What Women Want (29 page)

At her feet lay a manuscript demanding a response to its agent. It wouldn’t be read tonight, but having it there made her feel as if she might make a start. She thanked God she’d seen sense and finally taken notice of Ben’s insistence that their lives weren’t worth living without a flat-screen LCD TV. At last she’d put out the monolithic old set and replaced it with this streamlined dark-surround job that fitted neatly into the alcove by the chimney-breast. If there was anything guaranteed to clear her mind of the fact that she’d fallen out with the three women – if she included Amanda – who were closest to her, this was it. She leaned back and had her first mouthful as the strings took her soaring over to the White House and all that was good and bad about America.

But tonight the fate of a fact-finding congressional delegation to the Gaza Strip failed to grip her interest. Her mind kept wandering off to Suzanne, Mark, and what she had decided do next. As she was contemplating the alternative joys of episode 110 or the manuscript – no contest, really, but she felt better if she went through the motions – she was saved by the phone.

Mark had finished work late and was anxious to find out what had happened in France. After listening, he agreed that there was only one course of action open to her. Before she returned Kate’s calls or even attempted to speak to Ellen, Edinburgh beckoned. Mark offered to book himself a ticket so he could come with her.

‘But you don’t need to,’ she protested.

‘I want to. Moral support. I’ll book us into a swish hotel and take Friday off. How does that sound?’

‘Well, brilliant, actually. I’d really appreciate it if you were there.’

‘Then that’s where I’ll be. Leave it to me.’

Bea hung up and pressed the play button for episode 110. Mark was really quite intuitive. His company on the trip to Edinburgh was exactly what she wanted. As the strings swelled once again, she swiftly put the manuscript by the door ready for its journey upstairs – a sleeping partner who wouldn’t snore or take most of the bedclothes yet might entertain her – and settled back on the sofa. But not before she’d grabbed her bag and unearthed her pudding, a box of four Paul A. Young hand-made chocolates (not-so-secret vice number three).

In
The West Wing
, events were spiralling out of control in Gaza when Bea heard the front door slam and familiar footsteps dragging down the hall. She pressed the pause button as the door opened.

‘Hey, Mum. What’s up?’ Ben dropped his bag in the middle of the room and plonked himself down beside her. She just bent her knees in time. ‘Not
West Wing
again?’

‘You know you love it, really. You just need to keep up.’

‘If I did that, I’d be some saddo who stayed in with his mother most nights. Just because you’ve got a box-set habit doesn’t mean I have to have one too.’

‘True enough.’ She ruffled his hair. ‘Have you eaten? Hey!’ She slapped at his hand, which was inching towards the remaining chilli truffle and raspberry ganache. ‘Mine! Well, OK. You can have one of them, provided it’s the raspberry.’

He puffed out his cheeks at her. ‘’S all right, but I might see if there’s something in the fridge.’

He joined her for the remainder of the episode with a yoghurt and two cold sausages. They sat together, Bea catching him up with the plot as they went along. The smell of tobacco on his breath and smoke on his clothes reminded her of the failure of Colin’s man-to-man chat. But Bea didn’t mind. Just sitting with her boy, she felt contentment sweep over her. He wouldn’t be there for ever, she knew that, but when he was and they were getting on, there was nothing to beat that feeling, as strong now as it had been when he was born. At last, for the first time that day, her mind stopped whirring and she allowed herself to relax.

The night after the private view Oliver came round for what was a slightly awkward supper with a monosyllabic Emma and a garrulous Matt. He waited until the children had disappeared upstairs before suggesting they took their coffee to the sitting room where they could talk. To Ellen’s relief, the place was reasonably tidy. She put the tray on the blanket box she used as a coffee-table, then sat down beside him. Aware he was nervous about whatever he was going to say, she kept silent, waiting for him. After a few moments, he took a deep breath and began.

‘I didn’t feel ready to talk to anyone about this before but Bea’s interfering made me realise I’ve got to be completely honest with you. I’m worried there may be misunderstandings if I’m not.’ She felt him press a little harder on her arm while he paused, as if struggling to find the right words.

‘Honest, yes,’ she agreed. ‘But you don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to just because of what she’s done.’

‘I don’t know who she’s been talking to but I can only think she’s found out about what happened in France.’ He shifted position so she had to readjust her own. ‘You know that I lived with a woman there – Suzanne.’

