Dance While You Can (13 page)

When lunch was over, she produced a well-thumbed guide of the city and took us on a tour, dragging us from monument to museum, college to library, impressing us like mad with her vast knowledge of the place, until at last we arrived at Balliol where she insisted Henry show her his room.

I almost choked when I saw Henry’s face; it was as if we had stepped back in time. Miss Angrid was duly horrified at the state of Henry’s room and demanded to know who was responsible for letting him get away with it. Henry whispered to me that his scout was away, and we both heaved a sigh of relief at the narrow avoidance of past and present worlds colliding . . . .

We dined with her that evening. I stayed longer than I’d intended, mainly because with Miss Angrid there, Jessica suddenly seemed an intrusion in my life, an irrelevance. But I had to face her wrath sooner or later, so leaving Miss Angrid and Henry to their brandies and reminiscences, I went home. Jessica wasn’t there. Her wardrobe was empty and there was a note on the bed. I didn’t even bother to read it. I knew she’d be back.

The following day Henry was taking part in the Eights Week races, so I took Miss Angrid for a stroll over to Magdalen to see the deer park.

‘So you’ll be going down at the end of the month,’ she remarked, as we wandered past the tower and on to the bridge.

‘Mmm,’ I waved to a couple of friends emerging from beneath the bridge in a punt.

‘What do you intend to do with yourself then?’

‘Bar School.’

‘And Henry?’

‘Same.’

‘And are you still determined to practise criminal law?’ she asked, leaning against the side of the bridge.

‘Yes.’

‘Is your father any happier about it? I thought after all that business – ’

‘Not really, but we don’t row about it any more.’

‘How is he? I read in the paper he’d not been well. Heart, wasn’t it?’

‘He’s better, I think. Apparently the doctor’s told him he’s got to take things a bit easier, but you know what he’s like.’

‘And your mother?’

‘Oh, she’s fine. Gave her a bit of a fright, naturally, but now Luanda’s had the baby she’s got something else to occupy her mind.’

‘Of course. I was forgetting you had a sister. She married a Frenchman? didn’t she?’

‘Etienne. And now they’ve got a son. And before you ask, I’m sure they’ll be putting him down for Foxton’s – unless Etienne insists he has a French education!’

She laughed. ‘Now, what about you? Who’s this Jessica Henry was telling me about last night?’

‘Henry told you about Jessica?’

‘He did. But I had already guessed there must be someone, otherwise you and Henry would be sharing digs together. So, what’s she like? Why haven’t I been introduced?’

‘She’s gone to keep her grandmother company for the weekend.’

She eyed me suspiciously. ‘Mmm. Serious, is it, between you two?’

I answered with a shrug, then deftly manoeuvred her round to telling me the news of Foxton’s. Mr Lear was now the Deputy Head, I was surprised to hear, and Mr Ellery had married a new English mistress who had joined the school just after I left. Foxton’s had been slaughtered at rugby by Monkforth Abbey for three years running, she added with disgust. ‘Seems they forgot how to play the wretched game after you’d gone. You got a blue, I hear?’

‘You hear a great deal down there at Foxton’s,’ I laughed, and pushed myself away from the wall to Walk on. She followed, a pace or two behind. ‘And the other matron?’ I asked, after a short silence. ‘I’ve forgotten her name now. Is she still there?’

‘Miss Austen. Yes, she’s still with us.’

When we came to the other side of the bridge, we wandered down the steps to the river bank. It was several minutes before I realised Miss Angrid was no longer walking beside me. When I turned round I found her watching me, her hands bulging the pockets of her cardigan and her blue rinse tilted to one side.

‘Is something the matter?’ I asked. And when she didn’t answer I looked at my watch. ‘I know! It’s time for tea. There’s a great tea shop not far from here. No hot buttered toast, I’m afraid, but they do a terrific scone with homemade jam and fresh . . .’

‘Why don’t you ask, Alexander?’ She waited, her eyes steadfastly holding mine. ‘It’s why you invited me here, isn’t it?’

I stared out across the river. I hadn’t been conscious of any motive, but maybe that was because I hadn’t allowed myself to be. It was all so long ago now – I couldn’t even picture her face any more. So why was my heart beating faster? Why did the palms of my hands feel damp?

I looked back to Miss Angrid. She was still watching me. ‘I can return to Foxton’s without mentioning her name if that’s what you want,’ she said. ‘It’s up to you.’

