More Than You Know

by Penny Vincenzi

  “Jesus.”

  “Anyway, I think one of the things that might help is if we can get Eliza’s friend Heather into court. Nice working-class girl, friendship spans the class divide—and I’m delighted we’ve got Matt’s sister on our side as well.”

  “Surely she’s exactly the sort of woman he won’t like. Successful, powerful, self-confident—”

  “No, no, she’s self-made, you see—”

  “Hmm. What about Northcott?”

  “He’ll loathe him. I’m wondering about the wisdom of calling him at all. We’ve got the editor and he’s pretty middle-of-the-road socially.”

  “What bad luck. What do you think he’ll make of the Italian countess or whatever she is?”

  “God knows!”

  “What an exquisite place! Wonderful gardens too.”

  “You must tell my mother. She does nearly all the work. Come in—and this is Emmie. Emmie, this is Mr. Gilmour.”

  “Hallo, Emmie. I’ve heard a lot about you. Is that wild horse Mouse?”

  Emmie looked over at the slightly stout Mouse and giggled.

  “Yes. Can you ride?”

  “I can. But I don’t have time. Or anywhere to keep a horse. Sad. I love it.”

  “You could keep it here,” said Emmie consideringly. “Mouse gets lonely; in fact, Granny’s looking out for a Shetland, to keep him company.”

  “Sounds excellent. Only thing is, I haven’t got a horse or I’d be down faster than you could say walk-trot-gallop.”

  “I like doing walk-trot-gallop,” said Emmie, “only I can’t gallop, so I just walk and trot. I want to have a gymkhana of my own,” she added, “here at Summercourt.”

  “That sounds fun.”

  “Shall I show you how I do walk and trot?”

  “Later on. I’d like that very much. Just now I need to talk to your mother.”

  “What about?”

  “All sorts of things.”

  “The divorce?” said Emmie, and scowled.

  “Well, yes, I’m afraid so.”

  “It’s so stupid,” she said, and her voice was scornful rather than distressed, Toby Gilmour noticed. “They’re so stupid too.”

  “Who, Mummy and Daddy?”

  “Yes. I thought they were clever but they’re not, and we all have to be miserable, and a man called a judge will decide what’s going to happen to me. How can he, when he doesn’t know me or what I want. Stupid.”

  “Emmie,” said Eliza, “you know I told you you may get a chance to talk to the judge.”

  “I don’t suppose he’ll take any notice. You know what I want and you don’t. Horses are much more sensible.”

  “I do agree,” said Toby.

  “Emmie, Mr. Gilmour and I have to go and have a chat. Granny’s in the kitchen, and she wants you to help her shell some peas.”

  “I hate shelling peas.”

  “Never mind, they need doing. Now, we won’t be long—”

  “And then can I show you walk, trot, and not gallop?” asked Emmie, looking up at Toby.

  “Nothing I’d like more. But I might have to take your mother somewhere first.”

  “OK.” She shrugged and set off in the direction of the paddock.

  “Emmie, I said go and help Granny,” Eliza said; Emmie turned to look at her and gave her a smile of great sweetness.

  “And I said I didn’t want to,” she said, and continued on her way.

  Eliza looked at Toby.

  “She’s a bit … overindulged at the moment.”

  “I’m not surprised. I see a great future for her in the law. Clear-thinking, and very good at marshalling her arguments.”

  “Oh, don’t. Come into the house; I’ve put coffee in the drawing room. It’s so kind of you to come all this way.”

  “Well … it was a bit of a complicated conversation. Best face-to-face. Besides, we might have to go on a journey together.”

  “Heather’s not a bit sure he’ll agree,” said Eliza, as Toby’s BMW pulled into the council estate where Heather lived. “It’s down there; look—yes, just park here. Oh, there’s Coral,” she said, jumping out of the car. “Hallo, Coral, why aren’t you at school?”

  “Hallo,” said Coral shyly. “I’ve got a cold. Where’s Emmie?”

  “With her granny. Coral, this is Mr. Gilmour; we’ve come to see Mummy. Is she inside?”

  “Yes, she said to look for you.”

