Your Roots Are Showing (21 page)

“I think I made a bit of a fool of myself,” she said quietly. She remembered trying to push the towel back at James and turning merrily to the fun- loving, red-eyed blonde chap, who showed signs of wanting to boost her up on his shoulder and do a victory lap around the pool.

James had thrown the towel over her shoulders again and almost frog-marched her into the changing room, like some recalcitrant child.

Ivana suddenly looked at a watch she kept pinned to her blouse. “Our time is up,” she announced. “I am sorry you will not be coming back. I feel we are making the progress.”

“I have to go back,” Lizzie told Tessa later that same day as they shuffled along the perimeter of the cornfield near Back Lane Cottage. “I don’t think she wants me back, but I’m going anyway.”

“Look, can you go just a little faster?” Tessa asked. “We’re not actually running right now. Barely even jogging. That’s better. Keep it up now. About Ivana — I know I sent you to her in the first place, but I thought you said she was useless.”

“Oh, she is,” puffed Lizzie. “But there’s something about that room of hers. Just sitting there in that stupid beanbag sort of makes me remember things. Hang on, stop a moment. Let me catch my breath.”

With an exasperated sigh, Tessa stopped. “What kind of things?”

“Oh, just things I did that James could’ve sort of — taken the wrong way,” Lizzie panted. “Like, there was this chap at somebody’s fortieth birthday party who got a bit touchy-feely while we were dancing. I mean, I didn’t encourage him at all, but I was too polite just to walk away. I think maybe James saw that. And there was this other guy who was learning to do head massages, and I — well, I let him try his technique on me in somebody’s summerhouse. James got a bit worked up because he couldn’t find me, and then when he did find me he didn’t seem to be that supportive of my letting his friend practice on me.”

“I’ve never had a head massage,” said Tessa, jogging on the spot. “Was it any good?”

Lizzie shook her head. “Actually, it gave me a bit of a headache. But anyway, it seems I also put on a — well, a synchronized swimming show at Lady Evelyn’s Christmas party.”

“Synchronized swimming — at the
Christmas
party? Why didn’t you tell me?” Tessa was wide-eyed.

Lizzie wiped the sweat off her forehead and began to shuffle on. “I don’t know. I think I was too embarrassed to talk about it afterwards. Plus I was a bit plastered at the time. I don’t really remember all the details. Obviously, I thought it was a runaway success when I was doing it, and all the blokes seemed to think so too. But James clearly reckoned it was a bit off. That much I do remember.”

“And so?”

“So maybe James sort of started to see me through his mum’s eyes. Maybe my whole strategy backfired.”

Tessa stopped in her tracks. “What strategy?”

Lizzie stopped too, already struggling for breath again. “My strategy to — well, to keep him interested.”

Tessa looked puzzled. “Why did you need a strategy? Did he show signs of straying or something? You never said so.”

“Actually, he didn’t really. It’s just that he always sort of gathers a flock of women around him. You know how it is. They just naturally gravitate toward him. I just — I always felt I needed to sort of demonstrate to him that men also found
me
fascinating. See, I’ve always had a bit of a fear that he’d wake up one morning, take one look at me in the light of day without makeup on, and realize he’d married the wrong sort of girl.”

Tessa gaped at her, then shook her head. “So — the touchy-feely dancing, the head massage — all to demonstrate your fascinating side?”

Lizzie looked sheepish. “Things got a bit out of hand now and then.”

Tessa continued to stare at her in wonder. “Lizzie,” she said, “don’t you see what you did? You flirted with his mates. Let them cozy up to you. Gave them synchronized swimming shows. Kept giving
him
the cold shoulder in bed. Then sent him that bloody e-mail. There’s no mystery about why he left you! How could you expect him to
stay
?”

Lizzie began to jog again. “I wasn’t cozying up to anybody. I was just trying to be charming, that’s all. I was just trying to have one tenth of the effect on men that he always has on women. So that we’d be
equal
. So that he’d look over at me at some party and see me in the thick of things and think to himself what a bloody good choice he’d made!”

Tessa sped ahead of Lizzie and began to run backwards so that she could make her point better. “Lizzie, you idiot, he always knew he’d made a good choice! He loved you! But you know what, I’ve known you virtually all your life. You’re not the sort of girl who goes off for creepy head massages. You don’t jump into pools in your party clothes. Lizzie! Watch it!”

