The Debutante (24 page)

He stared at them, his vision blurring; the words ‘Beloved Wife’ on the tombstone melting together, separating again when he blinked.

It was meant to be a private moment. A private marriage.

He considered crushing them with his foot; grinding the flowers flat underneath his heel.

Then he spotted the card, dangling from a bit of rough-hewn twine wrapped around the base of the bouquet, fluttering like a butterfly.

He didn’t want to look at it.

But he did anyway, stooping down, turning it over.

It was as if a heavy foot had landed a blow to his ribs, driving all the air from his lungs, winding him. The card
slipped through his fingers, dancing in the light morning breeze.

As he rose again, he had the bizarre feeling of leaving his body, of his feet being on the soft, grassy earth but his real self flying out, hovering just above. And from this vantage point, he had a clear view of the expression on his own face; the hollow, defeated look in his eyes, the slack jaw; once handsome features suddenly aged by bitterness and confusion.

Turning away, he somehow made his way back along the gravel path that led to the long main road, past the parade of shops and eventually the train station.

But the word on the card stabbed, slipping like a knife underneath the sealed folds of his heart.

‘Forever’ it said.

12
Bird Cage Walk
London

2 September
1936

My darling,
I so enjoyed our time together—it is wonderful to see you and far too rare an occurrence nowadays. I shall be up all night thinking about the thrilling dance scenes from Swing Time and the way we shrieked and clapped with delight when Fred Astaire sang ‘The Way You Look Tonight’ — I think everyone in the cinema was laughing at us! It was so like old times, my love. I do wish you came to London more often!

I can see that you’re very hopeful now that you’ve been talking so much with Nancy. She’s very compelling at times and her views are so passionate. I’ve often been transfixed by her myself. But I must say I’m concerned that you are putting too much store in her ideas. Firstly, you know the Holy will positively collapse if she gets wind of you and this Christian Science Movement. She will have the entire Roman Catholic establishment camped upon your doorstep in a flash. And secondly, I don’t like the fact that it sounds as if you’re blaming yourself for your ill luck. It can’t all be down to your own thinking and praying—Lord knows, no one prays more than you do or more earnestly. And you have been a good wife, even if God hasn’t blessed you with children. To my knowledge, Malcolm has never complained nor has reason to. (He would have me to contend with if he did!) I cannot bear it that you think there’s something defective in you, my love. For I’m certain you’re just as God would have you be. I know my opinion matters very little in these concerns; I’m neither a pillar of virtue nor faith. But as one who loves you dearly I urge you to consider Nancy’s convictions in a larger light—as fancies rather than certitudes. She is American, after all, and so much more susceptible to these trends.

When can I see you again? Perhaps we could go to the theatre next time? Oh, I do miss you so!

Yours always,

B xxx

As Cate approached la Upper Wimpole Street, she saw Jack’s Triumph. And a wave of unexpected adolescent excitement washed over her as she turned the key in the lock. It was the first time she would see him since their night together on Primrose Hill. And yet, despite their difficult conversation, suddenly things seemed more manageable, better. Rachel would cook something, they would eat and relax around the dining-room table … She was looking forward to seeing him; and the pleasure of being near him again.

Flinging her bag down in the hallway she walked through to the kitchen. Sure enough, Rachel was standing at the worktop, chopping some vegetables and Jack was standing at the far end of the narrow room, hands in pockets, looking out of the window. They turned as she walked in.

‘Hello,’ she smiled. ‘This is a nice surprise. Are you staying for dinner?’ She was aware of sounding slightly forced, like a 1950s hostess in a film.

‘I’m trying to convince him. Look.’ Rachel nodded to the table. ‘He’s finished the catalogue proofs in record time!’

Cate picked up the thick sheaf of paper from the table.

‘It looks marvellous, doesn’t it?’ Rachel beamed.

‘Yes.’ Cate leafed through the pages of photographs; it was odd to see it all laid out so dispassionately. She’d imagined it would take longer. ‘Well done.’

‘Thank you.’ Jack had turned round again, staring out onto the street below. He seemed far away and unapproachable.

She looked to Rachel who gave her a reassuring smile.

‘What are you making?’ she asked, giving her a hug.

‘Risotto. Listen, I’m going to pop out to the shops. I need to get a few things. You two can amuse yourselves, can’t you?’ She wiped her hands on the front of her apron and then untied it from round her waist, tossing it over the back of a chair. ‘There’s some wine in the fridge. I’m going to buy some strawberries, cream and meringue, and then I can whip us up a pavlova. I won’t be long.’

‘No problem.’ Cate looked over at Jack.

But his back was still resolutely turned to her.

Rachel took her bag and keys from the hallway and headed off down the stairs. The door closed.

Cate sat down at the kitchen table.

‘Are you well?’ He spoke without turning round.

Cate picked up the sugar spoon. Began twirling it on one end. ‘Fine. And you?’

‘Fine.’

‘Do you want something to drink?’ she asked.

‘No, thanks.’

‘How long have you been here?’

‘Not long.’

She nodded to herself. The spoon fell over onto the wooden table with a clang.

He turned.

‘Am I disturbing you?’

‘No. I’m sorry. I’m not… I’m just tired, that’s all. So, how are you?’

‘Fine. We already did this bit.’

‘Yeah. Well.’ He tried to concentrate, then seemed to give up, rubbing his eyes. ‘The other night, on the hill, why did you tell me?’ he asked suddenly.

‘I don’t know.’ His bluntness felt accusatory. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘Are you in trouble?’

‘Why? Are you offering to rescue me?’

‘No, of course not. I just meant, if you need help, I mean, if there’s something I could do…’

‘No. It’s all done, anyway.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘When it began, I didn’t know. And when I knew, I mean, when I really knew …’ She stopped.

‘You left,’ he concluded.

