More Than You Know (109 page)

“But what about Emmie and Mouse?” said Eliza tetchily.

“I’ve seen a couple of houses in Surrey, just outside Guildford, got paddocks, nice little stables. What’s wrong with them?”

“They’re not Summercourt,” said Eliza.

“No, and not as costly either. Ivor Lewis says I should appeal against that part of the settlement, and I’d be sure to win. Emmie would be fine; what she cares about is Mouse and her weekends with us. She’s got a lot of common sense, Emmie has, and she likes her comfort; she won’t go mooning about because she’s lost Great-great-grandpa’s legacy.”

He did appeal and won the right to sell; it would go under the hammer in the autumn.

But for now, for today, it was theirs: the lovely heart of the family, and at its very best, beautifully on show, preening itself, asking to be admired.

“Louise, this is Matt.”

“Oh … hallo.”

“Look, I’m … I’m sorry about last night. Really. And … do you want to come today?”

“Well … I’m not sure. Not if you’re going to be in a foul mood all the time. And yes, before you say so, of course it’s a difficult day for you, but if you could just keep at least looking cheerful, for Emmie’s sake, it’ll help a lot.”

“I just don’t … don’t fancy seeing him there. Poncing around—in my house. He’s so fucking arrogant; I can’t stand him—”

“I know, Matt, and I had gathered that; I think I’d have worked it out even if you’d never actually told me. He seems fine to me. Very nice.”

“I know you like him. Bloody smoothie. I don’t know what you see in him. He’s worse than Northcott, and that’s saying something.”

“If by ‘worse’ you mean more charming and agreeable, I’m not sure I agree. I’ve always liked Jeremy. Quite a close-run thing, actually, I’d say.”

“Oh, for God’s sake.”

“What about Mariella; is she coming?”

“I suppose so. They’re engaged. She doesn’t like me either, but she’ll be there, in my house, dressed up in some ridiculous outfit, showing off—”

“Oh, Matt. So … are you getting that place near Dorking?”

“I think so.”

“Has Emmie seen it?”

“Not yet. I’m going to take her next weekend.”

“And … how does she feel about losing Summercourt?”

“I … don’t know.”

“What, you haven’t told her?”

“Not yet.”

“Matt, that’s awful.”

“I don’t see why. Long as she’s got Mouse, she won’t care.”

“I think you might be wrong there,” said Louise. “See you in an hour.”

She rang off. A year after the custody case, things hadn’t changed a great deal between her and Matt. They met regularly for dinner, drinks, occasionally for lunch at the weekends he didn’t have Emmie. She still, she supposed—no, she knew—loved him. He didn’t seem to love
her, or to have any tender feelings for her whatsoever. He’d certainly never indicated that he did; the nearest had been when he told her he enjoyed her company more than that of anyone else he knew. As he seemed to dislike most people, it wasn’t much of a compliment.

“Mummy! Coral’s here, and her mummy—”

Eliza was halfway up the stairs to have her bath; she sighed and turned round again. She had to greet her best friend in the whole world, as Emmie had christened Heather, probably correctly.

“Heather, hallo, it’s so lovely to see you. Hallo, Coral, hallo, Bobby. Goodness, he’s grown up. How was the journey?”

“Fine. Alan’s just parking down in the village.”

“He can park up here; don’t be silly.”

“No, no, he’s all right. Glad to be rid of him for a bit, to be honest. I had to map-read every inch of the way, and he kept shouting at me.”

“Look, come on in; let me get you a coffee or something. And, Emmie, you take Coral off and look after her, mind.”

“Can I give her a riding lesson?”

“No, Emmie, you cannot, not today, and if I see either of you sitting on that pony, even if he is tied up to the fence, the whole thing is cancelled. Oh, Alan, lovely to see you—”

“Mummy, Mummy, it’s Uncle Charles and a lady—Uncle Charles, hallo, come and see everything, come and see—”

“Take them round to Granny, darling; I’ll be out in a minute …”

She risked a quick peek at Charles’s lady from the hall window; she was quite pretty, in a fresh-faced, very young way, holding his hand and looking up at him adoringly. Perfect. Just what he needed. Pattie was her name, and somehow it suited her (very well).

