A Question of Love (19 page)

‘Precisely.’ I rested my knife on my plate. ‘And that’s why so many of her things are still in his house. She didn’t forget them, she left them there, deliberately.’

‘Like a feral cat,’ Hope observed. ‘Spraying everywhere, to mark its territory.’ I remembered that aggressive gleam in Magda’s eyes.

Now, as Hope sipped her Semillon, I told her how Magda’s favourite trick was to manufacture some sort of ‘crisis’—a gas leak, a faulty microwave, Martians in the back garden—which invariably required Luke’s help.

‘Once she managed to get Luke to go over there because she’d broken a saucepan,’ I said. ‘And last week she demanded his presence because Ophelia and Yogi were fighting. When he refused, she threatened to call the police.’

‘Whose role would have been what? To arrest Luke for non-compliance, or the goats for violence?’

‘We weren’t entirely sure. But what I can’t stand is the way she shreds his nerves about Jessica, claiming that she’s got “suspected meningitis” when it’s just a headache, or an “abscess” when she’s cutting a tooth.’ I had come to loathe the sound of Luke’s mobile. Its jaunty little tune would invariably herald a twenty-minute barrage of false alarms, threats and demands. But he couldn’t ever turn it off in case of a
real emergency. I tried to imagine the intoxicating sense of power Magda must have.

‘I don’t know how you put up with it,’ Hope repeated, shaking her perfectly-coiffed head. She looked, as usual, as though she’d just walked out of the hairdresser.

‘Well, I put up with it, because…’ I thought of what Mike had once said to Fliss. ‘It’s a question of love. I love Luke, so that’s the answer. But if I hadn’t known him before, then, yes, I admit it would be hard. If it was a
new
relationship…’

‘But it
is
,’ Hope interrupted. ‘You’ve only been seeing him for—what—six weeks?’

‘Yes, but it’s actually longer than that.’

‘Why? Are you living in a parallel universe or something?’

‘No. It’s because we were together before. We’ve already settled into a comfortable routine because we have a history. Can’t you see that?’

‘No.’ Hope was starting to annoy me in the way only my sisters can. They give me ‘sistitis’—it can be very uncomfortable. ‘I just think it’s convenient for Luke. It means that after less than two months he knows you well enough to abandon you mid-date because his ex snaps her fingers.’

‘Luke’s life isn’t easy,’ I said firmly, ‘and you have to be very understanding when someone’s got kids.’ I didn’t add that, as Hope had never wanted them, she might not appreciate that.

‘I’m sure that’s true,’ she replied, fiddling with the Tiffany gold teardrop earrings that Mike had got for her for her last birthday. ‘All I’m saying is, don’t let Luke put you in the comfort zone too early. He’s got to woo the new Laura, not just take the old one for granted. You’re a different person now—and so is he.’

‘Well, yes. We
are
different in many ways—but our previous time together provides a firm foundation.’

She poured me some Evian. ‘Does it?’

‘Magda knows I
matter
to Luke. She can’t dismiss me as some passing fancy. Plus she’s furious that I knew him before she did. That’s why she’s being so vile.’

‘She’s being vile because she’s being vile,’ said Hope matter-of-factly, ‘and because she’s clearly slightly deranged.’ This was true. I now realized that my anxieties over whether Magda would try and get Luke back were ludicrous. A reconciliation was not on the cards. ‘What main course did he choose by the way?’ she added.

‘Lamb.’

‘Not too rare I hope?’

‘Medium.’

She nodded approvingly. ‘Side order?’

‘Spinach and mash. Luke’s just being cautious, that’s all. He doesn’t want to do anything to jeopardize his position with Jessica, given how tricky Magda’s being at the moment.’ ‘So he has Jessica on Saturdays. But presumably you spend Sundays together.’

‘Well…not at the moment.’ I fiddled with my napkin.

‘Why not?’

‘Erm…because…he tends…to go there.’

Hope looked at me as though I were mad. ‘Are you saying he spends Saturday with Jessica, then Sunday with Jessica and
Magda
?’

I sighed patiently. ‘Well, ye-es. Because ever since she found out about me, Magda’s been inviting Luke over for Sunday lunch on the basis that they should spend family time together for Jessica’s sake.’

‘If she was so keen on them having family time together then she shouldn’t have
left
him,’ said Hope acidly. ‘But that’s a powerful weapon she’s got there—roast goulash and all the trimmings.’

