More Than You Know (22 page)

Over dinner the next evening, she cooed about him for some time.

“So elegant, Eliza, so charming, so good-looking. So very much the English gentleman. You have found, I think, the perfect man. Is he rich?”

“Terribly rich.”

“Well, then.” Mariella sat back. “Truly perfect. You must marry him.”

“I’m afraid that’s not quite up to me,” said Eliza. And then in an attempt to change the subject: “Now, Mariella, how was today? And what did you think of Young Generation?”

“It was very nice. I bought two dresses from Jean Varon.”

“Absolutely my favourite evening dresses in the world.”

“But, Eliza, I want to know about Jeremy. Would you like to be married to this perfect man?”

“I … I’m not sure,” said Eliza. “Maybe because my job is so important to me—but maybe I just don’t love him enough; maybe he doesn’t love me enough.”

“Oh, cara,” said Mariella, “love grows with the marriage. Believe me, I should know. It is clear to me that he is quite perfect for you, and he is simply waiting for the right minute. And when he does ask you, I want to be one of the very first to know.”

“You will be,” said Eliza, “if he does. Now, can I see your Jean Varon dresses and all the other things you’ve bought after dinner?”

She was discovering that, however heavily gilded it might be, Mariella did live in a cage. Giovanni might genuinely love her, he might be the soul of generosity, but he wanted her near him almost all the time; and when she was not, he had to know where she was and what she was doing every minute of the day.

“I could never, ever have an affair,” Mariella said. “Giovanni would find out in days. But I do not wish to have an affair,” she said, with her dazzling smile. “I love him very, very much, and more all the time. As I told you, love grows. It is probably just as well; in Italy you can be sent to prison for adultery.”

“Good heavens.”

“But anyway, I love Giovanni very dearly. No one else is good enough, handsome enough, charming enough. Except perhaps your Jeremy,
cara
!”

She thought a lot about Mariella’s philosophy of marriage in the weeks that followed: that if everything else was right, love would grow. She wondered whether it would work for her. And perhaps more important, for Jeremy.

Mr. and Mrs. Geoffrey Judd
request the pleasure of your company
at the wedding of their daughter Juliet Carol
to Mr. Charles Edward Fullerton-Clark
at three p.m. on Friday, June 26, 1964
,
at Summercourt, Wellesley, Wiltshire
.
RSVP Mrs. Adrian Fullerton-Clark
,
Summercourt, Wellesley

All in perfect, curvy script on ivory card and “Matthew Shaw” written in bold black ink at the top. There was another sheet of paper inside with a map of how to find Wellesley, and a list of local hotels if people wanted to stay. It arrived at the office, together with a scrawled card inside from Charles apologising, “Sorry, don’t know your home address. Please come. It’d be so nice for me. Let me know if you want to bring anyone. Charles.” And then, “P.S. Morning dress.”

He couldn’t go. He just couldn’t.

He kept it in his drawer for a bit, then took it home and left it on the kitchen table, where of course Gina found it.

“Crikey, Matt, I didn’t know you had friends like this.”

“I don’t. I never set eyes on the Judds and I won’t know anyone there.”

“You could take me. Sounds a bit funny, replying to the bridegroom’s parents. Is Summercourt where he lives?”

“Yes.”

“Posher and posher. So how do you know this Charles person, then?”

“We were in the army together. Before he went off and became an officer, that is.”

He could hear the bitterness in his own voice.

“He must be a pretty nice chap.”

“What, to ask me to his wedding?”

“Oh, Matt, don’t be so touchy.”

“Well, that’s what you meant.”

“No, it wasn’t. I mean because you obviously don’t see him very often and he hasn’t forgotten you.”

He didn’t reply to the invitation immediately; he wasn’t actually sure how to, what words you used.

Two evenings later, he was having supper with Scarlett and showed her the invitation.

“Nice he asked you.”

