He roared for coffee, pulling out his diary. And saw, tucked into yesterday’s page, where he had discarded it, Gina’s card.
He arrived at Scott’s Piccadilly, as she had suggested, just after six. He went over to the bar, looked at the menu, pulled out his cigarettes. He had a pleasant sense of playing truant, breaking rules. Which was ridiculous, of course. He was only having a drink with her, for God’s sake. He ordered a large gin and tonic, carried it over to a table in the corner, settled down behind his
Evening Standard
. She was late; but then she always had been.
He enjoyed it all for about five minutes, then began to get irritable. He couldn’t stand people who were late, it was so bloody arrogant, wasting other people’s time. Five more and he was ready to leave; he’d just go to the Gents and then leave a message with the barman …
He was washing his hands when he heard the door open; he didn’t even look up. He was trying to decide whether to go out for a meal or find something in the fridge. He’d—
‘Fuck off, will you!’
Someone was goosing him. No two ways about it. Some poof, he supposed.
He swung round. Someone was indeed goosing him. But it wasn’t a poof.
‘Hello, Matt. I won’t, if you don’t mind. I’m quite enjoying myself; I’d forgotten what a neat little arse you had …’
It was Gina. Looking ravishing, laughing, reaching up to kiss him.
He’d forgotten how outrageous she was, how sexy. He’d forgotten what outrageous and sexy felt like.
‘Gina,’ he said, kissing her hastily back, ‘you’ll get us arrested.’
‘For what?’
‘Indecent behaviour in a public toilet?’
‘Matt, it’s not public. And I’m not being indecent, not any more. Pity, but … I just walked in by mistake, thought it was the Ladies. Who’s going to arrest me for that?’
‘There might have been someone else in here.’
‘There might. But there wasn’t. Anyway, let’s go and get a drink, I’m desperate. Now, how long have you got? Because I’ve got the whole evening …’
They had, of course, gone out to dinner. There didn’t seem much reason not to, as Gina pointed out.
‘You’ve got to eat somewhere, Matt. And so have I. And neither of us have anyone to eat with. Except each other. So, where shall we go? San Frediano’s? It’s such fun there.’
‘Gina, I don’t think that’s a very good idea.’
‘Why not?’
‘Well – someone might see us. Someone who knows us.’
‘So what? Eliza’s in Milan, for God’s sake. Her idea, as far as I can make out, and with her friends. What are you supposed to do, sit at home eating bread and milk? And then sort out the laundry?’
She made that sound slightly insulting, reduced him to wimpish domesticity.
‘No, of course not,’ he said, ‘no, let’s go there, good idea.’
Someone was there who knew them: not a friend of Gina’s nor a friend of Matt. But a friend of Eliza’s, Jerome Blake, the photographer whose studio was in the same building as Maddy Brown’s, together with his model girlfriend. He watched them, saw Matt tense at first, slowly relaxing into laughing, talking ease; watched the girl, sex on legs, with her low-cut clinging dress, her smoky come-to-bed eyes, teasing him, flirting with him, whispering in his ear, and then as the evening went on, picking up his hand and playing with the fingers, resting her head briefly on his shoulder, and then as they left, in their coats, putting her arm round his neck and pulling him down to kiss quickly on the mouth. And then a taxi pulled up and whether both of them got into it or only one, he was unable to tell.
London looked at once more cheerful than Milan and less appealing. The sun was shining, to be sure, and the sky was blue; but the shop windows, the garish Christmas lights, the endless Christmas trees, looked tawdry and clichéd.
Eliza did however feel much more cheerful, somehow leaving behind her the clawing remnants of her depression over the baby, full of optimism and plans.
She arrived back at the house mid-afternoon, and spent the rest of the day playing with Emmie, cooking dinner, tidying up Matt’s appalling squalor, washing her hair, and changing, nothing fancy she decided, that would look as if she was trying too hard, just jeans and a shirt. She bathed Emmie at six and put her into her pyjamas and dressing gown, but told her she could stay up until Daddy got home.
‘Unless it’s really late.’
