The Decision (53 page)

‘She’s with Nanny. Playing snap, last time I looked.’

‘Eliza, the old bat’s completely immobile. Anything could have happened. I’d better go and check on her.’

‘Yes, do. And don’t hurry back,’ said Eliza. Tears choked her suddenly; she looked at him as he moved off in the direction of the kitchen. He could be such a bastard; he seemed to have completely forgotten she’d buried her father today.

She moved out of the drawing room and out onto the terrace, lit a cigarette; then, feeling calmer, walked a hundred yards away from the house and looked back. It was a beautiful early autumn day; the golden sunshine, slightly misty now, lit the grey walls, smoke rose from the chimneys, people moved behind the windows, the hum of conversation reached her even at this distance. Briefly Summercourt was alive again, but not for long: once today was over it would fade back into its empty, silent state, with her mother alone in it, having lost the one great love of her life and faced with losing the other. It was all nearly unbearable.

A few weeks later, Charles rang Eliza. Could they meet?

‘Charles, I’d love to see you. Come over here if you like. Emmie’s at playschool now, thank God, and the mornings are wonderfully peaceful.’

‘I’d like that. What about Matt?’

‘Matt’s never here,’ said Eliza briefly.

‘The marriage is over,’ he said, sitting down and sighing heavily. ‘Juliet’s divorcing me.’

‘What?’

If he had told her Juliet was running away with Mick Jagger she couldn’t have been more astonished.

‘Yes. She’s got someone else. Rich bugger, South African, banker. She married me largely for my non-existent money, it seems. Oh, Eliza, I feel such a fool. We’ve had awful rows, all about money—’

‘But – I don’t understand. What does she want?’

‘A small fortune. Which she was mistaken in thinking she’d found with me. Summercourt, family, the Stock Exchange job – it all added up to huge mistake on her part. And I – I fell for it.’

‘Charles – oh, God, I’m so so sorry. How dreadful for you.’

‘The worst thing is I really did care about her. She made me feel good about myself. Stronger, more successful. I’m a bit of a disaster, really, Eliza. I’m a lousy businessman, never really up to standard. If anyone should make money, it’s a stockbroker. And I lost thousands. I couldn’t handle my own wife, stop her spending a ton of money we hadn’t got, just stuck my head in the sand and hoped it would be all right. I owe her old man thousands. He had to bail me out twice. I gambled money on the Stock Exchange, money I didn’t have, lost the lot; and then – well, I was so bloody miserable I started going to the races with clients, I’ve always loved doing that, and I started risking money with the bookies. Just to cheer myself up, really, and I did quite well sometimes. But mostly I didn’t. In the end we’d have lost the house if Geoffrey hadn’t stepped in again. But it was very much a loan and I’ve got to pay him back.’

‘Even though his daughter’s leaving you for someone else?’

‘Yes, he says she’s only going because I’ve demoralised and humiliated her. Which is true to an extent. I didn’t even manage to make her pregnant. She wanted that so much.’

‘Oh, Charles. I’m so so sorry. You should have asked Matt.’

‘I couldn’t have. At least Judd knew I was a disaster. Matt respects me, God knows why. I think so anyway.’

‘Yes, he does,’ said Eliza.

‘Anyway, final straw, I lost my job, told I wasn’t pulling my weight. So as of the end of this month, I’m unemployed.’

‘But – but—’ Her mind was whirling. ‘Why is Juliet divorcing you for a start? Why not the other way round?’

‘Her old man insists on it, says I’ve got to do the decent thing, provide grounds. Oh, I don’t care too much about that, in fact I might emerge with my dignity intact. Not a cuckold at least. And then she won’t ask for anything in the way of a settlement. And her father will pick up the bill for the court costs. That was the deal. I couldn’t afford to argue.’

‘Charles, that’s shocking. So immoral.’

He sighed. ‘I know. But – I just want it to be over. Oh, Eliza—’ His voice broke suddenly and tears filled his eyes. ‘I loved her so much, you know, I really did. That’s the worst thing, to think she didn’t love me.’

