Sextet (64 page)

He drove around the one-way system six times. There were no tourists in Oxford at this time of the year; term was ending, undergraduates were departing. The darkness of a winter’s evening gave to these beautiful college buildings a sweet melancholy. It came to him that he had no reason to hurry back to London, since no-one awaited him there. About to go around the one-way system for the seventh time, he changed his mind, parked the car with surprising lack of difficulty, and began walking. He walked through Christ Church meadows, and along the river bank, and found himself alone, the river swollen by rain, and dead leaves drifting. He walked for some way, then, hearing the chapel bells begin to ring, and the church bells start to toll the hour, a long process, for as Tom had noticed, none of these clocks synchronized, he turned back.

Again he had the sensation—the very odd sensation—that he was being guided. This time, no invisible person tugged at his sleeve, but his feet seemed to know in which direction to take him. They led him back to Katya’s college. Once he was in the porters’ lodge, he found he had decided that, since he was in Oxford, it might be sensible, even prudent, to have a word concerning Katya with her tutor, Dr Miriam Stark, a cool woman of sound sense, of good judgement, whose books he had always admired; a woman he had once liked, but with whom he had lost touch all those years previously.

The porter informed him that Dr Stark did not live in college, but might be in her rooms. A call was put through to these rooms. Dr Stark, it seemed, was there working, but was prepared to see him briefly. Rowland was given directions. Wondering why Dr Stark should have elected to become a Fellow of a women’s college, when Balliol or Christ Church or Magdalen would surely have welcomed her, and wondering how to broach the difficult subject of Katya, Rowland set off across the quad, reaching her ground-floor rooms as the chapel bells stopped tolling.

Dr Stark’s room was lit by lamplight and its curtains were not drawn. From the quad outside, Rowland glimpsed her, framed by the window. She was seated at a desk, in profile to him, her face hidden by her dark hair, which fell forward as she bent over her work. The quietness of her room communicated itself to Rowland; he could see she had books piled upon her desk and a book open before her. He found himself very curious to know what she was reading.

Three days later, Lindsay’s tenancy began. Colin left to begin work in Yorkshire and Tom went with him.

‘Don’t worry about a
thing
,’ Colin said to Lindsay for the tenth time that morning, drawing her back into the hallway of Shute Farm and kissing her. ‘Darling, I promise you—I need another assistant. It’s the vacation; he can be my runner. He’s mad about films. Work and a change of scene is just what he needs. Once he realizes there’s a world elsewhere and a universe beyond Katya, he’ll recover very quickly. I won’t let him out of my sight—and I won’t let him notice that, either. Besides, it’s been good for him here. He’s better already. He’ll never consider anything that foolish again, I’m sure of that…’

‘I don’t know that. He promised me, but I still—’

‘Trust me.’

‘Colin, I want him
near
me. I feel so afraid for him—’

‘I know you want him near you,’ Colin said quietly, ‘but you have to know when he wants and needs something else. Let him have the chance to prove something to himself, Lindsay. That stupid girl hurt his confidence badly.’

‘I mustn’t even fuss, you mean?’ Lindsay gave her new landlord a wry look.

‘You can fuss a bit, but don’t overdo it.’

Lindsay took this advice. Going out with Colin to his great car, which Tom was admiring, she saw her son’s face tighten with apprehension. Guiltily, Lindsay realized that she was responsible for this. Tom was now expecting one of the endless epic motherly recitals which delayed all his departures. For the first time in his life, Tom was spared them; Lindsay abjured all the talismanic sentences which she had come to believe ensured her son’s safety. She did not tell him to get enough sleep, to eat properly, avoid illness and accident, and call if there were the least problem. These, and many other imprecations, she said silently to herself; to him, she said only to take care, work hard, and enjoy himself.

This so astonished Tom that it silenced him completely. He and Colin were five miles down the road before he felt able to speak.

‘How did you
do
that?’ he said, looking at Colin, who, he noticed, drove fast and with great skill. ‘How on
earth
did you do that?’

‘I didn’t do anything. Lindsay’s getting used to the idea that you’re a man now, that’s all.’

‘You’re kidding.’

‘Tom, don’t be hard on her.’ Colin hesitated. ‘It’s because she had to bring you up alone. If she was anxious, well, she had no-one to share those anxieties with, so they got worse…’

‘You reckon?’

‘Oh, definitely. Anyway, all women are a bit like that. It’s a strength as well as a weakness. I promise you, Tom, my mother was exactly the same. She used to cry when she saw me off to school—I boarded when I was seven.’