‘What’s really late?’
‘Oh, Emmie, I don’t know. About eight o’clock.’
‘That’s not really late. Ten is really late. And in the villa we were playing till eleven—’
‘Emmie, I don’t want to hear about the villa. That was quite different. We were on holiday. At home eight is late for you. You’re tired and anyway—’
‘I want to see Daddy,’ said Emmie, her small face setting firmly against her mother. ‘I’ve missed him.’
Eliza started to argue, then gave in; the little girl could always go to sleep on the sofa, and Matt would be pleased to see her whatever the time was.
She’d rung him to say she was home and he said he couldn’t say when he would be. He sounded cool, but not hostile. Maybe it would all be all right. She’d bought him a new wallet from the marvellous Prada – God, if only there was one in London – and a new tie from Dior. There was nothing else she could do.
The biggest danger was that he would hear that Jeremy had been there at the villa. She couldn’t possibly enlist Emmie as accomplice; she would just have to tough it out.
He got home just before eight; she went out into the hall to greet him, her stomach heaving.
‘Hello,’ she said, reaching up to kiss him.
‘Hello,’ he said. He didn’t kiss her back, but he didn’t brush her away. His expression was impossible to read: blank, neither hostile nor welcoming, his eyes oddly wary.
‘It’s – so nice to see you.’
‘Daddy!’ A small thunderbolt hurled itself across the hall and into Matt’s arms, covering his face with kisses. ‘I missed you so, so much. I love you so, so much.’
‘I missed you too, Emmie. It’s lovely to have you home. What did you do? I want you to tell me all about it.’
‘I had a lovely time and I’ve got a present for you. I got it at the airport.’
‘The airport!’ said Matt, laughing. ‘That sounds a bit last minute to me.’
‘No,’ said Emmie, ‘it’s a beautiful picture. Of the Duomo.’ Her pronunciation was perfect. ‘I chose it specially for you. It’s got a gold frame and everything.’
‘Gold! It sounds wonderful. Where is it?’
‘In my bedroom. I’ll get it.’
She ran up the stairs. Eliza’s eyes met Matt’s. To her surprise he was smiling at her. Emmie’s greeting had broken the chill.
‘She’s wonderful, isn’t she?’ he said.
They all ate supper in the kitchen; Matt admired the picture and to a lesser degree the wallet and the tie.
‘So,’ he said to Emmie, ‘tell me what you did, and was it fun?’
‘Some of the time,’ she said.
‘Only some of the time?’
Eliza froze.
‘Yes, some of it was boring. Anna-Maria’s very boring.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes.’ A huge yawn engulfed her face.
‘Emmie,’ said Eliza, ‘what about bed?’
‘No, not till I’ve shown Daddy my new shoes.’
‘New shoes!’
‘Yes, I’ll show you. And a new dress. Wait there, Daddy.’
Eliza waited for her return, feeling sick.
But, ‘Mariella bought them for me,’ was all she said. She was clearly more remorseful than she had let on about her Milanese adventure.
‘And I’ve got another picture for you,’ she said, producing it from her small flight bag. ‘One I did. It’s of the villa. Look. This is the back of the house, here. That’s a fountain.’
‘Fountains! For God’s sake.’
‘Yes, and that’s a maze. A – a minty maze.’
‘Miniature, darling. We loved that maze, didn’t we, Emmie?’
‘It’s a very good picture, Emmie,’ said Matt.
‘Yes, the man said so too.’
‘The man? You mean Mr Crespi?’
He refused to move into Italian even in the most minimal way. Eliza sat, her fork poised, her mouth dry with terror.
‘No, not him, the other man—’
‘What other man?’
This was it then: the end of her marriage.
‘The man who looked after me.’
‘Oh,’ said Eliza, relief surging through her, ‘oh, you mean Bruno. He didn’t really look after you, Emmie, Anna-Maria did, didn’t she?’
‘Bruno was much nicer. Bruno was fun.’
‘Bruno is Giovanni’s valet,’ said Eliza, ‘he and Emmie hit it off rather.’