  Heather appeared, a baby on her hip.

  “Heather, it’s lovely to see you; how are you? This is Toby Gilmour, the barrister, working on the case; Toby, this is Heather Connell.”

  “Pleased to meet you,” said Heather.

  “And I to meet you,” said Toby. He bowed slightly.

  “Well … come through. I’ve made some tea; we could have it in the garden.”

  The garden was a work of art: the small lawn mown in stripes, every inch of every bed a riot of roses, dahlias, and irises, and every bed edged painstakingly with pansies. At each corner of the lawn was a piece of box hedge carved into a very neat triangle, and a birdbath stood absolutely in the middle of the lawn. A tortoise sat underneath it.

  “A tortoise!” exclaimed Toby. “I used to have one. Coral, I presume it is yours?”

  “Yes, he’s called Meths.”

  “Short for Methuselah,” said Heather by way of explanation.

  “What was your tortoise called?”

  “Tort,” said Toby, smiling at her, “which is a sort of law, so it seemed to suit him. My father was a judge.”

  “Are you a judge?”

  “No, I’m a barrister. That’s a sort of judge in waiting. I hope,” he added.

  He was good with children, Eliza thought; she was surprised.

  “Now,” said Heather, passing round the biscuits, “I’m afraid I’m not too hopeful about Alan. He’ll be home at five past five, so you can ask him then.”

  “If he does say yes, will you do it?” asked Eliza.

  “Yes, I will. I won’t say I’m not scared, but I will …”

  “Well done,” said Toby.

  At five past five precisely a Ford Consul pulled up into the small drive. Alan Connell got out. He was dressed in a navy blue suit with the jacket buttons all fastened in spite of the extremely warm weather, a white shirt, and a perfectly knotted navy-and-grey-striped tie. His shoes wore a high shine; his hair was combed very precisely from a side parting; even his moustache looked as if it had been combed.

  “Good afternoon,” he said, nodding at them. “So you’re Eliza.”

  “Yes. How do you do, Mr. Connell. I’m sorry we’re here, intruding on your weekend.”

  “It’s not the weekend yet,” said Alan Connell, “not until midnight.”

  “No, I suppose not.”

  “I’m going up to change. I like to get into casual clothes as soon as I get home. Helps me relax. Then, Heather, perhaps you could get us some tea.”

  This time the tea was served in the breakfast room. Alan was now wearing perfectly creased slacks, a short-sleeved shirt pressed carefully open at the neck, and highly polished brown shoes instead of black.

  “Right,” he said, “let’s get down to business. I don’t like this; I said Heather wasn’t to appear in court, and I haven’t heard anything yet to make me change my mind.”

  “Let me explain,” said Toby. “The point is that the judge we’ve been … allotted … doesn’t like written statements. Indeed, he tends to dismiss them. So Heather’s being there could make all the difference to Eliza’s case. If you could agree to her coming … Of course, I know it’s a long way, but we could arrange to send a car—”

  “A car! From here to London?”

  “Yes. It would be extremely good of you, and we would want to show how much we appreciated it. There’s a lot at stake, you see—”

  “Well, no wonder you lawyers charge such high fees,” said Alan. “I’ve never heard such rubbish; she can go on the train—”

  “Oh, but we’d want you t
o come too,” said Toby, “to keep her company. I imagine you wouldn’t want her to go through it all on her own, bit of an ordeal. And to make sure you were quite happy with everything.”

  “Oh. I see. I hadn’t realised you’d want me as well. It would certainly make me feel a lot happier. Of course, I’d have to ask for the time off work, but I imagine it would be considered a bit like jury service. In that you couldn’t refuse?”

  “I’m sure. And in the unlikely event of your having to stay, we’d obviously put you both up in a very nice hotel …”

  “Very generous of you,” said Alan, and then, clearly anxious not to be seen as a pushover: “No more than I’d expect, of course.”

  “And I would like to help, Alan,” Heather said. “Eliza was such a good friend to me.”

  “Tell me, Heather, in what way was she such a good friend to you?” asked Toby.

