Golden Hour (46 page)

“The lamb!” His face darkens and his voice rises. “I don't give a fuck about the lamb!”

The obscenity releases Laura's last qualms of conscience. She snaps her wrist out of his grasp.

“You're drunk, Roddy. Go and stick your head in cold water.”

His face crumples.

“I'm not drunk,” he says.

“Then go back to the others and behave yourself.”

She hurries back to the kitchen and opens the oven door. Hot air and the smells of the joint engulf her. She draws out the saddle of lamb on its roasting pan and transfers it to the bottom simmering oven, leaving it there with the oven door ajar to rest. Has she left it too long? With lamb two or three minutes can make all the difference.

What's wrong with Roddy? He's having some sort of breakdown, evidently. Laura realizes she'll have to have a proper talk with him, but it can wait till tomorrow. Time now to put on the carrots and sauté the courgettes. Then there's the gravy to make, from the juices in the roasting pan. Then Henry can carve.

Andrew takes Maggie to the end of the terrace to show her the moon rising between the trees. Here he can speak to her in private.

“Look,” he says, “if you want to go I can fake an emergency call on my phone and we can just go.”

“But I'm having a wonderful time,” says Maggie. “Aren't you having a wonderful time?”

Her eyes dart about as she speaks and she moves her feet as if dancing to some music in her head.

“No, not really,” he says.

“Well, you should, Andrew. These are lovely people, and they're our neighbors, so you should make more effort.”

She performs a little pirouette in the twilight.

“And it's such a lovely evening.”

“You're not usually like this,” he says.

“Aren't I? Well, we can't be usual all the time.”

He can't tell if she's drunk or just playing at being drunk. All he can see is that whatever it is that's happening to her does not include him.

“Come on,” she says, drawing him back to the others. “We mustn't be antisocial.”

They join Alan and Liz and Diana.

“Have you seen the moon?” Maggie says. “I think it might be a full moon.”

“Couple of days to go,” says Alan.

“Are you sure? Do you know about things like that? Are you one of those people who knows things?”

“Just don't ask him what day it is,” says Liz. “Or where he put his reading glasses.”

“Oh, I have the answer to that,” says Diana. “You buy lots of pairs, and scatter them round the house. The average German owns six pairs.”

“Andrew never loses his,” says Maggie, “because they're always on his face.”

Henry summons his guests to the table and assigns them their places.

“Roddy, you're at the other end. Why don't you give everyone a glass of red? It's a nice Rioja. Well, I hope it's nice. Maggie, you go there, by Roddy. Liz, you're by me.”

Laura brings out dishes of vegetables. She displays the saddle of lamb before it's carved.

“I just hope I haven't overdone it.”

Roddy fills glasses as the others take their seats. Henry takes the lamb back into the kitchen to carve. Diana, finding herself facing Liz, does her conversational duty.

“You live in the village too, do you?” she says.

“No,” says Liz. “We're about four miles away.”

Laura says, “Liz's daughter Alice goes out with Jack.”

“Oh, yes,” says Diana, remembering. “You write for the
Telegraph
. Didn't I read something the other day about men and women being friends, or not being friends, or something?”

“Yes, that was me,” says Liz.

“Why can't men and women be friends?” says Maggie. “I've got lots of men who are friends.”

“Because of sex,” says Alan.

“Friends can have sex,” says Maggie.

“Doesn't that change friendship?” says Laura. “I thought it did.”

“Of course it does,” says Diana. “If you're having sex, you're not friends, you're lovers.”

“But friends can have sex,” insists Maggie, “and still just be friends. It's not as if they have to get married. I mean, they can, but that's a whole other thing. They may just want to carry on being friends.”

“Doesn't happen,” says Alan. “Sex is rocket fuel. Once you start, you're airborne. You have to keep flying, or you fall to earth.”

“Keep flying?” says Maggie, holding out her glass, already
empty, for Roddy to refill. “Flying where? Flying to marriage?”

“Could be,” says Alan.

“And what then? Is marriage still flying?”

