(2013) Four Widows (21 page)

Meanwhile, Ted stood on the step, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, looking as awkward as anyone would do who’d popped out for a pint of milk or a packet of cigarettes seven years ago and finally made it back from the shops.

“You’re dead,” I said, genuinely baffled.

“You’re
dead
,” said Cece but with considerable more meaning. She’d summed him up in five seconds flat and decided a welcome-back hug wasn’t on the cards.

It really was him. No need for age-progression software to confirm this.

“Is she okay?” he asked anxiously, looking over my shoulder to get a glimpse of Suzanne.

“Uh, whaddya think?” Cece’s voice was all over him: welcoming him as one would a urinary tract infection.

“I just…”

“Lemme put this to you straight. Unless you’ve got the medical notes confirming a hammer blow to the head and a bad case of amnesia, get the fuck outta here.”

He recoiled faster than a carpet python.

“Yeah, thought so,” Cece said.

I wondered what his next move would be. What do you do in a situation like this? Kate, fortunately, interrupted with a sergeant major bark. “She wants to speak to you. In the living room.”

Ted gulped, swallowed-a-possum motion, eager to escape. He shuffled past, despite Cece doing her best to obstruct his path. She stood feet planted apart like a bollard in the centre of the road.

“I’m not leaving,” said Cece, incredulous. “
We’re
not leaving.”

“He is her husband, Cece,” Kate reasoned, steering Cece to one side. “For the record, I don’t like this as much as you but this is what she wants.”

“Ain’t good,” fretted Cece. “Don’t
feel
right. Lori?”

I had to agree. “It doesn’t feel right but this is the moment Suzanne’s been holding out for. I don’t think anything we say will make a difference.”

We watched Ted disappear into the living room and the silence seemed more suffocating than the heat.

“I guess lunch is cancelled,” I said.

“The hell it is. Ribbons! Now!” Cece had turned purple. Her cholesterol might be fine but I’m not sure the same could be said for her blood pressure.

Kate put a call through to the office. “I’m going to be back a little later than expected,” she said.

We raced to Ribbons. Kate and I tucked ourselves into a corner and waited for Cece to join us. The atmosphere was definitely livelier–tourists flooding in on the Fringe seemed to sense a revival about the place. I had to agree, the restaurant/bar had a new aura.
Not a scent of death
, Cece declared, as though she’d used herbs and spells to banish demons.

Meanwhile, Daisy appeared out of nowhere and banged a brandy bottle on the table.

“Service with a smile,” said Kate as we watched her strut off in a dress zipped down the back to show off her curves.

“Why doesn’t she like us?” I sighed.

“Do we care?”

I reached for the bottle. “I’d blame her for Ribbons’ run of troubles but she seems capable. I watched her at the party. It seems she is charming to everyone else but us.”

“She’ll get over it. Or we will.”

“Cece’s keeping a secret,” I said, changing the subject. “Don’t you think she is being secretive about
something
?”

“Yes, which means we wouldn’t approve.”

Cece returned with wine to chase down the brandy. “So what do we know about Little Lord Lucan?”

I kept quiet. Kate shrugged. “He’s back.”

“That’s my point. Back from
where
? Goddamnit.”

Kate sighed. “Suzanne was so sure he was dead. We all were.”

“Yet he is still alive,” declared Cece theatrically. “Like virtually nondestructive bacteria.”

“Perhaps Fraser Davies will know what to do?” I suggested. “There could be a connection with this presumption of death business. Perhaps someone… unearthed him?”

I think we all thought
worm
in that moment.

Kate nodded. “Entirely possible. I’ll call him.”

Meanwhile, Cece continued to verbally froth at the mouth while looking at her watch. “I hope Suzanne is okay. We just left–no back-up.”

“What could we have done? Call in the SWAT team?” reasoned Kate.

“Hell, yeah. Better than feedin’ her to the lions.”

“She wanted to be alone with him,” Kate explained. “It was her idea.”

Cece looked seriously revolted. As though someone had offered her a vegetarian bacon sandwich.