  “Eliza’s just the best friend I could ever imagine,” said Heather simply. “She was so kind to us; Coral really loved her; she’s so good with children; and she never complained about giving up that amazing job, although I know she missed it a lot. And later on she was always meeting Coral from school when I was pregnant and not feeling up to it, and doing the shopping—I never had to ask; she just offered—and she used to drive us out to the park for picnics on the holidays. She gave us a TV; she even lent me some money once when … well, when I lost my purse. And she took up our cause with the landlord, argued with the useless plumber, and I know it all went wrong in the end, with the article in the paper, but it wasn’t her fault. And I was so sorry for her when the baby died, and she was so brave, and so generous when I fell pregnant again, very soon after; she said she was so pleased for me; not many people could do that. And when we moved away I missed Eliza so much it was like a huge hole in my life. She’s the sort of person who’d do anything you asked her; I can’t think of anything she’d refuse you …”

  There was a silence; Eliza rummaged in her bag for a tissue and blew her nose very hard. Toby, who had been sitting looking at Heather as if he was bewitched by her, reached out and patted her hand, and even Alan cleared his throat.

  “Well,” said Toby, “do you think you could say all that in court? It could make all the difference to Eliza.”

  “Of course I could,” said Heather.

  “That was brilliant,” said Eliza as they drove away. “I feel a whole lot more hopeful too. I know one swallow doesn’t make a summer and all that—”

  “It’s a pretty good harbinger of one, even so. Oh, Christ, look at that traffic. We’re not going to get back for hours at this rate. Are you hungry? Let’s find a nice country inn, then, and have a meal.”

  “Haven’t you got to get back to London?”

  “No,” he said shortly, “I haven’t. Nothing on at all, all weekend. OK, we’ll drive for an hour, say, and then stop, shall we? Should be somewhere like Buckinghamshire by then. Lovely restaurant at Cookham, down by the river. How would that be?”

  “Lovely,” said Eliza. “Thank you.”

  It was coincidence, and its close relative chance, at work that lovely summer evening, as everyone concerned with the case of Shaw v. Shaw became increasingly obsessed, as well they might, with its outcome.

  “I … um … I wondered if you’d like to have a drink this evening?”

  “Well … why not. OK, Matt. Would you like to try one of my hotels? The one near Hyde Park is very good.”

  “Yes, nice idea. Thanks, Louise. I’ve never been to one, and I should. Great.”

  “OK. Champagne bar, that’s what it is, six thirty?”

  “You’re on.”

  “Gina, doll, this is Freddy.”

  “Oh … hi, Freddy.”

  Freddy was her business partner; or rather, he’d put up most of the money for Dressing Up. He was flashily handsome, gay, and extremely rich.

  “I’m in town. Just for tonight. I was wondering if you’d like to have dinner? Maybe go on somewhere—I could do with a bit of nightlife.”

  “Well …” She’d been about to refuse, then thought it could be a good idea. Freddy was amusing and very good-looking; it would be no disgrace to be seen with him. And she was beginning to feel she’d had it with Matt. But … she’d invested a lot of emotion in him, and she was actually extremely fond of him. Or had been. And when this bloody divorce case was over, things should steady again.

  “Yes, that’d be nice,” she said.

  “Excellent, I’m staying at that new hotel just below Hyde Park Corner, very nice. They’ve got a champagne bar; we can start there, and then go on somewhere to eat … you choose.”

  Matt was late—of course. God, he was annoying. It had surprised her when they started meeting socially, his pathological lateness. He was never late for a business meeting.

  She had ordered a glass of champagne and done a quick recce of the reception rooms and the ladies’—always a barometer of a good hotel—when he finally arrived.

  “Good of you to come.”

  “Louise, don’t start. I’ve had a hell of a day. But I’ve got some good news: we’ve got a judge who’s very keen on fathers’ rights. So … could be a good omen. Now, no need to worry about their barrister; he’s a junior, as I said, not much cop, probably, and Bruce Hayward will give you a very easy ride, obviously. If you can just say—you know—the sort of things you said the other night—”

  “Matt, don’t worry. I won’t let you down. How’s Emmie?”

