One Night in Italy (32 page)

Sophie was starting to get a glimpse of why Roy had once confessed that he just agreed with everything his wife said. Geraldine was like an unstoppable force that swept you along, leaving you powerless to strike out in another direction. ‘I . . . Well . . .’ she stuttered. ‘I mean, I haven’t done any acting for years. Certainly nothing professional.’

Geraldine snorted. ‘Professional? Give over. None of ’em are
that
, love, don’t you worry. So I’ll pass Max your number, shall I? He’ll be so pleased. He popped in yesterday and, honestly, he looked stricken. Geraldine, he said, what
am
I going to do without you?’

‘The show must go on,’ Anna said demurely. ‘I think you should give it a try, Sophie.’

‘There you go!
She’s
on my side.’ Geraldine couldn’t hide her triumph. ‘And you are too, Catherine, aren’t you? There, Sophie. You see? We all agree. You have to do it now!’

‘Geraldine is absolutely gorgeous and I love her to bits, but it’s kind of like trying to argue with a bulldozer,’ Sophie said afterwards, when the three of them had escaped to a nearby pub. ‘I almost feel sorry for that poor guy who’s trying to direct the play. I bet she’s always butting in with suggestions of how she thinks it should be done.’

‘It was probably him icing up her drive that caused the accident in the first place,’ Catherine joked. ‘Poor Geraldine. Italian class is going to be a lot quieter without her, that’s for sure.’

‘Are you going to call this Max bloke, then?’ Anna asked, sipping her beer. ‘I couldn’t tell from your face whether or not you actually wanted to, or if you were secretly thinking,
Noooooo!
’ She made her fingers into a cross as if warding off a vampire, then nudged Sophie. ‘I don’t know about the rest of your acting skills, but your poker face is a bloody triumph.’

Sophie smiled. ‘I did always love drama, as I must have told Geraldine one night down the pub,’ she said. ‘But I haven’t been on stage for . . . what, must be eight years, when I was doing my A-levels.’ She had a sudden vision of herself in a long velvet dress and bare feet. ‘Lady Macbeth.
Take my milk for gall, you murd’ring ministers
, and all that.’ God, she’d loved it. She’d known that play backwards by the time they came to perform it. Only a handful of performances for the school and parents, but still, she had thrown herself into the part, living and dreaming her character’s deranged ambition and scheming.

‘Looks like a happy memory,’ Catherine said gently.

‘Yeah. It was what I really wanted to do with my life, before I dropped out and went travelling.’ She had tingles just remembering the electrifying moment at the end of the play before the audience broke into applause. And how, when she’d come on to take her bow, she was sure the clapping rose in volume.
This is for me
, she’d thought, swelling with joyful glory.
They’re clapping for ME.

‘I think Geraldine might have made a good call here,’ Anna said teasingly. ‘She’s weakening, Cath. Look how misty-eyed she’s gone.’

Sophie laughed. ‘Well, I’ll give him a ring,’ she said. ‘He’ll probably tell me to bog off and curse Geraldine for interfering, but you never know . . .’ Mustn’t get too carried away, she reminded herself. Two lines, Geraldine had said. All the same, the camaraderie of being part of a drama group and the adrenalin charge of performing on a stage was pulling her in like a tide. ‘Anyway . . .’ she said, trying to think of some other topic of conversation. Then she remembered. ‘Oh God! Anna! I’ve got news for you. I meant to tell you earlier.’ She rifled through the contents of her slouchy red bag, sending pens and lip salve flying. ‘Where did I put it?’

Anna sat up immediately. ‘Is this your friend in Italy? What did he say?’

Sophie pulled out a crumpled piece of paper, the printed copy of the email she’d received the night before. ‘He says he reckons the picture was taken in Lungomare Augusto,’ she read aloud, then handed the print-out to Anna. ‘That’s the real touristy bit, apparently, lots of hotels and bars. So if you’re going off on a papa-search, that’s the place to start looking.’ She paused. ‘
Are
you still going, do you think?’

‘Lungomare Augusto,’ Anna said to herself, and grinned. ‘Oh my goodness. This is so exciting. Thank you! And yes, I’d go tomorrow if I could.’

‘Ahh,’ Sophie said, remembering their conversation in Marmadukes. ‘No improvements with the boyfriend?’

‘Technically an ex-boyfriend now,’ Anna replied.

‘I saw your Enrico’s review at the weekend,’ Catherine said sympathetically. ‘But I like the sound of this Handsome Colleague. What’s happening there, then?’

