Wish You Were Here (18 page)

‘Oh, you mean Mimi?'

‘I imagine I do.'

He shrugged. ‘What was a boy to do? You'd snared your medic by then.'

‘Ah, yes, of course. The stereotypical bourgeois girl on the hunt for a nice professional man. Thank God I found one.'

‘You always did like clever coves.'

‘Didn't I just?'

‘Did you love him?'

‘Yes, of course I did. Do!'

‘As much as me?'

Merest pause. ‘Of course. More than you,' I retorted, to make up for that pause.

‘
More
than me,' he repeated incredulously, eyes widening in mock-surprise. ‘And yet we were engaged to be married.'

‘This is childish, Max. I wouldn't be so rude as to ask if you loved Mimi.'

‘But you'd still like to know. I did, actually. Mimi was a slow burn. She crept up on me. And was very sweet. She helped me get over you.'

‘Which is weird, really, when you think that she instigated our split.'

Max waved a disdainful hand. ‘That wasn't her fault. She was pissed. You overreacted.' His eyes twinkled. ‘Because of your mo-th-er …' he sang, grinning.

‘Ah. Mr Amateur Psychologist speaks.'

‘Nothing amateur about it, I studied at the master's knee. Lesson one: do not repeat parental mistakes.' He wagged a stern finger. ‘Do not replicate a behavioural pattern.'

‘Shall we move on? Tell me more about Mimi.'

He shrugged. ‘What's to tell? Mimi and I got married and we were very happy. For a bit.'

‘Children?'

‘A boy, Mungo. He's with his mum at the moment.'

I wondered at an only child, but didn't ask. ‘And you're in the music business?' As soon as I'd said it, I wished I hadn't.

He blinked in delight. ‘You know I am. You overheard me telling JC about it the other night. Your mind was not remotely on Lizzie's new shoes.'

I flushed, and when he saw, he became kinder, which he was.

‘Yes, you're right. I put on shows, organize concerts. That type of thing.'

‘Celebs?'

‘Some.'

‘Like who?'

‘Robbie Williams?'

‘Close personal?'

‘ 'Fraid not. Purely a business relationship.'

‘So what went wrong?'

‘With Robbie?'

‘Obviously not with Robbie.'

He shrugged. ‘Nothing cataclysmic. We argued a lot. Mimi's quite … controlling. And I went quiet on her when she nagged, which only made it worse.'

‘About what?'

‘What did she nag about? Promotion, mostly. How I should move on and up in the world. She's pretty ambitious. I don't know, what d'you want me to say? I should never have married her? Or – I married her because she worked on me night and day and she's a good-looking bird and she can be very entertaining and you'd married someone else?'

‘Please don't tell me you married her to spite me.'

‘Don't flatter yourself. Why would I wreck my life for you?'

I stared at him. After a moment he gave me that grin again. More indolent than wolfish this time. He sank into his beer. It struck me he was quite lazy. Capable of taking the line of least resistance. Part of his charm, in a way.

‘What are you doing here, Max?'

He wiped some froth from his mouth. ‘Courting Sally. What does it look like?'

‘Old-fashioned word.'

‘Old-fashioned girl. OK, shagging Sally.'

‘Why?'

‘Oh, hello, back to you. You mean, am I here on your account?'

I held his eyes. Raised my eyebrows, undeterred. Suddenly, a blowtorch smile lit up his whole face.

‘Of course I am!'

I took a moment. Wrong-footed. ‘You are?'

‘Well, I didn't engineer it, if that's what you mean. But when Sally mentioned her brother was being lent a house in France courtesy of a grateful patient, and did I want to come, I didn't think, I couldn't possibly bump into Flora after all these years; I thought, great, why not? After all, my marriage had collapsed, I'd never really got over you, and I figured you might a) have the happiest marriage under the sun, in which case I'd go quietly, or b) be trapped in a monotonous, boring relationship and be going through the motions on account of the children, who are actually young women now, so pretty soon it'd just be you and the medic.'