‘It is, because Luke wants to see Jessica as much as possible, so, although he’s torn about me, he wants to go. Plus Magda said that if he didn’t go, she’d invite her boyfriend, and
he’d
end up being Jessica’s dad.’

‘How manipulative,’ said Hope shaking her head. ‘But doesn’t her chap mind her playing happy families with her ex?’

‘He sees his own kids on Sundays so it suits him.’

‘But I don’t know how
you
can bear it,’ Hope said. ‘I know
I
wouldn’t be able to.’

‘I know it’s not ideal. But twelve years ago my relationship with Luke ended because, well…’

‘Because he was
unfaithful
to you,’ Hope interjected.

‘Ye-es.’ Her angry tone had taken me aback. ‘But he felt terrible about it and he begged me to forgive him, but I couldn’t. I was…judgemental. I saw it in black and white. Now, older and wiser, and having been through some bad stuff myself, I intend to cut him some slack.’

‘But now it sounds as though you’re forgiving him too
much
—not judging him
enough.
‘

‘Look Hope, it’s to his credit that he should put his child first—I wouldn’t like him so much if he
didn’t
do that.’ I thought again of Tom, who had put himself before his wife and his newborn child—an act which, however much I liked him on one level, had seriously diminished him on another. ‘Anyway, it’s only until things shake down,’ I added. ‘Luke asked me to be patient.’

Hope shrugged. ‘Well…it’s
your
life. But
I
wouldn’t let myself be treated like that,’ she repeated. She drummed her perfectly-manicured nails on the table. ‘Oh no,’ she added vehemently. ‘I would
not
.’ She was getting
right
under my skin now so I changed the subject. I discussed the newspaper coverage I’d had. Being in PR, Hope knows how things work.

‘You were a victim of the circulation battle between the
Daily Post
and the
Daily News
,’ she explained as the waiter took away our plates. ‘Their editors loathe each other.’

‘Why?’

‘It’s partly traditional—they’re after the same slice of Middle England—and partly personal, because last year R. Sole nicked Terry Smith’s wife. Thanks to Scrivens the
Post
got their nasty little “story” about your “drunken behaviour”, so the
News
had to go one better with their “scoop” about your so-called “affair”—you were caught in a tabloid tug-of-hate.’

‘And how would they have got hold of that old photo of Luke and me?’

‘By blagging their way on to Friends Reunited and tracking down people you used to know.’ I thought of all the university friends I’d dropped after Luke and I had split up. Why should they have been loyal? ‘They could have found former colleagues of yours to give them a quote,’ I heard Hope say. ‘Or your hairdresser, or your neighbours…’ I thought of Mrs Singh next door. ‘Anyone who ever knew you. Journalists are
very
resourceful. Anyway, thank God it’s all died away.’

‘Thanks to the Minister for the Family.’

For the first time that evening, Hope smiled. It had been widely reported that the Right Honourable Eric Wilton, ‘happily married father of four’, had started hormone treatment prior to undergoing a sex change operation, and so my ‘story’ had gone off the boil.

‘You’ll still have to be on your guard though,’ she warned. ‘
Don’t
talk to journalists.’

‘I’d rather eat my own leg.’

‘And when’s the show he was in being broadcast?’

‘Tomorrow night.’

‘Really? Well there’ll probably be some press interest in that so you’d better brace yourself.’ I felt sick. Now, as our main courses arrived, Hope talked about Fliss. ‘The christening cost five grand,’ she said. ‘It was
crazy
. Another three months and they’ll have to put the house on the market. Has she told you what she’s going to do to make ends meet?’

‘No. We haven’t spoken for a couple of weeks.’

‘She’s putting Olivia out to work.’

‘She should be reported then.’

‘Baby modelling. She told me today that she’d sent a snap of Olivia to this “Kiddlywinks” child-modelling agency and they’ve signed her up on the spot. Fliss is thrilled—she’s dying to see Olivia’s face plastered on the cover of Babychops Magazine or whatever—plus she thinks it’ll make them shedloads of cash.’

I spooned some spinach on to my plate. ‘What does Hugh think?’

‘He thinks it’s exploitative and undignified, but she told him that as he’s not even earning because of his “silly inventions” he’s in no position to object.’ She had a sip of wine. ‘She’s got a point in a way, but don’t you think she’s mean to him?’

‘I do. Although his ideas
are
mad.’

