Swimming Pool Sunday (16 page)

After a while a gust of wind caught her bare arm, giving her goose bumps and making her shiver. And as
she pulled her jacket around her and got up to go inside, she suddenly found herself wishing, bleakly, that she could somehow confide in Simon; that she could feel his arms around her once again, and hear his voice, and ask him for some advice and some help and some love.

Daisy lay in the bath, watching the green crab-apple leaves fluttering outside the bathroom window, and wondered what sort of an evening it was going to be. Her mother had phoned earlier that afternoon, just to check up on things, and Daisy had foolishly let slip that she had been asked out to dinner.

‘How nice!’ her mother had said, in the distracted voice that probably meant she was typing something onto the computer at the same time. ‘I didn’t know there were any boys your age in Melbrook.’

And stupidly, instead of saying nothing, Daisy said, ‘Actually, he’s not really my age.’

There was an ominous pause. Daisy imagined her mother stopping typing in mid-sentence, then automatically pressing the Save button while deciding exactly what to say.

‘Oh?’ came her mother’s voice at last; a single meaningful syllable, encapsulating both a note of enquiry and a hint that she already knew the answer. ‘How old is he, then?’

‘Older than me,’ said Daisy, cursing herself for having said anything.

‘How
much
older, exactly?’ Daisy was momentarily silent. She wasn’t actually sure how old he was. But thinking about it now, she decided he must be at least forty-something. Nearly as old as her father, she thought, with a little jump.

Her mother sounded as though she was standing up; Daisy imagined her striding to the door of the study,
beckoning to her father, mouthing to him to come and listen to this conversation, Daisy was in another pickle.

‘He’s quite a lot older,’ said Daisy at last. ‘But it’s not …’

‘Not what?’ Daisy blushed.

‘You know …’

‘Are you just going to a dinner party or something?’ said her mother, as though suddenly understanding the situation. ‘Well, that’s quite different.’

‘No, I don’t think so,’ said Daisy. ‘I think it’s just the two of us. But I’m not quite sure why …’ She broke off. She couldn’t possibly say the truth: that she wasn’t at all sure why he had asked her.

‘Daisy.’ Her mother’s voice came crisply down the line in her efficient crisis-management manner. ‘Daisy, you’re very young and very naïve. Are you sure you really want to go out to dinner with this man?’ Daisy flinched. Somehow her mother was making it sound all horrible and sordid.

‘It’s not like that!’ she cried. ‘It’s …’

‘What?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Daisy feebly. Her mother was breathing impatiently down the phone.

‘Daisy, darling, get a grip. You don’t just go out to dinner with people for no reason at all. You have to be careful.’ From the background came a sound of electronic bleeping. ‘Oh, damn. Look, darling, I’ve got to go. If you’re sensible, you’ll cancel this fellow. But if you do decide to go, make sure you ring us when you get back. We worry about you, all alone down there. I don’t know what your father will say when I tell him about this …’ The bleeping sounded again. ‘Right, now I really have got to go. Bye, sweetheart.’

‘Bye, Mummy,’ Daisy had said. And she had put down the receiver and stared into space rather disconsolately for a few minutes.

But now she felt cheered up. She lay luxuriously back
in her bath and listened to the sound of a Beethoven piano concerto thundering through the cottage, feeling a pleasant anticipation steal over her. It would, she thought, be nice to go out to a restaurant and look down a menu and have some wine. What they would talk about, she wasn’t sure. But he was such a friendly man, it was bound to be OK. He’d been terribly nice to her at the swimming-pool. And then he’d dropped by one day, while she was practising, and had stayed for coffee, and they’d chatted about the village and her time in Italy and the awful accident. Then he’d phoned up and asked her out to dinner, and she’d said yes.

She turned on the hot tap with her toe, leaned back and felt warm water creeping slowly around her body. That was all very well, she thought reluctantly. But what did it all mean? Her mother’s voice echoed in her mind: ‘You don’t just go out to dinner with people for no reason at all.’

At first, at the swimming-pool, she’d thought he was just being amiable, like Frances Mold, or one of her father’s friends. And she had still thought that when he dropped round for coffee. But now – out to dinner? Didn’t that mean … a date? Was he serious? Would he expect to … to come back? To have sex with her? A pang of agitation shot through Daisy and she wriggled nervously in her bath water. But even as she pictured it, pictured him putting his arm round her, or kissing her – let alone anything further – it seemed such a ridiculous idea that she was sure that she must have got it all wrong; that she’d completely misconstrued him. And that would be the worst thing to do, she thought suddenly: to give him the wrong impression; to offend him by making the wrong assumption. If only she could be certain, she thought, reaching for a towel; if only she could be certain
which
was the wrong assumption. It didn’t really matter which of them it was, just as long as she didn’t pick the wrong one.