Anna groaned. ‘Me and my big mouth, that’s what’s happening,’ she said. ‘I wrote that as a dig at Pete, my ex, without thinking about how Joe – that’s Handsome Colleague – would feel when he read it. Or how his girlfriend would feel, come to that. Honestly, he’s just a mate, I never meant for it to sound anything more.’

‘Oops,’ said Sophie.

‘Yeah, massive oops,’ Anna sighed. ‘And it’s all my bloody editor’s fault. She and the designer thought it would be
hilaire
to put that photo of Joe in and big-up this whole romance angle – which doesn’t even
exist
– and now he’s furious with me and I feel like I’ve lost a friend. Pete, obviously, couldn’t give a toss. Probably too busy shagging his new bird to look at anything as boring as a newspaper.’

‘Oh no,’ said Catherine.

‘Oh yes,’ Anna echoed. ‘Honestly, it’s been a complete nightmare, the last few days. Joe’s girlfriend has got a massive cob on apparently, accusing him of doing the dirty on her – which he didn’t. And
he’s
got a cob on with
me
, because he obviously thinks I’m some kind of stalkery maniac who is desperate to drag him into bed with me. When . . .’ She hesitated ever so slightly. ‘When I’m so not!’

‘That
is
a nightmare,’ Catherine agreed.

‘Can’t you explain to him?’ Sophie asked. ‘Like you’ve just done to us?’

‘I’ve tried. He won’t listen. He’s been really cold and off-ish with me, says I’ve made him the laughing stock of the office. And the worst thing is, this total bitch we work with who usually does the restaurant reviews thinks it’s the funniest thing ever, and will not shut up about it. So yeah, the thought of leaving the country is pretty appealing right now, I have to say.’ Anna shuddered.

‘Men,’ Catherine said with surprising vehemence. ‘Why do they have to make life so bloody complicated?’

‘Hear, hear,’ said Sophie, who still hadn’t done anything about the Dan Collins conundrum. Then she registered the ferocity of Catherine’s tone. ‘Hold on – I thought you were a happily married woman?’

Catherine snorted. ‘Yeah, I thought I was too. Right up until he went off with some blonde dolly bird who . . .’ She clammed up. ‘Never mind. But that’s why I bolted from your lesson that time, remember, when you were teaching us
Sei sposata
? I didn’t know how to reply.’

‘Oh Catherine, I’m sorry,’ Sophie said.

‘It’s not your fault.’ Catherine swirled her wine around in her glass. ‘I thought about asking you to translate, “Yes, but my husband’s just left me”, then decided it was probably a tad dramatic for an evening class. Which is why I just said, “Yes” and left it at that.’

‘Is it definitely over?’ Anna asked. ‘It’s not just a mid-life crisis or . . .’

‘It’s over,’ Catherine replied. ‘He said he’d never really loved me at all. It’s kind of hard to come back from a statement like that. Besides . . .’ Her mouth twisted in a grimace. ‘After what I’ve found out about him, I wouldn’t want him back anyway.’

‘Why, what’s he done?’ Sophie asked, then felt nosey. ‘Sorry. None of my business.’

Anna leaned forward. ‘Does this have something to do with what you were asking me about the other week? The dodgy payments thing?’

Catherine nodded, twisting her hands in her lap, but said nothing else. Sophie glanced from her to Anna, not following what was going on. Dodgy payments?

Now it was Anna’s turn to apologize. ‘Sorry,’ she said in the next breath, seeing Catherine’s awkwardness. ‘I swear I wasn’t fishing. You don’t have to say anything.’

‘It’s all right. I still haven’t decided what to do about it.’ Then, after a deep breath, Catherine launched into the torrid story of her ex-husband who seemed to have been taking backhanders from a drugs rep. ‘What’s really awful is that I Googled Demelzerol, the drug he’s been prescribing, and discovered lots of internet forums where people were discussing how ill it made them feel,’ she said at the end. ‘I’m worried that he’s been talked into prescribing this drug when it doesn’t even seem to work properly.’

The name set a bell jangling in Sophie’s head. ‘Wait – did you say Demelzerol?’ It was familiar for some reason, and then she remembered where she’d seen it: on a packet of pills in the bathroom cabinet at home. The name always made her think of a girl called Demelza, who’d been at her posh private school. ‘Is it a betablocker? I think my dad was prescribed that after he had a heart attack.’ Her own heart was booming suddenly and she began to feel uneasy about the way this conversation was going. ‘Your ex isn’t one of the doctors at the Risbury Road Medical Centre, is he?’

