A Question of Love (22 page)

‘But how could Chantal help him? She’s a solicitor. I thought she did litigation.’

Fliss shook her head. ‘She’s switched to patent law. She’s got a science background, so it suits her.’

‘Oh.’ As Fliss handed me the mug, I moved her electric breast pump out of the way.

‘And Hugh wanted to discuss his “invention” with her.’ She rolled her eyes.

‘I see. But…he
touched
her, Fliss. I saw him. And she was encouraging it—
smiling
at him.’

‘Look,’ she said, ‘Hugh’s a very tactile man, and that’s all there is to it, and Chantal’s going to do a patent search for him, gratis, which will apparently save him two thousand pounds. He was probably just trying to give her a thank you hug. But I’ll phone her up right now if you like and ask her.’ She giggled. ‘I know what she’ll say!’ She shook her head with mirth. ‘Hugh and Chanty…That’s a good one.’

I stood up. ‘All right, Fliss. Whatever you like. I was only trying to protect you. I don’t want to see you get hurt. You’re my sister, remember?’

‘Oh I know you meant well, Laura. And I’m very grateful. Honestly. It’s just that you’re totally wrong.’

I
wasn’t
wrong, I told myself as I walked back to my flat. I knew what I’d seen. The body language was unmistakeable. I’d seen Hugh
touch
Chantal—I’d seen him practically stroke her
breast
. If Felicity believed that to be an innocent gesture then she was more of an idiot than I thought. She no longer saw Hugh as her husband, or treated him like one, and so, starved of respect, companionship and sex, he’d turned to Chantal, who was clearly offering him more than professional help. But I’d done my sisterly bit and now I’d wash my hands of it. Nor was I going to get involved with Hope’s problems. In any case I had big enough ones of my own. Meeting Jessica, for example. She was with Luke tonight, as Magda was going to a ball at the Savoy with Steve and a few of his key clients, so Luke thought it was a good chance for Jess and me to meet. We’d have supper together, then watch the quiz. I was very nervous, far more so, I realized, than when I’d met Luke’s parents twelve years before.

At ten to seven, I rang Luke’s bell. I heard light footsteps, then a scrabbling at the lock, then the door was cautiously pulled back. Jessica stood there in a tartan skirt and grey cardigan. She was wearing a pair of blue glasses. She stared at me for a moment, then gave me a cautious smile. I was nearly knocked down by a wave of relief. She hadn’t slammed the door in my face, or burst into tears. Luke appeared in the hallway behind her, and blew me a kiss.

‘Hello, Jessica,’ I said. My heart was banging, and I was aware, despite the cold, that I was perspiring.

‘Jess, this is Laura,’ said Luke. She put her head slightly to one side, as though she were a naturalist and I some curious species she was encountering for the very first time. ‘Why don’t you let her in?’ She stepped aside, flattening herself against the wall. The crown of her head shone in the spotlights like a halo.

‘I saw you,’ she said, sibilantly.

‘Did you?’

She nodded. Her bespectacled gaze was disconcerting. ‘On the TV.’ She pulled up one of her socks. Her legs were as slender and pale as young leeks.

‘Well, Jess,’ said Luke, ‘Laura’s on the telly again tonight. Shall we watch her quiz programme?’ She nodded again, while Luke winked at me. ‘You might even get a surprise.’

‘A surprise?’ She looked at me enquiringly. ‘Have you got a surprise for me?’

‘Actually, I do have one. Here.’ I handed her the carrier bag I was clutching, and she glanced at her father.

‘It’s okay, sweetie. You can open it.’ She pulled out a large, pink-beribboned Easter egg sitting in a
Little Mermaid
mug. Her eyes widened. ‘You lucky girl. And what do you say?’

‘Thank you,’ she said, wonderingly. It was as though she’d been expecting the Wicked Witch of the West, and instead Snow White had turned up.

‘It’s for this Sunday,’ I explained as Luke took my coat. ‘But you can open it before if you want to. If your Dad says it’s okay. I like your glasses,’ I added.

‘They’re new,’ she said proudly. ‘The petition said I needed them.’

‘Optician, darling,’ Luke corrected her. ‘Optician. Can you say that?’

‘Petition.’

He beamed. ‘Very good.’

I began to relax. The evening had started well. We went down to the kitchen where Luke began to cook supper. There was a bag of groceries from Fresh & Wild on the table. As he unpacked them, Jessica told me that she’d just broken up from school. Then she showed me a collage she’d been making.

