Learning to Dance (4 page)

He said, ‘Bowl. Shelf under counter. Get.’

She released him and shot back, saw the bowl immediately and grabbed it. He took it from her, turned his back and was gushingly sick. There was a pile of clean tea towels next to where the bowl had been. She snatched two of them and exchanged them for the bowl.

He gasped, ‘Cloakroom. Be back. Shortly.’

She watched him weave towards a door next to the sitting room. She was still holding the bowl. She put it back on the shelf with great care, then covered it with another of the tea towels.

He emerged. Stood still and looked at her with the same disbelief, then gestured with his arm.

‘Sit down.’

He swivelled on his left foot and went through into the sitting room. She heard the click of an electric fire. She frowned and nibbled her thumb. There seemed no alternatives, and any kind of heating was attractive. She tried to gather her nightie into thicker folds around her body, and went across to the sitting room.

He was standing with his back to the fire; it was a big one with imitation flames, but he was still blocking any heat that might be coming from it. At least he didn’t smell. As she stood holding the back of a small sofa she saw that he too was frowning.

He said, ‘My God, you’re still here. And I’m fairly sober now. You must be real. Why are you dressed like that?’

She began her explanation over again and he held up one hand. ‘I remember all that. What I mean is – the day of the gauzy nightie has gone. It’s pyjamas now. And you need them for other reasons besides fashion. This place is always cold. Even in a heatwave. You look like one of Andy Warhol’s paintings.’

He moved suddenly and the heat from the fire leapt across to her. She closed her eyes blissfully and did not bother to reply to him; he was by no means sober.

The next thing she knew she was being wrapped up. She opened her eyes. He had whipped off one of the throws from an armchair and was, apparently, mummifying her. She
freed her arms and took over. It was wonderful. He led her to the front of the sofa and lowered her into it. She sank into its depths. He sank into the opposite corner and watched her.

‘Thank you so much, Mr Hausmann. I was becoming just slightly frantic.’

‘You hid it well. The first person, apart from myself, to position the bowl in time.’

‘This is a regular thing?’

‘Pretty much. Where have you hidden it?’

‘The bowl? Where I found it, under the counter.’

‘I’ll see to it.’

He stood up and she held out a restraining hand. ‘Could you also find some kind of master key so that I can go back to bed?’

‘You asked me before. I’ll look. Can’t promise. They hide it, you know. Bart and Irena. I went into their room when I lost my key and they were rather annoyed.’

‘Oh dear.’

‘No need for sarcasm. He is my brother.’ He was in the doorway and he turned for his final excuse. ‘We were pretty close at one time. Then he got married. I don’t think Irena likes me.’

Judith twisted to look at him over the back of the sofa. He no longer resembled something the cat had brought in. His hair had dried and was a mass of grey curls, and his face fell in leathery folds like a schnauzer’s. His eyes were buried deep and seemed to burn for a moment.

He appeared to be waiting for her to comment on his last remark. Brothers. She knew about brothers because of Toby and Matt. She had met Jack’s brother, Len, on only a few occasions but had liked him instantly. She was thankful that he was nothing like Robert Hausmann.

She said starkly, ‘No.’

He shrugged and disappeared towards the counter, and she put her feet up and lay on her side looking at the pretend flames and feeling warm at last. She heard him in the cloakroom; he used a lot of water. Then he came out and was at the counter again, so he had to be looking for that precious key. Then a door closed and there was total silence. She glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece. Four thirty. And it had been three o’clock when she had emerged from the bathroom.

She thought disgustedly that he wasn’t coming back. She snuggled down and went to sleep.

When she woke it was fully light and the first thing she saw was a tray on the floor just beneath her. It contained a mug of brown liquid with skin on the top and an enormous roll, cheese protruding from it, a dab of some kind of pickle sitting on top. Lying between the mug and the cheese roll was a key.

Beyond the tray the fire still flickered, and looking around and into the foyer she could see the lights were still on. Worse, somewhere above her, the lift clicked into use.

She had not moved so quickly for a long time. The throw dropped off her as she leapt from the sofa. She picked it up and flung it over the armchair, snatched up the tray and ran across the foyer to put it beneath the counter – the bowl was there, pristine. She clutched the key, darted round to the stairs and began to take them, two, three at a time. Her legs might be short but they were strong, and she passed the lift at the first floor. The key slid into her lock without difficulty. She was inside, panting, her back to the door. She dived into bed, put the key under her pillow and closed her eyes.

Half an hour later, when her paper and tea arrived, she opened the door wearing her dressing gown and smiling.

‘Good morning!’ The woman lifted a tray off the top of the trolley. She was not the housekeeper from yesterday. ‘I’m Irena Mann and I welcome you to Castle Dove! I hope you have had a good night?’

‘I’ve slept like a top!’ Judith took the tray and put it on the bedside table, then held out her hand. ‘I understand you are Robert Hausmann’s sister-in-law?’