‘Seven? Jesus.’

‘It’s only because she loves you. And, maybe, she hadn’t realized the effect it had on you. She…she—’ Colin struggled. ‘She has a very warm heart, Tom, and she can’t always disguise her feelings. And—’

‘And you love her, right?’ Tom grinned. ‘It’s OK, Colin. I kind of noticed.’

‘I want her to marry me. I want her to marry me
desperately
…’ Colin slowed. He looked towards Tom, his expression both desperate and woeful. ‘That’s why I came over to Oxford on Sunday. I wanted to—actually I’m not sure what I wanted to do. Ask your blessing…’

‘That’s cool. You’ve got it.’

‘Ask your
advice
.’ Colin groaned. ‘She won’t say yes, and if she doesn’t say yes soon, I’ll go
mad
…’

‘You want
my
advice?’ Tom blushed with pleasure. ‘Really? Wow!’ He gave a smile. ‘Well, with a normal woman the car alone would do it. I mean, if I was a woman and a man drove up in this, I’d say yes before he got out of it…’

‘That’s because you’re a man. Think female.’

‘OK, OK. Well, the house ought to help—but Mum’s not normal there either. She likes your Dad, I can tell, and that’s a plus factor. Hang on, I’m thinking…’ He frowned. ‘I mean, it’s weird—but then she is a bit weird. I can see she’s mad about you. Something happens to her face when she looks at you. I’ve never seen that happen before.’

‘Never? You’re sure?’

‘Well, a bit, once or twice. She was keen on Rowland for a time…’

‘I know, I know. Don’t mention him, it doesn’t improve my driving.’

‘Oh, you don’t have to worry about
that
,’ Tom said in a negligent, dismissive tone. ‘Rowland’s all wrong for her. She knew that really. I mean, Rowland’s fine as a friend, but can you imagine
living
with him? If she’d actually gone to bed with him, she’d have got over that in about a
week
, but she didn’t. Rowland never fancied her anyway.’

‘You’re sure?’ Colin looked at Tom in astonishment. ‘More fool him.’

‘Oh, he
liked
her,’ Tom said in an airy way, ‘and Rowland’s getting a bit desperate—his age and still unmarried—so maybe he persuaded himself it was more than that—I did think that, once or twice. When we had that lunch in Oxford, for instance.’ He gave Colin a shrewd glance. ‘But that was partly rivalry. I mean, he could see how you felt about Mum. Everyone at the table could except her. It stuck out a mile…’

‘Did it?’ Colin asked, ‘Oh, God.
God
’

‘But you don’t have to worry about Rowland. She never looked at him the way she does at you. So if you really want to marry her…’

‘If?
If
?’ Colin overtook three cars superbly. ‘There are no “ifs” here, Tom. Advise me.’

Tom looked at Colin and considered. He now felt ten years older than when he’d got into this car. He was realizing how much he liked this somewhat eccentric man. He was wondering if this man would be eccentric enough ever to let him drive the Aston Martin. He was wondering why he had not thought of Katya for over twenty hours, and whether that could be seen as a falling-off or as progress.

Deciding that, as step-fathers went, Colin might prove an exceptionally nice one, he sighed.

‘Are you any good at chess?’ he said.

‘Not bad. Why?’

‘Mum’s appalling. I mean, so bad it’s
awesome
. But there’s something she does when she plays; it’s just given me an idea…’

Tom spoke rapidly, for some minutes. Colin’s eyes widened. ‘You think so? You’re sure? When?’

Tom frowned and considered again.

‘When does this movie finish? End of February? Three months from now? That’s about right. Go for March first…’

‘Three months? I can’t stand it…’

‘
Festina lente
,’ Tom said, surprising Colin. ‘Trust me—the first of March is perfect.’

A week later, in mid-December, Lindsay went up to London to help Pixie move into her own once much-loved apartment. This process did not take long, since Pixie’s belongings consisted of a hi-fi system, some CDs, a budgerigar and a suitcase.

‘Don’t you have anything
else
, Pixie?’ Lindsay said, as they deposited these in her former sitting-room. ‘What about books? Clothes? Where are all your clothes?’

‘Oxfam,’ said Pixie.

She yawned, stretched, rearranged her red hair and executed a small jig.

‘I’m beginning a new life. New apartment. New hair colour. New job. New clothes. New future.’