  “She’s fine. Well …” He sighed. “Not really.”

  There was a silence; then he nodded in the direction of her glass.

  “Another?”

  “Yes. Please. I’m breaking my golden rule tonight. Planning to drink more than half a teaspoonful.”

  “Why?”

  “Oh … just feel a bit … a bit like it. But I’ll have to be careful; I’ve got a big day tomorrow; going up to Stratford for a meeting with the builders on site. Not good with a hangover.”

  “No. Look—I’ll get a bottle, might as well.”

  The bottle arrived; they seemed to get through the first glass very quickly. Matt poured them a second.

  “Wow, this’ll have to be my last,” said Louise. “I feel a bit dizzy already. I might go to the ladies’ now, while I can still walk straight.”

  “You look sensational, doll,” said Freddy. “Love the hair.”

  “Thanks. Good day?”

  “Yup, very.”

  “So where’s Sam?”

  Sam was Freddy’s partner, a sober-looking academic specialising in medieval history, and about as unlike Freddy as a man could be.

  “He’s at home finishing some paper on the rise of the antipopes.”

  “Christ,” said Gina.

  This was not a reaction to the subject of Sam’s paper, but the fact that she had just seen Matt across the bar.

  “Anything wrong?”

  “Could be. Might be best to move on.”

  “Gina! I haven’t even ordered a drink yet. Have a heart; I’ll make it a quick one. You?”

  “Oh, yes, all right,” said Gina. She had taken comfort from the fact that she and Freddy were in a banquette, fairly well shielded from view. And the bar was quite dark. She could actually observe Matt without his realising it. She wondered whom he was with …

  Louise combed her hair, touched up her lipstick, and sprayed on some more Miss Dior perfume. She studied herself in the mirror; she looked all right. She didn’t look drunk. But it had been a bit hard to walk straight across the bar.

  She went back to Matt, who was looking broodingly into his glass.

  “Matt! You’re not going to survive the weekend if you go on like this. It’ll be fine.”

  “I … hope so,” he said, but he didn’t sound very convinced.

  “It will. What are you most scared of? Apart from losing?”

  “Oh, reliving it all, in public …”

  “What?” she asked, genuinely curious.

  “The … the marriage.
All the awful things, the fights, the cross-purposes—oh, I don’t know, I just feel so confused. Part of me wishes I’d never even started on it …”

  “Of course. You’d be weird if you didn’t. But …” She struggled for the right thing to say. “But everything you really care about is worth fighting for—sorry, terrible cliché—and … and surely Emmie comes under that category.”

  “Yes, of course. But you know … I was thinking about her the other day, how I was high as a kite after she was born; I could have flown out the window; it was so amazing and we were all so happy. I thought, ‘I’ve really, really got it all now,’ and … look at us. I did that.”

  “Matt, you both did it. Maybe … maybe the two of you should never have got married. You’re so different. I mean, I know you were in love and everything, but there’s love, isn’t there, and there’s marriage and … Oh, never mind. I don’t know what I’m talking about. Last of the spinsters, that’s me. Married to hotels, what a prospect for my old age …”

  “I don’t know. Could be worse. Someone to look after you. Lots of someones. Not many old people have their own personal chambermaids …”

  She smiled. “Nice one, Matt. Oh, could you excuse me just a moment? The manager’s spotted me. I’ll be back.”

  Gina watched Louise as she walked across the bar; she was very stylish. Not exactly fashionable—those shoes were last year’s without a doubt, and her little black dress was neither mini nor maxi, just knee-length. But that long rope of pearls, possibly the Chanel boutique, was very nice, and so were the gold bangles—and her legs were very good indeed. And she had a sleekness about her that meant self-confidence and success—big success. Louise was a tycoon, one of the very first females to be so, not just the part owner of some crummy boutique. Gina suddenly felt rather depressed. No, more than depressed, distressed.

  Here was the man she was hoping to … well, actually, marry one day, in the company of a woman who …

  “Let’s go,” she said to Freddy, “please.”

  “OK, doll, but I’ve left my wallet upstairs. I’ll have to go and get it. See you in the lobby.”