A Hidden Life (44 page)

It occurred to her that he was simply a very straightforward person. If he wanted something, he asked for it. If he could get it, fine. If not, he went on to the next thing with no repining. But he asked, and wasn't embarrassed about asking. He also didn't think twice about buying stuff that would make his life easier. The car seat – that was a bit – Lou didn't know what to call it. Excessive, perhaps, or presumptuous, even cheeky. What did it mean? First, that he was rich enough to get it installed in his car without a second thought. It was, she noticed, exactly like the one her parents had bought for their car. Not cheap. What she had to work out was what else it might mean. Was he telling her something? Was this a subtle way of letting her know he was interested in her? It would have been easier, surely, to ask her out if that were the case. Maybe it was no more than his
way of ingratiating himself with John Barrington's family … but why would he need to do that? He was about to pay her an advance and the right to reissue
Blind Moon
was his. Perhaps that was it. Maybe he felt as though he were in some way related to her through the book.

‘Mind if I put on some music?'

‘Not a bit.'

Lou didn't recognize the sounds that filled the air around them. Almost everyone else she knew had some sort of rock or pop music playing in their car. Her father always listened to Radio 4 as he drove. This was opera.

‘Mozart,' Jake said. ‘
The Magic Flute.'

Lou nodded. It wasn't Midlake's
The Trials of Van Occupanther,
which was her current favourite, but it was okay.

So here we are again, Nessa thought, gathered round the family table. She tried calculating how many of Matt's birthday dinners she'd attended, but she'd had too much to drink already and her head was in a muddle trying to integrate the various strands of conversation going on around her. Mickey had volunteered not to drink tonight, which was good of her, but, as she pointed out, ‘They're your family not mine, so you're the one in need of alcoholic assistance.'

Mickey looked stunning. She was wearing a plum-coloured wraparound dress in some clingy material and very high-heeled shoes. She'd nearly forgotten to change into the shoes until Nessa reminded her, preventing her from appearing in public wearing her driving loafers. Phyl was in black, with her good jewellery (a string of pearls, pearl earrings) and Nessa knew that she'd chosen this outfit because she thought it would make her look less chubby. She wasn't exactly fat, but worried constantly about how she could appear thinner than she was. She didn't look too bad, but there were dark, puffy bags under her eyes, ill-concealed by make-up.

Lou had made an effort, too, in a kind of pastel-coloured chiffony top and a brownish skirt. She had a good figure and was quite tall and had a kind of natural elegance. She could, Nessa thought, look amazing if she tried. Or had money. Or both. Maybe I should help
her out. Be her style counsellor or something. The bloke she'd come with was a bit of an enigma. Jake Golden, who apparently was going to reissue that book of Grandad's. He didn't look like her idea of a publisher but Nessa didn't really know what that was. Someone older. Someone fatter than this Jake person, who was very slim and youngish and wore ultra-modern glasses which almost made you not notice that he was quite good-looking. He was rich, too. She could see that. His white shirt was pure silk, she was willing to bet on it, and his shoes were Italian but so understated that you'd have to be an expert to know this. Clearly he was someone who didn't need to be looked at. He was also very quiet and sat next to Lou, taking in everything that was going on, but Nessa was an expert on body language and it seemed to her that he was keener on Lou than she perhaps realized. They hadn't got it together yet, because there was nothing about the way she was behaving that betrayed a huge passion for this man. Interesting, in any case.

They'd started eating quite late, because it took some time for Lou to settle Poppy down. Nessa hid her irritation and helped herself to more pistachios while everyone waited to get to the table. She knew that Lou had to bring her daughter with her, not having anyone she could easily leave her with overnight, but it was a drag. Very small children and grown-up dinner parties didn't mix well. Then once they'd sat down and begun to eat, Justin appeared. He was always late for everything and this was something about her brother which really, really pissed Nessa off and always had done. First, there was the drama of the arrival (which was probably why he did it. He liked to make an entrance and adored being stared at) then the apologies, sliding into his place at the table, being introduced to Jake over the starter and then (this always happened with latecomers) everyone wanting to know the reasons for the lateness which, in Nessa's experience, never turned out to be in the least interesting.