He was laughing at me with his eyes. My mouth was dry, despite the rosé. ‘And what have you decided?'

He lifted his beer to his lips, still holding my gaze. ‘Jury's out, Flossie. Somewhere between the two, I'd have said when I arrived, but this last twenty-four hours …' He shook his head. ‘I'm not so sure.'

‘Well, you're wrong,' I said shortly. ‘There's absolutely nothing wrong with my marriage. We're extremely happy.'

‘Congratulations. No nineteen-year itch?'

‘Not even a tickle.'

‘I'm glad.'

I think we both knew we were stretching the truth: he certainly wasn't glad, but it was nice of him to say it without sarcasm, and I was exaggerating, but in only one respect. I had no itch with James, just with my life. With the relentless monotony of it – his word. The work which I increasingly disliked, the endless worry and bickering with the girls, the mortgage, the daily grind, the general keep-buggering-on-ness. That was the irritation. And sitting here, opposite an extremely attractive man, with whom I used to be in love and who was clearly still interested enough in me to want to join my family holiday, gazing deeply into my eyes on a balmy, Provençal evening under a vine groaning with swollen grapes, was really not going to help. Or else it really was, depending on how you looked at it. Temporarily, a little voice in my head said. Temporarily, surely, it's OK to relieve the irritation? Apply a little soothing balm? Forget everything for five minutes? Where's the harm?

‘You're still easy on the eye, Flossie.' He looked at me narrowly.

Max
didn't do conscious charm. I knew he meant it. But no middle-aged woman with cellulite and thread veins and the odd hair cropping up in unlikely places needs to be told that she's still attractive and hang on to her sanity. I felt mine slipping.

‘Rubbish,' I muttered, meaning,
Tell me more
.

‘You are. You've still got your own hair, your teeth.'

‘Actually, these come out at night.' I tapped a front one.

‘Ah. I thought I heard the rattle of porcelain in a glass next door.'

I thought of him lying awake in the adjoining bedroom, listening: not to that, but for anything else. I thought of me lying awake, listening, too.

‘You're not being very kind.'

‘To whom?'

‘To Sally.'

‘Sally knows the score. She knows I'm playing it for laughs. That I've come out of a long marriage. And I'm not serious. I was upfront about that.'

I believed him. ‘Still. She doesn't know the whole story.'

‘Oh, you're not the whole story, Floss, don't get ahead of yourself. I'm also here for the sybaritic free holiday. The wine, the
grande maison
, the Mediterranean sun – who'd turn that down?' He grinned.

‘Not me,' I agreed.

‘Think of yourself as an added bonus. The bonus ball. D'you want to do the chateau?'

‘Not really. Do you?'

‘No. D'you want another drink?'

‘Yes, please.'

Back
at the ranch, when we rocked up an hour or so later, drinks were in full swing on the terrace, and supper was being laid out. I slipped upstairs whilst Max strolled off to field any questions and wax lyrical about the chateau. Our first lie, I thought with horror, but also with a frisson of excitement as I looked at my flushed cheeks in the bathroom mirror, my bright eyes. I crept across to the window and listened to the chat and laughter below. Max was handling it beautifully; nobody was in the least curious or suspicious, it seemed. I had a quick shower, recovered my maxi dress from the floor of Tara's bedroom opposite, where, having tried it on, she'd discarded it, and went down. If I'd felt in control, though, I'd reckoned without my elder daughter's antennae. She saw me approach through the French windows and beetled across the terrace like a heat-seeking missile to intercept me.

‘What was
that
like?' she whispered, as I helped myself to a drink from the tray held by Thérèse, who, incidentally, still wasn't smiling.

‘What was what like, darling?'

‘Don't be coy. A date with your ex.'

‘Don't be silly. We went to look around a chateau. No one else wanted to.'

‘Did you ask Dad?'

‘Couldn't find him,' I lied. Second one.

‘Well, come on. Give.'

