by Isabel Wolff
‘Why’s she doing that?’ Phyllis whispered to Lily. Lily shrugged her slim shoulders.
‘Haven’t a clue. Maybe it’s her way of playing hard to get.’
‘Okay,’ said Marcus. ‘See you later, then.’ He snapped shut his phone, and waved at Natalie, who gave him a little wave back—then she carried on down Regents Park Road.
‘What was that about?’ Lily enquired.
‘Oh, well, unfortunately, Natalie’s allergic to dogs. And when she saw all the puppies she just knew it would bring her out in bumps.’
‘Oh dear,’ I said.
‘Yes, it can be quite bad actually—so she was just playing it safe. With cats it’s even worse. She has a very nasty reaction.’
‘But isn’t that a bit of a problem?’ Phyllis asked. She nodded at Twiglet.
‘Oh not…really,’ he said, shifting slightly. ‘No, no, I wouldn’t say that’s a problem.’
‘I’ve seen her in the Mews,’ I said, as we turned in at the gate. ‘Quite often actually. I assumed she worked there. I didn’t realize she was your girlfriend.’
‘Well, she has aromatherapy once a week to de-stress her, and she goes to the homeopath for her allergies, and to the chiropractor for her lower back pain. She has a cranial massage once a fortnight for her migraines, and she uses Chinese herbal remedies to improve her yin and yang. That’s how I knew about you,’ he said. ‘Because she saw your plaque on the wall when you first opened up.’
‘I see.’ We’d caught up with the rest of the group. ‘Anyway, everyone, we’re going to do some sit and stay. So take the puppies off the lead and plonk them down in a row, here, next to Herman. Then, using hand signals, like this—make them wait to the count of five; then fling open your arms, and they’ll come. If they do it properly, reward them with lots of praise and a liver treat—I’ve got the bag here—but don’t reward them until they’ve done it.’
‘—Stay, Bentley.’
‘—Stay, Lola.’
‘—Staaaaay, Sooty.’
‘—Maisie, sta-a-a-a-ay!’
‘—Stay there, Gwyneth darling, don’t move an inch.’
‘—STAAAAAYYYYYYY!!!!!!!!!’
‘—Not an inch, Gwyneth—do you hear me?’
The puppies all looked stupefied to start with, but then they got the hang of it.
‘—Oh darling, well done, that was just so brilliant—you little genius!’
‘—Good girl, Roxy!’
‘—Good boy, Cosmo!’
‘Well done, Twiggers. Give me five.’ Suddenly Marcus’s mobile trilled out. ‘Hi, Nats!’ he said happily. We all looked up. Natalie was standing on the other side of Regents Park Road, her curtain of white-blonde hair lifting slightly in the breeze. ‘Oh,’ Marcus said. ‘Oh.’ He looked crestfallen. ‘Well, it’s only a little sniffle. Honestly, it’s nothing. I shouldn’t have mentioned it. It’s just a bit of a summer cold. No, no, no, I’m sure I’m not infectious. Streptococcal? I very much doubt it.
Virus? No… Of course I’m sure. Okay,’ he sighed. ‘If that’s how you feel. All right then. All right. I’ll ring you later.’ He snapped the phone shut, then smiled ruefully.
‘I take it your date’s off,’ Lily said, as we watched Natalie drift away.
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘She’s decided that she doesn’t want to see me after all in case she catches my cold. She’s very sensitive, you see.’
‘She’s the delicate type then,’ said Phyllis.
‘Yes,’ he said, ‘she’s very delicate.’
‘Fragile.’
‘Yes,’ he agreed, with a slightly idiotic smile. ‘She’s fragile.’
‘So I don’t suppose she’s very sporty, is she?’ Phyllis asked. He smiled indulgently. ‘Oh no, she’s not sporty at all.’
‘She’s not the outdoors type.’
‘Far from it.’
‘So she’s rather different from you, then?’ Phyllis per sisted.
‘Yes. But then it’s opposites that attract. Isn’t it?’
‘Yes,’ she replied. ‘Sometimes.’ An odd silence descended.
‘And…does she go to the self-defence classes?’ I asked him.
He shook his head. ‘I’ve tried to persuade her, but she says it’s too rough. And it is quite rough; we do a lot of mock-attacks and throws and falls—it’s very physical, obviously. Are you coming tomorrow, by the way?’