*

Alexis was feeling ridiculously nervous about dinner with Daisy. All day he had been half expecting her to cancel; when he got home to find no winking message on his answer-machine he felt almost caught out. He hurriedly showered, avoiding the sight of his leathery skin in the bathroom mirror; he decided not to shave again, but splashed on a discreet amount of aftershave. He dressed carefully in pale trousers, a pale blue shirt. No tie. A fashionable jacket made from crumpled beige linen.

He put everything on and looked at himself. A middle-aged man stared back at him. A memory of Daisy’s young, unblemished, eighteen-year-old skin flickered through his mind and, again, he felt the shock he’d experienced when it had occurred to him just how old he was when she was born. When she was
born
, for Christ’s sake. And here he was, dressed up in a young man’s clothes, actually contemplating taking her out to dinner. He must be crazy.

When he arrived at her cottage, piano music was coming from within. He rang the bell and stood back on the path, admiring the pretty orchard garden, listening as the sound of a thrush mingled with the sounds of the piano. After a while he rang again. The music continued. Eventually he lifted a cautious hand and pushed at the front door. As he did so, the music increased in volume. It was powerful stirring music that sounded familiar to Alexis, yet which he couldn’t identify. For a moment he just stood there in the tiny hall, listening, and looking at his ridiculous reflection in the glass of a carved walnut hall-stand, feeling his heart beat faster and faster. Then, forcing himself to move, he pushed at the sitting-room door.

Daisy looked up from her seat at the grand piano and abruptly stopped playing.

‘Oh!’ she gasped. ‘Sorry, I wasn’t listening out for the door.’

‘Don’t worry,’ said Alexis. He looked at the piano. ‘That sounded powerful stuff.’

‘Oh, yes,’ Daisy blushed. ‘It was Chopin,’ she said. There was a pause. ‘One of the Etudes,’ she added, biting her lip. She blushed again, looked at the book of music in front of her and closed it. Then she looked at Alexis expectantly.

Alexis looked back at her. She was dressed smartly, as though for a school function, in a sleeveless white T-shirt, dark-red flowing skirt and pale tights. Her hair flowed from a velvet band down to her waist in shining dark waves, and she smelt faintly of roses.

Daisy noticed Alexis looking at her and flushed.

‘I didn’t know how smart …’ she began hesitantly. ‘Do I look all right?’

Alexis stared back at her and nodded. He wanted to say she looked beautiful, but suddenly he felt unable to speak.

‘I haven’t really gone out much,’ said Daisy. ‘Since I’ve been living down here, I mean.’

She got up, awkwardly pushing the piano-stool back, and knocking a pile of music onto the floor. Alexis made a move to pick it up.

‘Don’t worry,’ said Daisy quickly, ‘I’ll pick it up later.’ There was a tiny pause. ‘My-my jacket’s in the hall,’ she added.

‘Right,’ said Alexis, attempting a cheery tone, holding the door open for her. But his voice sounded strange to his own ears. What the hell was wrong with him? What kind of evening were they going to have, if he couldn’t string two words together?

In the dusky hall, Daisy turned suddenly and reached for a jacket hanging on the hall-stand. Alexis, taken by surprise, found himself stepping forward and colliding with her soft warm skin.

‘Sorry!’ he exclaimed.

‘Oh, that’s all right,’ said Daisy shyly. ‘I mean, I got in your way.’ Her voice fluttered gently through the air, and Alexis felt a dangerous feeling of desire begin to creep inexorably through him.

‘Let me help you with that,’ he said. He took the jacket from her and held it up, watching as her pale milky arms slid inside the sleeves. Then, suddenly, Daisy turned and looked at him with questioning eyes.

‘I wasn’t going to ask,’ she said, ‘but … are we …’ She broke off. ‘Is this …’ She coloured slightly. ‘It’s just, this is all a bit new to me, and I was just wondering …’ She tailed away, her cheeks suffused with an embarrassed colour.

Alexis gazed at her, almost paralysed with longing.

‘Well, you know … this is all a bit new to me, too,’ he managed to say. He relaxed a little. ‘This is all a bit new to me, too,’ he repeated, ‘so, let’s just play it by ear, shall we?’ He looked down at her and smiled. ‘It’s not really one thing or the other. I just thought it would be nice for us to have dinner together, that’s all.’

‘Oh,’ said Daisy doubtfully. ‘OK, then.’ And she allowed him to lead her gently out of the cottage into the scented evening air.