‘You're looking a bit harassed, Justin,' said Matt.

‘I am. I am. Harassed. Troubled. You name it.'

Nessa stared at him. He was surely –
surely
 – not going to tell Matt what he'd told her at the hotel? She'd warned him against it and she had the distinct impression that he'd agreed to keep quiet about it, at least until after the birthday. She raised her eyebrows at him in what
was meant to be a warning signal and he smiled angelically back. Of course, Matt rose to his remark.

‘Troubled? What's the matter?' he said. ‘I hope you're not in any kind of difficulty, Justin.'

‘No, and in any case it's not something I want to talk about at a party, with a guest present and everything.'

Jake Golden opened his mouth to say something and thought better of it. Matt stared at Justin. ‘Very well, Justin. But may I have a few words with you after dinner?'

‘Absolutely,' said Justin and proceeded to help himself to salad.

Nessa spent the rest of the meal trying to work out what Matt would say when Justin told him what had happened. For her part, she'd been very sympathetic and understanding, but she couldn't help an impulse from childhood surfacing now and again. Serve him right, was the first thing that had come into her mind. It was a bit of a disaster, but it did sort of serve him right, and try as she might Nessa couldn't work up any truly heartfelt sorrow on Justin's behalf.

‘Are you quite sure you want to discuss this now, Matt? I mean, it's your birthday and so on …'

They'd gone into Matt's study after dinner. Matt indicated a chair and watched his stepson sit down and fold one leg elegantly over the other. He said, ‘It's perfectly all right. That's almost over. Nearly ten o'clock. I didn't like your mention of trouble.'

‘But I could have come to see you at the office. We don't have to do it now if you don't want to.'

‘But I do want to, Justin. It seems to me you're trying to put off telling me. I'm reminded of your schooldays. You never told me about detentions and so forth. I always found out from Nessa or your teachers. The more you indicate you're unwilling to talk about it, the more anxious I become.'

‘Okay … you asked for it. I've lost a bit of money.'

‘Do you mean from the sale of Milthorpe House?'

‘I've lost a lot of that. Yes.'

Matt felt winded. It was true, then, that this kind of news, often described as a punch in the stomach, did have exactly that effect.
There was a pain somewhere beneath his ribs. He was short of breath. He tried to steady himself by counting to ten in his head and that didn't work. The numbers simply wouldn't take hold and he gave up at about four.

‘As I understood it,' he said, going into lawyer mode purely in self-defence, ‘you'd sold the house to Eremount. Isn't that right? I imagined you'd invest the money in something. Possibly even Eremount, who seem to be taking over the world.'

‘Yes, well. I didn't.'

‘You didn't invest?'

‘No, I bought – well, I didn't invest in Eremount. I was advised by someone I know – a perfectly legitimate broker – to put the money into something … well … a bit more speculative.'

‘I see.' Matt thought he did, too. Did he really want to know all the grisly details? Now, tonight? Perhaps not, but better find out the worst. ‘How much have you lost?'

‘Almost all of it. There's about twelve thousand pounds or so left – maybe a bit more. The company I bought into, which is called Kiteflyer Holdings, has just gone into receivership and there's nothing anyone can do. I'm totally fucked.'

Matt ignored the obscenity. If he'd felt breathless before, he was now almost sure he was about to have a heart attack or a stroke. Had he heard correctly? He could actually feel the blood rushing away from his heart … or was it
towards
his heart, flooding it and making him cold and sweaty at the same time? ‘Let me get this straight. You've lost more than two million pounds.
Two million pounds!
Is that right? I can't believe it.'

‘I know, I know. I felt – when I heard I felt so gutted I nearly – very nearly, actually, threw myself off a high building. Or pills. I thought of pills, seriously I did.'