Eliza sat there, her arms round him, unable to comfort him. Finally she said, ‘What are you going to do about – about your job?’

‘Oh, I’ve got an idea about that,’ he said and he looked slightly more cheerful. ‘I’m going to try teaching. I’ve got a good degree and I can get a job in a prep school, quite easily it seems, teaching history. I’m pretty sure I’d like it. I won’t earn much, though; and what with paying old Judd back, I really won’t have a bean. Certainly can’t help with Summercourt. Matt’s been great, hasn’t he?’

‘Yes, he has,’ Eliza agreed soberly. She still felt stunned. Charles her big wonderful brother, turned into a penniless failure. It just didn’t bear thinking about. What on earth would Matt say?

Matt was characteristically brutal. ‘Not surprised to be honest,’ he said, ‘I like old Charles, but he’s his own worst enemy. Too much of a gentleman, that’s his problem. No wife of mine would spend money she hadn’t got.’

‘Really?’ said Eliza.

Her tone was wasted on Matt. ‘And he should never have let old Judd take things over—’

‘Matt, that’s so unfair. What else could he do?’

‘Sell that poxy flat for a start, tell Juliet she couldn’t have her bloody house, rent somewhere modest and the bank would have met him more than halfway. Well, I’m glad about this teaching lark, I tell you that.’

‘Why?’

‘I thought you were going to say he was going to ask me for a job. Then what would I have done?’

‘Given him one,’ said Eliza, ‘I very much hope.’

‘Yeah, I would. But not the sort he’d have wanted. I don’t carry dead wood, Eliza, and Charles would have been no use to me.’

‘You are so vile, you know that?’ said Eliza.

But something deep in her heart forced her to admit that he was to some extent right.

It was definitely him. No doubt about it. Sitting there, looking quite cheerful, smiling at the crowd of people in front of him: signing what she presumed was his name, on the books being handed to him.

She would normally never have gone into Hatchards, that smartest and most exclusive of bookshops. Grabbing a paperback on her way through the airport was how she obtained most of her reading matter; but she had seen a new Margaret Drabble novel she hadn’t read in the window, and couldn’t resist getting it as soon as possible.

She had found that straight away and then thought she might get a birthday present for Diana and was wandering about the shop when someone said, ‘Are you looking for the signing?’

She’d said not really and then, in case the signer was someone famous, thought she’d just find out and – well, best get out quickly, Scarlett, before he sees you.

But it was too late; he had seen her and his grey eyes widened with alarm. Which annoyed her. What did he think she was going to do, make a scene, try and claim friendship or something? Arrogant pig, he was.

She was about to turn away and leave the shop, when something very peculiar happened. She could hardly believe it and had to blink and then look again to make sure she hadn’t imagined it. But – no: no doubt about it, he was smiling at her. It was certainly not a welcoming grin and he wasn’t waving, or inviting her over, but it was definitely a smile just the same. And a very nice one. Almost conspiratorial. And his eyes behind the wire-framed spectacles were unmistakably friendly.

She smiled carefully back, and one of the shop assistants who was managing the queue noticed that they were smiling at one another and came over.

‘Did you want to get a book?’ she said, indicating a pile of very large and expensive-looking volumes. ‘They’re over there. It’s Mr Frost’s companion volume to
My Favourite Train Journeys
.
My Favourite Island Journeys
.

Scarlett was about to say that she didn’t want a book, when it occurred to her that he might have included Trisos among his favourites.

‘I’ll just have a look,’ she said, ‘thank you.’

‘That’s all right. And then of course, if you buy it, Mr Frost will sign it for you.’

The book was very large, and very glossy, with colour photographs every few pages; Scarlett picked it up and started rather cautiously looking at the index, which was difficult as it was so large and heavy. She glanced over her shoulder rather guiltily. Mark Frost had stopped smiling and was watching her quite closely. She quickly put the book down and saw to her horror that the assistant was coming back.

‘I don’t think I want it, thank you,’ she said, ‘it’s not for me.’

‘Oh right. But I’ve just got a message for you from Mr Frost. He said to tell you Trisos was on page seventy-two.’

