‘What, the Contemporary? Yes, great. See you there.’
Matt was late – of course. God, he was annoying. It had surprised her when they started meeting socially, his pathological lateness. He was never late for a business meeting, she had often been hauled over the coals in the early days for two or three minutes – for social occasions it was always thirty minutes late and often an hour.
She had ordered a glass of champagne, done a quick recce of the reception rooms and the Ladies – always a barometer of a good hotel – and was sitting trying to concentrate on the
Evening Standard
when he finally arrived.
‘Good of you to come.’
‘Louise, don’t start. I’ve had a hell of a day. But I’ve got some good news, we’ve got a judge who’s very keen on fathers’ rights.’
‘Very progressive. I thought judges were all preserved in aspic.’
‘I know. Me too. So – could be a good omen. Now I did tell you, didn’t I, we may be calling you on Day One, more like Day Two, I’ll have a very good idea by lunchtime Monday, so if you could—’
‘Stay by the phone? Yeah, yeah. You did tell me. But only about three times.’
‘OK, sorry. No need to worry about their barrister, he’s a junior, as I said, not much cop probably, and Bruce Hayward will give you a very easy ride obviously. If you can just say – you know – the sort of things you said the other night—’
‘Matt, that slightly unattractive solicitor of yours has already gone through it with me. Don’t worry. I won’t let you down. How’s Emmie?’
‘She’s fine. Well—’ He sighed. ‘Not really. She was throwing up the other night. But she’s down in the country with her mother. For the weekend.’
There was a silence; then he nodded in the direction of her glass.
‘Another?’
‘Yes. Please. I feel like indulging myself tonight.’
‘Why?’
‘Oh – not sure. Just feel a bit – a bit like it. But I’ll have to be careful, I’ve got a big day tomorrow, going up to Stratford for a meeting with the builders on site. Not good with a hangover.’
‘No. Look – I’ll get a bottle, might as well.’
The bottle arrived; they seemed to get through the first glass very quickly. Matt poured them a second.
‘Wow, this’ll have to be my last,’ said Louise, ‘I feel a bit dizzy already. I might go to the Ladies now, while I can still walk straight.’
‘You look sensational, doll,’ said Freddy, ‘love the hair.’
‘Thanks. Suddenly – one lot of wispy layers too many. Good day?’
‘Yup, very.’
‘So where’s Sam?’
Sam was Freddy’s partner, a sober-looking academic, specialising in medieval history, and about as unlike Freddy as a man could be.
‘He’s at home. He’s finishing some paper on the rise of the anti-popes.’
‘Christ,’ said Gina.
This was not a reaction to the subject of Sam’s paper, but the fact that she had just seen Matt across the bar.
‘Anything wrong?’
‘Could be. Might be best to move on.’
‘Gina! I haven’t even ordered a drink yet. Have a heart, I’ll make it a quick one. You?’
‘Oh yes, all right,’ said Gina. She had taken comfort from the fact that she and Freddy were in a banquette, fairly well-shielded from view. And the bar was quite dark. She could actually observe Matt without him realising it. She wondered who he was with …
Louise combed her hair, touched up her lipstick and sprayed on some more Miss Dior perfume. She studied herself in the mirror; she looked all right. She didn’t look drunk. But then she didn’t know what she looked like when she was drunk, it was quite a rare occurrence. On the other hand, it had been a bit hard to walk straight across the bar.
She went back to Matt, who was looking broodingly into his glass.
‘Matt! You’re not going to survive the weekend if you go on like this. It’ll be fine.’
‘I – hope so,’ he said, but he didn’t sound very convinced.
‘It will. What are you most scared of? Apart from losing?’
‘Oh, reliving it all, in public—’
‘What?’ she asked, genuinely curious.
‘The – the marriage. The marriage going wrong. All the awful things, the fights, the cross-purposes, oh, I don’t know, I just feel so confused. Part of me wishes I’d never even started on it—’
‘Of course. You’d be weird if you didn’t. But—’ She struggled for the right thing to say. ‘But everything you really care about is worth fighting for – sorry, terrible cliché – and, and surely Emmie comes under that category.’