Matt knew what he ought to say: that he was glad Justin had thought better of killing himself, but he was so overcome with uncomprehending rage that he couldn't bring himself to utter the words. For two pins he'd have picked up the paperweight on his desk and thrown it at the silly bloody fool in front of him, who made him want to scream with frustration. Was there no end to his stupidity? Obviously not. Matt said, ‘You didn't think to consult me about this?
I might have warned you it was an insanely stupid thing to do: to invest in something so fly-by-night. So clearly unsafe.'

‘But it wasn't. That's the point. It looked brilliant. Amazing rates of return on your investment.'

‘You've never heard the thing about the value of your shares can go down as well as up?'

‘Course I have. I just never thought that this particular firm would go bust.'

‘You don't have to tell me that! Thinking is the last thing you've been doing.'

‘I don't actually know what business it is of yours, Matt. I mean, it's very good of you to be concerned on my behalf, but I'll just soldier on and hope for the best. It's done now and I have to move on. Move on to something else. It's unfortunate, that's all.'

Matt stared at Justin. Was it possible he didn't realize what he'd done? First of all, he'd sold Milthorpe House. Almost immediately after the funeral. That had hurt Matt though he hadn't known quite why. True, it had been his childhood home but he'd managed to persuade himself that it was only a house when all was said and done and if it turned into a posh spa, why should he care? Since the sale had gone through, this thought had given him some comfort.

When he'd heard how much Justin had got for the place, it had surprised him. Not that it was more than the property was worth – it may even have been less – but the thought of Justin in possession of millions of pounds when Lou had nothing had upset him. Was this a kind of justice? Justin losing his money wouldn't help Lou, so why did he obscurely feel it was a kind of balancing of the books? No, it was a disaster whichever way you looked at it. Justin would be moaning about it. He'd given up his estate agent's job when he found himself in possession of so much money and now he'd probably have to go back to them and beg them to take him on again. Justin was speaking and Matt tuned into what he was saying.

‘Mum and I are thinking of going abroad. She's got connections in Argentina – well, you know that. We talked about going over there and seeing what the opportunities are.'

Matt leaned forward. ‘Really?' he said.

‘Oh, yes. I'd have thought Mum might have been in touch with
you about it. She's put her flat up for sale.'

‘Right. Well, I'm sure she'll let me know eventually. Perhaps when it's sold.'

‘Can I go now? I could do with another cup of coffee.'

‘Yes. There's nothing more to say, I suppose. You've been a bloody fool but I imagine you know that already.'

Matt couldn't bring himself to offer any more sympathy. He wondered, briefly, what Ellie had said to her son. Probably clutched him to her ample bosom and told him it wasn't his fault. Even though it was. No one else's fault but Justin's. He stared at the phone. Was Ellie really leaving? It looked as though that might happen and he sent up a prayer of thanks to any divinity who might be listening. It was beginning to look as though the night he'd spent with his ex-wife wasn't going to have any of the awful repercussions he'd imagined. Phyl was here, Ellie was going, and that was the way he wanted it. He was happy. It was his birthday and he had much to be grateful for: a good wife, a lovely daughter, a beautiful granddaughter, a house, a job, money, health, good relations with his stepchildren, even though one of them was a complete prat, and if there was a certain lack of colour and fire missing from the picture, well, that was a small price to pay for contentment. A fleeting vision of Ellie in the throes of passion, naked, open, swallowing him up completely came into his head and he pushed it away at once. He was not going to go there. Definitely, absolutely not.

‘D'you know what Justin's talking to Dad about?' Lou was loading the dishwasher in the kitchen. Nessa had come with her, carrying a tray with all the last bits and pieces from the dinner on it. She probably, Lou thought, wants a fag and outside the back door is the best place to have one. To her surprise, Nessa started bustling around the kitchen doing a pretty good imitation of a traditional housewife, clearing up what Phyl had left undone before serving the dinner. She hadn't brought a handbag with her, so no fags for the moment. Lou had been meaning to ask her what the matter was with Justin, so she was happy to have Nessa's company, whatever her real reason was for helping.