With an invitation as lukewarm as that, Francesca did not bother.
Her mother did not shut her out completely, but very nearly, even avoiding the trip up to Francesca’s graduation pleading it was too far to travel. She felt her mother’s absence keenly when she saw all the other new graduates having photographs taken with their families. And the final insult was that her mother refused to let anyone tell her when she was near death so that she knew nothing about it until it was over.
The unpalatable truth was that her mother never forgave her for what happened to her brother James. She carried that bitterness and resentment deep inside her like a hard stone until the day she died.
Izzy was the one cheerful link to the past, the one person with whom she shared the secret of what had really happened on the day of James’s accident and Francesca found she was oddly moved by the M&S voucher and the wedding congratulations card with the ‘About bloody time’ message scrawled on it.
And now Izzy would never meet David and be at the receiving end of his charm.
Francesca knew that many of David’s colleagues missed out on the charm and thought him grumpy, but it was an aspect of his personality that amused her. The sex was fine, not the mind-boggling variety she had experienced occasionally when younger, but fine, and it wasn’t until a couple of months into the marriage that his stubbornness had begun to grate on her. David was always right even when he was patently wrong and she guessed that in his profession that would have been a serious handicap.
She was not somebody standing in the dock.
She was his wife.
It wouldn’t have been long before she started to question him.
It wouldn’t have been long before she started to argue with him.
All the conversations they had had were now mere memories and she found herself frequently recalling them word for word as a sort of comfort.
‘I don’t want to live anywhere too remote,’ she had said as they sat relaxing in the sitting room of his tall narrow town house. It was a cluttered house, if you can refer to precious antiques and bric-a-brac as clutter, but she was working on it, determined on a fresh start once they moved into the new house.
‘Of course not. We shall make sure you are within easy reach of Harrogate and Leeds,’ he said, eyes twinkling. ‘Can’t have you too far from the shops, can we?’
‘It’s not just that,’ she told him a little impatiently because when it came to shopping she was no Selina. ‘I need company. People to talk to.’
Trying hard because she was not a natural in the kitchen, she recalled she had cooked a pretty good meal that evening with David passing on the cheese course because of concerns over levels of fat. After the meal which they ate in the splendour of the dining-room he had removed himself from the table, taking his glass of wine with him, and making no effort to help with the clearing-up. Francesca, muttering, dumped everything, china included, loudly and carelessly into the dishwasher before joining him. He was puffing on his cigar and sitting in his favourite armchair. It was a horrible chair, high backed, covered in crimson velvet and one thing was sure, antique or not, it was not making the trip up to Yorkshire. She might have to bribe the removal people to ‘lose’ it in transit but she would worry about that when the time came.
She loved him, how she loved him and yet she was beginning to understand the doubts that people had expressed about the wisdom of marrying a long-time bachelor and she knew it would be an uphill struggle for David to learn to share his life with anybody, even her.
Sitting opposite him that evening, biting her tongue to stop a sarcastic remark about the lack of help he had given her in the kitchen, she saw the bundle of estate agent particulars sitting on the low table and realized that his mind was set on Yorkshire and she might as well get used to it. However, she was not giving up without a fight and she did not want to find herself living in the back of beyond. Picking up the notes on a newly refurbished former rectory, she reiterated that she really did not want to live anywhere too far removed from civilization.
‘How many times do I have to tell you, you are not to worry about that,’ he said. ‘Life’s different in the countryside,’ he added with a smile she did not return because she felt he was humouring her. What did David know about the countryside? He may have been born and brought up in Yorkshire but he had lived in London for ages. ‘In fact there is an awful lot going on there. I have a lot of contacts up there already and they are all most anxious to meet you, my darling.’
Contacts? Not friends?
‘We can always join things.’ He finished airily and they exchanged a small smile at that for they were neither of them great ‘joiners-in’.
‘I was brought up in Devon,’ she reminded him. ‘I do know about country life.’
‘Devon!’ he almost huffed the word. ‘It’s not the same thing at all, darling. You’ll love the Dales.’
She relaxed a little, sharing his smile. Yes, she was sure she would.
‘At least we won’t have to worry about schools,’ he went on, watching her as she thumbed through the various particulars they had collected. ‘Selina tells me it’s a considerable worry.’
‘It’s a nightmare. She’s hyper-ventilating already and the boys are only at the nursery stage.’
‘Do you regret not having children?’ he asked, lowering his voice and surveying her in that way of his. ‘I know we agreed not to bother trying, but it’s not too late if you really …’
‘No.’ She waved an agitated hand.
‘Thank God.’ His relief was plain to see. ‘You would have been an excellent mother though. Better than Selina I dare say.’
‘How can you say that? She’s a very good mother,’ she said. ‘I have no idea how she does it all.’
‘She’s a remarkable woman although she’s a bit too emotional for my taste. She has trouble staying detached and in our profession that’s an essential. There’s no room for sentiment. The golden rule is never to get involved personally.’