‘I see. So what else did you do with Bruno?’
‘Played snap. I taught him, he didn’t know. And ate in the kitchen, with him and Lucia.’
‘Lucia? Another servant?’ asked Matt.
‘Yes. The cook.’
‘Dear God in heaven. So – what’s this blue stuff? The sky? I thought it was foggy?’
‘No. It’s the lake. And it was only foggy when Mummy went to the theatre. Till then it was really nice.’
‘And what else did you do?’
‘Oh – I don’t know.’ Emmie had every child’s dislike of being interrogated. ‘Will you come and read me a story?’
‘Of course I will.’
They disappeared, Matt without a backward glance at Eliza. No prizes for guessing who his favourite person was.
‘Welcome home to you too, Eliza,’ she said, and started clearing the table.
He was gone a long time; when she went up to find him, he was stretched out half-asleep on the bed.
‘Think I might sleep next door,’ he said standing up hastily, avoiding her eyes. ‘Got a very early start.’ And moved into the spare room. She didn’t argue, in fact she was grateful, she felt exhausted and very tense. Well – so far she’d got off very lightly. But it was without doubt odd.
Several very chilly days followed, Eliza lurched from anxiety to relief, then hurt and all the way back again. He wasn’t even acting suspicious. Just – odd. Working late – which meant at least there was no more questioning of Emmie. But very, very distant, and very, very cold.
On Saturday, she had to take Emmie to a party after lunch; when she got back, he seemed to have disappeared. She looked in the sitting room and the study, and sighed, assuming he had gone out without telling her. Then she heard his voice calling her.
‘Eliza! I’m up here.’
He was in the bedroom, in bed. Naked. Sitting up and grinning at her, half-embarrassed.
‘Oh,’ she said, ‘oh. I thought—’
‘What did you think?’
‘I thought – well, you didn’t – didn’t like me any more.’
‘Now why on earth should you think that?’
‘You haven’t exactly been acting pleased to see me.’
‘Eliza – look, sorry if I’ve got it wrong, but it was you went off to Milan, saying it would cheer you up, you who were late back; I’m a simple sort of chap, that didn’t exactly tell me you wanted to be with me.’
‘I’m – I’m sorry but—’
‘Look,’ he said holding out his hand to her, ‘look, I think it’s starting again time.’
‘But—’
‘Eliza, I’m sitting here stark bollock-naked. Waiting for you. Can’t spell it out clearer than that. Why do you have to argue about everything? Emmie’s out, we haven’t really spent any time together since you got back. Don’t you want to come and join me?’
She looked at him, feeling almost with surprise a rush of tenderness, and then of desire, the wonderfully powerful clenching deep within her that she had almost forgotten, suddenly longing to be held, kissed, stroked, played on.
‘Oh,’ she said, ‘oh, yes, Matt, I do. More than more than, I do.’
Later, lying beside him, her body still throbbing, but sweetly released, for the first time since the summer, she lay smiling at him, her eyes exploring his.
‘That was so lovely,’ she said.
He looked at her very seriously.
‘Was it really?’
‘It really, really was.’
‘Well, hallelujah!’ he said. She looked at him sharply, fearing irony, but he smiled suddenly.
‘Welcome back,’ he said. ‘And I don’t mean from Milan. Although it obviously did you good. I have to admit that.’
‘Thank you. And yes, it did,’ she said, thinking that in a million years he would never understand how or why, and how dangerous such an explanation might be.
‘Love me?’ said Matt, rather absent-mindedly kissing her shoulder.
‘Yes,’ she said, ‘yes, I do. You?’
‘Oh I love me too,’ he said.
She remained terrified of Matt finding out about Jeremy; but as the days went past, Emmie said nothing more about Milan, and as it receded from her memory behind the excitement of Christmas, Eliza began to relax. She felt wonderful, the last remnants of her depression gone, alive and even sexy; welcoming Matt into bed and herself, again and again, soaring higher and higher with release and relief until Matt complained, laughing, that she was wearing him out. They were happier than they had been for months, and that was enough for both of them for the time being.