Fast Friends (41 page)

As if watching herself from a
comfortable distance, a
detached
observer, she marvelled at her calmness. Who would
have thought it possible that here she was, awaiting the knock
on the door which would signal Mac’s arrival, and
she wasn’t
even panicking?

Mac! Remember Mac? Second husband,
almost
fourth,
and
possible father of your child? Taunting
herself, attempting to
goad herself into some kind of reaction, Loulou
exhaled slowly without even trying. It was no good. Whatever happened would
happen, but nothing could stop her feeling like this. A cocoon
without end. Wasn’t nature miraculous to be able
to make her
so happy?

As thoughts of Mac drifted away – prolonged concentration
these days was beyond her – she pulled open the
wide neck of
her giant white
sweatshirt and held it away from her body,
gazing down with absolute,
unwavering absorption at the pale
gold swell
of her stomach. A tiny movement, either a foot or a
fist, disturbed the
smoothness for a second and Loulou smiled, slowly exhaling once more. Clever,
clever baby.

And clever me, she thought with
peaceful satisfaction, for
being able
to hold you inside me.

When the knock came at the door she let the neck of the
sweatshirt spring back into place and gave her
stomach a
reassuring pat.

‘
Mac’s here,’ she
whispered. ‘Come on, baby. We’ll show
him, shall we?’

In some small, sneaky corner of her
subconscious nestled
the
treacherous thought that maybe, just maybe all this excessive
goodness was a ploy; that it formed part of a pact.
If she was
good,
really
good,
then God would reward her by making the
baby Mac’s. Occasionally the
thought bothered her. Most of the time, however, she was too busy enjoying her
newfound serenity to be concerned.

It will be interesting, she thought
idly, to see what Mac
makes of it
all, anyway.

‘
Hi,’ said Mac, his
eyes straying instantly to Loulou’s stomach
as if to ensure that the photographs he had seen in the papers
were
true.

‘
Yes, I really am,’
Loulou promised him, amused. ‘Come in
and sit down, Mac.
It’s
lovely
to see you again. You’re looking well.’

‘
So are you.’ Christ,
she did too; the silver-blonde hair he
had
always loved was longer than ever, brighter than ever.
Barefoot and
dressed all in white she looked so angelic it wasn’t true. Despite the harsh
words he had dealt himself before setting out, reminding him what a lying bitch
she was, he could feel himself weakening already.

But he was, at the same time, wary. Phoning Loulou and
arranging to meet her had been a spur of the moment
decision
and he was still acutely aware of the circumstances of their
last meeting. Travelling down to the Cotswolds, whisking her away with him in a
helicopter at dawn had been his last spontaneous
gesture, and that had turned out to be a disaster of epic
proportions.

The trouble was, Loulou
made
him
act illogically. She always
had. Today,
he was on his guard.

‘
Drink?’ she said, waving a bottle of his
favourite St Emilion.

Mac shook his head. The flat brought
back so many memories
that he
felt instantly ill at ease. It was Loulou’s home now, her territory.
Disadvantages like that he could do without.

It’s a nice day. I thought we could go
out. Are you up to a
walk or are
you supposed to be resting?’ He had only the haziest ideas about pregnant
women. Were they allowed to go for walks or were they supposed to lie with
their feet up?

Loulou suppressed a smile. ‘Oh, I
think I can manage a
walk. Hang
on a sec and I’ll find some shoes.’

And she certainly could walk.
Eschewing Mac’s suggestion
of a gentle stroll in nearby Hyde Park, she pulled him in the
other direction, away from the glittering shops of
Knightsbridge,
along Sloane Street then
cutting through to the Chelsea
Embankment. A heavy mist hung low, shot
through with autumn sunlight; a perfect London morning.

And as they walked, they talked.

But, wondered Mac as they reached
Parliament Square, awash
with
burnished copper leaves, had they actually
said
anything?

There had been no mention, for a
start, of Josh, whose
existence she had so blithely denied, so conveniently forgotten
on the night of the ball. No mention, either, of who the
father of her child might be. She was treating him like a long-lost brother,
for Christ’s sake. And while he might not know much about the subject of
pregnancy, he could still count on his fingers. There was a chance, there had
to be at least a chance, that the baby was his.

Loulou meanwhile, stepping easily along beside him,
looking for all the world like an elegant puffball, was admiring the view of
the Thames and reminiscing about a more distant past.

‘When I was sixteen or seventeen, visiting London, I
always used to come here,’ she said quietly. ‘This was my favourite walk. I
wanted so badly to
become
someone . . . it was like an
obsession. One day I’d be back and everyone would
know who
I was. God only knows how I
thought I was going to do it,
although
I have a sneaking feeling that I did harbour a secret
plan to marry an MP and turn him into prime
minister. Can’t
you just see it?’ she
smiled up at Mac. ‘The perfect prime
minister’s wife?’

‘You’ve done pretty well on your own,’ he said, longing to
touch her hair. ‘You’re successful. For a girl who couldn’t even pass her maths
0 level you’re a bloody miracle. And you seem
happy,’
he added, searching for an entry into the conversation
he really wanted
to be having. ‘Are you, Lou?’

She glanced sideways at him, amusement playing on her
lips,
seeing through him at once, as she always had. ‘Ridiculously happy.’

