A Question of Love (28 page)

‘Hello Chantal,’ I said pleasantly. ‘How funny seeing you both here.’

‘Well I like to support local arts events,’ said Hugh. ‘And Chantal and I have just been for a drink, so she decided to come along too.’

‘That’s right,’ she said, blushing.

‘But we were just leaving,’ Hugh said.

‘Well send my love to Fliss,’ I added brightly.

‘Will do,’ he replied nonchalantly. What a
nerve
.

‘Laura!’ I heard Luke say. He kissed me.

‘Sorry I’m late,’ I said. ‘I got delayed by something and…’

‘Don’t worry,’ he said warmly. ‘I’m just so glad you’re here.’

‘That was my brother-in-law,’ I said with a nod through the plate glass window at Hugh’s departing back. ‘He’s married to Felicity.’

‘I know. I remembered meeting him with you once, years ago, and he introduced himself again. So who’s the blonde he was with?’

‘One of Felicity’s friends, Chantal Vane. I think it’s a bit…
off
actually.’

‘Why? Oh. I see. Do you think they’re…?’

‘I don’t know. I hope to God not.’ I’d had enough problems with my sisters’ husbands. ‘Anyway, how’s it gone?’

He beamed. ‘It’s been fan
tastic
. We had a hundred and fifty people here, and we sold
ten
paintings. Craig’s already left,’ he added, ‘but let me show you his pictures.’

As we walked round the gallery, I was careful to exclaim over them even though they didn’t do much for me—just primary coloured oils trowelled on to the canvas,
impasto,
in a vibrant, but seemingly arbitrary way. I tried to take in what Luke was saying about non-representational, abstract art and the intellectual challenges it presents—the way that discussing it takes you almost into the realms of philosophy—but it was hard to concentrate. I felt as though he was talking to me from the other end of a long dark, tunnel. Then he introduced me to some friends of his, Grant and Imogen, whose nine-month-old baby was his goddaughter.

‘She’s gorgeous,’ Luke said. ‘Jessica adores her too.’

‘Is she your first one?’ I asked Imogen politely.

‘
My
first,’ she replied. ‘Grant has two lovely boys of twelve and nine. They adore Alice—don’t they darling? She’s a lucky little girl.’

He nodded happily. ‘She is.’

We exchanged a few further pleasantries, then they said they’d have to get back, and now the last stragglers were drifting away and Luke and I were able to go while his gallery assistant, Kirsty, cleared the last of the glasses and locked up.

‘There was so much interest,’ he said happily, as we strolled back to his house. ‘I was worried that coming so close after Easter there wouldn’t be, but everyone came and there was a real buzz. Are you okay?’ he said suddenly. ‘You seem a bit…quiet.’

‘Well, I’ve got a…headache,’ I said truthfully.

‘Poor you. I’ll make it go away.’

‘I don’t think you can.’ I thought of Hope, still waiting and wondering, unable to get through to me. But I couldn’t ring her now, even if I wanted to, because by now Mike would be back. I decided I’d call her first thing. But how could I possibly tell her something so grave over the phone? I couldn’t. It had to be done face-to-face. Suddenly I knew what to do. Yes.
That
was it…

‘We’ll spend the rest of the evening quietly,’ Luke said, holding my hand. ‘We could unwind with a film—a nice Hammer Horror, or we could see
The Mummy’s Revenge
. That’s fun.’

Now we were walking up Lonsdale Road, and we’d drawn level with the house, and Luke had just opened the gate when he suddenly stopped. Lying on the flagstones in his front garden was a pair of jeans.

‘What in
God’s
name are these doing here?’ As he lifted them up I felt a sudden
thud
in my rib cage. ‘And
these…
‘ He picked up a pair of white briefs, and a pink t-shirt which had been lying on the doorstep. ‘What on
earth…
?’

‘They’re mine,’ I said quietly.

‘They’re
yours
?’

‘Yes,’ I said with a sick feeling.

‘Oh.
God…
‘ He unlocked the door, turned off the burglar alarm, then we went upstairs. He switched on the light in the bedroom.

‘Oh.
God…
‘ he repeated softly.

The first thing we saw was my silk kimono. It was hard to recognize, given that it had been slashed into about twenty pieces of varying size which were strewn over the bed and floor. There were bits of it on the chest of drawers, on the dressing stool, and on the bedside table. A piece had floated down on to Wilkie and had covered his head, like a handkerchief, as though he was sunbathing.

