Daughters (30 page)

‘Are you quite, quite sure?’ she demanded

‘How can I be? It was dark.’ Maudie fiddled about with the remnants of the pasta. ‘Not one hundred and ten per cent – but pretty sure, now I’ve thought about it.’

… Eve saying in her happy voice: ‘Jas, I
think
Andrew likes me.’ The long discussions between the sisters as to exactly how much Andrew liked Eve. The way she lit up when Andrew was around. ‘He’s a big baby in some ways, Jas. In others, not. I haven’t worked him out.’ Then Eve saying in a peculiar, solemn voice: ‘Jasmine, Andrew’s
asked me to marry him.’ And of her asking Eve: ‘Are you sure. Sure-sure?’ …

‘Why didn’t you think about it earlier?’

‘That’s the point,’ said Maudie. ‘I didn’t think anything of it. People have it off in all sorts of places.’

‘So they do,’ said Jasmine.

‘It’s strange,’ said Maudie, ‘but I feel like I’ve been corrupted.’ She fiddled with the napkin. ‘I wish I didn’t know.’ She thought for a second or two. ‘It’s horrible.’

‘It might be, Maudie. Who knows?’ Jasmine appraised her sister and struggled to master her growing fury. ‘I thought fidelity was less of an issue with you and your friends.’

Maudie stared at her.
You are a fool.
‘Don’t pretend you’re a Victorian,’ she said. ‘My friends are one thing. But Eve’s getting married.’

Oh, Evie, she thought. What can I do for you?

‘Maudie, you’re shocked.’

‘I am,’ said Maudie. ‘And I’m shocked I’m shocked.’

The restaurant was filling up and the waiter moved from table to table lighting the candles, creating a string of radiance.

‘The question is,’ said Maudie, refusing a dessert, ‘what do I do?’

It was a good question and Jasmine was not prepared to answer it there and then. ‘Nothing,’ she said, and repeated, more urgently, ‘
Nothing
. Leave it to me.’

‘Are you sure about that? I’d much rather …’ Maudie looked lighter, less burdened. ‘I’m not the right person. You are.’

Back in her flat, Jasmine flung her bag on to the floor and headed for the kitchen and the kettle. Her hand shook as she searched the cupboard for the most soothing herbal tea.

Eve.

For once, she was relieved not to be with Duncan. She would have been angry with him.
At
him. At
men
. At the whole damn thing.

She poured water on to the teabag. How dare Andrew help himself to her sister’s life, only to use it wantonly, so carelessly? How dare he make it impossible to trust in him for Eve and her future?

Angry? My God, she was angry.

She drank two mugs of camomile tea, read up for the next day’s meeting, sorted out the laundry and stuck her head into the cupboard under the sink. One of the troubles with living in two places was that she never managed to get ahead of herself on the shopping. Rubber gloves, wire-wool, water softener … She jotted in her electronic notebook.

There was a message on her phone – Eve:

Hey. Timetable: Wedding 4.00 p.m. Champagne reception 5.15. Dinner 7.30. Dancing. Hotels are booked.

She did not reply.

A second message pinged into her phone. Again from Eve.

Thought you might want to see this.

It was the latest report on Japanese whaling activities. She skimmed through it and burned additionally with indignation and renewed energy to
do
something.

For a long time she sat with her head in her hands. Through her laced fingers nosed the grey shape of the hunted whale, icy water cradling its flight. So mysterious. So terrifying. So other. And, yet, in its solemnity, its hot mammalian blood and its suffering, it was not.

She phoned Eve. ‘Shall we meet up?’

‘Oh, good,’ came the reply. ‘Come down to Membury on Saturday. I need to sort out some stuff.’

Duncan drove her down.

Jasmine was mainly silent as they travelled at speed along the motorway and filtered off at the turning for the village. The may trees had long since reached the end of the flowering season and stained pink and white petals heaped at the edges of the roads and blew around as they passed.

Normally she would have enjoyed the sight.

What do I do?

They turned into the drive. ‘Have you spoken to Andrew lately?’ She placed her hand on Duncan’s knee.

‘Not really. A couple of drinks with the lads, that’s all.’

He was distracted – and she knew his mind would be on the upcoming megadeal, which was going to take up the next few weeks. ‘He’s happy with everything? The marriage? Eve?’

