.
Eventually Alicia broke the silence “He must be quite grown up now. A man really.”
“Indeed, and a very good looking one too. Clever, he got a First and is now going to do post grad at Cambridge.”
“Don’t tell me. History – the Tudors? Just like his father.”
Maureen nodded her head “But not the Tudors, Wellington. But you’re right when you see him you don’t really need to guess at his paternity.”
“I don’t suppose many people did, it was so bloody obvious.”
“Well, he seems to be a very nice boy – man.”
“Does he look very like Arnold?”
She couldn’t answer directly. “You can tell they’re father and son, but he is somehow softer than Arnold. His long hair and dark tan make him different, but he has the eyes.”
“Is there anything of Kathleen?”
“Probably not to look at, but definitely in the mind. He is a very intelligent boy, but also somehow far more clever than Arnold ever was – more practical. I think there really is a lot of her in him. He certainly inherited his conscience from her.”
“Did she bring him up by her faith?”
“He hasn’t said. I don’t know. He certainly ran a mile when you dropped that bombshell on him about Susannah being his sister. He seems to want to do the right thing.”
“Whatever that might be.”
Alicia lay back on her pillows and wondered why people were always so desperate to ‘do the right thing’. It didn’t occur to her then to worry about how much her not ‘doing the right thing’ had affected that young man’s life. Susannah had ‘done the right thing’ by marrying that boy and that had always looked like a disaster waiting to happen.
Maureen told her snippets of information about her family though how she knew Alicia had no idea. She told her that she was a grandmother and that Joe was doing well at work and Susannah seemed to be satisfied with her life as housewife and mother.
Alicia didn’t believe a word of it.
She could not see how any child of hers would be happy with being a housewife – especially with that awful boy as a husband. She had seen neither Josie nor Jack Parry. She knew that Charles and Monika visited them, Monika looking after the children as she had done their mother. She knew that Arnold had recently died.
Other than the bare bones of ‘hatches, matches and despatches’ she had little knowledge of the goings on in her immediate family. She didn’t really care. They hadn’t been a family for the best part of twenty years.
“Do you want to meet him?”
The question surprised her “Why on earth would I want to do that?”
“He is an interesting young man and he wants to see you.”
“What does he want to see me for?”
“I think he wants to find out a bit more about you, a bit more about himself. He knows he is living dangerously.”
“I should coco! Oh hell, bring him along. What have I got to lose?”
Carl went to see Alicia the next day, he had been briefed by Maureen that he would find a very sick, very frail woman, she had warned him to be very careful.
It was unfortunate that as soon as he saw Alicia he saw Susie. He saw Susannah’s face, he saw her vulnerability and he saw her smile. He had not seen his Susannah for over four years but he now saw her lying in the bed in front of him – this woman was Susannah, just a lot older.
Where Carl saw Susannah in Alicia, Alicia saw much of what had attracted her to Arnold all those years ago.
It occurred to her that she had also been in a hospital bed when she had first met Arnold. Maureen had been right. It was the eyes.
As Maureen watched the two beginning to get to know each other she was not at all sure she should have introduced them.
“When do you get out of here?”
“Soon, I hope.”
“What are you going to do then?”
“I don’t know.”
“Who is going to look after you?”
“I don’t know”
“You know very well, my dear” interrupted Maureen rather impatiently, “You are going home in a week or so and then Harry, Phyl and I will be looking after you, as we always do after your operations.”
“I am always so grateful to you all but I really shouldn’t put on you as much as I do?”
Alicia was very experienced at manipulating people’s sympathy.
“Have there been many operations?” Carl knew nothing of this woman’s life other than what he had overheard from his mother and Arnold where words such as lazy’, ‘bitch’, ‘never done a day’s work in her life’ ‘good-for-nothing sponger” were the ones he remembered. He had never heard ‘ill’ ‘cancer’ ‘operations’. Perhaps they had chosen not to know or, at least, if they had known they had chosen that no one else would.
“Yes, dear.” Alicia had decided this young man was going to like her. “Yes, this is the seventh in seven years. I seem always to be in the hospital.”
“Oh Alicia, don’t be so dramatic.” Maureen interrupted again. “It’s true she’s had seven operations, but several of them were quite minor, and she has usually been home in a week or so.”
“Still that’s a lot isn’t it?”
“Now, that’s enough about Alicia – tell her about you and what you are doing.”
So the conversation went onto safer ground.
Carl told Alicia something about his life, the Forsters, the university, his summer in Spain. Alicia listened, observing closely the eyes, listening to the nuances of the voice, hypnotised by his youth and enthusiasm.
At the end of the hour Maureen and Carl got up to leave
“You will visit me again won’t you?”
“You will be out of here very soon” Maureen replied before Carl could answer.
“Then you will visit me at home won’t you – I would so love to hear more about your trip to Spain.”
