A Few of the Girls (26 page)

It was hard to know what to wear at the school reunion. Laura spent a great deal of time trying to choose. She was not at all like the women who wanted to look smart in front of school friends they had not seen for a decade. Laura's problem was different.

She was married to an extremely wealthy man and her aim was
not
to look too smart.

She went through her clothes. The gray outfit was simple looking but they would know it was a designer suit; the navy jacket had cost a fortune and yet she couldn't go out and deliberately buy an outfit in the High Street, something in Marks & Spencer that was within everyone's reach. They would talk even more about her.

And Laura knew that she was already an object of interest. Mousy little Laura having married Don Dixon, the tycoon. Laura with a house in London and in the country and a holiday home in France. Twenty-eight years old like all of them, pale as she had always been, and yet set aside from all her old schoolmates. She would never worry about paying the mortgage, the chance of a holiday abroad again this year, what it meant when the car wouldn't start.

She would have to be careful enough in her conversation with them so she must make sure not to anger them by her clothes. If only she had a good friend to ask—but that was another thing that being married to a very wealthy man had meant: she didn't have a real friend anymore. There were so many people to meet with Don, to entertain, so many Other Wives to go shopping with. Pleasant women, all of them, confident, and easygoing, but you had to be watchful, for they were the eyes and ears of their husbands. Laura couldn't say things that might be repeated back. Things like she was lonely, isolated, and wanted a family so badly that she ached when she passed by a baby in a stroller.

The day of the reunion lunch turned out to be very wet, which solved Laura's problem. She wore a smart scarlet raincoat over a simple black-and-white dress. They wouldn't know that the raincoat had cost in a New York boutique what would run their homes for three months. She could always shrug and say it was only a mackintosh if anyone praised it.

She decided to go by taxi, that way they wouldn't have to see her car.

Don was annoyed at the rain. He had planned a day's golfing with an important business contact. It had been arranged months ago. Don hated things that were out of his control, like the weather. His face was dark and angry.

It would have been useless to try and cheer him up, to suggest that he and his colleague play instead at an indoor range. He would have already considered this and other alternatives. Four years of marriage to a difficult and demanding man teaches you lessons if you're a good learner. Laura had been a very good learner and she was good at smiling sympathetically and saying nothing. Her support and quiet solidarity seemed to work.

Soon, the frown left his face and he continued to eat his wholemeal toast and fresh fruit that she served in their conservatory at whatever time it suited him.

His good humor had returned.

“Well, enjoy the ladies today! Ten whole years since you all left school. There'll be lots of crow's-feet and plastic surgery to examine, I'd say.”

He laughed at her good-naturedly. Fifteen years older than she was, he often made jokes about how she was nearing thirty and therefore approaching middle age.

It never ceased to amaze Laura; she was nothing special and yet she had managed to marry one of the most eligible men in Britain
and
keep him interested in her.

He was so obviously proud of her and loved her to dress well and be admired.

Laura wouldn't tell him that the girls she was at school with wouldn't recognize the scarlet raincoat for what it was and later she would pretend that it had knocked their eyes out.

That would please Don Dixon much more than the fact that she had been thoughtful, considerate, and had not wanted to stress how much better her financial circumstances were than her schoolmates.

In Don's world, such sensitivities had no place. They would be considered devious and hypocritical if they were considered at all.

“Don't stay out drinking with your school chums all day and night, though, remember we're off to Copenhagen at the crack of dawn,” he said.

He stroked her face tenderly.

The very notion of Laura carousing with a crowd of women was ludicrous; she drank so little anyway, and she was always at home long before him, making sure that whichever house they were in ran smoothly.

“Will you be late?” she asked.

“Probably. You know when this lot fly in they want a good time. It's discourteous not to stay until they think the party's over.” He looked weary at the very thought of it, yet Laura knew he loved to play host at a flamboyant evening.

“Yes, silly to spoil the ship for a ha'p'orth of tar,” she said.

His face lit up as it often did when she came out with an old proverb or meaningless cliché.

It was easy to keep Don Dixon happy. Just as long as you lived by his rules. If you didn't ask any questions, or have any suspicions about other ladies in his life. Then it was very easy.

At the lunch the years rolled back. They laughed and talked as they had at seventeen, eighteen, they traced their lives and there were pictures of children, chubby toddlers, serious boys and girls in school uniform.

Shirley was as wild as ever, and having an affair with a well-known married actor.

Celia was as disapproving as ever: sensible shoes, and her mouth in a hard thin line.

They had all read about Laura's houses in magazines.

“Next time maybe we should have a reunion in one of your properties?” Celia said in her clipped, jealous voice.

“Certainly, if anyone likes, but isn't it more fun to meet like this and let a hotel do the work?” Laura smiled broadly at them all. She had learned a lot over the years, how to diffuse a mood, how to say nothing while appearing to say everything.

“Does he take you with him on his business travels?” Shirley asked, eyes flashing suggestively.