Duncan halted the car and pulled on the brake. ‘I have no idea of his innermost thoughts but, at a rough
guess, yes to all.’ He frowned. ‘These are not, I take it, random questions.’ He put his hand under her chin and turned her face to his. ‘So what’s the current bee in the bonnet?’

‘It’s awkward, Duncan.’ A moment’s realignment – then the decision not to speak. ‘Look, it’s nothing.’ She placed her hand on the door handle.

He reached over and pulled her hand away. ‘Stop it,’ he said. ‘You know it’s not a good idea to set off a hare unless you want it chased.’

‘I agree.’ Jasmine swung her legs out of the door and reached into the back for her bag. ‘And I’m not setting off the hare. OK?’

Duncan also got out of the car and shut the door with a snap. ‘For God’s sake.’ He came round and stood over her. ‘Don’t play games.’

‘End of conversation,’ she said.

He was on the point of losing his temper. ‘Something’s got into you, Jas, in the last few days. I don’t know what it is. I don’t bloody care. But, if you ask me a leading question, you should expect me to want to know why.’

She knew perfectly well that her anger with Andrew was making her act stupidly and unfairly but she could not, as yet, master it.

Up on the terrace, Eve waved to them.

‘Coming,’ she called to her sister.

She abandoned Duncan by the car.

Wearing a hat and an enormous pair of sunglasses, Eve was sitting in the sun on the terrace, Notebook and coffee parked in front of her. She poured Jasmine some and
passed it over. ‘Sarah’s in the garden. She’ll be coming back in a minute. God knows where Dad is.’

Jasmine wrinkled her nose at the coffee.

‘Jas, you’ve got to help me. We’re at war over the guest list and I’ve got to get these invites out. Sarah’s still upset about the whole thing.’ Under the huge sunglasses, Eve’s face was small and strained. ‘I can’t have Sarah’s relations. I just can’t. It’s not what I planned, and I’d planned so carefully.’

‘You OK, Eve?’

Eve shuffled stuff from the Notebook. ‘Never better.’

Jasmine assessed her sister. All was not quite well – and her anxiety mounted. ‘And the dress?’

‘Going ahead.’ Eve flicked through her phone’s image bank. ‘There. The Juliet dress. And don’t give me any stuff about tragedy.’

Jasmine peered at it. It was undeniably beautiful, a dreamy, billowing fantasy. ‘The rose,’ she asked. ‘Has Ivanka sewn it in?’

‘She does that at the last minute, when she’s sure the wedding is going ahead.’

‘Sensible girl.’

Everywhere the garden revealed signs of work. The drive was freshly gravelled, the bed under the terrace dug and mulched and the lawn had been mown. The sun was now high in the sky, revealing a spectrum of colours so vivid and fresh that she caught her breath. On the wall of the house behind them, the climbing rose was throwing off buds of deep red.

Jasmine abandoned the coffee. ‘The flowers?’

‘I won.’

‘Eve,’ she said, picking her way with care, ‘would it have been better to let Sarah have her head? Do people look at the flowers as much as the dress?’

Eve whipped off her glasses. ‘Jas, you have no taste.’

‘Harsh.’

Eve’s lips twitched. ‘Don’t go there.’

‘Even so …’ She tallied the countless negotiations in the office when strategic withdrawal resulted in victory.

‘But you’re probably right,’ Eve conceded. ‘On the other hand, it’s our wedding and Andrew’s very particular. I’m discovering weddings are peculiar. Everyone wants a piece of them and they don’t seem to care about the feelings of the bride.’

At the mention of Andrew, Jasmine felt uneasy. ‘Heard from Mum?’

‘I’ve heard nothing from Lara.’

‘She had a good time in Syria. She sounded odd, but happy enough. I didn’t ask for any details, but I got a load of stuff about Crusader castles –’ Jasmine stopped. ‘Since when have you called her Lara?’

Eve shrugged. ‘It’s about time, isn’t it?’

Out of the corner of her eye, Jasmine caught sight of Duncan and Andrew crossing the lawn, deep in conversation. As she watched, they crossed into the shadow thrown by the beech where the lawn was patched with worm casts.

‘Eve, there
is
something wrong.’

‘No,’ she repeated. ‘
No.
’

‘Are you having second thoughts?’

Eve looked directly at her. ‘No. Absolutely
not.
Everything is fine. I know I’m fussing about guest lists and things, but that’s all show. You know me. I have to have everything perfect. But I’m happy. Happy, happy.’