‘I certainly am.’ I glanced at my watch. It was nine. ‘Okay, everyone, the light’s going, so I think we’ll call it a day. See you all next week at the same time, and I’ll see you tomorrow evening, Marcus.’
‘See you then,’ he said with a smile. But when I got back there was a message on the answerphone from David, asking if he could bring our date forward to Thursday as he had to fly to Stockholm on Friday to do a couple of shoots.
‘But I’d love to see you,’ he said when I phoned back. ‘Especially as I’m travelling quite a bit at the moment. I thought we could go to the Photographers’ Gallery—a friend of mine is having an opening there. And we could maybe see a film afterwards, or go for a Chinese, whatever you like. How does that sound? Are you free tomorrow?’ I thought about the self-defence classes with a slight pang.
‘Ye-es,’ I said. ‘I am.’
‘I’m really sorry to let you down again,’ I said to Daisy a few minutes later. ‘But you see, David’s going to Sweden on Friday morning and he’ll be away for five days, so I just…’
‘Don’t worry,’ she said. ‘That’s fine. I’ll phone Marcus tomorrow morning and tell him you’re not coming after all, but it’s going to be really good this week. He’s going to teach us the elbow jab and the wrist grab. Then we’re going to learn how to disable a single unarmed assailant. Marcus is going to be in a fully padded body-suit, built to withstand heavy blows. I’m going to find out how it actually feels to hit someone!’
‘Crikey.’
‘Have you written down Nigel’s birthday party, by the way?’
‘Yes, I have. August the second.’
‘And don’t forget—he knows nothing about it.’
‘Don’t worry. My lips are sealed.’
The next morning my mother’s ‘Llama Karma’ leaflet arrived in the post. On the front of it was a photo of Carlos and Jose, looking concerned and compassionate. I remembered my idea. I picked up the phone and dialled Dad.
‘Can you ever take a day off?’ I asked him.
‘Well, it’s a bit tricky at the moment because we’re so busy in the run-up to the opening.’
‘But could you take at least, say, a morning off? Or even just a couple of hours.’
‘I suppose I could. Why are you asking?’
‘I’ll explain in a moment, but do you definitely want to see Mum?’
I heard him sigh. ‘Yes, I do. I feel that if I could only talk to her, then I might be able to neutralize her hostility and her attitude towards me might change. I just want to feel we can be…civil,’ he went on. ‘But I don’t know how to achieve it.’
‘Well, I think I do.’ I told him about the Llama Karma days. ‘Why don’t you sign up?’
‘But how? She’s blocked my phone calls. And if I made the booking by letter, she’d recognize the writing—and she’d see my name on the cheque.’
‘Hmm. That’s true.’ I stared out of the window.
‘I could always pay her cash,’ he went on. ‘But then it would be very easy for her to refuse. She’d take one look at me and shut the door.’
‘I know how to do it,’ I said. ‘I’ll send her the cheque and pretend that you’re a friend of mine. I’ll say that I owe you a hundred quid, so I’m paying for your llama therapy. She’s hard up at the moment so she’ll cash it immediately, which means she’ll be obliged to honour the booking.’
‘But won’t she want to know who I am?’
‘Yes—but I’ll give her a pseudonym.’
‘Such as?’ I glanced at my bookshelf. Charles Darwin… Konrad Lorenz.
‘Lawrence Dar
win,’ I said.
‘Is he one of the Darwins?’ Mum asked, as she took down the details half an hour later.
‘Um, I think so.’
‘How interesting. And how do you know him?’
‘He’s a friend of…’
‘Daisy’s?’ Mum anticipated.
‘Yes.’
‘Well, of course, Daisy knows so many people,’ she said. ‘What with all those parties she does. But why are you paying?’
‘Because…we went to a…’
‘Ball?’ she anticipated.
‘Ye-es.’
‘I’m so glad you’re getting back on the social scene, darling. And he paid for your ticket, did he?’
‘That’s right—so I’ve told him I’ll pay for this.’
‘Well, that’s very nice of you. And what does he do?’
Ah. ‘He’s an…act—’
‘Not another actor,’ she interjected. ‘I do hope not.’
‘No. Actuary. For a large in—’
‘—surance firm?’
‘Ye-es.’
‘Well, no wonder he’s stressed. All that number-crunching must be exhausting.’