‘Oh
God…
‘ Luke murmured again. ‘I’m
sorry,
Laura.’ He picked up a scrap of blue silk. ‘I don’t know what to say. I feel…
ashamed
. I’ll get you another one,’ he added impotently.

‘No…Please…Don’t bother,’ I breathed, too stunned to express my outrage. ‘Really…’

He sank on to the foot of the bed. ‘I’m so
sorry
Laura…’ He shook his head. ‘She’s just…
insane.
‘

I went into the bathroom. The lid of the loo was down, and out of the side of it hung one arm of my green cashmere cardigan, as though it had been struggling to get out. As I lifted the seat I was, at least, grateful that the water into which Magda had plunged it appeared to be clean. She had written
Bitch!
in large capitals, with my lipstick, on the bathroom mirror, and had then ground the remainder into the sink. She had sprayed my hair mousse all over the walls. She had tipped my makeup into the bidet, and squeezed toothpaste all over it. She had put my hairdryer, the flex cut off, in the bin.

I imagined Magda carrying out this destruction in a breathless frenzy—like a fox in a henhouse—fuelled by…
what
? Then I remembered.

‘It’s because I moved her things.’ I looked in the wardrobe. Sure enough, her Liberty print shirt, her two dresses, her velvet jacket and her shoes had all been restored to their former places.

‘
Jesus
,’ Luke groaned. He was just sitting on the bed, still holding a piece of my kimono, shaking his head.

‘But the question is…how did she get in?’ He looked at me. ‘How did she get
in,
Luke?’

‘Well…’

‘She didn’t
break
in, that’s obvious.’

‘No…’

‘So does she have a key? Please don’t tell me she has a key, Luke.’

‘She doesn’t,’ he said wearily. ‘But she does know where I keep the spare. But I don’t think she did this just because you moved her clothes.’

‘Then why did she?’

‘Because she’d found out that you’d met Jess.’

‘Really?’ He sighed, then nodded. ‘How? Did she see the Easter egg I gave her?
‘

‘No. She had Jessica’s photos developed this morning and she saw you in one of them.’

‘Ah…’
I remembered the flash going off as I moved out of shot.

‘She phoned me in a rage and I was incredibly busy hanging the pictures for the show, so I told her to get lost. I didn’t think she’d do…
this.
‘

‘Are you saying she drove over from Chiswick, in order to cut up my things?’ I felt almost flattered.

‘No. She had to come over here anyway because Jess had a play date in Notting Hill, and while she was waiting, she must have let herself in, had a snoop,
then
seen you’d moved her stuff, and just…lost it. It would have been too much for her.’

I sat down next to him, still stunned. We didn’t need to watch
The Mummy’s Revenge.
We had our own version going on right here.

‘I’ll speak to her…’ he said. ‘I’ll put it right with you, I don’t know how, or what I can do…’ He buried his head in his hands. ‘It’s such
hell,
Laura. You can’t imagine the stress. It’s like living on the lip of a volcano.
‘

‘Magma,’ I said quietly. ‘Her name should be
Magma.
‘

I put out my right hand to support my back. As I did so I could feel something hard under the duvet. I pulled it back. Placed in the middle of the pillow on my side of the bed, was the pair of large dressmaking scissors that Magda had obviously used to cut up my kimono, the blades open. I stood up.

‘I don’t think I’ll stay here tonight.’ I picked up my bag. ‘I’m sorry, Luke. It’s just…too much. And I’ve had a very stressful day as it is.’ I thought of Mike, and the baby. ‘Let’s speak tomorrow.’

I walked down the stairs and out of the house. I didn’t have the energy for anger—I was still subdued by shock. But as I made my way back to Bonchurch Road I thought how amazing it was that Magda should have wrought so much destruction, and at the same time exhibited such control, carefully closing the window out of which she’d hurled my things, then diligently setting the burglar alarm and locking the door.

I heard a clock strike eleven. I looked at my mobile phone. I had eight missed calls—all of them from Hope—and when I got back I saw that she’d left five, increasingly desperate messages on the answerphone. I texted her to say I couldn’t speak to her tonight, but that I’d call her first thing. But before I was even awake the next morning, she had phoned me.

