Two Loves (26 page)

‘I don't understand that.'

‘It doesn't matter. We don't understand each other. Given time, things may improve. I hope so.'

‘I'm going to leave home as soon as I'm sixteen. And that's all because of you.'

‘You've got almost three years to think that over. I hope you change your mind.'

He looked at her bleakly, his eyes narrowing. ‘I have to go now.'

At that moment Joss came through from the kitchen. ‘Hi, Martin,' he said. ‘Come and have a look at the model aircraft Granny brought me. I've got stuck on it, but I bet you could finish it. Where's Harry?'

‘At home. He's coming up after tea.'

They went round the house to the garden and Rosamund, at the kitchen window, stared out at them in amazement. They were squatting down on the ground immediately immersed in their task, poring over the instruction sheet, passing pieces of balsa wood and glue to each other, as though no other world existed, as though the previous day had never happened.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Rosamund had to postpone her plans for the weekend in London, but since the next week was the beginning of Joss's summer holiday, they were able to go on Tuesday afternoon after the stitches had been taken out.

She knew she had suffered far more than Joss. For him the ordeal had been tinged with excitement; it had been an adventure, frightening at times as adventures often are, but afterwards something to boast about. Whereas for her it had been a premonition of disaster, and try as she might, she couldn't dismiss the idea that the long, terrifying evening had been a just punishment. She had made free not only with someone's husband, but also with someone's father. She'd been able to justify it at the time, but realised that she hadn't given it enough thought.

It would have been easier to excuse if she'd been in the grip of a deep passion, but she and Thomas had become lovers almost by chance; because they were both lonely, because it had been easy to manage, because it had seemed relatively uncomplicated. She'd readily accepted that his real life was with his wife and sons; she was only a little extra, she'd known that, but had never let the idea worry her because she knew Thomas valued her as both friend and lover. But yet there were sinister consequences, an endlessly spreading network of results waiting to happen. If she hadn't felt so distressed at having to give Thomas up, would she have been so determined to find another way of life; a man, a relationship, a baby? Would meeting Daniel in the Underground have had the same impact on her? She shivered in the July sunshine, putting out her hand to touch the sunwarmed stones of the house to steady herself. Somewhere she'd taken a wrong turning, she knew it.

*   *   *

Though she hadn't managed to appease her conscience, she felt happier in Ingrid's company. Joss was tired after the journey, and after a late supper, settled down in his sleeping-bag without even watching the video Ingrid had brought for him.

‘So you're back with Ben,' Rosamund said. ‘I'm very disappointed.'

‘Or perhaps he's back with me,' Ingrid murmured. ‘Anyway, you knew it was on the cards.'

‘So changing the locks proved an unnecessary expense?'

‘Well, I think it may have impressed him. Oh Rosamund, don't try to be superior. You know what it's like.'

‘I'm honestly not sure that I do. I'm honestly not sure that I could love someone who's quite so ruthless and self-centred as Ben.'

‘Yes, you could. When you're in love you make all sorts of allowances. I saw this programme on Channel Four. I forget what it was called, but it was about women being absolutely saintly to the most ghastly men. It's an undeniable part of our nature, Rosamund.'

‘No, it's not. That's Victorian thinking. Women had to be forgiving and saintly then, because they hadn't the means or the independence to fight back. Anyway, you promised me you'd find someone else in Italy.'

‘I did. And he was absolutely gorgeous. Francesco. About twenty-five, very handsome, very ardent. But after a couple of days I found out he'd got a gorgeous wife who was about nineteen and a gorgeous baby as well. So when I arrived back here, Ben seemed relatively straightforward, fairly decent. And he came to Erica's the first day I was there and was so helpful. He gave me all the notes he'd made and promised to edit the finished typescript with me as well.'

‘What's he hoping to get out of it?'

‘He said he realised what a bastard he'd been and wanted to make up for it. And he has made up for it, Rosamund … Oh Rosamund, I'm pregnant and we're getting married next month.'