‘Yes, of course. But you know – I was thinking about her the other day, how I was high as a kite after she was born, I could have flown out the window, it was so amazing and we were all so happy. I thought I’ve really, really got it all now, and – look at us. I did that.’
‘Matt, you didn’t do it. Well, you did, but you both did. Maybe – maybe the two of you should never have got married. You’re so different. I mean, I know you were in love and everything, but there’s love, isn’t there, and there’s marriage and – oh, never mind. I don’t know what I’m talking about. Last of the spinsters, that’s me. Married to hotels, what a prospect for my old age—’
‘I don’t know. Could be worse. Someone to look after you. Lots of someones. Not many old people have their own personal chambermaids—’
She smiled. ‘Nice one, Matt. Oh, could you excuse me just a moment, there’s the manager, he’s spotted me. I’ll be back.’
Gina watched Louise as she walked across the bar; she was very stylish. Not exactly fashionable, those shoes were last year’s without a doubt and her Little Black Dress was neither mini nor maxi, just knee-length. But that long rope of pearls, possibly the Chanel boutique, was very nice and so were the gold bangles – and her legs were very good indeed. And she had a sleekness about her that meant self-confidence and success – big success. Louise was a tycoon, one of the very first females to be so, not just the part owner of some crummy boutique. Gina suddenly felt rather depressed. No, more than depressed, distressed.
Here was the man she was hoping to – well, actually, marry one day, in the company of a woman who …
‘Let’s go,’ she said to Freddy, ‘please.’
‘OK, doll, but I’ve left my wallet upstairs, I’ll have to go and get it. See you in the lobby.’
‘Yes, fine.’
She stood up; as she did so, Louise came sashaying across the room, sat down with a bit of a thump half on Matt’s lap and laughed. He wouldn’t like that, Gina thought, he hated any kind of public intimacy. But – he smiled back at her and patted her thigh fondly as she slithered off it.
And then – then – no, couldn’t be, but yes, yes it was, they stared at each other, clearly quite startled, and there was a pause and then Louise leaned forward and smiled and kissed Matt – OK, very briefly – on the mouth. And then pulled back. And then he did the same. Equally briefly. And then they sat staring at each other again.
Gina couldn’t stand it any longer; she walked forward, right up to their table, and squaring up to them said, ‘Is this a private love-in? Or can anyone join in?’
‘Damn! Shit! Bloody animals. Oh—’
‘Fuck?’ proffered Eliza helpfully.
‘Yes, actually. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Oh, look at it. And it’s Friday evening, all the garages will be closed. Oh, bloody hell—’
The cause of this outburst was a couple of sheep that had clearly escaped their field and were ambling peacefully along the country lane; a corner had obscured them from view until the very last minute, whereupon Toby had braked, swerved violently and slithered safely but rather irrevocably half into the ditch.
Eliza got out and looked at the car. A few attempts at reversing had failed, indeed made matters worse; the BMW was now trapped in its own skid trail of wet grass and mud.
Toby got out and joined her. ‘We should have stuck to the main roads,’ he said.
That ‘we’ was generous, she thought; it had been her suggestion that they struck off the A road, which was thick with Friday-evening traffic.
‘I’m sorry. Bad idea.’
‘No, no, it’s – well, yes, bad idea.’
‘Sorry,’ she said again.
‘It’s – OK.’ He scowled at the car. ‘Bloody thing. But – point is – what do we do now?’
‘God knows. We need a tow—’
As if on cue a very old Ford Anglia pulled up beside them, and a doughty-looking elderly lady peered at them. She was dressed in a barbour and wellington boots in spite of the lovely evening, her grey hair piled up in a straggly bun on the top of her head.
‘Looks as if you need help.’
‘Indeed,’ said Toby, ‘and kind of you to stop. But I don’t think your car …’
She looked at him witheringly.
‘Of course not. But there’s a breakdown garage in Deep Mallow, that’s the village a few miles along. Want a lift there?’
‘That would be very kind. But won’t they be closed?’
