‘Well,’ said Jeremy, ‘that is very lovely. In many ways.’
‘It is. I too thought so. We did keep him safe from what we had done, didn’t we?’
‘We did indeed. And thank God for it.’
‘What do we do now?’ said Eliza, as Emmie vanished. Matt had gone silently away.
‘We wait. Shouldn’t be too long. Thirty minutes, maximum. Have you made your decision, Eliza?’
‘No. Not yet. Is she – is Georgina here?’
‘She’s on her way. She knows she may not be able to appear. Why don’t you go for a little walk? Have a think.’
‘Yes, all right. Thanks, Toby.’
And she walked out of the Law Courts and across the Strand and wandered along towards Fleet Street, her dilemma beating in her head, physically disturbing her. Was it worth it? Would it be worth it? How would she feel, if she stuck to her principles, did the decent thing and then Matt got custody? If she saved him from disapprobation and even disgrace and then he walked away with Emmie? He would get over it, surely, the disapprobation; he was tough, tough as they came, and it wasn’t as if he would never see Emmie; indeed, she would probably be a great deal more generous over arrangements than he would. How would she feel, with a life largely emptied of Emmie, with Summercourt possibly gone, with only her career for comfort; did she really want that? All for a touch of righteousness? But – it wasn’t a touch. And it wasn’t just for Matt, it was for Emmie, it would all come out, not just what Matt had done, but the disgraceful, shocking things she had said to him as well; broadcast, no doubt, all over the court, possibly the papers. The
Evening Standard
had picked this one up and run with it.
But – she would still have Emmie. Probably. Of course nothing was certain …
‘Eliza! Look where you’re going, love. Why aren’t you in court?’
It was Jack Beckham, leaving El Vino’s slightly the worse for wear, but he’d be sober again by the time he’d walked back to the office, it was the journalist’s gift.
‘I’ve got to go back in a bit. Jack, you were so marvellous the other day, I was so grateful to you. I meant to ring, sorry. I promise to buy you lunch very soon.’
‘I’d rather you came and worked for me, I can tell you that. No hope, I suppose?’
‘Well – there might be,’ she said and sighed. ‘If I lose …’
‘I shall say my prayers tonight, then.’
‘Jack!’
‘Oh, I don’t mean it, Eliza. Dreadful lot aren’t they, those lawyers. Dirty business.’
‘It – it is, yes.’
‘Dirtier than ours, if you ask me. We do occasionally give people the benefit of the doubt. That Bruce Hayward, I don’t know what he keeps up his arse, but it must be something pretty large and uncomfortable. What are you looking at me like that for, Eliza?’
Eliza giggled. ‘Oh, Jack,’ she said and reached up to kiss him. ‘You’ve just done me a huge favour. Thank you. I must go. But I will definitely buy you lunch. And come and be your fashion editor, if I lose. If you really want me. That’s a promise. Bye, Jack.’
If the editor of a Fleet Street tabloid with scant regard for the feelings of anyone at all thought the law was a dirty business, then who was she to argue?
She turned and ran all the way back to the Law Courts.
As she reached the courts, a taxi was pulling up. Philip Gordon’s assistant and Georgina Barker got out of it.
At the same time, Matt Shaw was approaching from the other direction; he saw Georgina and stopped.
Eliza had often wondered what the word ‘blench’ precisely meant; she felt she knew now. Matt looked as if he had been hit physically, slightly off balance; his face ghastly white and rigid, his eyes wide with shock.
‘Hello, Matt,’ said Georgina and swept past him into the building.
Eliza decided a little hyper-anxiety would do Matt good, smiled at him sweetly and ran up the stairs to where she had arranged to meet Toby.
‘Hello,’ she said.
‘Hello.’
‘I’ve – made my decision.’
‘And?’
‘And the answer’s no. I can’t do it, Toby. Sorry.’
‘Well,’ he said, ‘I hope it’s the right one.’
‘Me too. But you know something? I made another decision in this case, and everyone told me that was wrong.’