The married ones all laugh at that, except for Roddy. He sits at the end of the table in silence. Henry appears with plates of lamb.

“Oh, Lord,” says Laura. “It is a little overdone.”

“It isn't overdone at all,” says Liz. “Mine's a perfect pink.”

“I don't know how you can say that,” says Diana. “I can't see a thing.”

They all fall to helping themselves to the vegetables, and the gravy, and the mint sauce, and the redcurrant jelly. Henry, now at the table too, sees that everyone's glasses are topped up. Then he lifts the cylinders and lights the three red candles. The flames burn steady and strong shielded by the glass. All at once the evening changes. The sky is still light, but here round the table on the terrace the candlelight draws them together into its flattering glow.

Liz says to Maggie, “So I take it you've not been married yet?”

“That's a strange way to put it,” says Alan. “As if all marriages exist in the past.”

“No, not yet,” says Maggie. “I'm up for any tips.”

“Tips about how,” says Liz, “or tips about who?”

“Have we got any tips, Henry?” says Laura. “We're the longest married here.”

“As it happens,” says Henry, “today is the twenty-seventh anniversary of the day I proposed to Laura.”

“Bravo!” says Alan. “We should drink to that.”

“We will. I mean to propose a toast, after we've eaten.”

“You're not going to make a speech, are you, Henry?”

Laura smiles at him down the table, through the blur of candlelight.

“I might,” he says.

“Well, here's what I want to know,” says Maggie. “Does falling in love make a good marriage? Or is it nothing to do with it?”

“Nothing,” says Diana.

“Everything,” says Liz.

“Falling in love,” says Diana, speaking a little fast, blinking her eyes, “happens over and over. If you got married every time you fell in love you'd spend your life in a wedding dress.”

“This is new, Diana,” says Henry. “I didn't know you were such a romantic.”

“I'm helplessly romantic,” says Diana. “I fall in love with every pretty boy who gives me a smile. Doesn't everybody? It doesn't mean anything.”

“That's not falling in love,” says Liz. “Falling in love is something that takes you over completely.”

At the other end of the table Laura starts talking to Andrew about his inheritance.

“You know it's my field,” she says. “If you're thinking of selling, don't just accept the first offer you get. That collection is very special. It could go for as much as a hundred thousand.”

“Good God!” exclaims Andrew.

Maggie, who sits opposite Laura, wants to be part of the conversation about love. She leans across Alan, one hand on his arm, to question Liz.

“That's what I want to know about,” she says. “I mean, I do know about it. But I want to know if falling in love is what leads to a successful marriage.”

“Have we got a successful marriage?” Liz says to Alan.

“Ten years and counting,” says Alan. “Not bad.”

“How long have you and Roddy been married, Diana?” says Henry.

“Twenty-four years,” says Diana. “That's right, isn't it, Roddy?”

Roddy nods, but does not speak. He's drinking steadily, and his eyes gaze before him at nothing.

“This is terrific, Laura,” says Alan, tapping his plate with his fork. “Best lamb I've ever had.”

“I get it from Richards,” says Laura. “He's a proper butcher.”

“Roddy,” says Diana, “what are you doing down there? Are you going into the silence? Because if you are, please come out again.”

“There's more lamb,” says Henry, “if anyone wants it.”

“I can see I'll never get an answer to my question,” says Maggie. “I expect there isn't an answer. Don't you have an answer?” She addresses this to Alan, by her side. “You're the one who knows things.”

“I've forgotten the question,” says Alan.

“Maggie wants to know if she should follow her heart,” says Liz. “Assuming her heart is giving her directions.”

“Of course you should follow your heart,” says Alan, looking directly at Maggie. “Anything else is half-hearted. Who wants to go around with half a heart?”

Maggie holds his gaze for a moment, then she blushes and looks away.

So the first course passes, and the sun sets, and all are agreed that on such a beautiful evening as this, in a summer like this, England's the only place in the world to be.

Then Henry goes round with the Rioja, charging the glasses.

“This is for my toast,” he says.

He goes back to his end of the table and remains standing, glass in hand.