‘Oh. Oh, thank you.’ She felt herself blushing. Damn. Now she’d have to look at it again, or it would seem very rude.

She opened the book and there it was. A picture of Trisos, of a trio of white houses, with the sun setting behind them, and a seagull trailing across the sky. She could almost hear it, with its wild, raw cry, feel the heat, smell the herbs. It was a glorious photograph; she smiled and turned to Mark Frost in a moment of pure unselfconscious delight. He smiled again.

‘I think,’ she said to the assistant, ‘I think that I will get one after all. Thank you.’

‘Good. It’s four pounds nineteen and eleven. I’ll take it over to the desk for you. Would you like to pay by cash or cheque?’

‘Oh, cheque,’ said Scarlett firmly. Nearly five pounds. For a book. She must be mad.

She joined the queue feeling a bit silly; there were only three people in front of her.

‘Hello,’ he said, when she finally reached the table, taking it from her.

‘Hello. It’s – it’s a very nice book.’

‘Thank you. Right now – no, I know what to write—’

He scribbled away, big sloping letters in thick black ink, handed it to her.

‘There. Hope that’s all right.’

‘I’m sure it will be. Yes, well, thank you.’

‘Thank you for buying it. Maybe we’ll meet there again one day. On Trisos, I mean.’

‘Maybe. Yes.’

She left the shop, the book in a large brown paper bag. She was dying to see what he’d written but she couldn’t stop in the street to look, it was too heavy and anyway, it was raining. She went into Lyons Corner House at Piccadilly Circus, sat down at one of the tables and opened the book. And smiled with pleasure.

‘For Miss Scarlett, from Mark Frost, a neighbour.’

Miss Scarlett. That was what Demetrios and Larissa called her. How nice that he’d remembered. He really was quite – quite charming, in a quiet sort of way. She felt touched, sat there staring at it, at the black ink on the white paper, at the sprawling writing, spelling her name. And then it happened.

One of the waitresses collided with another, both of them carrying cups of coffee: both cups went over the book. The precious five-pound book.

‘Oh, madam! Oh, I am so sorry. Oh, how dreadful, how careless of me. Oh, dear.’

One of them dabbed helplessly at the brown-stained paper, smudging the writing into illegibility; the other tried to wipe the table and the coffee dripped into Scarlett’s new Fenwick’s handbag. She suddenly felt furious.

‘Look, just leave it, would you? You’re making it worse. Leave it alone.’

‘What is this, Doreen?’ It was the manager, pompous, fat, red-faced.

‘I spilt some coffee, Mr Douglas, on this lady’s book.’

‘Oh, I do apologise, madam. Very unfortunate. May we offer you a free coffee by way of recompense?’

‘Coffee?’ said Scarlett, losing her temper completely. ‘You call coffee recompense for a five-pound book. Don’t be ridiculous. I’ve only just bought it—’

‘Yes, I do see. Very annoying for you.’

‘Annoying! It’s much worse than annoying. I actually think you should buy me another copy.’

‘Oh, I’m sorry, madam, I’m afraid that’s not possible Maybe a contribution – please wait.’

He went away, was gone for ages, came back smiling. ‘I’ve just spoken to our regional manager and he says if you’d like to write a letter explaining what happened, he’ll consider it and perhaps send you a book token for some of the amount. I’m afraid that’s the best I can do.’

‘It’s a very poor best,’ said Scarlett, glaring at him.

‘Perhaps, madam,’ he said, his face growing more hostile, ‘it was a little unwise to open such a valuable book at such a busy time. We do stress that customers should take care of their possessions while they’re here.’

‘Oh, never mind,’ said Scarlett, ‘I’ll just leave. And not return in a hurry, I can tell you that.’

‘That is your prerogative, of course, madam.’

The entire café was now silent, everyone’s eyes fixed on her. She picked up her ruined book and left.

Outside she found herself near to tears. Her lovely book with its lovely inscription – ruined. To make matters worse, it was raining much harder and the brown paper bag was getting soggy too and the cover wet.