We spent the next intense hour thinking up scenarios to explain his disappearance. We went over and over the possibilities. He had unexplained memory loss or his lightweight aircraft had gone down over the desert. He had been kidnapped and developed Stockholm Syndrome. He was a ghost who had come back to haunt us. Not Ted, but his long-lost twin separated at birth. He had left Suzanne for another woman. Found another woman.

Chapter Thirty Two

Back for Good

Easier to blame Jim than confide in him. I didn’t want him to know that I found McCarthy attractive because I didn’t want to hurt him. Jim had seen too many tears and steered me through the worst times. McCarthy, whereas, was, I suppose a clean slate. New me.

Jim called while I was walking back to the office from Suzanne’s. I fell on the phone, relieved to see his name; someone outside the Ted-and-Suzanne drama that had detonated over lunch. I had planned to let him to suffer in silence for longer but Ted turning up out of the blue put our kiss into perspective. I played cool, nonetheless.

“I’m an idiot,” he said, coming straight to the point.

I let the ensuing silence confirm this.

He continued to deliver an eloquent apology, sounding genuinely shamefaced for the embarrassment he may have caused by one impulsive kiss.

“Much embarrassment,” I assured him.

“It was one of my narcissistic rock-star moments. When I believe the whole world finds me irresistible.”

“You’re very much resistible.” I let the disapproval linger while wanting to let him off the hook.

“Please let me explain?”

“There is nothing to explain.”

“Do you want to go for a drink?” He sounded hopeful. “We won’t talk about
it
. Promise.”

“I need to get back to the office. Where are you?”

“Heading out to do an interview.”

“I’ll see you when it’s done.”

“Drinks at home time?”

I relented. “One drink. Hands where I can see them.”

Jim was wearing an oversized ribbed beanie despite the heat. We went for drinks at the bar on the lower ground floor underneath the office, which was also home to an underground shopping area. It was usually full of journalists standing at the bar and tonight was no exception. I was relieved to see it was crowded.

Rather than talk about the kiss, I cut straight to the part when Suzanne’s husband turned up unannounced.

Jim downed his gin. “Shit, and I thought I was in trouble.”

We talked about Suzanne and work until, inevitably, eventually the kiss came up in conversation.

“I wanted to kiss you. I wasn’t drunk. There, said it,” he told me.

I nodded, embarrassed. “It wasn’t…it’s not appropriate.”

“I know that. It’s just…” He hesitated.

“What?”

“It’s important you should know.”

“I don’t follow.”

He slid another drink towards me. “The kiss was real.”

We soaked up the silence with a drink.

Eventually I said, “I know that.”

“You might meet someone and never—”

I cut him short. “There’s no one else.”

“I’m not a player, Lori.” The words whispered so softly, I barely heard. “I think you are–”

I hear Gee talking about Harrison.
Player
. There is no escape from him. My dead husband becomes a swirl of invisible molecules that I inhale into my bloodstream.

Jim is watching me and I struggle to find the words, “You’ve seen the worst of me–” I nudged a finger under his chin to make him look at me. “It would come between us. Find someone without unbearably sad memories.”

He shrugged me off. “I’ve found you. That’s how it goes.”

Impulsively, I reached for his hand, attempting to level out the conversation. “We’re okay, okay?”

We waited four days. Sunday, Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday before a word from Suzanne. Cece tried to contact her and Suzanne in turn left a message at the restaurant–she was fine. We were not to worry about her. Fine.

On Thursday, she summoned us by text in three words,
Balmoral Bollinger Bar
.

Cece was on the phone in a flash to Kate and me. We agreed to meet at 5pm and spent the lead-up attempting to second guess what Suzanne had to tell us.

“At least she is alive,” huffed Cece. “Better than bits in a suitcase.”

“Alive
and
optimistic,” added Kate. “Judging by her choice of location.”

“Which ain’t good,” Cece snapped. “No Champagne for shitheads.” She was succinct if nothing else.

“Whatever happens, it is Suzanne’s decision and we respect it,” warned Kate.

“Holy crap. Lori, tell me this is all wrong?”

I shrugged uncomfortably. “The honest truth, I don’t know what to think anymore. We persuade her to dump him and then she blames us for what might have been?”

“I’ll take my chances,” said Cece sourly.