‘It’s lovely. Is that your Dad?’ I asked as I pointed at a tall figure on the left of a tinfoil pond.

‘Yes.’ She absent-mindedly wobbled a loose tooth with her thumb.

‘And that’s you? In your blue coat?’

‘Yes. And
these
…’ she pointed to some balls of yellow tissue, ‘are ducks.’

‘It’s lovely.’

‘Where’s the chicken?’ I heard Luke mutter, as he rummaged in the bag. He tipped everything out on to the table. ‘I must have left it in the shop.
Damn
.’

Jessica shot him a disapproving look. ‘Don’t say damn, Daddy.’

‘No. You’re quite right, darling. Bad word.’

‘I’ll go and get it,’ I said.

‘It’s okay. You stay here with Jessica while I go. Is that okay Jess? Laura will stay with you while I’m out for five minutes.’ She hesitated for a moment, then nodded. I was so relieved that she hadn’t flatly refused, or phoned the NSPCC to report Luke for cruelty, that I gave her a pathetically grateful smile. As I did so, I took in her face. Her features were like Luke’s—her mouth was the same shape, her nose was going to be aquiline, like his, but her eyes were a clear, pure blue with large, luminous irises. She was lovely. As we heard the front door close behind Luke she went to the dresser and came back with a gold biscuit tin. She pushed her book of fairy stories out of the way.

‘Do you want to see my photos?’ She pulled off the lid.

‘I’d love to. Did you take them yourself?’

She nodded, then reached into her pink duffle bag, and took out a red camera.

‘My mum gave it to me for my birthday. It’s not a toy,’ she explained as she handed it to me.

‘It’s great. And does it take good pictures?’

‘Yes. Really good.’ She took a wallet of snaps out of the tin. There were several, slightly blurry photos of the goats, which I exclaimed over. They seemed to be not so much miniature, as full-sized, but with stumpy little legs. The caprine version of the Dachshund, I decided.

‘Do you have a favourite one?’

‘Oh
no
.’ She clearly thought the question improper. ‘I love them
all
the same.’ Then she pointed at a black goat with a white cap and giggled. ‘That’s Yogi. He fights sometimes,’ she confided.

‘Does he?’

‘So Mummy puts him in the naughty corner.’

‘Really?’ She nodded, then giggled again. Then she handed me another photo. As I looked at it I felt my morale collapse, as though I were a puppet, and someone had just cut my strings…

Luke’s arm was round Magda’s shoulder, and she was smiling up at him affectionately, looking deep into his eyes. With a sudden sick feeling, as though I was on a boat, in rough seas, I scanned the photo for the date. I found it on the reverse, in tiny pale grey letters—20-03-05. Last Sunday. Then Jessica handed me another, lopsided photo, again of Luke and Magda, taken the Sunday before that. They were sitting at a dining table somewhere, smiling into the camera, literally tête à tête, Magda’s unpinned hair spilling on to Luke’s shoulder. I felt as though I’d been knifed.

‘Hmmm,’ I heard myself say. ‘That’s a nice one too. And…where was it taken?’

‘At Nagyi’s house.’

‘Whose house?’

‘Nagyi’s—granny’s house—my Hungarian granny. She lives in Amersham.’

‘Oh.’

‘My English granny and grandpa live in Kent.’

‘I know.’ I remembered the house so well. Now Jessica handed me another snap. It was of her, Luke and Magda, standing in his parents’ garden, by the weeping willow. Jessica was standing between them, holding their hands tightly, grimly almost, as though terrified that they were going to run off. She then showed me another ten or so, taken over the preceding month, all of which were of Luke and Magda, either standing or sitting together, arms round each others’ waists, or shoulders, or linked at the elbow. I felt as though I’d been hollowed out with a trowel.

‘Thanks for showing me,’ I managed to say. I could feel tears gathering in my throat.

‘My mum’s very pretty,’ Jessica said. It was said without mischief—it was simply a statement of fact.

‘Yes.’ I tried to keep the tremble from my voice. ‘Like you.’

‘She used to be a model.’

‘Did she?’ I said weakly.

‘That’s how she met my Dad. He did lots of drawings of her.’

‘Oh. I…see.’
We met at life drawing classes…

‘And she was
so
pretty that he fell in love with her.’ Jessica clapped her hand over her mouth, stifling a shocked giggle. ‘She didn’t wear any
clothes
!’

‘Really?’ I said faintly.

‘No,’ she said, in a scandalized tone. ‘She was
bare
.’