‘Yes.’

‘So—’ his eyes searched her face—‘it’s over now?’

She twirled the spoon around. ‘Yes. Yes, I suppose it is.’

‘Well, it is, isn’t it? You didn’t know he was married and when you did, you left. And now it’s over, right?’

‘You want it all neatly tied up in a box. First this happened and then that—’

‘Facts. They’re called facts.’

She looked up. ‘Is your life a collection of facts, Jack? Bullet points on a timeline of upward achievement?’

He sighed, running his fingers through his hair in frustration. It was all going wrong.

‘You want to like me, don’t you?’ she continued. ‘Only it’s really proving a challenge.’

‘I do like you. That’s the problem. I’m sorry if I gave you the impression otherwise.’ He picked up the proofs from the table. ‘I’m not very good company tonight. I’ll see myself out.’

He made his way to the door; she heard it shut behind him.

Suddenly her eyes stung with tears. She wiped them away with her fist, resenting them; resenting him. No matter what she did, he was determined to find fault with her.

A few minutes later, Rachel walked in, putting the groceries down on the table.

‘Jack left,’ Cate said flatly, helping her to unpack. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘Yes, I saw him.’ Rachel retied her apron round her waist. ‘He’s going to take some time off, go away for a few weeks.’

‘A few weeks?’ She felt personally affronted. ‘Why?’

Rachel, on the other hand, seemed completely unperturbed. ‘He needs some time off. It will do him the world of good.’

‘Well, he might have said something sooner, don’t you think?’ She flopped into one of the old wooden chairs, jabbing her finger into the sugar bowl and sucking the sweet granules off.

Rachel looked across at her. ‘Did you have a fight?’

‘A fight? Why would we fight?’

‘I don’t know,’ Rachel shrugged, pouring a bit more
chicken stock into the risotto and giving it a stir. ‘All the usual reasons, I suppose.’

‘And what are they?’

Rachel ignored her question. ‘What you have to understand is it’s a difficult time of year for him, darling. It’s the anniversary of his wife’s death—two years ago … today.’

‘Oh.’ Cate blinked, feeling as if someone had just slapped her across the face. ‘I had no idea.’

‘She was killed in a head-on collision. Both drivers died instantly.’

‘How awful!’

‘But that wasn’t all.’ Rachel ran a bunch of flat-leaf parsley under the tap before chopping it roughly and stirring it in. ‘He used to confide in Paul quite a bit. Seems the accident happened on a secluded stretch of road, in the early hours of the morning. Her car was headed in the wrong direction. Not away from her sister’s, where she’d supposedly spent the night, but towards it.’ She paused. ‘It took him a while to piece it together. I think the sister covered up for her. Said she’d gone to the shops. But of course the shops out there aren’t open 24/7. And her overnight bag was still on the back seat.’

Cate’s blood ran cold. ‘You mean, she was having an affair?’

Rachel nodded. ‘I don’t think he wanted to believe it. And the family didn’t help; they stuck by the sister’s story, even when it became clear that it couldn’t possibly be true.’

Cate thought about all Jack’s questions; his need to know that she’d ended her affair as soon as she’d known her lover was married. ‘Oh God!’ She ran her hand wearily across her eyes. ‘What an appalling way to find out!’

‘It’s a difficult thing to get over.’ Rachel lifted the heavy iron pan off the heat. ‘The police had the sister identify the body before Jack arrived. But even when they gave him her effects afterwards, he said there were things, clothes in her bag he didn’t recognise, that he’d never seen before. It was as if it was a bag belonging to a completely different woman.’

‘A double life.’

‘Yes.’ Rachel’s face clouded. ‘Infidelity is very much a Jekyll and Hyde existence.’

‘Did you know her?’

‘Of course.’

Cate hesitated, her stomach tightening in a knot. ‘What was she like?’

‘Smart, very intelligent. She was a researcher for a television company. Quite ambitious.’ Rachel wrinkled her nose, remembering. ‘I think in many ways she was very demanding. But she had a great deal of personal charm.’

‘And—’ The words stuck in Cate’s throat. She tried to sound light. ‘I mean, was she attractive?’

‘Oh yes! A very pretty girl. But then, Jack’s a good-looking man, don’t you think?’

‘Yes … yes, that’s true,’ Cate agreed. She hadn’t really thought of it before.

‘They made a handsome couple.’

‘Where’s he going to go?’

‘Probably back to Devon. Everything has to be checked before the auction. And it will give him some time away from London.’

‘It doesn’t sound like much of a holiday.’

‘I know,’ Rachel smiled. ‘But Jack’s not like that. And in a way, I understand. On the one hand you don’t want to be around people, and on the other, you don’t really want to be by yourself, doing nothing. It’s a time you just have to get through.’ Again, her face tensed and Cate thought of Paul—of how much she must still miss him. ‘Wash the salad leaves, will you, darling?’

Cate no longer had an appetite but she washed them anyway, turning the bright green leaves of watercress and spinach under the cool water of the tap, shaking them out into the colander.

‘What was her name?’

Rachel was busy slicing strawberries. ‘Sorry?’

‘Jack’s wife … what was her name?’

‘Oh … ah, Julia.’

Somehow this cut right through her.

Julia. It was an elegant name, with subtle, musical qualities.

Suddenly she was no longer a distant figure. She was here … walking around London, in the room with them now, sitting at the kitchen table, eavesdropping. More importantly, she filled Jack’s waking thoughts; haunted his
dreams. Julia was real, more real than she’d ever given her credit for. It was Cate who was the ghost, the one with no real substance or purpose in his life.

Moving mechanically, she took a wooden bowl from the shelf and began tearing the leaves.

Julia.

She was a very pretty girl. They made a handsome couple.

She was unfaithful.

No wonder Jack left.