‘That’s right. He’s really stressed. He’s just changed jobs, and the people aren’t very friendly, plus he has to work incredibly long hours and there are billions at stake if he gets his sums wrong, and he’s wondering whether it’s all worth it—in fact he’s close to—’
‘A nervous breakdown?’
I was going to say ‘packing it in’. ‘Yes. A nervous breakdown. That’s right.’
My mother was making sympathetic ‘tut-tut’ noises. ‘Well, don’t worry—I’ll look after him. We’ll feed and groom the llamas, then I’ll leave him on his own with them, one on one. I think I’ll put him with Sancho,’ she went on. ‘Sancho’s very understanding. Then Lawrence can take him for a walk and talk to him about all his problems. I guarantee that things will look very different by the end of the day.’
Oh I do hope so. ‘That sounds…great.’
‘When does he want to come down?’
‘He’d like to come a week today, if that fits in with you.’
‘Thursday the thirty-first,’ she echoed. ‘I’m putting it in the diary now. Thanks, Miranda. My first client!’
The rest of the day passed pleasantly. Animal Crackers phoned to say our ratings had jumped by ten per cent since the last series. Then I got a call from PetWise, the insurers who were sponsoring the ‘Pet Slimmer of the Year’ competition, reminding me that I’d agreed to judge the final in three weeks’ time. In the afternoon I had an appointment with a pair of ferrets which refused to stop fighting, then at six fifteen I settled Herman on his beanbag, and got the Northern Line to Leicester Square.
The Photographers’ Gallery was in Great Newport Street. As I entered the narrow, tunnel-shaped space there was a powerful aroma of alcohol mingled with smoke. I surveyed the dense crowd, but couldn’t see David. But then, with a jolt, I noticed Caroline Mulholland, standing with her back to me a few feet away, talking to a woman in a green raincoat. What if Jimmy was here? With a rising sense of panic, I scanned the sea of faces but couldn’t see him. Then David emerged out of the crowd.
‘Hi there!’ He kissed me, and the touch of his cheek on mine made me feel almost weak with desire. ‘I’m really glad you could make it. Let’s get you a drink.’
‘Whose exhibition is this?’ I asked, as we pushed our way through the throng.
‘It’s Arnie Noble’s—an old friend of mine. He used to be a photojournalist too—with the Sygma agency. I’ll introduce you.’ To my relief he led me to the back of the gallery, away from where Caroline was standing. If she saw me, I might well find myself in the grotesque position of having to introduce David to Jimmy. The thought of it made me feel faint.
‘David and I have been in many of the same hellholes,’ Arnie explained as he shook my hand. He was a sandy-haired man of forty-five or so. His freckled face, though handsome, was lived in and lined.
‘That’s right,’ said David as he handed me a glass of champagne. ‘We’ve dodged the same bullets.’
‘We have,’ said Arnie with a guffaw. ‘We’ve also fought to get the best picture and sometimes the best women,’ he laughed, slapping David’s back.
‘Don’t listen to him,’ David said with a smile.
I looked at the walls. They were covered with landscapes. ‘But these aren’t news photographs.’
Arnie shook his head. ‘Like David, I gave that up. I do landscapes now. It’s more peaceful. And war is a young man’s game.’ As someone else came up to Arnie to congratulate him, David drew me away, gently propelling me through the dense crowd towards the perimeter, his hand round my waist.
‘These are so good,’ he said. We’d stopped in front of a photograph of a canyon in Arizona. ‘I’ve never seen Arnie’s landscapes before. The composition’s fantastic.’
‘They’re very dramatic,’ I said. As David looked at the picture I discreetly glanced into the crowd to make sure Caroline was nowhere near us.
‘They are dramatic—they’re not idealized at all. There’s so much darkness in them,’ David added admiringly. I looked at the stark leafless trees, and the boiling grey clouds with their fiery underlighting.
‘They have an ominous atmosphere.’
‘They do. That mountain range looks like a sleeping dragon. And look at the way the wind’s sweeping through the grass in the foreground here.’ He took me by the hand. ‘Let’s look at the rest.’ I would have been happy to leave the gallery as soon as possible, but David was still enthusing about Arnie’s pictures as we made our way round the walls. ‘Brooding…’ I heard him say, as I discreetly glanced over my shoulder to see if I could spot Jimmy. ‘Threatening…black and white is perfect…but as far from Ansel Adams as you can get…the landscape not so much majestic, as menacing…the sense of impending violence…legacy of twenty years spent in war zones…it inevitably informs his vision.’