‘Fine.' Exhilarating. Unbelievably exciting. ‘Nice to touch base again.'

‘Is he still hot for you?'

‘Don't be ridiculous, Amelia.'

‘Did you talk about old times?'

‘A
bit.'

‘What, like, how he broke your heart?'

‘He didn't. I broke his. Where's Daddy?'

‘Gone to the chateau with Camille and Sally.'

‘Oh, right.' I felt myself flush. It broke out all over me. I gripped the stem of my glass. Met Max's eye across the terrace, which told me he, too, knew. Also that he'd deal with it.

‘Didn't you see them there?'

‘No, but it's a big place. Must have missed them.'

At that moment, tyres crunched on the gravel at the front of the house: car doors slammed and voices carried. Not long to think about how to handle this. In an instant, they were upon us, Sally most of all.

‘Max, darling! We looked for you and couldn't see you. Rachel said you'd gone to Callian.'

‘Yes, we did, but we couldn't park so we abandoned it. Just drove round it.'

‘I thought you said it was a big place?' Amelia asked me.

‘Callian? It is. Well, intricate, anyway. Lots of winding streets.'

‘Oh. Right.'

She looked confused and I wondered why I couldn't just say, Look, we hadn't seen each other for almost twenty years, we needed a drink to catch up. What was wrong with that? Nothing. Unless there was something wrong with me. Which there wasn't. And I'd say it to James, later, in bed, I determined. No secrets.

James, though, didn't seem to have his mind on where his wife had been, or the spirit of full marital disclosure at all: he was too busy making sure Camille had a drink, that
she wasn't short of olives or tapenade and didn't need her wrap. His own colour was pretty high, too, I thought: his eyes shining. Perhaps this was what our marriage needed – what any lengthy marriage needed – a little light flirtation? To oil the wheels, make us feel young and invigorated and sprightly again, so that when we came together, sparks flew? It was surely how the French operated, I thought, seeing Michel back to his old ways as he sidled up to Tara and asked if she was sure she wouldn't like
un petit feuilleté aux anchois
? Rory bridled when she giggled. Perhaps it was the climate? I knew, though, that there was no danger in James's flirtation: knew instinctively Camille wasn't serious, even if he was. In fact, I wondered what her game was. And when would the main event, her current beau – oh yes, Lizzie had done some digging and discovered she definitely had a love interest – appear? Would she then depart with him, I wondered, watching her circulate around the terrace, looking stunning in a long pink skirt and silky white camisole: finally exit stage left and leave us in peace?

She floated across the terrace towards me with a wide, welcoming smile. Why was I such a cow?

‘Did you have a lovely time? Did you like my Callian?'

‘Loved it,' I enthused, trying to make up for my treacherous personality. ‘It's beautiful, Camille, you're so lucky to have a gem like that on your doorstep.'

‘But you didn't make the chateau, I hear. Too busy?' She waggled her eyebrows knowingly at me.

I laughed. Fell right into the Girls Together conspiratorial trap. ‘Oh, you know. It was nice to have a chat. Max and I haven't seen each other for years.' Why was everyone so interested?

‘Ah,
oui
? I didn't know you were old friends? Ah,
cherie
– have you met Flora?' This to the quiet child who'd crept up on us stealthily, like a shadow.

‘Only very briefly.' I smiled and held out my hand. ‘
Bonsoir
, Agathe.'

She took it and smiled shyly. Then turned to her mother. ‘
Maman
– couldn't you just for once come back and eat with us tonight? Not these complete randomers?' She wasn't to know, of course, that I spoke fluent French. Camille did, though.

‘Agathe!
Ne soyez pas impoli!
' she chided. ‘But yes, tonight, I will.'