Ellen concentrated as he began to detail the complexities of their relationship. However, she was soon lost among the intricacies and influences of Suzanne’s numerous interfering relations and friends. She caught up again when he was talking about how they had grown apart. He’d lowered his voice so she could only just hear him. ‘The first time she hit me with her mobile, I didn’t think it meant anything.’

Ellen was listening in astonishment. He must have heard the catch in her breath.

‘I know how stupid that must sound. But then she attacked me again. And again. Every time she apologised, crying and promising she’d never do it again. She didn’t know what had come over her. But she got worse. Once she even burned my arm with the iron. I tried so hard not to provoke her but I never knew what it was that I did to trigger her off. She couldn’t seem to help herself. I can’t tell you how ashamed and useless I felt, yet I tried so hard. What sort of man am I to prompt that sort of behaviour, then sit back and take it?’ His voice broke.

Ellen sat completely still. He hadn’t looked at her once while he spoke as if he couldn’t bear to see her inevitable disappointment in him. She reached across to hold his hand as he continued.

‘She had only just opened the gallery when we met but I worked hard for her, helping her build it up. In return, after a year, she gave me a half-share in it to show her gratitude. She really believed we were in it for the long haul. For a while we were a golden couple but nobody knew what was happening between us behind closed doors. I promised not to tell anyone, not even her family, and I kept my word. But the pressure built between us until we had a terrible fight, and in her rage, she said some appalling things to me. That was what gave me the courage to leave her there and then. I realised that if I didn’t she was going to destroy me. She was devastated, begging me to stay. I needed every ounce of my willpower not to. You’ve got to believe me.’

‘Of course I do.’ Having heard him out, Ellen could barely speak, but she wanted to reassure him of her support.

‘So I left. The only thing we had to sort out was the property because of course half the gallery was in my name. She insisted on buying it back. I would have given it to her gladly but I think she felt guilty about her behaviour and somehow this was a way of buying my silence. More than that, I think she was genuinely grateful for all I’d done to build the business. And I’d done a lot. So I agreed to accept well below the market value. That’s the money I’ve been existing on and it’s pretty much come to an end now. Thank God, you helped me by paying the rent.’ At last he looked at her directly. ‘There. Now you know the whole sorry tale. I didn’t want to tell you because I was frightened you’d think . . . well, that I was some kind of wimp, or something. And perhaps now you do.’

‘Of course I don’t.’ This was so far from what she might have expected, she wasn’t immediately sure what more to say. Instead, she just squeezed his hand. What courage it must have taken to tell her. Instead of diminishing himself in her eyes he’d erased any doubt in her mind about their relationship. He wasn’t less of a man for having endured what he had. If anything, she admired him more for his stoicism and the patience he’d shown towards Suzanne.

‘No wonder you didn’t want to talk about her,’ she said, understanding. ‘But you know what? I love you even more for telling me. We shouldn’t have secrets from one another if we’re going to live together.’ He started to say something but she carried on, encouraged by his obvious relief. ‘I’ve decided, if you still feel the same, that’s what I’d like. Why don’t you move in with us? Any time you want.’

He clearly hadn’t expected this. ‘Is this what you really want?’

When she nodded, he pulled her towards him. ‘Despite everything I’ve told you?’

‘It really is. What you’ve told me happened between you and Suzanne. I’m not her. I don’t see why it should make any difference to us.’ Resting her head on his chest, Ellen could feel the beating of his heart through his jumper.

‘And the children?’

‘The children will be fine. At least, Matt will be. We both know Em’s going to be harder to pull round.’ She heard herself echoing what she’d said weeks ago, knowing there was no reliable evidence that she was right. ‘But we’ll work on her together and, in the end, she’ll have to accept it.’ She wasn’t entirely convinced things would pan out that easily but she wanted to believe they would. And if she believed it, perhaps that was what would happen. As far as she was concerned, Oliver had vindicated himself. Bea’s accusations, whatever they were, were unfounded.

‘Well, I don’t want you to do anything that doesn’t feel completely right,’ he said.

She felt his hand on her head, tracing her hairline, down the side of her face to the back of her neck.

‘This feels completely right. Everything fell into place after I’d had supper with Jed and he told me he was looking for a place down here. I was thinking about everything and realised we could sublet the flat to him. I know strictly speaking it’s breaking the terms of the lease but who’s going to know? I’m pretty sure he’ll jump at it.’