Francesca smiled. Nobody could accuse David of being overemotional and she recalled Selina telling her that on one occasion a grateful client had thrown her arms round him and she had seen him recoil in horror.
‘Now …’ he said, returning to the matter in hand. ‘Before we get up there we need to be absolutely sure about what we are looking for. Have you given it any more thought? We shall need five bedrooms.’
‘Why so many?’ She frowned at him. ‘We’ll never fill five bedrooms.’
‘It’s a matter of proportion. A five bedroom house will give us the space we need elsewhere,’ he said, using the persuasive voice he probably used on nervous witnesses. ‘I know a lot of people up there and I have certain standards to keep up. I expect we shall do a lot of entertaining once we get settled in. I want to show you off, darling, and you have nothing to fear. You are a good cook although if you prefer we can always call on caterers. That’s what I used to do when I was on my own.’
‘There’s no need for that now,’ she told him with more confidence than she felt. Cooking was a doddle, Selina had assured her, if you followed a recipe to the death and avoided experimenting.
‘I’ve drawn up a list of must-haves,’ he continued. ‘A criteria of essentials. You must do one too and then we’ll see where we need to compromise.’
That sounded ominous, but compromise had to work both ways and she was quietly determined he was not going to get all his own way.
In the event, he did get his own way and the house they settled for was a beautiful if slightly dilapidated affair, a touch too big, a touch too far out of Harrogate for her liking, but she was promised a new little car and although she felt she had capitulated just a little too easily, that she had sold out in a big way, she wanted it to work.
How she wanted it to work.
As it happened, they never got round to signing the contract and the vendors, after thinking they had a sale at long last, must have been furious. Honestly, the lengths some people woul
d go to in order to avoid the final signature.
Dying of all things.
In the nanny’s former room in Selina’s house, Francesca checked her appearance in the mirror and managed a rueful smile, making her way downstairs to the kitchen as she heard Selina yell that coffee was ready. She took in the mess that was the family kitchen/diner and knew that she could not stay here for very long. It was not fair to Selina or her husband for them to suffer the embarrassment of having a bereaved widow in tow, having to shush the children for fear of upsetting her, not quite sure how much to mention David in her presence. She would keep right on smiling, but she knew that they were all watchful and wondering when the smiling would cease.
She must do something.
But, just now, she had no idea what.
Chapter Four
MONEY THANKFULLY WAS not a problem.
When they married, David rushed to make a will surprising her that a man in his position had not done so earlier. He was keeping it simple and leaving her the lot but would she make sure that his two favourite charities received a goodly chunk. Aside from the paintings, David had built up an impressive portfolio of funds, had investments galore and it was no secret, to her and to others that she had become a lady of some considerable means.
She felt a little like a character in a Jane Austen novel. If that were so then suitors, some dreadfully unsuitable, would be buzzing around before long. Selina had hinted at this, telling her to watch her back while she was vulnerable. Word had got round, she said, that David had left behind a young beautiful widow and some men might wish to try their luck.
Francesca had laughed at that for she was neither particularly young nor beautiful, but she knew that, as ever, Selina was just trying to cheer her up. She also suggested that Francesca might go travelling, shoot off to warm foreign climes and relax under a hot sun but that felt like running away and without David it would not be the least enjoyable.
She much preferred to stick it out here on familiar territory and work things through in her own way.
She could if she wanted become a lady of leisure.
She did not.
‘Where’s your daddy?’ Cosmo asked as she closed the book at bedtime.
Francesca smiled, ruffling his blond hair and helping him to snuggle down under his Thomas the Tank Engine quilt.
‘Where’s your daddy?’ he repeated.
She could not answer his question for if she went for the real daddy option then she had no idea where her father was and, if Cosmo meant David which he might well do she did not feel like going down the gone to heaven route just now. In any case, the little boy was sleepy, having trouble keeping his eyes open, such blue eyes just like his mother’s. ‘Mummy will be in to see you in a minute,’ she whispered, neatly side-stepping the question. ‘Sweet dreams. Good night, lovey.’ She leaned down to kiss his chubby little cheek. He smelled of newly bathed child, a unique aroma, and somewhere deep down her maternal genes stirred just a little.
Bethany was bathing baby Charles and, contrary to Selina’s protestations that he never had the time Clive was reading to his eldest son in his bedroom. Selina was downstairs ranting on the phone to one of her work colleagues, a subordinate by the sound of it, annoyed to have been rung at home just at the crucial bedtime hour and Francesca and Cosmo were alone in the lovely room that was his. He was a lucky child. He had everything a little boy could wish for in this large playroom cum bedroom, and just for a moment as she waited just inside the door to make sure he was settling, Francesca was reminded of her brother James and how she had sometimes read to him when he was small. She had never needed to explain to James where his daddy was because James had never known him and now, as then, she found herself buckling under the puzzlement and disappointment that her father’s sudden disappearance had brought about.
