A Vintage Affair (31 page)

‘Yes. That one – Granny Robinson. If it hadn’t been for her, I could never have done it; it was quite unexpected, you see what happened was –’

‘Oh, I’m sorry, Dan.’ My phone was vibrating again, the ringtone barely audible above the noise and chatter. I put in my earpiece then pressed the green button, bracing myself for it being Miles yet again. But the number on the screen wasn’t his. It had a North American code.

‘Could I speak to Phoebe Swift?’ said a male voice.

‘Yes. Speaking.’

‘This is Luke Kramer from Toronto University.’ I felt a rush of adrenaline. ‘My colleague Carol says you wanted to talk to me?’

‘I did,’ I said agitatedly. ‘I do. I
do
want to talk to you –’ I stood up. ‘But I’m out … it’s very noisy, Mr Kramer – I need to get home. Could you give me ten minutes to run back and then I’ll phone you?’

‘Sure.’

‘That seemed like an important call,’ said Dan as I pocketed the phone.

‘It is important.’ I was suddenly euphoric. ‘Really important. In fact it’s …’

‘A matter of life and death?’ Dan interjected wryly.

I looked at him. ‘You could say that, yes.’ I put on my scarf. ‘So I’m sorry I’ve got to go, but thanks for cheering me up.’ I hugged him.

For once Dan seemed taken aback. ‘Any time. I’ll … ring you,’ he added. ‘Shall I?’

‘Yes. Do.’ I gave him a wave and then left.

I raced back to the house, took the phone to the kitchen table and dialled the number. ‘Is that Mr Kramer?’ I said breathlessly.

‘Hi, Phoebe – yes, this is Luke.’

‘Congratulations on the baby, by the way.’

‘Thanks. I’m still a little shell-shocked – she’s our first. Anyway, I understand from my colleague Carol that you want to be put in touch with Miriam Lipietzka.’

‘I do want to. Yes.’

‘As I’ll be putting this request to Miriam, could I ask why?’

I explained, in broad terms. ‘Do you think she’d talk to me?’ I added.

There was a pause. ‘I don’t know. But I’m seeing her tomorrow, so I’ll pass on what you’ve told me. Let me write down the relevant names. So your friend is Mrs Thérèse Bell.’

‘Yes. Her maiden name was Laurent.’

‘Thérèse … Laurent,’ he repeated. ‘And the friend they had in common was Monique … Did you say Richelieu?’

‘Yes. Though she was born Monika Richter.’

‘Richter … So this all relates to what happened during the war?’

‘Yes. Monique was also in Auschwitz, from August 1943. I’m trying to find out what happened to her; and when I found Miriam’s name in that programme, I thought she might know – or at least know something …’

‘Well, I’ll speak to her about it. But let me say that I’ve known Miriam for thirty years and she rarely talks about her wartime experiences as the memories are so painful, obviously; plus she may have no idea what happened to this friend … Monique.’

‘I hear what you say, Luke. But please ask …’

‘How were the fireworks?’ Annie asked me when she arrived for work on Monday. ‘I was in Brighton, so I missed them.’

‘They were rather disappointing.’ I wasn’t going to say why.

Annie threw me a curious glance. ‘That’s a shame.’

Then I drove over to Sydenham to collect the clothes
that I’d bought from the garrulous Mrs Price. As she chatted away to me I could now see that she had un naturally ‘open’ eyes and a jawline that was too tight, and hands that were a good ten years older than her face. The idea of Mum looking like this made my heart sink.

As I was driving back at lunchtime my mobile rang so I quickly turned into a side road and parked. When I saw the Toronto code on my phone my stomach tightened.

‘Hi, Phoebe,’ said Luke. So he’d spoken to her. ‘I’m afraid there was a problem yesterday when I went to see Miriam.’

I braced myself. ‘Doesn’t she want to talk about it?’

‘I didn’t ask, because when I got there I could see she wasn’t well. She gets serious chest infections, especially in the Fall – it’s partly a legacy of what she went through. The doctor gave her antibiotics and told her to rest; so I’m afraid I didn’t mention your phone call.’

‘No – of course.’ I felt a stab of disappointment. ‘Well, thanks for letting me know. Maybe when she’s better …?’ My voice trailed away.

‘Maybe – but for the time being, I feel I should leave it.’

For the time being… That could be a week, I reflected as I looked in the driving mirror and drove off, or it could be a month – or never.

When I got back to the shop I was surprised to see Miles there, sitting on the sofa, chatting to Annie, who was smiling at him solicitously as though she’d realised that there’d been a problem between us.