“Not you as well,” said Matt.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Everyone seems to think it’s really good of Charles to invite me to his wedding. As if I was a charity case. Anyway, I’m not going.”

“Matt, that’s just completely ridiculous. Why on earth not?”

“Because I’d
feel
like a charity case. And anyway, I’ve fallen out with his sister.”

He told her.

“Matt, that’s awful. I’m ashamed of you, I really am. So childish. How old are you?”

“Oh, for God’s sake.” He glared at her, got out his cigarettes.

“You’re smoking too many of those things, you know,” she said. “There’s some new research says smoking’s very bad for you.”

“Oh, Scarlett, give me a break. I like smoking. I couldn’t cope without it.”

“I think you should apologize to Eliza; I really do. I expect she thought she was just doing you a good turn.”

“A good turn! Blimey. Spelling out in print what a deprived background I’d had—”

“Deprived! For heaven’s sake! All she was going to say, obviously, was that you’d done incredibly well, and you’d done it all on your own, without the sort of advantages lots of people take for granted. What’s wrong with that? Absolutely nothing. Rather the reverse, I’d say. Just think of the publicity you’d have got. Couldn’t you benefit from that?”

“I don’t need that sort of publicity, thanks,” said Matt.

“Well, I think you’re just ridiculous. And I also think you’ve been very rude. What would Mum say if she knew?”

The next morning, he told Jenny he didn’t want to be disturbed, smoked two of the cigarettes that Scarlett had suddenly decided were bad for him, and for the second time in his life, made an apologetic phone call to Eliza.

“Darling, don’t cry, whatever is it, come on, tell me—”

“Sorry, Jeremy. So sorry. I’ll … I’ll be all right in a minute.”

“It’s not Charles, is it? Charles and Juliet?”

“God, no. I wouldn’t cry about that. This is much worse. It’s … it’s Daddy. He’s … he’s got Parkinson’s disease.”

“Oh, my God. Oh, Eliza, my darling, I am so, so sorry.”

“Yes. It’s terrible, isn’t it? He’s not too bad yet—he hadn’t even told Mummy—but he’s got a bit … well, feeble and … and shaky, obviously, and he dropped one of her precious bits of Spode the other
day and it smashed and she lost her temper and started yelling at him; she says she feels so ashamed now. She rang me, she was crying, it was awful, and I’m sorry, but I’ll have to go down this weekend to be with them. I can’t go to Norfolk with you; I’m so sorry.”

“Darling, of course you must. Don’t even give Norfolk a thought. It won’t go away; we can go another time.”

“That wedding,” said Matt. His voice was very casual.

“What, the posh one? Yes, what about it?”

Gina’s large grey eyes were suddenly sharp.

“I … well, I’ve decided to go after all. And I … well, would you like to come with me?”

It was the conversation with Eliza that had persuaded him. She was clearly embarrassed herself by the whole article thing, and said she was sorry if she’d upset him—she really hadn’t meant to; it had all been a stupid misunderstanding—and that she’d see him at the wedding.

“You will come, won’t you? I know Charles is really hoping you will.”

After that, it seemed rude to refuse.

Sarah felt very frightened. A friend’s husband had died after four years of Parkinson’s, and she knew very clearly what lay ahead. Increasing immobility, increasing dependence, a shutting down of life as she knew it; she would be confined to the house, less able to do what she wanted, to make trips to London and to visit friends. What at the moment were the mildest of symptoms would become, she knew, something quite ugly. Adrian would become depressed, physically feeble, odd-looking, unable to perform the simplest tasks for himself.

But all of that paled into complete insignificance set against the threat of having to leave Summercourt. That was unthinkable.

Summercourt was a part of her; she belonged to it and it to her. It gave her happiness, interest, and an absolute sense of security—and it would give her courage. She knew that. Somehow, somehow, they had to stay there, even though the doctor said they should consider moving into a bungalow because Adrian would find the stairs very difficult later on.