And so she did, turning away, which was a relief. And what with her absence, and the time I'd had earlier with Max, I found myself feeling quite buoyant and being altogether delightful at supper: really rather funny and light-hearted for me. A person I remembered. I saw James smiling at me as I recounted some tale the girls loved to hear and prompted me to tell, about how I'd once lost a shoe outside Harrods, found it again in the crowd with my foot, only to discover, when I got on the bus, that I'd got odd shoes on, one of which didn't belong to me. ‘It
has
to be one of Mum's fibs,' insisted Amelia, as she always did. ‘No, no, quite true,' I declared, as everyone roared.

Oh yes, I thought, lifting my glass to my lips: she's still there, that person, the one you all remember. Just very hard to find.

I found myself saying yes to everything that night. Could Tara have a few euros to buy a dress she'd seen in the market? Yes. Could Lizzie borrow my new sarong tomorrow; she'd spilled wine on hers? Yes. Could my
mother take our car to the lake for a boat trip with Jean-Claude? Yes. I even said yes to James that night. Quietly, though. Indeed, we made almost no sound at all.

The following morning, as usual, dawned bright and clear. Aside from Drummond and Rachel, who'd gone sightseeing, most people decided on a lazy day by the pool, and that suited me fine. I wanted to lie still, get a tan, pretend to be asleep and reflect on yesterday's conversation. Hug it to myself. Tell myself it was lovely to be admired again after all these years and that was that. It was a bit of a strain keeping my knees bent at all times in case Max should appear, but he didn't, taking the Reading Under the Walnut Tree option, along with James, who was not a sun worshipper. It occurred to me that not many men would be happy to sit with their wife's ex-boyfriend and discuss the new biography of Napoleon they both happened to be reading, but James was not many men. He was rather exceptional. Rather lovely, I told myself sternly, lest I should compare him in terms of physical attributes, in which department he might be found wanting, but which were not important.

Sally, however, had other ideas regarding my solitude and, unable to amuse herself for five minutes on her own, or concentrate on a book, lay down on the empty sunbed beside me. I groaned inwardly but smiled, tipping up my hat, which covered my face, for a brief second, before replacing it, hoping she'd get the hint.

‘Flora, can I talk to you for a moment?'

‘Of course.'

‘I mean, girl to girl?'

Oh God. What had he said? I removed my hat and
looked at her. Her face was a bit drawn: worried. I felt my mouth dry.

‘What's wrong?'

‘Did you know that Max and Camille had had a thing?'

I stared at her. Sat up and turned to face her properly.

‘
What?
They don't even know each other.'

‘Yes, they do. Max told me last night. I think that's why we're all here.'

I stared at her for a long moment. ‘Sally, I have no idea what you're talking about. Max and
I
had a thing –'

‘Oh, yes, years ago, old history.' She waved a dismissive hand. ‘I know about that, but this was six months or so ago, after his marriage had finished. She was the girl before me.'

‘I don't believe it.'

‘Why would he lie?'

‘But – but they don't even look like they know each other, let alone had an affair.' My mind span.

‘Because it was kept so quiet. She didn't want yet another relationship to get in the papers. Her ex-husband is threatening to fight for custody of the child. She didn't want to jeopardize anything.'

I put my fingers to my temples, trying to make sense of this. From the other side of the pool, Tara and Rory looked up, eyes trained on the intense whispers. I lowered my voice.

‘How did they meet?'

‘Through the opera. Max produced one of the shows she was in. It was in Rome, in St Mark's Square. Lots of famous classical names, plus some modern ones – Katherine Jenkins, Paul McCartney, the Opera Babes – it was huge. Televised on enormous screens in the parks. You know the sort of thing.'

‘Yes.'
I might even have watched it.

‘She fell for him, and they had a fling.'

‘Who broke it off?'

‘He did.'

‘Why?'

He said she was too intense and too spoilt. Wanted everything to revolve around her. And, of course, by that time, towards the end, he'd met me.'

‘Right.'

‘We weren't actually going out, but we were seeing each other. Also …' she hesitated. ‘He's never quite got over an old girlfriend. He told me that at the time.'

I stared at her. Sat very still.

‘Well, not you, obviously, Flora.' She laughed.