Ted wasn’t there when we turned up and we all exhaled like bagpipes, relieved and thankful to see Suzanne sitting alone, sitting on a bar stool swinging her legs. She had dressed the part: white silk-mousseline shirt tucked into high-waisted gold lamé shorts. Face shining like the golden fabric.

There was a bottle of Bollinger chilling on the table and Suzanne was tucking into her first glass with uncharacteristic gusto considering this was the poster girl for Coca-Cola. We should have seen it as a sign; all was not what it once was.

“Thank the Lord,” said Cece, alluding to Ted’s absence. She hugged Suzanne hard before sitting down. “We were
insanely
worried about you.”

“No need,” chirped Suzanne.

This stopped us in our tracks and we all clocked the glow. She had the flushed-kissed look about her, which wasn’t the work of Laura Mercier make-up.

“So?” said Cece, suspiciously.

“So,” said Suzanne carefully. “Sit down.” She patted a seat and poured drinks. “Ted is back for good.”

There, she said it. No build-up or fuss.

I’m surprised Cece didn’t caber-toss a scream at the nearest window and smash it truly, but, no, there was a weird silence as we gripped our stemware like life buoys. We were stunned. Even I thought she would have given him more of a hard time.

Dear God, I whispered inside my head, hoping Suzanne’s hard work would pay off and He would hear me. “Make it work for her this time, please.”

I genuinely forgot my own messy life and looked at her optimistic shining face and hoped she’d made the right decision.

Kate looked uncomfortable while her mathematical brain worked out a solution; Ted as an investment. How much return would Suzanne get before his real value tumbled?

Ted was a million miles from Fraser Davies who had, without being disrespectful, simplicity about him. His interests clarified this: he liked, for example, hill climbing: start at the bottom and work to the top. Football fan too–take 22 men on a field and put the ball in the net. He was an uncomplicated man. He was good.

“Back for good?” Cece kept her voice level. “Sweetie, back the hell from
where
?”

Suzanne chose to ignore the question, “I’ve prayed so hard for this moment. It feels like a
miracle
.”

I knew in that second we would never be able to question her decision or change her mind. She was resolute. Her beloved husband had been returned in one piece; prayers answered. She wasn’t interested in the terms and conditions; the small print.

Despite Cece’s best efforts at drilling details out from Suzanne, we ended up with scant information on Ted’s considerable absence.

“He needed to find himself,” explained Suzanne, sipping fizz.

“Find himself?” Kate sounded sceptical.

“Understand his place in the world; reconnect with himself.”

Cece poured more Champagne carefully–as though a single drop would amount to official nuclear spillage. “It took him over
seven
years to do this?”

“Without letting you know where he was?” added Kate.

“I really don’t think it’s important to question his whereabouts. I’m just grateful to have him back.”

Diplomacy over, Cece exploded. “You’re his
wife
, Suzanne. Trust me on this one, it is more than okay to question him. Aren’t you…Christ, curious?”

Suzanne shifted uncomfortably in her chair. “I
do
know where he has been.”

“
Where
then?” Cece was thoroughly exasperated now.

As it transpired, Ted hadn’t disappeared to live incognito in Mexico or was washed up on an island undiscovered off the Ivory Coast. He had been in Crieff. We’re talking about Crieff in Perthshire, Scotland, not Perth, Australia, which is no more than a small market town within a driving distance of approximately 37 miles from Edinburgh. The only reason I know this place even exists is because actor Ewan McGregor was brought up thereabouts.

We were astonished. No, dumbfounded is better. We expected something more spectacular than him sloping 40 miles cross country. How he had been overlooked, we’ll never know. I don’t think he even bothered to reinvent himself, instead just doing enough to keep underneath the radar. No activity on existing credit cards or bank account. No hanging out in Edinburgh at the weekend. It was an effortless transition from one life to another, which begged the question–who had helped facilitate this disappearing act?

There had to be someone else involved. I could tell Cece and Kate thought the same too, judging by the expression on their faces. Someone had taken him in.

There was a strained pause. “So he just turns up?” said Cece. “Perhaps he’s been rumbled cos
thor-oh
investigations were takin’ place since this ‘presumption of death’ ball got rolling. He turns up because he doesn’t want
you
to turn up on him…” Her eyes narrowed. “Bad surprise.”