I sat down on the grass and rested my elbows on my knees. After a while she came and sat beside me. I couldn’t meet her eyes as I spoke. ‘Have you heard from her?’

‘A postcard.’ She fumbled in her handbag. ‘Here, I brought it in case you wanted to see it.’

I looked at it for a long time, but didn’t take it from her. ‘When did she send it?’ I asked finally.

‘Just over a year ago.’

‘Do you know where she is?’

‘No.’

‘She doesn’t say on the card?’

‘No.’

I laughed, and knew it sounded bitter. ‘Well, that’s it then, isn’t it,’ I said, getting to my feet. ‘She could be dead by now for all we know.’

Miss Angrid said nothing. ‘Well, what am I supposed to say?’ I shouted angrily. ‘She went out of our lives four years ago. She knows where we are, if she wanted to get in touch she would. I gave up losing sleep over her a long time ago.’ It wasn’t what I’d meant to say, but somehow the right words wouldn’t come.

Miss Angrid sighed, and held out her hand for me to help her to her feet. ‘It’s no good, Alexander,’ she said, ‘I can see it in your eyes, even after all this time. I thought maybe you’d have got over it by now, but common sense tells me I wouldn’t be here if you had.’ I turned away so she couldn’t see my face, and she sighed again as she looked out over the river. ‘She was very special, wasn’t she? I don’t suppose any of us really knew how much you two meant to each other. You were both so young. All I can say to you now is, stop punishing yourself and – from what Henry tells me – everyone around you too. It’s been a long time, Alexander, time enough for you to come to terms with what happened. That’s the only way you’re going to stop hurting, you know – and when you stop hurting, then it really will be over.’

I swung round to face her. ‘It is over! For God’s sake, what do I have to do to prove it? Yes, she did mean something to me, but you said it yourself, it was a long time ago. I was a schoolboy. Things are different now. Things,
I
, have changed.’

She sighed and hitched her bag across her elbow. When she looked at me again her eyes were sad, and she shook her head slowly.

I glared at her, and in that instant I felt such rage well up in me that I wanted to strike out at her. Why wouldn’t they all stop tormenting me? Why wouldn’t they believe me when I told them it didn’t matter to me any more? There was another woman in my life – there had been for more than a year. Damn it, surely that must mean something!

I was glad when Henry joined us for tea at the Eastgate and sensing the tension between Miss Angrid and me, immediately set about breaking it. He almost succeeded, but I refused to be drawn completely; knowing that he thought the same as Miss Angrid angered me.

Later I drove Miss Angrid to the station and waited with her until her train was ready to leave. As I was closing the door of her carriage she turned quickly and pushed a note into my hand. The sudden lurch of my heart must have shown on my face, because she shook her head.

I waited until I got back to the car before I unfolded the note, then smiled as I saw it was a verse from Shelley. I read it slowly.

Life may change, but it may fly not,
Hope may vanish, but can die not,
Truth be veiled, but still it burneth;
Love repulsed – but it returneth.

I banged my hand hard against the steering wheel. Damn! Damn her! What did it take to convince her that not only was I no longer in love with Elizabeth, I was in love with someone else? Jessica was a bitch, but I couldn’t live without her; we were made for each other, Jessica and I, and the rest of the world could go to hell. And what was more, I now knew exactly what I would do to show the rest of the world that Elizabeth meant nothing to me any more – absolutely nothing.

‘What do you mean, no?’ I stormed. ‘You mean you’re refusing?’

‘That’s precisely what I mean.’ Henry walked slowly across the room to refill his glass, then sauntered back to his chair and sat down. ‘Then I’ll have to ask Robert Lyttleton, I suppose,’ I said.

‘You can always ask.’

I swung round to face him. ‘Look here, Henry, I’m getting married. It’s supposed to be one of the most important days in a man’s life. I’m asking you to be there, with me.’

‘And I’m saying that I don’t want to be. In fact I don’t want to be there at all. I refuse to sit and watch my best friend make a fool of himself. The whole thing’s a sham, Alexander, as you well know.’

‘A sham! Good God, man – ’

But Henry interrupted me. ‘Look, it’s been ever since Old Anger came to visit. She got under your skin, didn’t she, about Elizabeth? OK, OK, it’s all over, I’ve heard you say it a thousand times. I believe you, all right? You don’t have to marry Jessica to prove it.’