‘And what was that?’
‘To retain you and not Tristram Selbourne.’
‘And?’
‘That was the right decision. I know that now, without a doubt.’
‘I’m glad you think so,’ he said. He spoke lightly; but his expression was sombre.
Emmie had re-emerged, smiling and composed.
‘He was nice, the judge,’ she said. ‘We had Penguins.’
It spoke for the strangeness of the day that it would not have surprised Eliza to see a row of black and white birds file out of the judge’s rooms. It took her a few moments to realise Emmie spoke of the chocolate version.
‘I – don’t think we’ll be going back into court now,’ said Toby, ‘as that was so extended a session. I’ll check.’
He came back.
‘No. Summing up tomorrow. For all of us. And – judgment, of course.’
Eliza and Sarah left to get a taxi. Matt was standing in the atrium as they went through it; looking, still, as if he was shell-shocked.
‘Bye, Matt,’ said Eliza.
‘Where – that is – do you know where Georgina is?’
‘Not sure. I think she went off with my team. Yours will know.’
Eliza and Sarah didn’t ask Emmie about her hour with the judge; they both felt it would have been an outrageous intrusion and she was not forthcoming. She simply said again that he had been very nice and they had played animal snap.
‘You what!’ said Eliza.
‘We played animal snap. Not for very long, but he didn’t know how to play, so I showed him. The lady had to go and get some cards for us.’
‘I – I see. And – did you have a nice talk with him?’
‘Oh yes. I told him what I wanted. He said he’d see what he could do.’
Later, when Emmie was in the bath, she said, ‘Do you want me to tell you what I told the judge?’
‘Um – only if you want to.’
‘I will if you like. But you might be cross. He said I could, but I think I’ll let him tell you tomorrow. Specially as you might be cross.’
So – she had told him she wanted to live with Matt. How was she to make sense of that? She sat there, looking at Emmie soaping her small chest, and fought down the tears.
Well, Eliza, that’s it then. Dream over. Hopes crushed. You’ve had it.
Of course, it was to be expected. She supposed she’d always known, really, what Emmie would choose, if she was allowed. Matt did – did spoil her more. And – well, he was a very good father. It wasn’t as if she’d have to worry about Emmie. She’d be completely safe, well cared for, happy. But – God, it hurt.
‘No, darling, I don’t want you to make me cross.’
‘But – I love you, Mummy.’
‘I love you too, Emmie.’
She put her to bed, read her
The Tiger Who Came to Tea
for what felt like the thousandth time, and then kissed her and said, ‘Night darling. Well done today.’
And she went downstairs and told Sarah she really didn’t want to talk about it, any of it, and they agreed that they both needed an early night and had a rather modest supper, neither of them feeling remotely like eating, and sat pretending to watch television.
Jeremy rang, with the news of Giovanni’s death. ‘It was a massive stroke and then a heart attack, apparently. He died in the dining room at the Ritz. I think he would have liked that.’
‘I think so too.’
‘We saw him collapse. I really don’t think he could have known anything about it. I hope to God not, anyway.’
‘Oh, Jeremy. I’m so sorry. And Mariella, how is she?’
‘Very, very sad. Guilty, of course, that she left him this morning, he had a headache apparently—’
‘And she had to come to court for me? Oh, Jeremy, no, I feel so dreadful—’
‘Darling, don’t you start. He wanted her to do it, he sent her off from the Ritz himself. He told her you needed her more than he did.’
‘Oh, God,’ said Eliza, a sob in her voice, ‘he was such a darling, darling man.’
‘He was. But – you should know that Mariella is also relieved on so many counts. Not least that she knew how he dreaded being old and helpless. And he was saved from that, he remained charming and in his own way very young.’
She felt the tears come then; tears of real grief, for she had been truly fond of Giovanni. And then, ‘Jeremy, how do you feel?’
‘Truthfully, from the bottom of my heart, hugely sad.’
‘Of course you do. Darling Jeremy.’