‘Phoebe.’ Miles stood up. ‘I was just hoping you might have time to have a cup of tea with me?’

‘Yes … Erm … let me just put these suitcases in the office, then we’ll go to the Moon Daisy Café. I’ll be about half an hour, Annie.’

She smiled at us. ‘Sure.’

The café was busy, so Miles and I sat at one of the empty tables outside – it was just warm enough in the sunshine and it meant we had privacy.

‘I’m sorry about Saturday,’ Miles began. He turned up his collar. ‘I should have put my foot down with Roxy: I know I give in to her too much. It’s not right.’

I looked at him. ‘I do find things hard with Roxy. You’ve seen how hostile her attitude towards me is – and she always finds a way to wreck our dates.’

Miles sighed. ‘She regards you as a threat. She’s been the centre of my universe for ten years now, so it’s understandable in many ways.’ He paused while Pippa brought our tea. ‘But I had a long talk with her yesterday. I told her how angry I was about Saturday. I told her that she means the world to me and always will, but that I also have to be allowed to be happy. I told her how important you’ve become to me and that I don’t want to be without you.’ I was shocked to see that Miles’ eyes were suddenly shimmering. ‘So …’ I saw him swallow, then he reached for my hand. ‘I’d like to get things back on a happier footing with you, Phoebe. I explained to Roxy that you’re my girlfriend, and that means you’ll be at the house sometimes and that for my sake she has to be …
nice
.’

I felt my resentment suddenly flood away. ‘Thank you for saying that, Miles. I … do want to get on with Roxy,’ I added.

‘I know you do. And yes, she can be a bit tricky, but at heart she’s a good, decent girl.’ Miles laced his fingers
through mine. ‘So I hope that things feel better to you now, Phoebe – it’s very important to me that they do.’

I looked at him. ‘They do feel better,’ I smiled. ‘Much better,’ I added quietly.

Miles leaned forward and kissed me. ‘Good.’

What Miles had said to Roxy seemed to make a difference. She was no longer actively hostile towards me but behaved as though my presence was a matter of indifference. If I spoke to her she would answer, but she otherwise ignored me. I welcomed this neutrality. It represented progress.

In the meantime I’d heard nothing from Luke. After a week I left a message but he didn’t respond. I assumed that Miriam was still unwell or, if she was better, that she’d decided against talking to me. I didn’t mention it to Mrs Bell when I went to see her. She was clearly in more pain than before and told me that she was now wearing a morphine patch.

Louis’ first birthday was coming up – along with my mother’s facelift. I was still worried about it and told her so when she came round for supper on Tuesday.

‘I repeat that you are still very attractive and don’t need it.’ I poured her a glass of wine. ‘What if it goes wrong?’

‘Freddie Church has done thousands of these… procedures,’ she said delicately, ‘and not a
single
fatality.’

‘That’s not the most glowing recommendation.’

Mum opened her bag and got out her diary. ‘Now, I’ve put you down as next of kin so you’ll need to know where I am. I’ll be at the Lexington Clinic in Maida Vale.’ She flicked through the pages. ‘Here’s the number … The operation’s at four thirty and I have to be there
by eleven thirty in the morning for the pre-med. I’ll be in for four days, so I hope you’ll visit me.’

‘Are you telling anyone at work?’

Mum shook her head. ‘John thinks I’m going to France for two weeks. And I’m not telling
any
of my friends.’ She put her diary back in her bag and snapped it shut. ‘It’s private.’

‘It won’t be when they all see that you suddenly look fifteen years younger – or worse, that you look like someone
else
!’

‘That’s not going to happen. I’m going to look
great
.’ Mum pushed at her jawline with her fingers. ‘It’s just a
tiny
lift. The trick is to have a new hair style to distract attention from it.’

‘Maybe that’s all you
need
– a new hair style.’ And some new make-up, I thought. She was wearing that ghastly coral lipstick again. ‘Mum, I have a bad feeling about this – will you
please
cancel it?’

‘Phoebe, I’ve already paid a non-returnable deposit of
£
4,000 – half the total – so I’m not cancelling anything.’

I woke up on Louis’ birthday with a sense of foreboding. I told Annie that I’d be out all day, then I went to get the train to meet Dad. As I trundled round the Circle Line I read the
Independent
, which, I was surprised to see, had a story about its owners, Trinity Mirror, being in negotiations to buy up the
Black & Green
. As I walked up the steps at Notting Hill Gate station I wondered whether this would be a good or bad thing for Dan and Matt.