So throughout September Carl stayed with Maureen’s daughter Phyl and visited Alicia, first at the hospital and then, after she had been discharged, at her home on Pilgrims Way.
When Phyl and Maureen drove the five miles up to the little house twice a day they did not take Carl, so it was quite a trip for him. He had to take two buses and what with the walks to and from the bus-stops it took him the best part of two hours. He didn’t mind and he made the trip two or three times each week.
He enjoyed the time he spent with Alicia.
He was getting to know Susannah’s mother, he was getting to be part of the family that had once almost been his.
Talking to Alicia he found himself remembering things about his stays at Millcourt, and found himself building up something of the history of his life – a life he had never had any previous inclination to remember. She was quite happy to tell him about those people and those places because it kept him with her – and she was beginning to want not to lose him.
The times he wasn’t with her he spent in the library, reading – reminding himself of his real life.
It was a very comfortable few weeks but it was only a matter of time before Alicia asked him to stay overnight. It would save him the trip – he spent so much time with her anyway he might as well stay overnight especially as the evenings were getting shorter and the spare bedroom was always made up. It would be no trouble for her as he could help with food and drinks, and help her downstairs to the television.
On the first Saturday in November, he finally took his suit
case from Phyl’s and paid her all he owed.
“Are you sure about this? We have loved having you here.” Maureen had talked to her daughter about her concerns that Alicia and Carl were getting too close.
“Absolutely, I spend much of the time at Alicia’s anyway – and she has invited me – it would be odd not to accept.”
Alicia was getting better, able to get up every day, able to walk along the lane to the village shop and cook her staple diet of macaroni cheese. They came to an arrangement whereby Carl shopped and cooked every other day.
On Wednesday 29th November Carl took Alicia to London to celebrate her birthday.
He had asked here where she would like to go as a special treat ‘money no object’. It was a target date for her to feel better by. She said “The Savoy” without really thinking about the cost or the history. It was certainly special and he had seemed to like the idea. Carl hired a car and drove up to town – they didn’t want to worry about buses and trains. He chose something comfortable and luxurious.
It was nearly 10 years since she had been a regular visitor at The Savoy and she was happy to see that it hadn’t changed. She imagined the concierge recognised her. She knew that she was older, gaunter, but she had always imagined her voice was unforgettable.
As she had been driven up those same roads she had travelled so many times on the bus it would have been difficult for her not to think of her trips to meet Max. She wondered how he was, what he would have thought of her today. She realised she hadn’t thought of him for a very long time and would probably never see him again.
She wondered whether this trip would be so very different.
And there were distinct similarities. Carl had booked adjoining rooms, overlooking the river. It didn’t occur to her to wonder how he could afford this as she took advantage of the wonderful bathroom and, sitting alone in one of the armchairs wrapped in the luxurious towelling robe, drank the champagne she had ordered from room service and looked out of the window at the lights glimmering on the Thames.
She took more care dressing than she had taken for a very long time.
She wore a dress that, although ten years old, at least two sizes too large and completely unfashionable, managed to convey a style which was timeless. She wore the long pearl drop earrings that she knew made her neck look like a giraffe’s. She knew she looked good. She stood looking at her reflection in the full length mirror. “Not bad for 47 old girl”.
They met, as arranged, in the American Bar. She got there a few minutes late to ensure her entrance was sufficiently dramatic. He had somehow organised a very stylish dinner jacket.
Alicia thoroughly approved of this young man. He had, she tried to think of the right words, presence, class, panache. Although his tan had faded he was striking enough to draw the admiring glances of most of the women – and some of the men – in the bar. She felt they made a fine couple.
Carl was an attentive host as he bought her cocktails and escorted her to the River Restaurant for dinner. As they sat down at a window table he voiced the question that had also been going through her head.
“What do you think people are thinking?”
“About us?”
“Of course.”
“They are thinking how lucky I am to have such a handsome escort. Actually, they probably think you’re my gigolo!”
“Even if they are they’ll be thinking I struck lucky to be escorting such an attractive woman. Happy Birthday, Alicia. Many Happy Returns.”
“Unlikely” was her rueful answer. She continued in lighter vein “One night I was staying here, some years ago, and I couldn’t sleep, so I crept down to this room, and sat – just over there – and looked out over the river. It must have been 3 or 4 o’clock in the morning. I’d just slipped a shirt on and was woefully underdressed, barely decent really. So I sat there, in the quiet, and wondered about my life and what I was doing and whether what I was doing was right – you don’t need to know the details. And in came a waiter, completely dressed as he would have been for dinner hours earlier, a white napkin over his forearm. He asked if I was a guest with them and I replied that I was. He asked if there was anything he could do for me. I said a jug of orange juice would be wonderful and so he brought me one – a full jug of freshly squeezed orange juice, a bowl of ice, a glass, a long silver spoon – all on a silver salver and asked if I wanted him to pour or whether to leave it. He never asked me for my room number or name or anything. It was wonderful. Just perfect.”