‘Darling Eliza.’
She went to bed, to lie awake for many hours; thinking about Giovanni, and Mariella, but mostly about Emmie – and about losing her, and what motherhood really meant.
She thought about her birth and how much it had hurt, and how wonderful it had been; about the early exhausting, confusing days, when sleep had become a strange, distant dream; about the wonder of the first wobbly, uncertain smile, the first joyous, sweet giggle; about the achievements of early childhood, the triumph of standing unsupported, swaying gently back and forwards, the first staggering steps, and tottering run; the first word – enragingly it had been ‘Daddy’ – and then the tantrums, oh, those tantrums, the arched back, the scarlet face, the screams echoing through shops, buses, playgrounds, screams of ‘no, no, NO’; about the childhood illnesses, the fear they brought in their wake; about the sheer tedium of so much of it, the long, rainy days when the hours dragged and they played shops or schools over and over again; the fun of it, pushing her on the swing, running along as she tried to ride her two-wheeler for the first time, before falling off over and over again, and never, ever giving in and then finally ‘look, look, look, I can do it’; of the sweet sadness of the first day at school, walking home alone from the gates, looking back with surprise, that those precious first years were actually unbelievably over – and then the sense almost of awe, as she began to read and write, that the tiny helpless creature she had given birth to had become a person: that was what motherhood was, she thought, being there, through it all, seeing it through, enjoying it most of the time, disliking it some of the time, the weariness, the boredom, the anxiety and the love and the sheer, sheer joy of it, and all the time this bond was growing steely strong, unbreakable really, no matter what happened – and it would hold, wouldn’t it, through separation, through days, weeks spent apart, surely, surely – or would it begin to fray, to weaken, to fail … finally, fitfully, Eliza slept.
And in his large, luxurious bed in Jimbo’s house, Matt also lay awake, remembering also, and thinking how much he loved Emmie, how he would quite literally do anything for her, walk on hot coals, give all he had, die for her, and without a moment’s hesitation or thought; and how he had felt like that once, and not so long ago, for Eliza, how she had taken his heart that first day on Waterloo station, how he had followed his dream of her, for years and years, how he had won her, finally, taken her, his life’s prize, and for how short a while, it seemed now looking back, they had been happy, and then how swiftly and disastrously they had stumbled and fallen at the great differences between them, and how Emmie had held them somehow together, with their shared passion and concern and love for her, and perhaps she could have done so still had he not wrenched her away from both of them, and decreed with his self-absorbed pride that she must belong to him and him alone … and in doing so, had possibly lost her … finally, fitfully, Matt also slept.
‘All rise.’
Judge Clifford Rogers looked more sombre even than usual, and his expression more inscrutable as he walked in; as if he had things on his mind that he could hardly bear to contemplate. And the burdens of his office had become unsupportable.
Toby would sum up first; Eliza sat, her eyes fixed on him as if taking them off would somehow weaken her, scarcely hearing what he said, all the old arguments, the well-worked ground, passing in a blur …
‘Here we have a little girl born to quite exceptional parents, gifted, successful; both with much to offer to the child they have jointly and successfully raised … both excellent parents, both concerned, thoughtful, inspiring, and very loving … their marriage has broken down and this joint care is no longer possible … Mrs Shaw has worked, and very successfully … she believes that Emmie will have benefitted from having a working mother … her increased happiness at pursuing her career, and her consequent sense of self-worth has given Emmie a great deal …
‘Emmie is, and this is an inescapable fact, a little girl … She needs the kind of input into her life, that only a woman can give. And in the years ahead, as she matures, surely she will need a very female kind of tenderness and understanding …’
Just finish, Eliza thought in agony, let’s get it over. But then –
‘I would like to close with an appreciation of Mrs Shaw. She is a remarkable person, as we have all seen: remarkably loyal, remarkably generous, remarkably talented, and remarkable in her friendships. She has attracted the admiration of many and very disparate people, from all walks of life.