More Than You Know (107 page)

And Mariella, looking at him as he lay there, so sweetly peaceful, thought that she had anticipated this moment many times over the years, of course she had, but had feared that since the advent of Jeremy into her life there might be something unseemly, unloving, a sense of relief, even, about it, but she felt only sorrow and loss and a wave of intense gratitude to this brilliant, beautiful, loving man who had done so much to make her into the creature she was and been so proud that he had done so; and she bent and kissed his forehead, thinking what a truly immense loss to her this was.

“Oh … oh, Mummy, oh, no …”

Sarah looked at Eliza, her eyes large with distress.

“I’m sorry, darling, so sorry.”

Emmie, dressed in blue-and-white-striped OshKosh dungarees, with a white T-shirt underneath and sneakers on her feet, smiled at her mother.

“Hallo, Mummy.”

“Emmie, darling … I did want you to wear a dress, to look pretty for the judge—”

“I know. But I wanted to wear my dungies. I feel better in them. More happy.”

“She said”—Sarah spoke in a low voice—“she said if I made her wear a dress, she’d run away.”

Eliza gave up. She knew actually how Emmie felt. Clothes were great influencers of mood.

“All right, darling. Well … you look very nice. Now come and meet everyone; this gentleman is Mr. Gordon, and this is his assistant, Caroline.”

“Hallo, Emmie. Very nice to have you here.”

“It’s nice to be here,” said Emmie politely.

“Hallo, Emmie.” Toby Gilmour had arrived.

“Hallo. I like your wig.”

“Thank you. How’s Mouse?”

“He’s fine.”

“They’re ready, Eliza. Mrs. Fullerton-Clark, how nice to see you again.”

“And you.”

There was a sudden whoop of, “Daddy,” and Emmie had shaken her hand free of her mother’s and shot across the atrium of the Law Courts, almost knocking over a heavily bewigged gentleman, and up into her father’s arms.

And Matt stood there, his face buried in her long, shining hair, holding her close, and for a long moment nobody moved, and then: “Well,” said Philip Gordon. “Shall we all go up?”

Emmie slithered down and took Matt’s hand, then turned to wait for her mother and took hers also and walked up the great staircase between them, and everyone involved in the case, which included Judge Clifford Rogers, on his way to his rooms, became most forcibly aware that what was about to happen to this little family was nothing less than a small, and possibly quite a large tragedy.

Standing outside the judge’s rooms, Eliza wanted to grab Emmie, run down the stairs with her, out into the street, anything rather than subject her to this dreadful ordeal. Her grip on Emmie’s hand tightened.

“Now, darling … just answer the judge’s questions, and—”

The door opened; a female clerk appeared.

“Is this Emmeline?”

“Yes,” said Emmie before anyone else could speak.

“Come along in, Emmeline. Mr. Rogers has tea for you both, and some biscuits …”

“Chocolate?” asked Emmie hopefully.

“I believe there are some of those, yes.”

Emmie followed the woman into the room, turning to smile at the small group before she vanished. “Bye,” she said.

“Give her twenty years,” said Toby, “and she’ll be conducting cases herself.”

“What do we do now?” said Eliza as Emmie disappeared. 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.”

As Eliza reached the courts again, 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
blanch
precisely meant; she felt she knew now. Matt’s face was ghastly white.

“Hallo, Matt,” said Georgina, and swept past him into the building.

Eliza decided a little hyperanxiety would do Matt good, smiled at him sweetly, and ran up the stairs to where she had arranged to meet Toby.

“Hallo,” she said.

“Hallo.”

“I’ve … made my decision.”

“And?”

“And the answer’s no. I can’t do it, Toby. Sorry. 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 reemerged, smiling and composed.

“He was nice, the judge,” she said. “We had Penguins.”

“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 … judgement, 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. 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. Especially 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, and fought down the tears.

“No, darling, I don’t want you to make me cross.”

“But … I love you, Mummy.”

“I love you too, Emmie.”

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.”

“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 …

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, and how, later, 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 …