‘How’s the job working out?’ Lindsay said, looking around her and feeling despondent.

‘Brilliantly. Max says I’m the best fashion editor he’s ever had. Except for you, obviously.’

‘Oh, great. Terrific. Thanks a million.’

‘And this place is a
big
improvement on that horrible hole I had…I might repaint it. Do you mind?’

‘Feel free,’ said Lindsay.

‘You sure you want me to just rent? I’ll buy it if you like. I’m getting into mortgages.
Gearing
.’

‘No, you can’t bloody well buy it.’ Lindsay sat down. ‘I may need it.’

‘Is something the matter with you?’

‘Yes. I’m post-menstrual.’

‘
Post
?’

‘That’s what I said.’

‘You’re joking.’ Pixie stared at her hard and long. ‘Tell me I’m not hearing this.’

‘I’m not joking. I was never more serious in my life. I love him. I love him desperately. I want his babies.’

Pixie opened her mouth to protest, argue and expostulate. She looked at Lindsay’s face and closed it again.

‘Plural?’ she said, being nothing if not practical.

‘If possible. One would make me so happy, but if the one was female…’

Pixie felt she wanted to scream—loudly. Since she was fond of Lindsay, she did not. She sat down beside her and took her hands.

‘Lindsay. Look at me,’ she said with great sternness. ‘Now tell me, is this for him or for you?’

‘Both.’ She gave Pixie a look of misery. ‘I can’t help it, Pixie—I’m just like that. I always was. There’s this direct line between my heart and my womb. I’m a throw-back, Pixie. I’m
primitive
.’

Pixie agreed with this view, but forbore to say so, since Lindsay had now begun crying.

‘Oh, Pixie, I love him so much,’ she said. ‘I love him with all my heart. He’s the most wonderful man. He’d be such a wonderful father. I know he needs an heir—but it isn’t that really…’

‘I should hope
not
,’ said Pixie, who disapproved of primogeniture and found this a very nineteenth-century predicament.

‘He should have children. I know he wants them, but he won’t say so—he’s afraid of hurting me. He’s afraid I’m too old—and so am I. Oh, what am I going to
do
? What am I going to
do
?’

Pixie thought for some while.

‘Give me your dates,’ she said. ‘Right, now let’s make the calculations here…When’s he next down from Yorkshire?’

‘Tomorrow. But only for about half a day…’

‘Tomorrow’s perfect. Half a day? What’s the matter with you? You can fix this inside ten minutes.’

Pixie rose. She opened her suitcase, rummaged around inside and brought out a small white jar.

‘Right,’ she said. ‘Now, you rub this stuff into your skin about half an hour
before
, OK? It’s unbelievably expensive and it never fails. Believe me, Lindsay, this would fix it for an
eighty
-year-old woman…’

‘What are you doing with it?’

‘Sample,’ Pixie said briskly. ‘It came in to the Beauty Department the other day. I thought I could use it. It’s an aphrodisiac as well

‘I don’t
need
an aphrodisiac. That’s not the problem.’

‘Lindsay, with this cream and no pill, you
conceive
. Believe me.’

‘I don’t believe you. It’s so much quackery.’

‘You put this on. You also wear an amber necklace—do you have an amber necklace? No? Well, buy one on your way home and
wear
it. Throughout. Don’t take it off under any circumstances. Promise me now.’

‘All right. I promise.’ Lindsay smiled.

‘That’s better. Now—let’s have a drink and I’ll tell you all the gossip. You go first…’

‘I don’t
have
any gossip.’ Lindsay sighed. ‘I sit alone with all these books and papers and I do
research
. What else? I go to see Colin’s father sometimes, or he comes to see me. I like him very much. He talks in this antique way. He says, “By Jove”. Yesterday, he brought me a puppy—it’s the sweetest thing, Pixie. It has this brown fluffy fur, and these deep brown eyes. I may call it Jippy…’

Pixie smothered a yawn.

‘Tom’s much better. He’s having a wonderful time in Yorkshire. He and Colin are working an eighteen-hour day. I miss Tom. I miss Colin.’ She hesitated. ‘I live from phone call to phone call, Pixie. From letter to letter. I love him so much—I dream my life away.’ She gave a small sigh. ‘I know you won’t approve, but you’ll understand one day…’

Pixie was very determined not to do so. She was, however, not as unaffected as she might have liked to be by the expression in Lindsay’s eyes and by the way in which she spoke. She determined to change the subject quickly.