‘They are. Did he tell you about the mudguards he’s just designed for women to stick to the backs of their legs on rainy days?’

‘No.’

‘Or the PVC burka for bad weather, ditto?’

I shook my head. ‘Patently absurd.’

‘But at least he
tries
. Fliss’ll be sorry, though,’ Hope added darkly. ‘She’ll be
very
sorry if Hugh gets fed up with her and has an affair.’ She pursed her lips, as though she was sucking on a lime.

‘Do you think he would?’

She shrugged. ‘Most men would, if they got the chance. Wouldn’t they?’ She looked at me intensely, as though soliciting my opinion. ‘I mean…
any
man would. Isn’t that what they say?’ she added feelingly.

‘Hm…not all men.’

‘That’s what they
all
say,’ she insisted. A distracted look came into her eyes. ‘And I sometimes
even
wonder…’ She put down her knife and fork.

‘What, Hope?’

‘Well…’ She sipped her wine, then ran her middle finger around the rim of the glass and it began to emit a plangent hum. ‘I sometimes even wonder…if…
Mike
might be having one,’ she said, finally. ‘Actually…’ She paused. ‘I think he
is
.’ Now I understood why she’d been in this combative mood all evening. ‘In fact I’m sure of it.’

I stared at her for moment. ‘No way. He’s not the type.’

‘That’s what I used to believe,’ she whispered, but you know, Laura…’ Her eyes had suddenly filled. ‘I’ve got a rather difficult situation—in fact I’m glad to have the chance to talk to you…’ Her mouth trembled for a moment, then she controlled herself.

‘What’s happened, Hope? Tell me.’

She dabbed the corner of her left eye with her ring finger, and the huge diamond Mike had given her for their fifth wedding anniversary flashed and sparkled. ‘Okay,’ she said. ‘I
will.
I will tell you.’ I realized that this was the first time that Hope had ever opened up to me about her marriage. Where Felicity is open to the point of imbecility, Hope is completely discreet. It wouldn’t surprise me if I found out she’d been moonlighting for MI5.

She rested her face in her hand. ‘Mike’s been behaving in a very…odd way,’ she began.

I thought of his sharp remarks at the christening, and his irritable behaviour.

‘How?’

‘He’s been working late.’

‘Since when?’

‘The end of January. Every Tuesday and Thursday, without fail, he comes home two hours later than normal.’ She fiddled with the salt cellar. ‘At first I didn’t even notice; and then when I did, I didn’t think about it, because I’ve always felt so confident in our marriage.’

‘Why shouldn’t you?’ I said. ‘Mike’s always been nuts about you.’

She shrugged. ‘That’s what I’d always believed.’

‘You’ve both seemed incredibly happy.’ She nodded, miserably. ‘And you have a great life together.’

‘I know. We’ve been so lucky—we’ve been in love, and we’ve also been very good
friends
. But now I feel it’s all under threat. Because on Tuesdays and Thursdays he doesn’t get home until about nine thirty. We’re usually both home by half seven, unless Mike’s working on something big, or is away on business, so it’s very strange.’

‘And you asked him why?’

‘Of course. But he was unable to give me a satisfactory answer. He still hasn’t. Every time I say something about it he just says, very shiftily, that he’s been “working”. So I felt that something wasn’t right. Plus whenever I phoned him in the office at those times, he wasn’t there. He didn’t pick up either of his direct lines, and his mobile was switched off.’

‘Really?’ This didn’t sound good. ‘Did you challenge him about it?’

She nodded, then fiddled with the tiny vase of narcissi. ‘He looked extremely uncomfortable; then he got very snappy with me, which is unusual.’

‘So what did he say?’

‘He said I must have dialled the wrong number, or that there must have been a fault on the line, or that there might have been no signal for the mobile, or that he must have been in the canteen, or in the bathroom, or in the lift.’

‘Hmm.’

She pursed her lips. ‘In other words
- crap
. He’d be completely incommunicado for about three hours, and when he came home, he’d be in this strange, rather…
emotional
mood. So finally, last week, I asked him straight out.’ Her chin puckered. ‘It was terrible.’ She laid both hands, palm down, on the table, as though bracing herself against the pain. ‘I just asked him if he was having an affair. And he looked at me so sadly that I thought he must be about to confess. Instead he said, “No. I am not having an affair, Hope. I have never had one, and I never would. Because I love you.”‘