Something terrible had happened and her little girl head had sensed it hearing whispered conversations that were shut off immediately she appeared. She did not remember significant rows or raised voices, rather an atmosphere following James’s arrival that for a while she had put down to the difficulties of his birth and her mother’s subsequent ill-health. Her mother, for all her cheery outgoing personality, could have won an Oscar for sulking.
She remembered the last time she saw her father, how he had come up to her room and stood there a moment, searching inadequately for the right words and in the event not coming up with anything. However, as he left, he had hugged her so hard that she had squealed and said he was hurting her.
‘Sorry, poppet. You are my clever girl, Frankie, and I want you to promise to be good for your mother. Look after her for me.’
It seemed a strange thing to say.
Without knowing, Cosmo had hit it on the head.
Where the hell was her daddy?
After a week at Selina’s, it was becoming impossible. Clive was being incredibly patient with the situation but he always looked faintly surprised and awkward when they met up and she worried that, even though she stayed in her room in the evenings half heartedly watching television or listening to the radio she was intruding into his precious private time with his wife.
Francesca knew she would have to get things together. With her flat sold and David’s house as near as sold, she had to find somewhere else to live. She was making life difficult for she would have been quite at liberty to withdraw his property from the sale and continue to live in it herself but she did not want to disappoint the family who were buying it as she had disappointed the lovely people at the house up in Yorkshire and it was just too big for her anyway. Selina wanted her to find a flat close by but, much as she liked Selina, Francesca knew that would be disastrous.
She was determined not to become an encumbrance.
She needed her independence.
She had lived alone before David and she would do so again and now she had money too so she could afford something really special. She started to put out feelers in an area close enough to Selina but not that close. Giving up her job might have been a mistake and Selina certainly seemed to think so but she did not feel she could go back. She had done the cut-throat business world to death, was guilty of turning a blind eye too often to the injustice of it all, had wrung her creative juices dry and she needed something less intense.
On the second Monday of her stay at Selina’s, she went back to the house she still thought of as David’s to pick up some boxes containing her personal things. The house was slowly losing heart, strangely echoey even though not all the furniture had gone. She was leaving the curtains – not her choice anyway – for the new people and, when they heard what had happened they came round to pay their respects and with a great deal of embarrassment made an offer for some of the things they would like to keep.
Locking up, she felt very little for the house, just a rather grand property that’s all it was to her, and she would certainly shed no tears about leaving it for good.
However, her presence at Selina’s was starting to cause complications and inconvenience. She felt, notwithstanding being a stand-in bedtime story reader, that she was in everybody’s way, under everybody’s feet, and there would be an uncomfortable silence when she appeared as people struggled to find the right words to say. Laughter was cut short as if they had no right to feel happy when, despite the front she put on, she was so sad. And, not least, poor Bethany was squashed into an attic room with hardly any space for her bits and bobs.
Waking up one morning and feeling suddenly more capable of sorting things out, Francesca assured Selina she would be out of her hair soon and even though Selina made all the right noises, insisting there was no hurry, Francesca recognized the signs of relief at the announcement. There were a couple of likely looking flats that she had made arrangements to view and Francesca was relieved too that the end was in sight.
But for the moment she was stuck with staying at Selina’s for the next week or so and as she drove back there from David’s house, Francesca reflected that she had done
this particular trip so many times recently that the car very nearly knew the way itself. Arriving at a familiar important junction, she found that, through lack of attention she was in the wrong lane in very busy traffic. It would be awkward but not impossible to switch lanes, but instead she found herself anchored there, waiting patiently at the lights and firmly indicating right instead of left.
Heading due west.
She was not to know at the time but it was a decision that would change her life.
Chapter Five
FRANCESCA HAD NOT noticed the weather much since David died. It was strange how, after such an experience, such a shock, her mind had funnelled into itself. She found herself not caring about the international, national or even the local situation, tossing aside newspapers that she had previously perused vigorously. Whilst staying at Selina’s, Clive, completely at sea as to how best to deal with her, had made valiant attempts to engage her in political debate but she had proved a sorry opponent, putting up no fight to challenge his views.
‘You’ve disappointed him,’ Selina told her with a smile. ‘He likes a good old argument. That’s why he liked David. David would always stand up to him even though he irritated the hell out of Clive because out of nowhere he would produce that final put-down to which there was no answer. He did the same thing in court of course and that’s why he was so bloody brilliant.’ The smile faded as she caught Francesca’s expression. ‘Oh sorry, darling, there I go again.’
‘It’s OK. You can talk about him.’
She was becoming fed up with Selina constantly back-tracking and apologizing. It was not Selina’s fault for she was doing her best to keep everybody happy, but all that concerned Francesca was her own predicament and what was happening to her. She was doing her best to keep smiling at all costs so as not to upset people around her but in private she found it difficult just now to rustle up the merest hint of a smile.
Just Another Day Page 3
