A Question of Love (36 page)

‘He’s libelled me, Tom. He’s reduced my standing in the eyes of others.’

‘You may have to live with the injustice of it. I’ll do my best to get some sort of apology through the PCC, but don’t even think about litigation because you will end up bankrupt—and stark, staring mad. Any kind of legal proceedings are just…awful,’ he added. He was obviously thinking of his divorce. ‘Anyway, can I change the subject, Laura, because there’s something
very
serious I need to ask you…’

‘Really? What?’

He swung a book of carpet samples on to his desk. ‘Which

one of these do you like? The refurb’s being done next weekend, so we’ve got to choose today. They’re all in stock, apparently, but you can decide.’

I flipped them over, then stopped at a green speckly one.

‘This one,’ I said. ‘Green’s restful—which is exactly what I need after all the shite I’ve had to deal with.’

‘Okay—and here are the paint cards.’ I flicked through the colour tiles, held them up to the scuffed-looking walls and picked out something complimentary. ‘This guy I know, Arnie, is going to do it,’ Tom went on. ‘He’s given me a good price, but he’s incredibly busy, so he wants to get it done on the bank holiday Monday. Dylan and I are going to shift the stuff the day before.’

‘And how was Canada?’

‘It was okay,’ he said absently. ‘Stressful though.’

I wondered why. Perhaps he’d seen his little boy and it had disturbed him—or perhaps he’d
wanted
to see him, and his exwife hadn’t let him. I was curious, but couldn’t possibly ask. Although he’d confided in me about Gina, his failed marriage has always been off limits. Not that I’d have known what to say.
Sorry to hear you’ve left your newly delivered wife for another woman, Tom. Sorry to hear that you’ve let down your baby son. Sorry to know that you won’t get to see much of him now, if anything. Sorry that you really screwed up.

‘How’s Luke?’ he said suddenly.

‘Oh…he’s fine.’

‘And the ex? How’s she?’

‘Okay. Things are going well with her man at the moment, so that’s good news for us.’

Later that night, as Luke and I were watching Channel Four News, the phone went.

‘Luke?’ I heard Magda sniff. The loudspeaker was on, as usual.

‘Hi,’ he replied. ‘I was just about to call you, to say goodnight to Jess.’ We heard another sniff. ‘You sound as though you’ve got a bit of a cold there.’

‘Uh-uh-uh…’

‘
Magda
?’ She didn’t have a cold. She was crying. ‘What’s the
matter
, Magda?’

There was a stifled sob. ‘Oh Go-od-od,’ she said. ‘It’s so—uh-uh—awful.’

‘What is?’ said Luke.

‘Somethink terrible’s happened.’

‘
Jessica
?’

‘No, no, no, nothing to do with Jessica,’

Luke clapped hand to his chest. ‘
What
then?’ He was blinking in bewilderment.

‘It’s just
so
terrible.
Borzasztó Szörnyen.
It’s Steve uh-uh…’

‘What’s happened?’

‘Uh-uh-uh-uh…
Borzasztó
,’ she gasped.

‘
What’s
happened to him?’

‘Uh-uh-uh. I can’t say it.
Ki nem
. I can’t.’

‘Will you please just
tell
me, Magda.’

‘Steve’s d—uh-uh-uh.’

He’s dead, I thought, with an equanimity which surprised me. She’s trying to say the words, ‘Steve’s dead’, and she can’t. I had visions of him plastered all over the M25 or perhaps he’d been trampled to death by Yogi. I braced myself.

‘Steve’s d-d-d—uh-uh-uh—d-d-d…’

‘Dead?’ whispered Luke, horror twisting his features. ‘Are you saying that Steve’s
dead
?’

‘No! I wish he
was
! Steve’s d-d-d—
dumped
me!’ she wailed.

THIRTEEN

‘It couldn’t have come at a worse time,’ Luke groaned, when he put the phone down an hour later. ‘Why the hell did he have to do it
now
?’

I mentally replayed the conversation in my head. Magda had said she’d just been to Harvey Nichols to buy something to wear for his mother’s wedding, and how she’d spent £200 on a new dress; and how she’d been on her way back to Chiswick in a cab, when Steve had called her.

‘So I began tellink him about the new frock I’d just bought,’ she’d explained between teary gasps. ‘And about how much I was lookink forward to meetink his family and about the—uh-uh-uh—lovely present I’d got for his mum. Then therewas this awkward pause, and he said that he was very sorry—uh-uh—but that he didn’t think I should—uh-uh-uh—go after
all
…’

‘How awful for you,’ Luke had said sympathetically. ‘So he invites you, then uninvites you.
Why
?’