My mind was suddenly filled with dismaying images of Luke brandishing a stump of charcoal, staring lasciviously at Magda who was draped along a chaise longue like the nude in
The Toilet of Venus
. I imagined him tracing the curves of her breasts and hips. Now I remembered what he’d said. He’d said he’d been ‘very attracted’ to Magda. Perhaps, despite everything, he still was.

‘She was very pretty,’ Jessica repeated happily. ‘
So
pretty that
he
fell in love with
her
…and
she
fell in love with
him,
and then they got
married
…and…
and…
‘ The words
lived happily ever after
hovered in the air, like a mirage. I heard a tiny, frustrated, sigh.

‘…and then they had you. And they were very happy.’ There was silence. I could hear the hum of the fridge. Jessica started shuffling through the photos again, then spread them all out on the table, scrutinizing them like a fortune-teller with a pack of cards. From upstairs I heard the clock chime half seven.

‘My mum says…’ she began quietly. Then she stopped.

‘Yes?’

She blushed, then leant both elbows on the corner of the table, resting her face in her hands. ‘My mum
says
…’ she tried again. She was rubbing the back of one leg with her foot.

‘What does your mum say, Jessica?’

‘We-ll…’ She took a deep breath, then scratched her nose. ‘
She
says you must be a horrible person.’

I felt as though I’d been punched.

‘Why does she say that?’ I asked quietly.

‘Be-cause…your husband left you and he never came back.’ She tucked some stray wisps of hair behind her ear. They were as light and fine as cornsilk.

‘Well…my husband did leave me, that’s true. And it’s also true that he didn’t come back. But it isn’t true that I’m a horrible person, Jessica. I don’t think your Dad thinks that.’

‘No.’ She shook her head. ‘
He
says you’re nice.’

‘But you can make up your
own
mind. If you get to know me a bit better.
You
can decide, Jessica. Okay?’ We heard Luke’s key in the lock, then the floorboards creaking over-head, then his descending footfall.

She gave me an oblique look, then nodded. ‘Okay.’

Luke quickly cooked the supper, chicken fillets in breadcrumbs, Jessica’s favourite apparently, and we all sat down.

‘I’ve had such a nice conversation with Jessica,’ I said as she squelched ketchup out of the bottle. ‘She told me how you and Magda first met. She was your model apparently.’

He blushed. ‘That’s right. We met at life drawing classes—as I told you.’

‘Hmm. Sort of. And she’s been showing me some of her recent photos,’ I went on pleasantly as I looked at them, still lying on the table. ‘There are some really great ones of you and Magda together.’ I felt tears prick my eyes. ‘Like this one.’ I picked it up, and held it out to him. Luke and Magda were chinking glasses somewhere, laughing into the camera, the picture of marital harmony.

He didn’t blink. ‘That’s right. Jessica likes to take lots of photos of her mum and dad, don’t you darling?’ She nodded happily as she scooped up some peas. ‘She’s always getting us to pose for her, aren’t you Jess?’ She nodded again. ‘She likes to have
lots
of happy family snaps for her album, so we don’t mind how often she asks us. She can have as many as she likes.’ He gave me a pointed smile, and I suddenly felt mean and ashamed. Luke and Magda were just putting on a united front for their confused, upset, six-year-old child, whose only wish was that they had never split up.

‘Finished!’ Jessica announced.

‘Put your knife and fork together, darling. That’s it. Now, how about a meringue?’

She shook her head. ‘I want to take another picture.’

‘Okay. But you’ll need the flash.’ Jessica took a few steps back, and pointed the camera at Luke, and I was just scraping back my chair to move out of shot when the flash went off.

‘That one won’t come out very well,’ he said. ‘Try again.’ He looked into the lens and smiled. Then I took one of them together—her head on his shoulder, her arms clasped round his neck.

‘You’ve got six left,’ I said as I handed it back to her.

‘Keep them for this weekend,’ said Luke, ‘then we’ll take it to Boots on Tuesday.’ He suddenly glanced at the clock. ‘Hey—Laura’s programme’s just starting—quick!’ We ran upstairs and Luke turned on the TV just as
Whadda Ya Know?!!
was being announced. As the opening titles scrolled down—a montage of whirling question marks, mathematical equations, animals, planets and famous faces—Jessica jumped on to the sofa with Luke. His arm was round her, both hers encircling his chest, like a hoop. This is just like my dream, I thought. There they are, exactly as I imagined them. And here am I.