All the colour leached from Catherine’s face. ‘Yes,’ she said hoarsely, her eyes huge and anxious. ‘Yes he is.’ They stared at each other for an awful moment loaded with accusation and apology. ‘Oh God, Sophie. Is your dad all right?’

Sophie swallowed. ‘Well, he is now,’ she said, ‘but the doctors at the hospital took him off Demelzerol the other week because he had a second heart attack.’

Catherine looked as if she was going to throw up. ‘So it didn’t work for him,’ she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

‘No. In fact, it might even have caused the second heart attack which he had at Christmas. He was really ill for days, he’s only just been allowed back to work.’ Tears brimmed in Sophie’s eyes. If her dad’s health had been put in jeopardy because of one greedy doctor thinking only of his own pocket, then she’d . . . she’d . . .

‘Jesus,’ gasped Anna. ‘That’s awful.’

Catherine’s eyes were also glistening. ‘It’s horrible,’ she agreed. ‘Sophie, I’m so sorry. I hate Mike for doing this. I’ve got to stop him. I promise I will.’

‘You must,’ Sophie said, still light-headed with shock. ‘Dad might have died. We thought he was going to . . .’ She choked on the words. ‘We thought we’d lost him.’

Catherine took hold of her hand and squeezed it. ‘I’m so truly sorry that you’ve been through this,’ she said. ‘Honestly I am. And I’ll be straight with you: I’ve been scared to confront Mike about what I’ve found out because . . . Well, he’s always been a bit of a bully. I knew he’d be angry with me for poking around and . . .’ She waved her hands. ‘Whatever. But now I know about your dad, there’s no way I’m going to keep quiet any longer. No way.’

Even through the strong feelings churning inside her, Sophie could see that Catherine looked terrified at the prospect of confronting her ex. ‘Do you want me to come with you when you speak to him?’ she asked. ‘For a bit of moral support?’

Catherine seemed tempted by the offer then shook her head. ‘I need to do it alone,’ she said. ‘But thank you. I’ll let you know what happens.’

As Sophie waited for the bus back to her parents’ house, her heart was still pounding. She felt very much like tracking down this Doctor Evans and giving him a piece of her mind – not to mention a piece of her fist. Catherine might be scared of him, but she wasn’t. She was livid. How could somebody
do
that? How could they live with themselves afterwards? Doctors were meant to be good guys, the saviours of others, not out for what they could get at the expense of their own patients.

The bus arrived and she paid her fare and found an empty seat on the top deck. It took her a moment to realize that her phone was ringing in the depths of her bag. An unfamiliar number showed on the screen. ‘Hello?’

‘Hi, is that . . . Sophie Frost?’

A male voice, not one she recognized. ‘Yes?’

‘Hi, I’m sorry to trouble you in the evening. My name is Max Winter, I’m calling on behalf of the Sheffield Players Drama Group.’

‘Oh.’ That took the wind out of her sails. Geraldine didn’t waste any time, did she? ‘Hello. Listen, I’m sorry if Geraldine has been badgering you about . . .’ Then she stopped herself. Let the man say his bit.

‘Not at all,’ he said easily. ‘She said you were looking to join a drama group and that you might be interested in our one.’

‘She did? I mean – excellent. Yes.’ Sophie couldn’t remember actually saying such a thing, but now didn’t seem the time to start quibbling.

‘We’re rehearsing Monday, Thursday and Sunday evenings at the moment, so maybe the best thing is for you to come along to our rehearsal tomorrow and we can have a chat. How does that sound?’

‘That sounds . . .’ Sophie hesitated, feeling that all of this had been very much thrust upon her, without her having much of a say. But it was only a tiny speaking part in a play – it wasn’t as if she was auditioning for a Hollywood production.
Go for it!
, she heard Anna and Catherine say in her head. ‘That sounds great,’ she said eventually. ‘Thank you.’

As she finished the call, she sat on the jolting bus, wondering what on earth she was letting herself in for. For all she knew, the Sheffield Players Drama Group was a bunch of bossy old biddies like Geraldine and the play would be absolutely awful. But then again, it might just turn out to be the best fun ever.

Screw your courage to the sticking-place
, she thought to herself, remembering her old lines as Lady Macbeth.
And we’ll not fail.

Well, she wasn’t sure about that, but it was worth a try, wasn’t it?