“Yes, if I want to go.”

“You go, Laura! Believe me, go everywhere, I could tell you what they get up to on these outings, believe me, I know.”

Laura believed her. It was a side of life with Don that she had closed her eyes to. Her view was that nobody could have everything, and that she, Laura, had a great deal.

“I'm going to Copenhagen with him tomorrow morning,” she said brightly.

“Very wise,” Shirley said. “Very beautiful women, the Danes, smart
and
beautiful.”

Don was in good humor as they set out for the airport. Laura had supervised the packing—there was never any last-minute fuss or confusion when they left for anywhere.

She had dressed with care, a very chic cream outfit and her scarlet raincoat over her arm. People looked admiringly as they walked through the airport.

“Shouldn't be too busy this visit,” Don said. “Suits me. I'm tired—I wasn't in until after one o'clock last night. You were fast asleep, I didn't wake you.”

“That was good of you, darling.” Laura smiled her gratitude. She had not been asleep as it happened when he came back. She had been lying in the dark with her eyes open for a very long time. And it was nearly four when Don had finally come home to bed…

Monika met them at the airport. She was tall, blond, perfect skin, and spoke such fluent English that Laura thought she must be English herself, but no, she was from Bornholm, she said, an island out in the Baltic Sea; she showed it to them on a map, and laughed happily as she told them about the ferry that would take her home.

Laura noticed the appreciative glances that Don was giving to this handsome, lively woman, whose face lit up when she talked of the rocky cliffs of her homeland. A wave of the familiar jealousy flooded her but she hid it with a practiced smile.

Oddly, Monika seemed to understand what was happening. Suddenly she spoke of her son, Erik, and how he too loved the journey on the ferry with his grandparents waiting and waving a welcome. It was done in a very subtle way. But it definitely sent a message: it told the handsome, wealthy Englishman that Monika was a family woman, she wasn't a beautiful conference organizer who might be available for more than tourist and business advice.

She brought them to the hotel, handed a schedule of meetings to Don, and suggested that she show Laura some of the sights, until lunchtime.

“Amazing girl, that Monika,” Don said as Laura swiftly unpacked for them and he glanced over his notes for the meeting. “Could win a beauty contest if she wanted to.”

A lesser woman, a more obviously jealous wife, would have referred to the little boy Erik, hinting that she was already settled in her life. But not Laura. Laura agreed.

“Delightful, isn't she? I'm so glad she has time to take me on a little tour. I'll be the Copenhagen expert when I see you next.”

It worked, as these things always worked if well thought out. Don kissed her and held her tight for a moment.

“Wasn't I clever to find you?” he said.

“Only what we'd expect, Don.” She laughed lightly and went down to the hotel foyer to meet the amazing Monika. Shirley had been right. These Danish girls were a deadly combination…both beautiful and smart.

“We'll start in the Town Hall Square—it's not a very original idea, actually, that's where everyone starts.” Monika laughed. “But I thought we could just stand there and see what was most appealing and head for it.”

They chatted easily, two handsome women on a bright, cool morning, attracting many a glance as they strode along to the square.

Laura had been about to ask if she could tour Royal Copenhagen porcelain, or one of the museums, something she could talk about at lunch, make herself appear knowledgeable and make Don proud of her. But today she was restless. She didn't feel like doing her homework in order to make her handsome, successful husband look even better by demonstrating what a bright, supportive wife he had managed to find for himself. Today she wanted to be a tourist like other people who were on holiday.

“Can we go to the Tivoli Gardens?” Laura asked.

“Nothing upon earth I would enjoy more,” said Monika, and they headed along the Hans Christian Andersens Boulevard like children released from school.

Monika told tales of how they had come on a school trip to Copenhagen from Bornholm, and a wonderful teacher had let them spend hours in this great amusement park among the flowers, the fountains, the little shows, the fireworks. None of them would ever forget it. It was a magic place then and now.

They sat on a park bench and talked as if they were old friends.

“Does your little son Erik like coming here?” Laura asked.

“He loves it, like any child. This place is made for them.”

“I suppose he's at school today, a pity he could not have come with us,” Laura said.

“That's very kind of you to think of including him. If it's not too personal a question, do you and Don intend to have children?”

“I do, I don't think he does.” Laura had never spoken so directly before. There must be something about this place that made her drop her guard.

“Do you think that he would be delighted if a baby came along?”

Monika was sympathetic, interested; it was easy to talk to her.

“I don't think so. Don doesn't like surprises, or anything that is not planned. He hasn't planned for a child yet. I am twenty-eight and he thinks that's still very young, plenty of time, he says. After this merger, after that takeover, after this deal…”

“I know, I know.” And it appeared from her face that Monika did know. She seemed to understand that Don Dixon was not a man to be crossed even in a matter of delivering him a son and heir before he was ready.

“Was your husband delighted when Erik came along?” Laura had to know.

Monika paused for a moment before she answered.