‘He said—uh-uh—that he feels it would be unfair to introduce me to his entire fam-uh-uh-ily, when he doesn’t think it’s goink to work out.’

Poor Magda, I thought. Especially as she’d thought it was going so well.

‘And what reason, precisely, did he give?’ Luke asked, evincing all the indignation of an outraged father. I half expected to see him reach for a horsewhip.

‘He said—uh-uh—that he felt that we were—uh-uh—fundamentally incompatible. He said he found me very—uh-uh—attractive and charmink…’

‘You are,’ said Luke indignantly. ‘
Everyone
says so.’

‘Thank you,’ she sniffed. ‘But he said that he didn’t feel—uh-uh—that I was…
right
for him. But I
am
right for him,’ she wept. ‘Of course I
am
. I mean, I’d just spent
£80
on a
very
nice present for his mother when I don’t even
like
her.’

‘Of course you’re right for him,’ said Luke crossly. ‘The man’s a
fool
!’ I didn’t know whether this was genuine spousal loyalty, or irritation at the potential impact this would have on him.

‘He said—uh-uh—he’d been tryink to find the right way to say it for weeks.’

‘It’s got nothing to do with his work has it?’ Luke asked her. ‘That client of his that you had that little disagreement with?’

There was a pause. ‘Which one?’

‘The one you called an idiot?’

‘Oh, no, it’s got
nothink
to do with that,’ she wept. ‘That horrrrrible little man’s gone to another firm now so no,
that’s
not the reason.’

Luke rolled his eyes.

‘Is dumping her Steve’s revenge then?’ I asked as we absorbed it all a few moments later.

Luke shook his head. ‘No. He’d liked her—he must have done to have stuck with her this long—but he obviously realized that she was too high risk. A man like that wants a well-behaved, corporate wife, and that’s not Magda—but this is
very
bad news for me.’

‘Do you think she’ll still let Jessica go to Venice?’

He gave a defeated sigh. ‘No. She’ll be so miserable that she’ll want her at home.’

‘Poor Jessica,’ I said. At one point we’d heard her say, ‘Don’t cry, Mummy.
I’ll
look after you.
Please
don’t cry Mummy…’ It was heartbreaking.

I kept expecting to hear that Venice was off. I even wondered, guiltily, whether, if Jessica couldn’t go, Luke would take me instead. But as the days went by, nothing was said. Magda phoned up just as much, but Luke didn’t put the speaker on any more as he said he thought it unfair to her, in her distressed state.

‘So it’s still happening then is it?’ I asked him on the Wednesday, two days before he was due to go. We were watching the quiz. The commercial break had just started.

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘It is.’

‘Magda’s letting you take Jessica?’ He nodded. ‘Do you think she’ll put a spanner in the works at the last minute?’

‘No. I…don’t think so.’ He seemed slightly on edge. He was obviously still worried that she might do exactly that.

‘Well, it’s good that she’s not being selfish about it—especially as she’s so unhappy.’ I felt a surge of respect for her, which took me aback.

‘I’ve got something for you,’ Luke said.

‘Really? What?’

He reached behind the sofa, and pulled out a carrier bag, on which was printed
Georgina von Etzdorf
. Inside was a silk dressing gown, of exquisite loveliness, with a pattern of pink tulips.

‘Thank you.’ I kissed him. ‘It’s beautiful.’ I put it on.

‘Well, it was the least I could do. I meant to get one for you before, but I’ve been too busy.’

‘I love it, and I’ll cherish it.’ I slipped my arm through his. ‘So tell me again how long you’ll be away?’

‘Four days. Luckily the school’s closed on the Friday for teacher training, which gives us an extra day, and we’ll be back on Monday night.’

‘And when’s the wedding?’

‘On Saturday afternoon.’

‘And where are you staying again?’ He looked at me. ‘It’s just that I’d like the phone number there. You said it was called the Hotel…what was it? I can’t remember.’

‘Well…I’ll have my mobile on. Hey, the quiz is starting again.’ We stared at the screen.

Where, after the fall of France, in June 1940, were the headquarters of the French state located?

‘Vichy!’ shouted Luke.

Correct.