Rosamund sat back in her chair, trying to appear calm. ‘You said you didn't want a baby,' she said at last. ‘Oh God, it was me that wanted a baby, not you.'

‘I know. Life's crap, isn't it? All I ever wanted was a career. But all the same, I do seem to be extraordinarily happy. My bloody hormones, I suppose. I keep on making little trips to Mothercare to look at first-size vests. Ben's the same. And Erica. Erica's going to be godmother. She's never been a godmother. We keep on making lists of names … You must give Ben another chance, you know, Rosie. You saw him at his worst. He was really horrible when you were here, but it was partly my fault. I was so furious with him that morning that I told him you and I had been lovers. And he was jealous as hell.'

Rosamund sighed again. ‘That's all very well, but why had he stayed out all night, until after three, when he was supposed to be back for a meal?'

‘I forgot to ask him that. But since I've forgiven him, I think it's only fair that you should too.'

‘I suppose I'll have to, otherwise I probably won't get to see the baby. And I love babies.'

It was Ingrid's turn to sigh. ‘I only hope I shall. Ben wants three … How's Daniel?'

‘I'm seeing him tomorrow. He's still sweating it out at the clinic, which is something, I suppose. I mean, it shows he's serious about getting free of heroin, but I've no idea how serious he is about me. He may come to live with me – I mean, may come to share my house – but I doubt if it'll turn out to be much more. He was in love with me for about half an hour when we met in the tube, but since then he's become more and more distant. When I phone him, he says how grateful he feels towards me, but no more than that. I don't know what will happen.'

‘Do you still feel the same about him?'

There was a long silence. ‘I don't know what I feel about anything,' she said at last. ‘It's been a strange episode altogether. My life seems to have changed completely since you came up to do that article and told me about Erica's poems. Do you think the book will make it all worthwhile? All the upheaval?'

‘Well, Erica is certainly enjoying it and that's something. She's getting a chance to relive her great days – and getting a lot of attention from her publishers too. And she was due for some compensation, wasn't she? She seems to have suffered enough, losing her baby, losing Anthony and so on. But to be absolutely honest, Ben doesn't think the poems are going to make much of an impact. They'll create a stir for a few weeks, then the shock-waves will die out and everyone will realise that a great poet's erotic poems are not so very different from anyone else's.'

‘When I read them I thought they were pretty wonderful.'

‘They're good, of course, but trivial compared to his serious body of work.'

‘That's according to Ben.'

‘And I agree with him.'

‘I'm not so sure. I'd certainly feel very proud if even one of them had been written to me. I used to beg Anthony for a poem, but I never got one. A little verse occasionally to make me laugh, but that was all.'

‘You're feeling sorry for yourself, aren't you?'

‘Not really. I'm worried about a great many things, but I don't think self-pity comes into it. As a matter of fact I've had quite a burst of confidence about my work. I've started on something different and I'm excited about it. Your coming to see me had a lot to do with that, too, because it made me assess where I was at. And suddenly I found myself doing something different, something better.'

‘Oh, Rosie, I'm so pleased. Did you see my article, by the way?'

‘Yes, you did me proud. Thanks. As a result of your article, Ingrid, I now have nine large paintings in the dining room of the pub in the village. How's that for fame?'

‘Ben and I must come to see them. We'll take you out to dinner and sit there surrounded by beauty.'

They smiled at each other.

‘I thought I might do a pastel of Erica tomorrow. A three-quarter profile against the crimson walls of her sitting room, with those huge copper earrings that make her look so primitive and powerful. What do you think? And if it's any good, I thought it might make a jacket for the book. What's it to be called?'

‘We can't decide. The publishers want
Mistress and Muse,
but Ben thinks it should simply be
Erica.
'

‘I think
The Reckoning
would be a good title. One of Anthony's best poems and written at the end of their relationship. It's been on my mind a great deal lately.

The dread of winter's dawn,

The sour light and the keening wind

The hand on the shoulder.
'

‘Why should that have been on your mind? What hand on the shoulder are you dreading?'

‘Conscience, I suppose. Guilt.'