“Laura doesn't approve of speeches at dinner,” he says, “so this isn't a speech. It's just me saying this and that. Actually it's really me saying thank you. Thanking has to be done in public, doesn't it? Otherwise it doesn't count. I want to say thank you for this
summer. We've been stay-at-homes here in Sussex, Laura and I, and haven't we been rewarded?”

“Who are you thanking for the summer, Henry?” says Diana.

“Oh, the powers that be, I suppose. Who I must also thank for keeping Carrie safe in her car accident. And for returning Laura's lost ring.”

Laura holds up her left hand to show the ruby ring.

“There's something else, too. It so happens that this week it's been made clear to me that my professional career is effectively at an end.”

“No, Henry!” cries Laura. “You know that's not true.”

“Of course I shall go on working,” says Henry, “but careers are meant to career, don't you think? They have momentum. And then one day the momentum runs out, and you know that in a while you'll roll gently to a stop. When you see that time coming, you face a choice. You can fight it, or you can let it go. I know Roddy has been having similar thoughts recently.”

“Yes,” says Roddy, his voice a low groan.

“This is all getting a little funereal, Henry,” says Diana. “Some of us aren't ready to die quite yet.”

“Nor am I, Diana. Quite the reverse. That's what I mean when I say this is me saying thank you. You see, the person I'm really thanking is Laura. Twenty-seven years ago today I wrote on a paper napkin,
Will you marry me?
And she ticked the box marked
Yes
. Out of that moment has grown—well, everything, really. This home, this family, thanks to Laura. My daily happiness, thanks to Laura. This excellent dinner, thanks to Laura. So you see, it doesn't matter about my career. I'm learning the virtue of humility. I don't want to live any more in a world where people envy and fear each other. I want to live in a world where people treat each other with kindness.”

He looks round their faces, silent in the candlelight.

“There, now. I've confused you by turning serious.”

But his eyes are on Laura, who is gazing at him with a queer smile on her face, biting her lower lip, blinking her eyes.

Henry raises his glass high and says, very quietly in the evening hush, “This is for Laura, on our not very important anniversary. With all my love, till the day I die.”

He puts the glass to his lips. The others are not sure whether to clap or to echo the toast or just to drink, and attempt a confusion of all three. Only Roddy does not move or speak. He too has been watching Laura's face. Her skin smoothed by the soft candlelight, her eyes bright with unshed tears, she radiates beauty, but not for him.

“Thank you, Henry,” she says. “How very unexpected.”

Afraid she's about to cry, she jumps up from her seat.

“I think I'd better get the summer pudding.”

As soon as she's left the table the others all start talking at once, as if anxious to break the spell.

Liz says, “I wish I'd been recording you, Henry. That was so sweet.”

Alan says, “You're right, of course. This ambition thing puts a curse on everything one does.”

Maggie says, looking at Alan, “It's just what you said. It's following your heart.”

Henry takes up the fourth bottle of Rioja and refills glasses. Roddy stands up and mumbles that he needs to have a pee. Diana holds Henry by the arm, as if to tug him down from a too-risky flight of fancy.

“Even so, Henry, admit it,” she says. “You and Laura bicker as much as anyone. I've heard you.”

“Actually we're on the point of splitting up,” says Henry. “I only said all that to put you off the scent.”

“Splitting up!”

“Very sad. After twenty-seven years.”

“Oh, you're joking. That's a rotten joke, Henry. You have to be careful what you say, or it may come true.”

Laura comes out with the summer pudding on a large white dish.

“It came out of the basin perfectly,” she says. “You can all admire it while I get the bowls and the cream.”

She sets the glistening pink and purple mound down before Henry's place. He is the one who will serve it.

“I just love summer pudding,” says Alan.

“Me too,” says Maggie.

“There's a way of making it with sponge cake and whipped cream,” says Diana, “that's an absolute revelation. Do you remember, Roddy? I made it when we had Peter and Rebecca round.” Then, realizing Roddy has not yet returned, “Roddy is a serious pudding man.”