by David Evered
She looked at him. ‘Thank you for being so frank. I suspected that the arrangements had been reached in a more sensitive manner than Ann had implied. She is feeling very fragile, hurt and rejected at the moment and is inevitably finding it difficult working so close to Francis and his latest conquest. I know she’s actively looking for another job and I think it’s quite likely she’ll look for one outside London. She tells me that there are a number of television production companies in other cities. I naturally want to be supportive but equally I don’t want to be regarded as her advocate or apologist.’
‘Can I ask if you told Ann that we were going to have a drink together?’
‘Rather shamefacedly, I have to admit that I didn’t. I even went so far as to walk down the stairs from Sue’s flat and then creep back up again quietly after the door closed! She was quite angry when I told her we had seen each other a few times since your split and she accused me of disloyalty.’
‘I suspected as much – the same charge was laid at my door when she came here ten days ago. I really do hope that things work out well for her – one cannot expunge more than four years of sharing and marriage, and nor should one. Equally, I would not wish her views to disrupt our friendship’
‘Neither do I. Although I’m not quite sure what I might have said, or she might have said, if she had caught me furtively climbing back up the stairs to your flat! I’m so glad that I’ve seen you and we’ve had this discussion. It puts things into perspective. Ann is my sister and I will do everything I can to support her but I cannot think why she threw you over for that two bit Casanova.’
He smiled, ‘I guess that’s a compliment.’
‘Absolutely and it should not be taken any other way. Now tell me, how has your life been since I last saw you in September?’
‘Let’s go for that drink and I’ll bring you up to date with my life and you can tell me what you’ve been up to.’ He grinned. ‘Perhaps we’d better make a stealthy exit down the stairs or we might be suspected of having a clandestine affair!’
‘Well,’ she said when they were settled, ‘tell me all.’
‘It has been, by my standards, quite adventurous.’
‘I heard a little about your friend Sally’s activities as her articles are being published by another magazine in the group that I work for. I’ve been reading them. They are a remarkable and insightful account of attitudes to this country overlain by a raft of longstanding prejudices. I understand that the high-ups in the group are very pleased with them. It would be good to meet her sometime.’
‘You will, but how has your life been progressing?’
‘The trip to France was a great success – not just the time in the Dordogne and that wonderful evening which will become a lifetime memory but also the jazz festival in St Etienne. Stefan was able to play informally on several occasions. There was an amazing party atmosphere there. I see him and Cass perhaps once every two or three weeks. They’re great company. As for the rest, work is still good and I’ve been travelling up north once a month to see Mum. She’s doing well.’
‘And have you found anyone to make it a foursome with Stefan and Cass?’
‘No.’
‘Nothing in view?’
‘Maybe a figure in the mist on the horizon but like all figures in the mist the image is evanescent!’
‘Are you going to enlighten me further?’
‘No, the likelihood is that it will come to nothing.’
‘OK – but to change the subject, what are you doing for Christmas?’
‘Ann and I are both going to Newcastle to be with Mum. We spent last Christmas at your parents but it will be the first time that we’ve both spent Christmas in Newcastle for many years.’
‘Jenny – I think we should let Ann know that we have had a drink together. If we are to do so on other occasions, which I hope we shall, she’ll undoubtedly find out and this might fuel suspicions on her part. I’m happy to tell her. I’m planning that once a week or so I’ll have a coffee or a meal with her and Sue and it would be quite straightforward to tell her next time I do that.’
‘You’re right, but mischievously I should be quite happy to keep her guessing.’
‘How about going somewhere for a pizza now?’
‘Lovely idea, and you can tell me all about your complicated life since September.’
‘I’ll give you an edited version since it has become somewhat more complicated!’
‘I should much prefer to hear the unexpurgated version!’
* * *
Peter called Sally the following morning. She told him she had completed the first series of articles and just managed to meet the deadlines for submission. She was feeling very much more relaxed and would probably be coming back to England the following weekend. He told her he had seen Jenny who had reported that the office gossip was that the first series of articles had been very well received. Sally promised to make contact after her return. He awoke the following day to a light covering of snow but saw on the television that this had been dense in some parts of the country. He called Sally again. The weather had been worse in central France. The snow had been particularly heavy in the valley of the Dordogne and she was without power. She assured him that she was managing and that she had an ample supply of logs for the fire. It was anticipated that power would be restored later that day. She was planning to batten down the hatches and leave once the roads were passable again.
Sally finally got back to London on the Sunday a fortnight before Christmas. They arranged to meet two days later at the Bodega, the restaurant where they had eaten previously. She was in good spirits. She confirmed that she had received very positive feedback on her series of articles and that the editor was happy with the suggestion that she return for a further visit the following year. This would generate further articles and probably provide the basis for a book. She planned to dedicate her time over the coming winter to doing the necessary research for a book on the impact and the extent of the integration of British expatriates in France, and also the possible project on the role which French culture had played in the works of English language writers who had lived in France.
