A Night on the Orient Express (31 page)

At this point, Simon’s voice cracked. Stephanie stepped forward, but he held up his hand to stop her.

‘I expect she now feels guilty about what she did. And in true Tanya style, she’s probably twisted everything round to make herself blameless and me look the guilty one. It’s what she’s best at. She’s very convincing.’ He looked at her. ‘I suppose it was Beth who told you?’

Stephanie nodded.

‘So Tanya even tried to poison my own daughter against me.’ Simon looked at Stephanie in total disbelief. ‘I don’t deserve that, Stephanie. I only ever try to do my best for my family, and that means being tough on them sometimes. The thing is, Steph, when you’re trying to protect people, sometimes you have to be the bad guy. Or seem like the bad guy. Because kids do things and make decisions that you know are going to hurt them. I don’t know – some people think you should let them learn by their mistakes. But I just get terrified . . .’ He buried his face in her neck, stroking her hair. ‘That’s why I was so glad I had you. To keep me on track. To balance me out. To remind me that tough love isn’t always the answer.’

Stephanie held him tight. Oh God, she thought. What was he going to say about Beth? She was going to have to tell him now, before the trip was over, because you couldn’t share confidences like this and not play all the cards. He wouldn’t forgive her if she kept it quiet till they got back. And anyway, Beth shouldn’t have to wait.

‘Simon,’ she said. ‘There’s something I have to tell you.’

His head jerked up.

‘Beth’s having a baby. She’s pregnant.’

He stepped back from her. In the half-light she saw his expression – a mixture of horror and shock.

‘Beth?’ he said. ‘How do you know? When did she tell you?’

‘She told me yesterday. On the train.’ Stephanie put her hands on his shoulders and looked at him. ‘She did a test last night. She didn’t want me to tell you until we got back home. She didn’t want to spoil the trip.’

Simon stepped away. ‘I need to talk to her.’

He walked towards the door, but Stephanie stopped him.

‘Don’t wake her now. She’ll be fast asleep. Let her rest.’ She put a hand on his wrist and pulled him round to face her. The anguish in his eyes was almost unbearable.

‘She’s just a baby herself,’ he told her, and Stephanie saw tears. He looked away, angry. ‘This is all my fault. Our fault. Mine and Tanya’s. Of course something like this was going to happen—’

‘No!’ said Stephanie. ‘You mustn’t blame yourself. It was an accident. The sort of accident that happens all the time.’

He winced at her words, but seemed to accept them.

‘Does Tanya know?’

‘I don’t think so.’

‘She mustn’t know. Not until we’ve sorted things out. I don’t want her getting her claws into Beth. God knows what she’ll do. She’ll use this against me—’

Stephanie could see he was panicking. She put her arms around him, soothing him.

‘Hey,’ she said. ‘It’s going to be OK. We’ll figure things out.’

He took in a juddering breath. His face was crumpled. ‘My little girl . . .’ His voice cracked. ‘I need to see if she’s all right.’

‘It’s still very early. Let’s go back to sleep for a couple of hours. Then get the butlers to bring us some breakfast.’ She smiled. ‘We can talk it all through, then go down and see Beth. When you’ve had a chance to think about it.’

Simon looked at her. ‘You amaze me,’ he said. He passed a hand across his face wearily. ‘I’m guessing she’ll want to keep it. I know my Beth. That’s what she’ll want to do.’ He managed a smile. ‘At least, I hope that’s what she’ll want to do.’

Stephanie thought her heart was going to melt. She had heard all she wanted to hear. The words of a non-judgemental father who was going to support his daughter, despite how much it might hurt him, despite how much he might disapprove.

U
nlike Sylvie, Riley hated lie-ins. He woke at six and knew it would be several hours before she surfaced. She always had a mammoth sleep debt after filming, and he wasn’t going to disturb her. He left her nestled amongst the goose-down and slipped off to the Rialto to stock up on food for the next few days.

He made his way over the Accademia Bridge and through the maze of canals that led to the famous markets. He knew the route like the back of his hand now. They were staying in the same apartment they always took: a piano nobile on the Grand Canal – a suite of rooms on the first floor of a fifteenth-century palazzo which took advantage of the fine views.