‘Can he afford it?’

‘Of course he can. The paintings he’s sold already will cover six months’ rent and we’ve still got plenty of interest in the rest. I’m dying to see what he’ll do once he starts working down here.’

‘But the flat’s tiny. How’s he going to manage?’

‘Well, yes. There’s one more thing I haven’t told you.’ This was the bit that Ellen had been putting off mentioning. She looked up at him.

‘What?’ His hand was still on her head.

She waited for a second, then admitted, ‘I’m going to tell him he can use the studio.’

His face darkened. ‘But I got that for you.’

She felt his grip tighten on her hair till it hurt. She reached up to make him let go. Then, sitting up, she twisted round to face him. The blue vein had appeared in his temple again. She reached out to reassure him, but he inched away, his right fist repeatedly clenching and unclenching. ‘I know you did, and I will use it one day. But I’m so busy with the gallery and the kids that I just don’t have the time right now. This way Jed will be able to produce more paintings that we can sell at the gallery. And he’s going to pay rent.’

‘We?’

‘What?’ She watched his fist relax.

‘You said, “
We
can sell at the gallery.”’

‘Did I? I meant “I”.’

‘But that’s a brilliant idea. Why not “we”? I could come in with you. We’d be a great team. You’ve got the eye. I’ve got the organisational skills.’ His expression had been transformed with excitement and enthusiasm. He grasped her hand as if willing her to agree.

But she didn’t want to share the gallery with anyone, not even Oliver, with whom she was about to share her life. Perhaps she was being unfair, especially when he was having such difficulty on the work front, but she had made the gallery what it was and she didn’t want to compromise. He might not think she could run a business efficiently, she thought, slightly annoyed by his implication, but she had done well enough until now. ‘Steady on. You’re crushing me.’ She removed her hand from his grip and massaged her knuckles. Reluctant to break the change in mood, she hesitated before replying, wondering how to let him down gently. Living with him was one thing. Sharing her business was another.

‘Come on, Ellen,’ he broke in. ‘I could learn so much from you. Perhaps we could even extend to renting the floor above.’

He knew just which of her buttons to press. Taking the floor above the gallery had long been a dream of hers. For years, the same landlord had used the two small rooms for storage, accessing them through the back of the building. And for years, Ellen had imagined being able to open the front staircase and use the rooms herself, perhaps widening her stock to include some of the pottery and jewellery she’d seen on her travels. She steadied herself. ‘That’s a fantastic idea and perhaps, one day, we could. But not yet.’

His face fell.

‘Let’s take one step at a time. I’m not saying no,’ she added hurriedly. ‘Just not yet.’

‘But you do think it’s an idea?’

She couldn’t refuse the hope in his voice. ‘Of course I do. Let’s get you in here and the children sorted. Then, if you still haven’t found the right job, we’ll think again.’

‘I’ve got another idea.’

‘What?’

‘What if I were to help just on Saturdays? You’ve always said that’s the busiest day. And that way at least we could spend the whole weekend together. Or, when you decide that you trust me, you could spend more time with the kids while I cover for you.’

‘It’s not about trusting.’ But now he’d pressed another button. The guilt she had felt at not being around on Saturdays since Uncle Sidney’s death had weighed on her for a long time now. She had managed, thanks to her neighbours, to Bea or Kate, and to occasionally shutting when absolutely necessary or during the quiet winter periods, but it had never been ideal. If she agreed, she would be able to go to Matt’s football matches, spend more time with Emma and perhaps even ease her daughter into seeing that gaining Oliver was not the same as losing her mother. That final consideration decided her.

‘All right, we’ll give it a—’ She hadn’t finished the sentence when the breath was all but squeezed out of her by his hug.

‘You won’t regret it, I promise.’ His smile was wider than she’d ever seen it, his eyes brighter. ‘And then, if you think I’m any use . . .’

‘No promises.’ No thin end of the wedge. There would only ever be one person in control of her gallery and that was her. Not even Oliver would change that. She had always said she would never take on anyone in any capacity on any kind of a regular basis. But his delight made her feel as if she’d just given him the best present in the world, not to mention a sign of her commitment to him.

‘OK. I get it. But this calls for a celebration.’ He hugged her again, this time more gently, and then they kissed.