“Eliza,” called Sarah, running into the house, “darling, could you go and see the roundabout man; he’s having trouble with his generator; it won’t start or something …”

Eliza glanced at her watch. It was nearly eleven. The cars and horse trailers were streaming in now; ponies were being led round and round the field by an army of little girls—and a small number of boys; fathers
were heaving water carriers and nose bags about; mothers were unpacking picnics. Charles was leading Gail’s donkey, bearing a seemingly endless queue of little girls up and down the far field, and an even more endless queue was forming for Mrs. Horrocks’s lemonade. Sarah’s business at the tombola was booming.

Everything seemed fine; if she was quick, she could dash up and have her bath and change before—

“Eliza!” A very flashy Jaguar had driven in; Jack Beckham was waving wildly at her. “What a day. Blimey, good thing there aren’t any of your readers here; fine fashion editor you make.”

“Thanks, Jack. Hallo, you must be Babs. I’ve heard a lot about you. And you three, lovely to meet you. Jack, if you want to park here, in front of the house, do; it’s getting very difficult over there. Come and meet my mother; she’s serving cold drinks, or there’s a beer tent over there, next to the orangery—”

“A beer tent!” said Jack Beckham. “Now you’re talking. Well, this is all very nice, Eliza; come on, girls, out.”

The three girls got out, the epitome of seventies girlhood, all long skirts and long curls and wide, over-made-up smudgy eyes.

“I love those skirts,” Eliza said. “Are they—”

But at that moment, Cal appeared, his curls even longer and more luxurious than the girls’, carrying two enormous bales of hay; all three of them stood stock-still, as if they had seen some kind of heavenly vision. Which, as they recounted later to their friends, they felt they had.

“ ’Scuse me, Mrs. Shaw,” said Gail, “but Mum says we should start the jumpin’ right away; people are getting restive, so if we can get the judges to come to the table—”

“Yes, of course,” said Eliza. “Jack, can you sort yourselves out? Sorry. Cal will show you everything …”

“I bet he will,” said Babs, with the dimpled giggle that had become famous from her days as a weathergirl. “Come on, girls, after Cal.”

Eliza rounded up the judges, grabbed the mike, called the entrants for the first jumping class to come to the collecting ring—the rather grand name for a sectioned-off bit of paddock—and thought longingly of the bathroom.

“Eliza. Hallo, my darling. Can I park here, or do I have to go to the field?”

“Oh … Jeremy, no, of course you can park here. Mr. Northcott, how lovely to see you; let me take you round to the terrace; you can sit down there and Jeremy can get you a beer or something. Mummy’s looking forward to seeing you, and we’re thrilled you’re staying tonight.”

Now …

“Eliza—hallo. You look wonderful.”

“Mark! I do not, I’m afraid; I keep trying to go up for a bath, but— Where’s Scarlett?”

“She’s run into the house, desperate for the loo, poor darling.”

“How is she? It’s so brave of you to come.”

“We wouldn’t have missed it for the world.”

She was hardly inside the house when Scarlett appeared out of the loo, looking magnificent in a white frilled dress and perilously high-heeled red sandals.

“Eliza, hallo.”

“Hallo, and you in there.” She patted Scarlett’s huge stomach. “It’s lovely of you to come.”

“It’s lovely to be here. Wouldn’t have missed it. Look—sorry to be a nuisance, but you haven’t got any Rennies or anything, have you? I keep getting awful indigestion.”

OK. At least she was on the right floor. Into the bathroom and—

“Mummy, Mummy, Daddy’s here. Come and say hallo to him.”

Damn. Damn, damn, damn
. She would have to go down or it would seem intolerably hostile.

“Hallo, Matt. Doesn’t it all look professional? Oh, Louise, how lovely of you to come. You look great. That’s one of Maddy’s cardigans, isn’t it? She’s coming later, I hope. Matt, take Louise and get her a drink—the beer tent is over there; turn right after the orangery, you know—I—”

“Yes,” he said, “I know. Funny place for a beer tent, I’d have thought.”

“Is it? It seemed quite good to me—” She stopped. Matt was looking at her oddly, and suddenly she knew why. She stood very still, staring
at him; strange how things went on affecting you, turning your heart. Even after all that had happened, some things, some memories, good ones, survived. The orangery was one of them, Matt’s favourite place here always, special to both of them, the place they had—oh, God—actually consummated his purchase of Summercourt. She should have thought, should have kept it out of today’s arrangements.

“Yes,” she said, “I’m sorry; it does seem a bad place; I just thought—”