As he walked, he watched daily life emerge behind the scenes: two young boys with a football in an otherwise silent square, a woman hanging out the washing, two old men sharing cigarettes and banter before going their separate ways, tiny little dramas unfolding against the most exquisite backdrop, the players so nonchalant about the setting. This was the Venice Riley loved: the secret underbelly, while Sylvie preferred the drama and showmanship of the Venice on show for the public.

At the market, he moved like a native amongst the crowds of Venetians out to get the cream of the crops, chatting in Italian to the stallholders, some of whom knew him by sight if not repute. They were too busy to be starstruck, although over the years he had photographed most of them. Today, though, he was firmly off-duty. He bought zucchini still crested with their bright yellow flowers, and deep red tomatoes, as bulging and misshapen as a middle-aged woman in a too-tight frock. An upright bundle of white asparagus. Pea pods mottled green and purple and white and black. Tiny antediluvian spider crabs. Berries glistening crimson and burgundy and scarlet, plump with juice, which would be perfect for Sylvie’s breakfast when she finally emerged.

He wandered back to the apartment laden with his purchases, delighted to see the sun fling the early-morning clouds to one side and work her magic on the city. He began to plan what they might do and then decided – they would do nothing. It was wonderful for both of them not to have a schedule to refer to, telling them where they were going, what they were doing, when they could eat, when they could breathe. And the wonderful thing about the apartment was that it was so far from reality they could both relax immediately, without the interim winding down that was often so difficult on a holiday. Of course, being on the train had helped. The Orient Express always took your troubles away, swept you off to a better place, wherever that might be.

When he got back he was surprised to see Sylvie was up, dressed in faded jeans and a white long-sleeved T-shirt. She’d opened the windows to let in the invigorating spring air and the translucent light, and was perched on a sill, sitting sideways with her knees drawn up, looking out at the canal, the vaporettos and motor launches and gondolas zig-zagging their way from side to side in an elaborately choreographed dance.

‘Hey. Good morning.’

She looked over at him and smiled. ‘I woke up and you were gone.’

‘You know I can’t sleep in. I got us some food.’

Riley put his shopping bags down in the small kitchen area. It was often the way in Venice – the main rooms were grand and spectacular, while the cooking facilities were insignificant. He supposed it was because people preferred to go out to eat. He walked back across the marble floor, past the huge U-shaped B and B Italia sofas that were a perfect foil for the frescoed walls and dramatic chandeliers. Hidden in a carved cabinet was a docking station. He put his iPod in.

Before this trip, he had made a compilation of all the songs that had meant something to him and Sylvie over the years. It had taken him hours to source and download them. Some of them had been long-forgotten, tucked away in the recesses of his mind, but as he had looked back, using photographs as an aide memoire, they had floated back to him. Pulling them out had been a bittersweet experience – a memory of a time long ago, but a memory nonetheless. No one could take that away from them. Not yet, anyway.

He pressed play. Music began to trickle out of the hidden speakers, filling the room yet somehow not dominating the space, as only the best sound systems can.

As Sylvie heard the music, she turned and smiled.

‘Marianne Faithfull. “As Tears Go By”,’ she said. ‘I had that crazy party, remember? Come As Your True Self.’

Riley smiled. ‘You were half angel, half devil.’

He remembered it so clearly. Sylvie dressed in red, with horns and a tail and a pair of angel wings. He’d been in black and white – a photograph.

‘We played this all night. Over and over.’

He took her hand and drew her off the windowsill. She smiled and settled into his arms. He put one hand on her waist and entwined his fingers in the one that bore the ring. As she lifted it, it gleamed, glittering in the sunlight. They began to move to the music. Every note, every beat, every word was ingrained in them. Nothing in the song had changed, just as nothing in them had changed, not really. From the outside, their appearances were different, but their souls, their beings, were just as they had ever been.

Had he made a mistake? wondered Riley. Should he have asked her to marry him on that sultry night, just as he’d been tempted? Something inside had told him the time wasn’t right, but now he wondered what might have happened. Would they have had children? He didn’t allow himself to imagine what they might have been like, their little Rileys/Sylvies. Or how different their lives might have been. Perhaps their relationship would have cracked altogether under the strain of their respective careers and the inevitable temptation. Few of the people they knew who had got together then still were. And that would have been a tragedy. Chances were, he wouldn’t have had her here, now, in his arms.