But it was too late, Lizzie had put her foot down right in the middle of a large pile of horse manure that turned out to be rather fresh and slippery. With a strangled cry, she went down elbows first in the rough grass. Aghast, Tessa knelt down beside her. “Oh, God! Oh, Lizzie! I’m sorry — I was distracting you. Here, take my hand and stand up — carefully, now!”

Slowly and painfully, Lizzie got back up on her feet. “Oh, bugger,” she said as she tested her weight on her left ankle. “Oh bugger and blast. It’s not broken. It’s not even sprained!”

“Excellent!” cried Tessa. “Come on now, don’t worry about the muck, we’ll hose you down afterwards. Let’s just keep going!”

A week later Lizzie was back on the beanbag again, picking at her cuticles and trying not to look up into Ivana’s reflective glasses very often. By now she’d found herself a divorce lawyer, picked quite at random from the phone directory, and was scheduled to consult with him the next day. Her heart was very heavy.

“You still love this James?” asked Ivana.

Lizzie nodded dumbly. She’d just finished recounting the incident in the summerhouse. At the time, she hadn’t thought she was breaking any unwritten rules — well, not really. After all, hadn’t this same chap, Luke, a local organic herbalist and a bit of a free spirit, been giving practice head massages to all sorts of people in Laingtree, including Roger Buckley himself? And hadn’t Roger even offered to put head massages on his list of spa services at the conference center if Luke was any good at it?

Of course, she herself wouldn’t have liked it if James had ever gone off to a summerhouse with a pretty girl for, say, a haircut or something. But still. The whole incident had been perfectly aboveboard.

If only she and Luke hadn’t jumped so guiltily when the door of the summerhouse suddenly opened and they saw James standing there, looking grim and tight-lipped.

Ivana took off her spectacles and rubbed them with a tissue. “Lizzie,” she said, “I am willing to make the bet that your husband believes you love him no more. Now,” she looked at her pinned-on watch, “before you leave, I will summarize what I believe you have shown me in these visits.” She began counting things off on her gnarled fingers. “Yes, you have been depressed. Yes, you have suffered from the lack of sexual appetite; this is very normal for new mothers; this is not unusual at all. Yes, you still love your husband.” Her hands sank down onto the arms of her chair and she began to shake her head. “But you did not have a lovely marriage. You did not fully believe in your husband’s love. You did not show
your
love. It is probable he thinks that you love him no more. That is why he left you. My advice is simple. Tell this James of your feelings.”

Lizzie heaved herself to her feet, shaking her head sadly. “Look, I’ve already
told
him I still love him. I’ve already
told
him I don’t want the divorce. But d’you know what? I think he’s just gone clean off me. I think he’s finally come round to Lady Evelyn’s point of view —
she
always had me pegged as cheap and nasty.”

Ivana shrugged. “That may be,” she said peaceably. “We all see a different truth.”

Lizzie slung her bag over her shoulder. “My friend Tessa thinks I could win him back,” she said a little defiantly. “She thinks if I was thinner and better dressed and a bit more lively, he’d be all over me again.”

Ivana looked up at her. “For men, so much of love is in the packaging,” she mused.

Lizzie waited for more pearls, but Ivana had returned to her diary. Lizzie sketched a little wave and walked out.

“And this time I’m definitely not coming back,” she told Katriona as she counted out the cash.

Katriona smiled and gave her a receipt.

“Maybe you should just trot off to the doctor and get some drugs, after all,” Tessa said doubtfully as they jogged at a snail’s pace over the meadow at Knole Park two days later.

“No,” Lizzie panted back. “I don’t need them now — I’m getting better. I think the running helps. Look, can you slow down a moment? Anyway, I can’t have Prozac on my record. What if I have to fight for custody of the kids?”

Her newly acquired lawyer, a balding man with fierce eyebrows, had been a bit alarmed that she’d been having “therapy” in the first place. Evidence of mental instability wouldn’t do her any good if things ever got ugly, he’d said.

Tessa gave Lizzie a startled look. “Don’t talk that way, Lizzie. You’re going to get James back.”

Lizzie shrugged and fell back to a walk, forcing Tessa to walk too. “Ah, ouch, when will I stop getting stitches? Look, if Ivana did one thing, she showed me that our marriage was knee-deep in trouble before I ever wrote that e-mail. I mean, half the time I was in some sort of zonked-out, sleep-deprived zone, all covered in baby sick, and then when I’d shake myself out of it for some dinner party or other, I’d end up doing all these stupid, show-offy things. His mum was probably whispering in his ear, pointing out that bad breeding will out, that sort of thing. The whole thing was unraveling for years. I don’t know how we stayed together as long as we did.”