After their comfortable and companionable dinner they went upstairs to her suite.
They sat looking out over London, finishing the champagne, sipping the coffee in silence as they each thought about the evening, enjoying the feeling of having eaten and drunk very well, not too much – just very well.
She stood up and looked out of the window at the lights playing on the river.
“Do you know Bitter Sweet?” she asked, rather wistfully.
“A film?”
“No, silly, the musical play.”
“I’ve heard of it, of course. I don’t know anything about it. Why?”
“It meant a lot to me years ago. Without it my life would have been very different. “
Alicia then began to softly sing Noel Coward’s words,
I’ll see you again,
whenever Spring breaks through again,
Time may lie heavy between
but what has been, is past forgetting
She stopped singing and held out her arms to him “Will you dance with me?”
He stood up and held her lightly around the waist, her hand resting on his shoulder. She began to sing again quietly.
This sweet memory
Across the years will come to me
Tho’ my world may go awry
In my heart will ever lie
Just the echo of a sigh
Goodbye
“I sang that song on the stage, many years ago.”
He hardly heard her ask “Would you like to take me to bed?” as she turned away from him to pour the last of the champagne into his glass. He didn’t have time to answer as she continued as if she had said nothing.
“I was Sarah and I sang it with my husband whose name was Carl. Sarah and Carl were made for each other but they didn’t spend much time together before tragedy intervened. That’s quite ironic isn’t it?”
She could be very persuasive.
So he did as she asked.
As he rang for the butler to bring them early morning tea she started to laugh quietly.
He didn’t want to ask her what was so funny as he didn’t want to appear as unsure of himself as he felt. He had been in this “morning after” situation before, but that not many times – and certainly not with someone he knew he really shouldn’t have slept with.
Perhaps he should have thought more about this trip – he had just wanted to give her a memorable birthday.
“What’s so funny?”
“Oh darling, not you, not you.”
She had not called him ‘darling’ before and he didn’t like it. It was too equal in a condescending sort of way.
“What then?”
“You know what yesterday was don’t you?”
“Your birthday of course.”
“No it is also my wedding anniversary. It would have been 26 years. That makes me feel very old.”
“It makes me feel very young.”
“I’ll take this with me and have a bit of a soak darling.” Alicia excused herself, picked up her teacup and walked through to the bathroom. As she closed the door firmly behind her Carl thought that they had both come to the same conclusion.
There would never be a repeat of last night.
On the drive back Carl said he had to leave. He had to get back to the Forsters, he had not seen them since before he went to Spain and then only for a short time. He really had been very rude, he said, and he must make up for it before the house became chaos for Christmas.
He h
ad wanted to give her a wonderful birthday present, one that she would always remember him by, but he really had to move on. She was so much better now, she could manage much better on her own. There was no need for him to stay, invading her space.
“Of course, darling. You must go back to your home.”
He wished she would not keep calling him ‘darling’. It wasn’t just that the night had been a mistake and that he had serious regrets about it – it was that he hated the word. He found the word offensive, it was so false – as if someone couldn’t really be bothered to find a more personal term of endearment. It reminded him of his mother, calling Arnold – he still couldn’t think of Arnold as his father – ‘darling’. It hadn’t seemed like she meant it as a sign of love either.
As they drove through the woods on top of the Downs, nearing the end of the journey, Alicia finally asked the question she had been wanting to ask since Carl had first visited her at the hospital, nearly three months earlier.
“Now that you’re going I do need to know something. Why did you want to meet me? I mean, in the first place. Why did you go to all that trouble to find me? There must have been a reason.”
“Of course there was. But I didn’t realise you were so ill. You needed looking after.”
“and you got to like me too I hope.”
“Of course I did. Do.” He corrected himself quickly – but she had noticed.
“Well, are you going to ask me the vital question or not?”
“What makes you think there is a ‘vital question’?”
“Stop beating around the bush Carl. I think we both know what it is don’t we? Let me do it for you.”
She continued, sounding so much harder than she had the previous night “You are still, have always been, in love with my daughter. You were devastated when you found out she was your sister and you have been completely lost ever since. You have worked hard and studied well but emotionally you are lost. She is your soul mate – or so you firmly believe – and so you have come to me to beg me to say that she is not your sister. Am I right?”
“Not exactly.” He stopped the car in the lay-by. He did not want to drive when such things were being spoken of – and perhaps he would be able to live more comfortably with the events of the previous night if he had some answers. “Not exactly.” He repeated. “Part of what you say is absolutely right but I have not come to beg you to say something that isn’t true. I came to ask you if there is any way Arnold is not her father. I mean, I know he was your husband and everything.” He was beginning to get flustered as he realised the enormity of the accusation he was about to make.
The Last Dance Page 27