He leant across the table and took her hand. He felt his instinct that a rift had developed between them had been incorrect. ‘It is good to see you – no, it’s lovely to see you. You were looking very tense and withdrawn when I left to go to Lyon. I was worried.’
‘I was tense – but solitude proved to be a good companion and once I had set myself a work plan and settled down to type, it was hard work but I managed to keep up to schedule. The final few days in Sarlat were not much fun. I was without power for over twenty-four hours so I only had cold food to eat and I oscillated between my bed and the log burning stove. The Brownings were in the same position and we kept each other cheerful with multiple telephone calls. The roads were still not wonderful on Thursday but we left in convoy and stopped for the night near Orléans before driving on to the Channel.’
‘What are your immediate plans?’
‘I’m going to chill out, an appropriate expression seeing what the weather’s like this December, and then get to work in the New Year. I shall go and spend two nights with an old colleague and his somewhat riotous family over Christmas in their very cold house but I shall get a very warm welcome. They live in Norfolk and it will be a very traditional family Christmas. By the way, the Brownings have invited both of us to dinner on the Saturday between Christmas and New Year. I hope that you can make it.’
‘I can see no problem with that.’
‘They live in North London – I can give you the address and we can drive up there together.’
‘They’ve clearly known you and your family for a long time. They told me how they first met your parents. Would you tell me a little more about your family? I think you told me when we first met that you had no close family. You must hav
e lost your parents at a very young age.’
She hesitated for some moments before saying, ‘Yes, I was still in my late teens and I suspect you’ve sensed that those years have cast a long shadow over my life. I was particularly close to my father. I also had a twin brother who died in his teens of meningitis. I was also very close to him and this was perhaps reinforced by our peripatetic life. His death had a devastating effect on my parents but he was also very special to me and to many others. My father committed suicide six months later and the feelings of guilt which overwhelmed us were all-pervasive. We were in Bonn when George fell ill and we didn’t have time to get back to see him before he died. Then after Dad’s death, the sense of guilt was unimaginable and it must have been many times worse for Mum than for me. Our failure to recognise the level of despondency which had overtaken him left a permanent mark. It was a signal failure on our part not to have understood how desolate he felt. Mum moved back to France, to Sarlat. She could not bear to be close to things which revived instant memories of George and my Dad, nor did she want to see friends. She died shortly afterwards, having developed a highly invasive cancer. She was an extremely sad woman.’
‘Perhaps I shouldn’t probe.’
‘No, it’s alright. Two or three years ago I could not have had this conversation without becoming tearful and it’s possible I might still do so.’ She paused and looked directly at him. ‘I have shared much with you, Peter, and I can and may well share more but I’m sure you’ll understand the reasons why I am so protective of my independence. In one sense it’s all I have. Maybe one day I might feel able to open up fully to someone but I’ve not reached that stage just yet. That’s not a reflection on you. It’s simply the way things are, the way I am. I suspect it’s to my disadvantage and I’m happy to have you as a loving friend. I say this with difficulty but, because I feel I cannot be bound by or to anyone at the present stage of my journey through life, it’s only fair that your friendships and loves should not be restricted by my gremlins. They are my gremlins and ultimately it is up to me to manage and finally, I hope, exterminate them. Having loving friends – no, I’ve got that wrong – having a loving friend is something that I value more highly than you might have thought at times over the last few months.’ He held her hands and gently caressed her arm.
‘Do you have other relatives?’
‘No-one close. My father had a younger brother but he was eight years younger and he lives in Canada. They were never close. Now you know,’ she said. ‘I know that you’ve created new friendships and I am genuinely delighted for you, so tell me what has been happening to you since you left Sarlat.’
‘Well, my life has not been entirely uneventful since mid-November. As you know, I went to Lyon for the celebration of the Beaujolais Nouveau. It was just great fun. I was intending to leave the following day but was persuaded to stay on for another day by Julie Christie and I left to come home after that weekend. Since I’ve been home I’ve been writing, but there have been a number of distractions. Ann’s lover was two-timing her and she appeared unannounced in the flat a few days after I got back. She wanted to come back but I had to say that too much had changed. I suspect our marriage might not have worked out long term anyway, even if that Casanova had not intervened, although that may be no more than a judgement made with hindsight. I know it would be impossible now and doomed to failure. She had nowhere to go so I said she could stay the night in the spare room but then Sue downstairs offered her a bed while she’s looking for other accommodation and that seemed like a much better option. She’s also looking for another job, possibly out of London. I can see it would be impossible for her to continue to work alongside the man concerned and his current paramour. I’ve spoken at length to Jenny, with whom I get on very well, and she has been very supportive of her sister. I’ve also spent an evening with my oldest and closest friend, Michael Rattray, whom you would probably be interested to meet. Saying that, I shall arrange a dinner party to demonstrate my newly acquired culinary skills – will you come?’