‘Why didn’t you call me
back
?’ she wept. I blearily glanced at the clock. It was six-thirty. I’d hardly slept. ‘I’ve been going
crazy
!’ she wailed.
‘
Why didn’t you
call
me?’

‘a),’ I croaked, ‘because it was impossible, and b) because I knew that by the time I
could
have done, Mike would be at home.’

‘So…’ I heard her draw in a breath. ‘What did you find out?’ I didn’t reply. ‘What did you find
out
?’ she repeated. ‘Where did he
go
? What’s this Clare woman like? Is she younger than me? Is she more attractive? Did you get a photo of her? Will you
please
tell me what you saw? Please Laura. I can’t stand it. I can’t
stand
it! I’ve got to know. Just
tell
me, will you Laura!
Tell
me! Please, please, please
tell
me…‘

I took a deep breath. ‘No. I won’t.’ There was a gasp.

‘What do you mean—you
won’t
? You’ve
got
to. That’s why you followed him. What are you
playing
at?’

‘I’m not playing at anything. But I
don’t
want to tell you what I saw.’

There was a shocked silence. ‘Why
not
?
‘

‘Because I want to
show
you—that’s why. Tomorrow evening I want you to come with me, and I will show you what I saw. And you are to control yourself until then, and not pester me, or berate me, or cast aspersions on my integrity or my motives, or rant at me about how miserable you are because, actually, Hope, I’ve got my problems too…’ My throat was aching. ‘And, believe it or not, I’m trying to do my best for you here.’

I could hear her crying.

‘It’s bad news, isn’t it?’ she wept. ‘That’s why you don’t want to tell me. Because it’s such bad news. It’s the worst possible news.’

‘Well…’

‘Mike’s in love with this…Clare,’ she croaked. ‘Isn’t he?’

‘Yes. I think he is.’

‘My marriage is over.’

‘Maybe…But I want you to trust me—and you are to say
nothing
to Mike tonight. Please don’t confront him however much you may be tempted to.’

‘Of course I want to, but I can’t, because he’s just gone to Brussels and he won’t be back until tomorrow lunchtime—he left early to get the train. Maybe she’s gone with him,’ she added dismally.

‘I think that’s unlikely,’ I said. ‘Anyway, I’ll meet you…where? Outside Westminster tube station at…7pm tomorrow night.’

‘But where are we
going
, Laura?’

‘You’ll see.’

TEN

I recorded the show the next afternoon—the winner got a very high score—and then, embarrassingly, as it turned out, she decided to turn the tables. The question she asked me was perfectly reasonable: ‘In Greek mythology what effect does drinking the waters of Lethe produce?’ But with all that’s been happening my concentration was poor and I said ’sleepiness’, when the right answer was ‘forgetfulness’, which I did know, although, ironically, I’d forgotten. Anyway, the audience sniggered at that, which annoyed me, and the contestant’s prize money doubled to thirty-two thousand—which was a bit of a budget-buster—and then just as we’d finished the last re-take there was a power cut. All the lights went out because, we learned afterwards, there’d been some problem with the grid in this part of west London, so that wasted another half an hour as we sat there in the dark—there’s no natural light in the studio—while someone tried to find a torch. Apart from the inconvenience, I hate the dark, so I was glad when the electricity was restored and we could all go home. Luke phoned me as I sat in the cab.

‘I’ve just spoken to Magda,’ he said. ‘She’s feeling pretty rotten about what happened…’

‘About what
happened
?’ I closed the glass partition so that the cabbie couldn’t hear. ‘About what she
did,
you mean.’

‘She’s very sorry, Laura, she’s feeling…really…’

‘Cut up?’ I suggested.

‘Bad. She admitted that she’d lost her temper.’

‘No, Luke, she didn’t “lose her temper”. She went
berserk
!’

‘But things haven’t been easy for her lately, Laura.’

‘Poor love. Still, nothing like a little recreational destruction to perk you up when you’re having an unsatisfactory day is there?’ We’d stopped at a red light.

‘And she’s worried that it’s not going well with Steve. She’s—’

‘Don’t tell me—for the chop?’

- ‘not been feeling that confident—she was convinced it was over—and she
was
annoyed that you’d moved her things.’

‘
I
was annoyed that they were
there
!’