Tessa frowned. “Come on, it wasn’t like that,” she said. “You guys were happy. You were in love. I saw you — you couldn’t have faked it.”

Lizzie swiped at her eyes with the back of her hand. “We
were
in love, weren’t we? Oh God, I miss him so much. I just wish we could go back and start all over again.”

Tessa reached over and grabbed Lizzie’s sweaty hand. “You
can
start over again,” she insisted. “I’m convinced you can! Come on, ignore the stitch. Let’s
run
!”

Chapter Ten

I
knew you’d go out on a date with me eventually.” It was Saturday morning. Bruno lay on his back on the picnic blanket, gazing up at the uneasy sky, where bright patches of blue were pitted against scudding gray rain clouds.

In the thick of her therapy sessions with Ivana, Lizzie had allowed herself to be persuaded to go on this jaunt with him. Exactly why, she wasn’t quite sure, except that the weekends were long and lonely, and Bruno had a way of cheering her up.

“Come on, you can’t call this a date.” Lizzie was arranging crisps, pieces of apple, and peanut butter sandwiches on paper plates. Occasionally she swatted at a fly or bee with a napkin.

“Picnics are notoriously romantic,” Bruno insisted. He closed his eyes and made kissy noises with his lips. As lips went, they were okay, Lizzie reflected. Rather full, for a man, but by no means repulsively so. They’d probably feel silky but firm to the touch, definitely not wet. Unlike dogs’ noses, Lizzie felt that men’s lips had no business being wet. Any suggestion of spittle, dribble, or drool was a definite turnoff in Lizzie’s book.

Lizzie stopped herself short, surprised by the trend of her thoughts. Was this the attitude of a woman whose sensual side had withered up and died?

Her fit of self-analyis was abruptly curtailed. “Aaaargh!” she yelled as Madge, the black-and-white collie, blundered onto the picnic blanket.

“What the hell?” Bruno leaped to his feet and crouched down in some sort of martial arts stance.

“Relax, Bruno, no one’s attacking us. Your stupid dog just dropped this bloody great stick on Ellie’s plate, that’s all.” She held up the offending item, silvery with saliva. Madge yipped with excitement and began leaping around the blanket, sending apples and sandwiches flying.

“Here.” Bruno grabbed the stick and threw it as far into the woods as he could. With a wild lunge, Madge disappeared into the undergrowth after it.

“I have to say, if you’re trying to get back into the dating game by taking women out on picnics, that dog is a liability.”

Bruno propped his head up on his hands. “And I have to say, if you’re trying the same thing, those twins are a double liability.”

“Okay, just because I was kind enough to let you come on a picnic that we were going on
anyway
, don’t let your imagination run away with you.”

The pupils of Bruno’s gypsy brown eyes suddenly dilated, and Lizzie’s stomach did an odd little flip. “And where do you think my runaway imagination is taking me?” he asked in a suddenly husky voice.

“Straight to the gutter, I would guess,” she managed to quip back. Good grief, was she flirting?

Hastily, she stood up and bellowed, “Ellie! Alex! Lunchtime!”

Alex appeared from behind a tree. He stood still a moment, then scraped the ground with one foot before letting out a roar and charging toward the picnic blanket. With a flying leap, he launched himself at lounging Bruno, landing with a thud on his stomach. Bruno doubled up in exaggerated pain, grabbed the wriggling child, and held him at arm’s length in the air above him. Alex began raining punches down on Bruno, most of which swished harmlessly through the air. Every now and then, Bruno lowered the little boy slightly so that his small fists could make contact with their target.

“Uh! Oh! Ouch! You got me!” Bruno groaned.

Ellie crept onto Lizzie’s lap. “Daddy likes wrestlin’ too,” she remarked.

The sun clouded over and the brilliance was gone from the day in an instant, as if someone had turned off a switch.

Lizzie wrapped her arms around the little girl and pressed her cheek into the petal-soft skin of her neck, closing her eyes. For the millionth time, she wondered how deep the sadness went in this inscrutable daughter of hers. Ellie began to squirm. “Ooosh, ticklish.” Within seconds, she slipped out of Lizzie’s arms like a wet bar of soap and went to join forces with Alex against Bruno.