Suddenly, David’s mobile phone trilled and he flipped it open.
‘Oh hi! Yes, hang on. I’ve just got to take this call,’ he said. ‘I won’t be long.’ As he made his way to the front of the gallery, I decided to stay where I was. As I stared at the photos, I could make out snatches of ambient chatter.
‘—Fabulous contrast!’
‘—Have you seen Don McCullin’s landscapes?’
‘—Isn’t that the Quantocks?’
‘—Over there, in Issey Miyake.’
‘—Looks more like Dorset than Somerset.’
‘Miranda?’
I turned. Caroline was standing beside me, smiling broadly. To my surprise, she looked slightly tight. ‘I thought it was you, Miranda.’ Her blue eyes were shining and her colour was high. ‘How are you?’
‘Oh, hi, I’m fine. Thanks.’ I glanced anxiously over her shoulder but there was no sign of her husband.
‘It’s so nice to see you,’ she said, emphasizing random words in the way people do when they’ve had a few too many. ‘And how do you know Arnie?’ she enquired, as she held out her glass to a passing waiter.
‘I don’t. I only met him tonight. I’m here with a…friend of his,’ I explained. ‘A fellow photographer.’
‘Ditto. I’m here with a friend too.’ She nodded in the direction of the woman in the green raincoat. ‘That’s Arnie’s agent, Jessica. We’re old pals, and she asked me along, and, as James has got a rather dull dinner to go to tonight, I thought it would be fun.’ A wave of relief swept over me. Jimmy wasn’t here. I felt my heart-rate suddenly slow. ‘You know,’ she suddenly said with a confidential giggle, ‘I think I’ve had too much champagne. The waiters have been very attentive, unfortunately, and it’s fatal on an empty stomach, isn’t it?’ I nodded sympathetically. ‘And there are no canapés. Not so much as a crisp. Oh well,’ she shrugged, with another sip. ‘You worked wonders with Trigger by the way,’ she added warmly. ‘I was at my wits’ end that day, but the blighter’s almost a reform
ed character now.’
‘Really?’ I smiled. ‘Well, that’s great.’
‘He’s not behaving nearly as badly. Your friend Daisy did me a huge favour, recommending you,’ she went on. ‘But I didn’t…realize…’ She seemed to hesitate.
‘Realize what?’
‘Well, what a…coincidence it all was.’
I stared at her, electrified. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Well,’ she giggled again. ‘What I mean is—your knowing James.’ I felt as though I’d been punched in the solar plexus.
‘I, erm, don’t know him, actually.’
‘But you used to?’ I looked at her. ‘Didn’t you? He told me.’ I felt as though an ice cube had been dropped down my neck. ‘I saw him talking to you after the fete, you see, so of course I asked him, as any wife would…’
‘Oh, well,’ I said, recovering, ‘I did…know him, yes, that’s right, but it was…a long time ago.’
‘Don’t worry,’ she said, placing her hand on my forearm in a gesture of solidarity. ‘I completely understand.’
‘Understand what?’ I was still smiling in order to cover my discomfiture.
‘Well, why he didn’t tell me at first.’ And now, suddenly, I felt as hot as a flame. ‘It’s so typical of James,’ she went on. ‘His consideration for other people’s feelings.’
‘I’m sorry?’
‘Well, because he didn’t want to embarrass you. But there’s no need for you to be embarrassed, Miranda. When I think of all the huge crushes I had when I was a teenager.’ I felt my palms go damp. ‘And I know that James was very dishy when he was younger—those blond curls!’ she exclaimed with a laugh. ‘I’ve seen the photos, Miranda—I’m quite sure he was irresistible.’
‘I…hardly knew him,’ I shrugged. ‘It was a very…casual acquaintanceship.’
‘Oh! But that’s not what he said! He said you were infatuated with him. But don’t worry,’ she went on, with tipsy, though clearly genuine, sincerity. ‘I just wanted to tell you that it’s okay. I’m not the jealous type. I’m very happily married, and I wouldn’t like you to think, if you ever met us again together, that it was in any way…’ she groped for the appropriate expression, ‘…awkward.’ Alcohol had made her tactless and crass. ‘I’m very happy to be friends with James’s old flames,’ she concluded warmly. She laid her left hand on my arm again. ‘I just wanted to tell you that.’