That took the wind clean out of my sails.

‘You see, I’m right,’ he went on. ‘Practically everything you’ve done in the last four years has been because of Elizabeth. Your reputation as a stud and a heart-breaker was such a legend that the biggest feminist in Oxford came gunning for you. The only trouble was, she fell for you too. They all do, Alexander, because you’re a bastard. Because you don’t give a shit about any of them, except to make them pay for the fact that you feel you’ve been “betrayed” by one of their sex – a girl you
claim
you don’t even love any more. Well, if you don’t love her any more then why not stop behaving like this? Stop now, before you make one of the biggest mistakes of your life.’

‘Impossible,’ I said.

‘It’s not!’

‘I mean, it’s impossible for it to be the biggest mistake of my life. I’ve already made the biggest.’

‘When you were no more than a kid. And you’re still behaving like one.’

‘I’ve already asked her,’ I said.

‘Tell her you’ve changed your mind.’

‘Why should I do that? I haven’t.’

He gave an exasperated sigh. ‘Oh, to hell with it. If you want to ruin your life, then go ahead and do it. I can see that nothing I’ve got to say is going to stop you.’

We sat through a long silence before either of us spoke again. Finally I caught his eye and grinned. Reluctantly, he grinned too. ‘Have you fixed the date?’ he asked.

‘June 19th.’

‘Why does it have to be so soon?’

‘Why not?’

He shrugged. ‘And if Elizabeth were to walk through that door now, what then?’

I jumped up from my chair. ‘For God’s sake, Henry!’ Then I gave a half-hearted grin. ‘If she did, I could invite her to the wedding.’

He laughed. ‘You really are a bastard.’

‘It’s why Jessica’s marrying me, or so you would have me believe.’

‘I can think of no other reason. Apart from the title, I suppose.’

It was my turn to laugh. ‘Let her have her title, what the hell? We understand each other, Jessica and I. She’s just the sort of wife I need. If you didn’t hate her so much, you’d see it too. She’s a perfect barrister’s wife. For one thing she’s great at dinner parties. She’s witty, intelligent, and she’s got her art which gives her something to do besides making my life a misery with the lesbian brigade.’

Henry looked at me aghast. ‘I take it you’ve never said that to her.’

‘Would I be alive to tell the tale? Anyway, shall I go on? She’s got an independent, though I admit, sometimes warped mind. She’s beautiful. Good child-bearing hips with which to produce the Belmayne heirs. What more could a man ask?’

Henry’s look was sardonic as he said: ‘I thought you of all people would know the answer to that.’

– 12 –

‘I just can’t think where they’ve got to.’ Jessica stood back from the mirror, eyeing herself critically. Around her our bedroom was in its almost permanent state of chaos. Damp towels lay where they’d been dropped, shoes spilled from the wardrobe, the contents of Jessica’s handbag were strewn across the bed that only an hour before had been rumpled by our love-making, and the clothes we’d been wearing that day were draped in an untidy heap over the chaise-longue. I kicked a towel out of the way before she tripped on it, then stood behind her, watching her in the mirror. Her fingers hovered around the pearls at her throat, then adjusted the thin halter strap of the dress that had cost me eighty-three guineas the week before because I had turned up over an hour late for an exhibition where two of her paintings were being shown. She was beautiful. Her fine blonde hair was swept up from her neck in a cluster of curls and held in place by a sapphire and diamond hairpin, the family heirloom my mother had given her almost a year ago on our wedding day. It matched her dress perfectly.

‘Probably just delayed in traffic,’ I said, still watching her.

She leaned towards the mirror and peered at herself through narrowed eyes. ‘What do you think of this eyeshadow? Do you think it’s too heavy? I’ve got a lighter one.’

I shrugged, and carried on tying my tie. ‘Personally speaking, I think you look ravishing in anything.’ I looked at my watch.

‘Now you’re trying to rush me,’ she complained. ‘Well, I shan’t be moved until you express a preference.’

‘I like the one you’re wearing,’ I said, and she laughed. ‘Come here.’ And taking me by the arm, she turned me round for inspection. ‘Mmm, yes, you’ll do,’ she decided, flicking invisible specks from my DJ. ‘Have you got the tickets?’

I patted my pocket to make sure they were there, then caught her by the hand before she sailed back to the mirror again. She turned in my arms and I brushed my lips against her bare shoulders. She smelt good.