The restaurant Alexis had chosen was relatively new in Linningford. It was bright and bustly, with a pale polished wooden floor, mirrors on the walls, huge ferny plants between the tables and splashy water-colours on the walls. Daisy looked around with a delighted smile.

‘I like this place!’ she exclaimed, as they sat down. ‘It’s so pretty!’

A waiter came over and presented two enormous menus with a flourish.

‘Mademoiselle; monsieur,’ he murmured in deferential tones. Daisy beamed at Alexis, who gave the waiter a sharp look. Was the fellow insinuating anything? But
the waiter looked blandly back at Alexis and murmured something about an aperitif. Alexis looked at Daisy’s glowing face.

‘Two glasses of champagne,’ he said quietly to the waiter. Then, ‘No, make that a bottle.’

When he had gone, they looked at each other. Daisy carefully unfolded her napkin and lay it across her lap. Alexis glanced around the restaurant, as though in search of a topic of conversation, but it was Daisy who spoke first.

‘I saw Mrs Kember yesterday,’ she said, ‘driving along. She didn’t see me,’ she added humbly. ‘I mean, I just saw her through her car window. But I thought … poor them.’ Her hands fluttered sympathetically.

‘Yes, poor old them,’ said Alexis, unable to keep a hostile note out of his voice. Daisy stared at him.

‘What … why …’

‘Oh … I’m sorry,’ said Alexis, ‘I do feel for them. But it’s just—’ Daisy stared at him, eyes wide. He sighed. ‘I don’t suppose it’s any great secret.’ He looked at her. ‘The Kembers are planning to sue Hugh and Ursula on behalf of Katie.’

‘Sue them?’ Daisy looked at him, aghast. ‘What, because it was their swimming-pool?’

‘Yes,’ said Alexis, ‘and because Louise’s lawyer friend has convinced them, no doubt, that they can get lots of money out of Hugh and Ursula.’

‘And can … can they?’ Alexis shrugged.

‘Good question. Possibly, yes.’

‘But …’ Daisy hesitated. ‘I expect I’m very ignorant,’ she said cautiously. Alexis grinned encouragingly.

‘I shouldn’t think you are,’ he said.

‘But … don’t you have to do something wrong to be sued? I mean, they didn’t do anything wrong, did they?’ Alexis shrugged.

‘Define “wrong”. Is it wrong to invite people to swim
in your pool without providing a life guard?’ Daisy stared at him.

‘But that’s silly,’ she said. ‘If it’s someone’s
house
…’ Alexis shrugged again.

‘If you invite people to your house, you have a duty towards them.’ He sighed. ‘That’s the law.’

There was a pause. Daisy gazed at Alexis, a bewildered look on her face.

‘It’s really difficult,’ she said. ‘It was so awful, the accident, and I feel really sorry for the little girl, and it … it would be really good if she could get some money.’ She stopped. ‘But going to court seems so horrible. And I thought they were friends.’

‘They were,’ said Alexis, almost to himself. ‘Not for much longer.’ He glanced at Daisy. She was staring sombrely down at the tablecloth. ‘What are we talking about!’ he exclaimed. ‘Let’s not think about such depressing things.’ He looked up and his expression changed. ‘Look, just in time!’

The waiter had arrived with the champagne. As he popped it open, a cautious smile reappeared on Daisy’s face. She looked at Alexis and blushed.

‘Champagne,’ she said, looking at her bubbling glass. ‘Gosh—’

‘You don’t have to have it if you don’t want it,’ said Alexis seriously. ‘I should have asked you first. But don’t worry, we can order something else. Waiter …’

Daisy gasped.

‘No, I didn’t mean … honestly …’ She broke off as she saw Alexis’s face.

‘You’re teasing me,’ she said in surprise.

‘Yes,’ said Alexis. ‘Do you mind?’

‘No,’ said Daisy slowly. She looked at Alexis, at his brown face and his clever eyes and his crinkly smile, and she smiled back. ‘No, I don’t … I don’t mind at all.’

*

Later on, when they had finished eating, Alexis slid his palm across the table and picked up Daisy’s hand.

‘Look at those pianist’s fingers,’ he said admiringly. ‘I bet you’ve got more muscle in those than I’ve got in …’

‘Your little finger,’ suggested Daisy, whose cheeks had become rather pink from the champagne. ‘Oh no. That doesn’t work.’ She looked disparagingly at the hand still on the table. ‘The trouble with playing the piano’, she said, ‘is you never get to have long nails. Mine are horrible,
and
I bite them.’