I didn’t see Luke again before he left for Venice, because Jessica was staying the night with him. I phoned him at Heathrow as they waited to board.

‘Is Jessica excited?’

‘Yes, she is. Aren’t you darling?’ he called. ‘Jessica!’

‘Yes,’ I heard her reply, a little way off. ‘I’m
so
excited!’ I was glad that, apart from seeing Venice, she’d have a break from her mother’s misery.

‘What time will you get there?’

‘About two, and we’ll check into the hotel then go exploring.’
Bing-Bong. ‘
The flight’s being called—I’ll ring you later.’

I missed Luke, but I was happy for him as I visualised the two of them, floating along the lagoon on a gondola, or taking the Vaporetta. I imagined Jessica’s face as she saw the canals and churches and palaces and paintings. I imagined her listening to Luke as he told her a little bit about Georgione, Titian and Veronese. She was just old enough to appreciate the trip.

Luke and I spoke briefly that night—they’d been to Murano, to see the glass blowing—and he rang me at breakfast time the next day. Then they were going to be at the wedding, so I didn’t ring him again. But by eight I thought it would be nice to speak to him, but his mobile was switched off, so, to distract myself, I turned on the TV. A drama about Gallipoli had just started, scheduled, according to the paper, for its 90th anniversary. There was a scene in a field hospital, and I suddenly saw Tara McLeod. She was playing the female lead—a nurse who falls in love with a wounded officer, but he’s married with a baby so they can’t do anything about it. It was the reverse of what had happened in real life. As the final credits rolled, I wondered whether Tom had been watching it too, and how he might have felt.

By now it was ten. I’d heard nothing from Luke all day and was beginning to feel anxious. I dialled his number. He’d still be awake.

‘This is Luke North. I’m sorry I can’t speak to you, but if you leave me a message…’ I hate answerphones, so I didn’t.

I slept badly, and woke early. I glanced at the alarm—it was ten past seven—ten past eight there. Ten minutes later I dialled him again, but he still wasn’t answering. I wished I had the number for the hotel so that I could try him in his room before he and Jess went out for the day. What was it called again? The Hotel…
Danieli.
That was it. I got the number from directory enquiries. There were three long beeps as it rang.

‘Pronto…’

As I drew back the curtains, I asked to speak to Luke North. No, I didn’t know what his room number was. Mr Luke North from London.

‘Luca North. I ‘ave it now,’ the receptionist said. ‘Signor and Signora North.’ Signor
ina
North, I mentally corrected him
. ‘Un atimo, per favore.
‘

The dialling tone changed as the phone in the room rang. Once. Twice. Three times. He wasn’t there. Five times…He and Jessica must be at breakfast. Or perhaps he was in the shower and couldn’t hear it. Perhaps they’d already gone out. I imagined them crossing St Mark’s Square, scattering pigeons. Suddenly the phone was picked up.

‘Hello?’ said a bleary, but familiar voice.

I felt a sudden flood of warmth in my chest, then my knees buckled beneath me like a stunned animal.

‘Hello?’ she repeated as I sank on to the bed.
Signora.

‘
Magda
?’ I croaked. There was silence. I could hear my heart banging beneath my ribs. I felt sick and breathless. ‘Is that Magda?’ There was no reply, then I heard a grumble of noise as the phone was passed over.

‘Hello?’ I heard Jessica say anxiously.

‘Jessica, it’s Laura.’

‘Hello,’ she said again.

‘Jessica…’

‘My dad’s not here,’ she said. ‘He’s eating his breakfast.’

‘Was that your mum?’ I said weakly.

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I mean—
no
. Do you want to speak to my dad? He’ll be back soon.’

‘It’s okay,’ I murmured. ‘I don’t want to. Goodbye Jessica.’

I heard a little sigh of relief. ‘G’bye.’

I replaced the handset and stared at the wall.

That was why he’d been reluctant to give me the number for the hotel. That was why he’d had his mobile switched off most of the time—in case I heard Magda’s voice. That’s why he hadn’t had his home phone on speaker for the last few days—in case she accidentally mentioned the trip. That was why he’d been so confident that she wouldn’t sabotage it—because she knew that she was going too. And
that’s
why he’d given me the dressing gown, I realized, bitterly. Because he knew he was about to betray me. Again.

I sat on the bed for quite a few moments, too shocked to move. Then, I thought—strangely perhaps, given the circumstances—but then who’s looking after the
goats
?

By now the phone was ringing, as I knew it soon would.