It was gloriously sunny now and felt surprisingly mild for late November as I walked down Bayswater Road. I’d arranged to meet Dad just before ten at the Orme
Gate entrance to Kensington Gardens. When I got there at five to, I saw him coming along with the buggy. I thought that Louis might wave his arms at me as he usually does, but today he just gave me a shy smile.

‘Hallo, birthday boy!’ I bent down to stroke his apple cheek. His face felt lovely and warm. ‘Is he walking yet?’ I asked Dad as we turned into the park.

‘Not quite. But he will be soon. He’s still in the “Confident Crawlers” group at Gymboree and I don’t want to rush things.’

‘Of course not.’

‘But he’s just gone up a level at Monkey Music.’

‘That’s good.’ I held up my carrier bag. ‘I’ve got him a xylophone.’

‘Oh, he’ll love bashing that.’

Now we could hear the wind chimes floating across the grass from the Princess Diana playground: as we rounded the bend in the path the pirate ship loomed into view, as though it were sailing over the grass.

‘The playground looks deserted,’ I said.

‘That’s because it doesn’t open until ten. I often come at this time on a Monday morning because it’s nice and quiet. Nearly there, Louis,’ Dad crooned. ‘He’s usually straining at his straps by this point – aren’t you, sweetie? – but he’s a bit tired this morning.’

The superintendent unlocked the gate then Dad took Louis out of the buggy and we put him in one of the swings. He seemed to enjoy just sitting there quietly while we pushed him. At one point he leaned his head against the chain, closing his eyes.

‘He does seem tired, Dad.’

‘We had a broken night – he was a bit whingey for
some reason – probably because Ruth was away. She’s been filming in Suffolk, but she’s driving back at lunchtime. Now, let’s see if you’ll stand, Louis.’ Dad lifted him out of the swing and put him down but Louis immediately looked upset and held up his arms to be lifted. So I carried him round the playground, going into the wooden cabins with him and posting him down the slide while Dad caught him. But I kept thinking about Mum. What if she reacted badly to the anaesthetic? I glanced at the clock tower – it was ten forty. By now she’d be halfway there. She’d said that she was treating herself to a taxi all the way from Blackheath.

Dad caught Louis as he slithered down the slide again. ‘He does seem sleepy today – don’t you, darling?’ Dad cuddled him. ‘You didn’t want to get out of your cot.’ Suddenly Louis started to cry. ‘Don’t cry, sweetie.’ Dad stroked his face. ‘There’s no need to cry.’

‘Do you think he’s okay?’

Dad felt his head. ‘He’s just got a bit of a temperature.’

‘I noticed that he felt warm when I kissed him.’

‘It’s half a degree over normal, I’d say, but I think he’s fine. Let’s put him in the swing again – he loves that.’

So we did, and this seemed to cheer Louis for a moment and he stopped crying and sat there, but listlessly now, closing his eyes again, his legs dangling.

‘I’ll give him some Calpol,’ Dad said. ‘Could you lift him out, Phoebe?’

As I did so, Louis’ little green coat rode up. My heart lurched. His tummy was scattered with red spots.

‘Dad, have you seen this rash?’

‘I know – he’s had a bit of eczema lately.’

‘I don’t think this is eczema.’ I stroked Louis’ skin.
‘These spots are flat, like little pinpricks – and his hands are like ice.’ I stared at Louis. His cheeks were flushed but there was a bluish tinge to his mouth. ‘Dad, I don’t think he’s very well.’

Dad looked at Louis’ front then he took the baby bag off the back of the buggy and got out the Calpol. ‘This will help – it’s good for lowering a high temperature. Could you hold him, Phoebe?’ So we sat at one of the picnic tables and I cuddled Louis while Dad poured the pink medicine into the spoon. Then I inclined Louis’ head. ‘
That’s
a good boy,’ Dad said as he trickled it in. ‘Normally it’s a struggle, but he’s being so good about it today. Well
done
, little boy …’ Louis suddenly grimaced, then threw it all up. As Dad wiped him clean I felt Louis’ brow. It was burning. He emitted a high-pitched cry.

‘Dad, what if this is something serious?’

He flinched. ‘We need a glass,’ he said quietly. ‘Get me a glass, Phoebe.’

I ran up to the café and asked for one but the woman said that glass isn’t allowed in the Diana Playground. I began to panic. ‘Dad – do you have a glass jar with you?’

He looked at me. ‘There’s a jar of blueberry pudding in the baby bag. Use that.’

I got it out, ran to the loo, washed out the purple mush and rinsed the glass, tearing off as much of the label as I could with my trembling fingers. When I came out I looked to see if there was anyone who might help us, but the playground was almost deserted apart from a few people at the very far end.