Jasmine thought of the jealousy she struggled so hard to neutralize. She remembered, too, when Eve had told her she was marrying Andrew –
Jas, you will never, ever guess …
and her solemn expression.

The two sisters exchanged a look.

Was she really going to say,
Eve, I think you should know …
?

She thought of the exact moment she had first caught sight of Duncan.
That’s it.
The beat of her blood as the thought formed. She had believed that nothing was going to stop what was going to happen. She had looked at him and known his secrets; the incidental pieces of information, his name, where he lived, were unimportant. If she had been told he had another woman, that wouldn’t have made any difference either.

It was dawn on Prom Day.

Lara was awake, reliving the moment in Damascus when she had woken to find Robin beside her and experienced both yearning and joy.

It hadn’t lasted, of course, and the moment had gone. Bright, hard sunlight had streamed into the bedroom across two people who were not going to find it easy to begin again.

For the time remaining in Damascus, Robin and she had retreated into politeness and were very careful with each other. They agreed that they had enjoyed their walk to The Street Called Straight, their visit to the old merchant warehouses, the khans, and their lunch, eaten on a terrace with orange and lemon trees. But on the flight home he had taken her hand and held it. ‘Thank you, Lara.’

Something of the extraordinary intimacy of the night returned – and left her feeling bereft. She went home with a strange feeling that areas in her heart were physically raw.

But, soon, that faded too. Facing her was a backlog of her existing clients, questions from the lawyers over partnership details, negotiating the new lease on consulting
rooms, and hammering out the rules and conditions of the practice with the new therapists, Pauline and Ralph.

But at night … when else? … she was at the mercy of elements beyond her control and she thought of Robin with longing. A part of her was so grateful that she had been given another chance to feel passionately, to feel greedy for sensation and possession. Another part of her shrank away from it. The idea of going through it all again appalled her.

Then the new day would arrive and, once again, she forgot.

Now, she prayed.
Please … Please
 … What exactly was she asking? Lara shaped her thoughts for the events of the day. Please let Maudie be happy tonight
.

Maudie slept late and she permitted it. A rainwashed afternoon (much glumness) gave way to a milky lit evening. ‘Oh, God, my shoes,’ wailed the Nordic ice-maiden Maudie, as white and nervous as Lara had ever seen her. She fed her cups of tea, helped her wash her hair and talked gently to her.

Did she remember, she asked Maudie, when Jasmine had left school more than a decade ago and there was hardly any fuss? Hair tied back, tie loosened, Jasmine had walked out of Brightwells Comprehensive, climbed into the car and said, ‘Let’s go.’ She had never once looked back at the buildings. Surprisingly, the matter-of-fact Eve had been more emotional and insisted that her friends came round to the house for pizza and chips. They had filled the house with the noise of starlings on the wing.

Maudie quietened. ‘Mum, stop fussing. I’m fine.’

Lara slipped an arm around the thin waist. ‘Hey,’ she said. ‘Shall we practise you walking on those ridiculous heels?’

At five o’clock Maudie ran the bath and lay in it surrounded by candles and listening to whale music lent to her by Jasmine. Lara stuck her head around the door. The whale music had reached a groaning passage. ‘OK?’

Maudie dropped a copy of Doris Kearns Goodwin’s
Team of Rivals
on the chair beside the bath and turned a face streaked with moisture towards her. ‘The dress …’

‘What about it?’

‘Tess doesn’t like it.’

The previous evening, there had been a grand showing and the two girls had conferred for hours.

‘What did she say?’

‘She didn’t
say
anything.’

No comment
was
bad. ‘It could be that she was jealous.’

‘Not Tess.’

‘Does it matter if she doesn’t like it?’

The question was so beyond contempt that Maudie didn’t bother to answer. Lara backed away and, with half an ear on Maudie’s movements upstairs, made some phone calls.

From upstairs came a thump and she went upstairs to assess current progress. Maudie was having a fit over her hair, which had frizzed in the bath. Lara assessed it, fetched the tongs and set to work. It was a soothing enough task, and she had always liked the smell of hot tongs.

Maudie having expressed satisfaction, Lara returned downstairs and picked up the phone, which had been ringing. There was a message on the answer phone from Robin to say he was going away and would be in touch.

A little chilled, she replaced the receiver.

Then she remembered something Robin had said: ‘I’m not going to foist my demons on you, Lara.’