‘Oh, without doubt. But Jim – that’s the owner – lives on the premises, I know him very well, he’ll come and sort you out, come on, hop in.’
Eliza and Toby hopped.
Jim Douglas was clearly in awe of the old lady; he said he was just finishing his tea and then he’d accompany Eliza and Toby back to the car. He revealed as they drove over that she was the widow of one Colonel Rockingham, resident of the manor house and the uncrowned queen of the village.
‘Very nice lady, very generous, but you ’ave to do what she says or you’re sorry. She says to let ’er know what I make of it all.’
‘Oh – OK,’ said Toby. ‘Very kind of you anyway.’
Jim Douglas managed to tow the car out of the ditch; but there was some damage to the wheel base. ‘Can’t do nothing with that till tomorrow, if then.’
‘Oh, dear. We rather need to get back,’ said Toby.
‘’Fraid you won’t. Not in that.’
‘Is there anywhere we could hire a car?’
‘Not this time of night. In the morning, maybe. If you want to make a few calls, there’s a pay phone in the workshop, but I doubt you’ll ’ave any joy.’
They didn’t. Everywhere was closed.
‘Looks like we’re stuck. No – no buses, I suppose.’
‘What, this time of night? Last one goes at five thirty.’
‘No taxi service?’
‘What, in Deep Mallow?’ He seemed to find this very amusing. ‘No, you’re here till tomorrow, I’d say. But … let’s see now – there’s a very good pub down the road, you could get a meal there and then my auntie, she’s got a B&B, she might be able to put you up, I could ring her. Just the one night, would it be?’
‘Yes, but—’
‘I’ll see what I can do.’
He came back smiling. ‘Yes, she’s got the one room, nice one, she says, looks over the meadows. Fifty bob with breakfast, OK?’
‘Yes, but—’
‘I’ll tell her then. It’s just two houses down from the pub, called White Cottage, nice and convenient for you. You’ll be very comfortable, I can vouch for that.’
‘Mr Douglas—’
‘That sounds perfect,’ said Eliza. She smiled sweetly at Toby. ‘Very, very kind. Thank you.’
Toby stared at her, his expression a mixture of horror and amusement.
‘Well, honestly,’ she said, tucking into the very good pie and chips that the pub served, ‘we have to stay somewhere, we can’t sleep in the ditch, and it was obviously very clean. And so sweet of her, offering to lend us toothbrushes and stuff.’
‘Yes, but – I mean – Eliza—’
‘Toby, stop it. I’m not trying to seduce you, if that’s what you think.’
‘No – no, of course not.’
‘I’ve got enough problems. You saw it was quite a big bed, we’ll manage. You can put a bolster down between us if you really want to—’
‘Oh, God.’ He looked quite desperate; she felt half-amused, half-insulted. ‘Did – did you speak to your mother?’
‘Yes. I just said we’d had to stop for the night in a hotel, she’ll obviously assume two rooms and all that. Emmie’s fine, exhausted, actually gone to bed, and unless you’ve got any serious commitments you haven’t told me about, I don’t see why you’re quite so worried.’
‘Legal protocol,’ he said, ‘surely you can see this is appallingly compromising.’
‘Toby!’
‘No, it’s true. Personal relationships between counsel and client are absolutely unethical. It would give your husband and his legal team the perfect opportunity to say I was unable to do the job I am required to do, that of advising the court as well as the client.’
‘But we’re not in a personal relationship,’ said Eliza.
‘And who would believe that? Christ. Sharing a room and a double bed. Please, Eliza, use your brain.’
‘I don’t have much of a one, as you know. And who is going to tell? I’m not, you’re not. I doubt if Jim Douglas’s auntie will. So do stop fussing and eat your pie, it’s awfully good.’
He looked at her and grinned suddenly. ‘You seem very cheerful about it.’
‘I am. It’s a wonderful distraction from Monday. Now do try to stop fussing, Toby. It’ll be all right.’
Mrs Rockingham appeared in the pub just as they were finishing their meal. She nodded at them, went over to the bar; Toby jumped up.