‘Of course. It is good to see you again.’
‘How about New Year’s Eve, if you have had no other offers?’
‘Yes, that would be good.’
‘I will see if Michael and Jenny are free for that evening.’
‘One thing you haven’t mentioned has been your writing.’
‘Despite the distractions I’ve been quite productive. I calculate that I’m now between two-thirds and three-quarters of the way through the novel. The plan is to complete a draft by the end of January and then type it up, revising it as I go. I’m hoping that I shall progress from typing with two fingers to at least four in the process.’
They called for the bill and Peter leant across. ‘Thank you for all you have done – you have taught me more than you might think.’
She took his hands. ‘It has certainly not all been one way traffic.’ She continued to hold his hands. ‘I wonder if you might be prepared to extend your loving friendship until tomorrow morning?’
‘I’ve come quite unprepared – I have neither a toothbrush nor a change of underwear with me but after the last few months I’m prepared to live that dangerously!’
27
There was less than a week to go until Christmas. Peter arranged to spend the nights of Christmas Eve and Christmas Day with his family and then called Jenny and Michael to say that he was planning a dinner party for New Year’s Eve. Michael had been out when he called but rang back to say that he was free that evening and, even if he had not been, he would have cancelled almost anything to join the party. He added that, in the light of Peter’s revelations when they had last met, it might also be of considerable ethological interest! Jenny told him that she and Ann would be staying in Newcastle for a week from Sunday 21st of December and that she also was free. She asked if he would be inviting Ann as well. He replied that, for a variety of different reasons, he felt it would be difficult for all of them if he did but he might invite Sue if she were on her own that evening. He decided to probe gently the next time he had a coffee with her and Ann.
He went down the stairs that evening and invited himself in for a cup of coffee. These occasions were frequently strained with often long silences punctuated by their sporadic conversational efforts. It was clear that there was little interaction between Sue and Ann. The one still had a degree of desolation and remained burdened by a sense of guilt following her husband’s death while the other was rudderless and, without an anchor, uncertain about where her life might take her next. Ann’s presence had revived painful memories and her wretchedness had not been good for Sue.
Peter broke one of the longer silences. ‘You said you were planning to look for another job,’ he began looking at Ann. ‘Any irons in the fire as yet?’
‘No, it’s still early days and this is not the ideal time of year to be job-hunting. I think I might get out of London.’
‘Are there not more opportunities in London?’
‘Yes, but there’s also a growing range of opportunities in the provinces in regional television and with an increasing number of independent production companies, including several start-ups. These often prefer to be in the provinces where rents are cheaper. I shall start looking seriously in the New Year. More independent companies are coming into play as more programme-making is contracted out. Accommodation will also be less expensive in the provinces.’
‘What are your plans for Christmas? I understand that you’ll be going to see your Mum in Newcastle.’
‘How do you know that?’ she said sharply. She then added, ‘Have you seen Jenny again?’
‘Yes, we had a drink and a pizza together last week.’
‘That seems a strange thing to do.’
‘Not at all – I’m fond of Jenny and she’s good company.’
‘It somehow doesn’t seem appropriate.’
‘I really don’t understand why you s
hould think that, Ann. There was nothing inappropriate about it. There’s no reason why we shouldn’t be friends just because you and I have parted company.’
‘I still feel it’s not right. I’m not sure which of you is taking the lead in this but it just feels wrong.’
‘Ann, neither of us is taking a lead, as you put it. You’re reading into a simple friendship much more than is there. It does not and will not undermine Jenny’s feelings for you in any way. She’s going to come round to my flat with some other friends on New Year’s Eve.’ He realised that this was the first time he had used the possessive pronoun in the first person singular when referring to the flat which had been theirs. He saw that it had not gone unnoticed by Ann. She remained silent. He turned to Sue. ‘I can assure you that it will not be a noisy or a riotous party and that you won’t be disturbed. What plans do you have for Christmas?’
‘I’m fortunate, I have a large family who have always been very supportive. You may remember I have two sisters and two brothers living in Lancashire and the West Midlands and what seems like dozens of nephews and nieces. I shall stay with two of them for the week that Ann is away and will be very well looked after indeed. I have even wondered whether I might go back to Lancashire to work.’
‘You told me that you were still helping in the hospice shop. Are you still doing that?’