No, thought Riley. He had been right to wait. As the last few chords of the song that had been theirs that summer faded way, he reflected that he might have had to wait almost a lifetime, but theirs was going to be the most perfect marriage.

S
imon and Stephanie decided that Stephanie would go and talk to Beth first, and explain that Simon knew about the baby. No matter how they played it, emotions were going to run high, but Stephanie thought Beth would panic if Simon confronted her straight away, no matter how sympathetic he was.

In her room, Beth was worn out from sobbing all night. ‘I didn’t sleep,’ she told Stephanie. ‘I can’t believe I’ve been so stupid. I’ve always thought girls who got caught out were so dumb. And after what happened to Mum . . .’

Stephanie sat on her unmade bed. She had to choose her words carefully. Beth needed to know the truth, but she didn’t want to vilify Tanya any more than was necessary.

‘You need to know something, Beth. Your dad didn’t force your mum into a termination,’ Stephanie told her. ‘I think maybe your mum changed the story a little bit. She was probably upset about what had happened.’ She was trying to be as tactful as she could.

‘How could she do that?’ demanded Beth. ‘That’s evil.’

‘Maybe she felt bad about what she’d decided?’ Stephanie had no idea how Tanya could have been so manipulative, but she didn’t want to damage Beth’s relationship with her mother. She would need her over the next few months, no doubt. Stephanie hoped Tanya would be able to stop thinking about herself for once. ‘People sometimes do silly things when they are sad or stressed.’

Beth nodded. ‘I guess . . .’

‘And listen – I told your dad this morning. About the baby. I couldn’t keep it a secret from him. I hope you’re not angry, but I thought it was for the best. And anyway, he wants you to know, whatever you decide, he’ll support you.’

Beth swallowed. ‘Where is he?’

‘Waiting outside. He loves you very much, Beth.’ Stephanie stroked the girl’s cheek. ‘Do you want to see him?’

Beth nodded. She couldn’t speak. Stephanie walked over to the door, and opened it. Simon stood outside, anxious. She stepped aside to let him in.

Father and daughter walked into each other’s arms, wordlessly. Stephanie felt a lump in her throat as she watched the two of them. She couldn’t imagine what was going through Simon’s mind as he held Beth. He must have been thinking back over the years, over all his hopes for her. Perhaps wishing things had turned out differently or blaming himself.

The door bounced open and Jamie stood in the doorway, grinning ebulliently. ‘Hey you lot. What’s going on? Are we going for breakfast or what?’

He looked round at all their faces. No one said anything.

‘What is it?’

Beth made a wry face. ‘I’m up the duff.’

Jamie stared at her. ‘When?’ he asked. Then, ‘Whose is it?’

Beth hesitated. There was no point in lying or covering up. ‘Connor’s.’

‘Connor’s?’ Jamie clenched his fists and stepped forward. ‘I’ll kill him,’ he said.

‘Don’t,’ said Beth. ‘It wasn’t like that. Don’t blame Connor. It was my own stupid fault.’

‘Does he know?’

‘No.’

Pain and bewilderment flitted across Jamie’s face. He walked over to his sister and held her in his arms.

‘It’ll be OK, Bethy,’ he promised her. ‘Won’t it, Dad?’

Simon nodded, choked up, and embraced the two of them.

Families, thought Stephanie, weren’t a tight unit that travelled on the same track. They ebbed and flowed. Each individual had their own issues and hang-ups and agenda. Sometimes they dovetailed and sometimes they clashed. Within that unit there were alliances and feuds and disagreements that were in a constant state of flux. Allegiances could swap in the blink of an eye. But it didn’t mean they weren’t as one underneath it all. That was how they functioned. Everyone had a role, but sometimes those roles changed, reversed, swapped, depending on the circumstances.

And Stephanie realised just what her role should be in the midst of this family.
She
should be the one to keep them on track. They’d been through such a lot, and each of them had suffered in their own way. The words from a Stevie Wonder song floated back to her. Something about keeping strong, and moving in the right direction. She could do that for them. She could be the voice of calm, an objective eye.

She stepped towards them. She stroked Beth’s hair, squeezed Jamie’s bony shoulders, then slid her arm around Simon’s waist.