‘You’ve
changed.’

She shrugged. ‘I just don’t feel that I have to fight any
more.’

‘
Am I the father?’ he blurted out, desperate to
know, and
Loulou squeezed his arm.

‘I can’t
tell you that. I’m sorry.’

‘
You can’t tell me or you don’t know?’ demanded Mac,
struggling to control his impatience. Goddammit, how could
she
be
so
changed? So bloody calm?

‘
Well, both. If I knew, then of course I’d tell
you.’

‘Christ!’

‘
I’m sorry,
darling,’ she said again, sympathetic but unrepentant. ‘But don’t worry, if it
does turn out to be yours I won’t sue you for child support or anything like
that.’

‘
Who are the other
contenders?’ he said, jealousy surging
inside him. Loulou
shrugged.

‘Only one
other. You met him.’

‘
Jesus.’
        

‘
No,
not him.’

‘
It isn’t
bloody funny!’ he exploded, his dark eyes narrowing with anger, and Loulou
shook her head.

‘Of course it isn’t. But there’s nothing I can do to
change it.
And there’s no need to shout at
me, either, because it really
doesn’t
affect you. It isn’t as if I’m begging you to marry me,
Mac. Don’t think that, please, because that’s the
last thing in
the world I’d do. So just calm down.’

They walked on in silence for several minutes,
entering
Birdcage
Walk. Loulou admired the perfect autumn trees
bordering St James’s Park while Mac
attempted to come to
terms with
her words. She
had
changed. He had gone to meet
Loulou today mentally prepared, knowing exactly how she
would react. She was going to fling herself into
his arms, beg
his forgiveness and plead for his support. He, in turn,
would be
kind but firm, making sure that she
understood the situation
from both their points of view. Further than
that he had been unable to plan since a great deal, obviously, had depended
upon the answer she gave him to that all-important question.

So much, thought Mac numbly, for his carefully laid plans.
Gone with the bloody wind.

‘
Money!’ declared
Loulou unexpectedly, shaking back her
hair
and enjoying the sunshine on her face. ‘Do you realize,
Mac, that the
root of all my problems has always been money?’

To show that he could keep up with any change in conversa
tion instigated by his crazy ex-wife, Mac said, ‘Bullshit.
You
have plenty of money.’

‘
That’s just what I mean,’ she replied, her
expression thoughtful. ‘I have too much. It’s a problem.’

Stopping in his tracks, Mac pulled her round to face him.
Nobody had ever been able to accuse him of beating around the
bush. ‘Lou, listen to me. If you really don’t know
what your
problem has always been,
and if you really
want
to know, I’ll
tell you. It’s men.’

Loulou looked as if she was going to burst. With a
glittering, triumphant smile she exclaimed, ‘That’s
exactly
what I’d
always thought – but I was wrong all the time!
Think
about it, Mac. You
were too proud to let me help you when I had more money than you did. You hated
the fact that poor Omar left me Vampires because you couldn’t stop wondering
what I must have done to earn it. Then there was Hugh, who only gambled as much
as he did because he knew I could afford it. Bang go two marriages straight
away, you see? And Joshua, of course, was simply more
interested in my money than in me. All of them, Mac.’ She
gestured
with her arms. "They all either wanted my money or
couldn’t handle the fact that I had so much of it. It’s so obvious
I
just can’t understand why I never realized it before.’

In her enthusiasm she looked like a
young girl. Mac
understood
with a jolt how much he still loved her. What a
totally crazy state of affairs.

‘
So what are you going
to do?’ he said, fighting the urge to
take her into his arms and kiss
that beguiling smile off her face.

‘It’s obvious,’ Loulou declared cheerfully. ‘Get rid of
it, of course. Now, do you think we could go and get an ice-cream? A chocolate
one? Before I starve?’

Anaesthetized by shock into
terrifying, icy immobility, Roz sat
at the
kitchen table clutching a glass of water and staring at
Nicolette’s feeding bottle. The brown teat looked like a tiny
upraised
thumb. The container of milk formula beside it bore a
picture of a contented, smiling normal baby, cradled in its
mother’s arms. Outside, it was growing gradually
light, the
wavering shadows of the ash trees darkening against the grey
backdrop of the sky. The only sound in the kitchen, in the entire
house, was that of the relentless clicking of the
grandfather
clock in the hallway which
only served to accentuate the
otherwise total silence.

Struggling to the surface, searching for some practical
course upon which to steer her numbed thoughts, Roz reached for the bottle and
the box of powdered milk and rose jerkily to her feet. Crossing the kitchen to
the bin, she took a shallow breath and dropped them into it with deliberate
care.

There was no need for them, after all,
now that Nicolette
was dead.

She wanted
to cry, but no tears would come.

It was so dark, so quiet that it was
almost possible to think
that she
was the one who had died, instead.

Where, she wondered vaguely,
was
everyone? Then,
remem
bering the journey home from the
hospital in the doctor’s car,
she recalled also the fantastic ease with
which she had manoeuvred her solitude. He had tried to persuade her to
telephone a
friend or relative from the tiny
office behind the children’s
ward.
She had told him that the relevant phone numbers were
all ex-directory,
and written in her diary which was at home.