‘Oh, don't start on that again. It wasn't your fault. Now, I have a very comfortable little theory about guilt: the man is always to blame. Keep that in mind.'

‘I don't think that's true about Thomas, though. But anyway, I feel Erica should have the final say about the title. I'll ask her when I see her tomorrow afternoon. I've got to take Joss to see Molly in the morning – think of me – but I'll meet you at Erica's afterwards.'

‘No, I'm taking a couple of days off. I'm very sick in the morning and dead tired in the afternoon.'

‘And hungry and bad-tempered in the evening. Oh Ingrid, you are lucky. I do envy you. And it was me who wanted a baby, not you.'

*   *   *

Molly's bed was covered by a white open-work linen bedspread and her pillowslips were bordered with lace. She had her eyes tightly closed. She looked old, frail and ill, but not too ill, Rosamund was pleased to note, for discreetly applied makeup and carefully arranged upswept hair.

‘Is this my grandmother?' Joss asked, wonder in his voice. He'd obviously expected his new grandmother to be another version of Marian, youthful and slim and eager to entertain him. This one was even older than Granny Woodison and had the same bossy face.

‘Ssh! We'll wait till she wakes up. You sit there by the bed and I'll sit at the window.'

Joss made an effort to whisper. ‘How long are we going to wait? I think I'd rather be watching
Holiday Roundabout.
'

‘She's looking forward to seeing you, Joss.'

Another tremendous whisper, ‘She's left it a jolly long time.'

Before Rosamund could reply, Lorna Drew came nudging into the room carrying a large oval tray. ‘Wake up, Molly,' she said in a loud, cheerful voice. ‘You asked Mrs Gilchrist to bring her son to see you and here he is.'

She put the tray down on the bedside table and smiled, first at Rosamund then at Joss. See how well I deal with this difficult old lady, her smile seemed to say.

Molly opened her eyes as Lorna helped her up to a sitting position. ‘I wasn't asleep,' she said.

‘Oh good,' Joss said. ‘I hoped you weren't going to sleep all through our visit. Would you like to see my wounds?'

Without waiting for a reply, he thrust the inside of his arm to a position a few inches from her eyes and breathed at her. ‘I had to have six stitches. Dr Clifford said I was
fairly
brave. Well, it was my first time in hospital and the smell wasn't very nice.'

Lorna Drew poured out a coffee for Rosamund and took it over to her. ‘Would you like milk or barley water?' she asked Joss.

‘Coke, please. But if you haven't any, I'll have coffee and biscuits. What are you having, Grandmother?'

‘I'll have coffee, too.'

‘My grandmother will have coffee,' he told Lorna.

‘I'm your Aunt Lorna,' she said, unwilling that Joss should take her for a nurse or an attendant. She squared her shoulders and smiled at him in a proprietary way.

‘You're not his aunt. You're his second cousin once removed.'

Lorna seemed to shrink. ‘His father always called me Aunt Lorna.'

‘I think I shall call you Great-Aunt Lorna because I haven't a great-aunt and Harry's got a Great-Aunt Priscilla. Harry is my best friend, Grandmother. It was his brother, Martin, who locked me into the house I had to break out of. When you come to stay with us you'll meet them. There's also Stephen, Jim and Thomas.'

‘I'm not very likely to visit you, Joshua, I'm afraid.'

‘Why not? I expect you think you're too old, but I bet you're not so old as Dorcas Armitage who Granny takes meals-on-wheels to. She's ninety-nine. How old are you, Grandmother?'

‘I don't discuss my age with anyone except my doctor.'

‘Why is that? I'm exactly ten years one month and nine days. I expect you didn't know it was my birthday last month? – June the tenth. Quite an easy date to remember … Isn't my father here? When is his birthday, by the way?'

‘Your father will be visiting you very soon.'

‘Have you got a photograph of him? I expect he's quite old, too. This is very good coffee, Great-Aunt Lorna. Nicer than the one we have. We have instant, you know. Mum, aren't you having one of these biscuits? They're rather interesting. A bit like eating sugary spiders' webs.'