The woman was taken aback. ‘I am, but we never mention it. In fact, I persuaded my husband to chop off the front of our name so that we could not be associated with him.’ She shook her head. ‘Sorry. It is one of those family things. We do our best – this exhibition, for instance.’ Her smile widened painfully. ‘We do hope you will enjoy it. And the beautiful countryside around. Breakfast will be a little late this morning as we were disturbed in the night. Eight thirty.’

‘That’s absolutely fine.’ Judith had been moving towards her pillow and the precious master key, but stopped in her tracks. She had intended to tell the tale as humorously as possible and apologize profusely, but it was obvious that Robert Hausmann had said nothing about her. She swallowed her words, feeling bound to support him. She picked up the teapot. ‘This is real luxury. Thank you. I’ll see you later, I hope.’

Irena Mann’s smile relaxed. She made her exit and Judith sipped her cup of tea and scrabbled the key into her handbag at the same time. She suddenly felt … different. She could not identify this feeling. But it was not an unhappy one. She was certain about that.

The dining room commanded a spectacular view of the coastline. Sybil Jessup was already standing in the window embrasure and looked round as Judith entered.

‘I had no idea we were cut off by the tide like this! It’s simply amazing – come and see!’

It was the second long sentence she had said in Judith’s presence, and with such enthusiasm, too. Judith joined her, giving up on counting the words, staring in disbelief as she watched the water surge right across the causeway they had taken yesterday afternoon.

‘My God. Where’s the minibus? Has it gone?’

Sybil actually laughed. ‘That was my first thought, too. The causeway is a sort of ramp – can you see? The castle end of it is quite clear of the water. I think the bus must be under cover somehow. And look … is that a cave? Wait till the wave recedes … yes, it is!’ She sounded like a schoolgirl.

‘Are we marooned?’ Judith asked fearfully.

‘Only until the tide drops, dear lady!’ Nathaniel Jones came in from the foyer, grinning from ear to ear and obviously as excited as Sybil Jessup. ‘The itinerary says it lasts about half an hour; not even that when the tides aren’t strong.’ He joined them at the window. ‘Something in our blood, don’t
you think? We love islands. Well … we’re an island race, after all!’ He guffawed then pointed out where their ‘coach’ and the owners’ cars were stabled. ‘Heard all about it last night – straight from the horse’s mouth, as it were!’ Another awful guffaw as he pulled out three chairs from the table closest to the window. ‘Sven and Margaret accompanied me to the Dove Inn, and Robert Hausmann was there! We had a proper reunion – his memory isn’t as good as mine, too much drink I imagine, so I refreshed it thoroughly!’ Judith took the proffered chair reluctantly and allowed herself to be bounced right into the table. Sybil remained stubbornly standing, watching the sea with evident fascination.

Nathaniel seated himself, shook out his starched napkin and spread it over his knees. ‘There was another Jewish family in our street. They had a daughter our age – plain little thing, she was. Esmée. Esmée Gould. Robert couldn’t even remember her! We used to play together when we were kids. Street games, you know. Hoops and whips and tops and marbles in the gutter. That sort of play was on the way out then, but Esmée’s dad was our local postie – “Gould the Post” we called him – some called him “Goalposts” – how we laughed! He was around after school and he taught us all these games, and we loved ’em!’

Sybil joined them. Nathaniel shook his head. ‘Robert couldn’t remember any of it. And we are our memories, aren’t we?’

Sybil looked at him for a moment, surprised out of her excitement with the sea, then her eyes went past him to the doorway where the other four were entering and exclaiming at the view. Judith had a feeling she did not see them. But she was seeing something, somebody. Her eyes were big and grey and profoundly sad, like a widow’s.

Jennifer Markham broke through Sven Olsen’s exclamations.

‘D’you see the broken bit of cliff, Margaret? That’s a cave. When Stan and I came to look at the castle last month the tide was low and we could walk right in – Irena told us that smugglers used to keep stuff there! It reminds me of that cave in Cornwall—’

‘I was just going to say that!’ Margaret went with her to the window and they stood there reminiscing, almost oblivious of husbands and the other three guests. Judith felt sorry for Sven, who tried manfully to engage Stanley Markham in some conversation. She wondered how on earth this trans-North-Sea relationship had survived for so long when one of the foursome was so obviously unresponsive. Stanley stood there holding a newspaper to his chest until Sven gave up and joined his wife.

Judith leaned back as Irena arrived with milk for the cereal and everyone at their table ordered a Continental breakfast. Nathaniel tried to tell Stanley Markham what a good evening he had missed last night at the Dove Inn. Stanley gave the tiniest of smiles. Irena told him that he would have an opportunity to meet Robert Hausmann in the Long Gallery, but not until after lunch. Nathaniel guffawed.

‘Sleeping it off?’

‘I wouldn’t be surprised,’ Irena said with a frosty smile.

Judith poured milk over one of the cereal bars and tried not to look complicit as Stanley moved to another table and sat down. Stolid Stanley, she thought, watching him open his newspaper and turn to the sports section. Fleetingly she remembered doing the same last Sunday … had he and Jennifer got sons who would be interested in football results? She felt a physical pang of longing for Matt and Toby.

‘Penny for them, Judith!’

It was Nathaniel, of course, full of bonhomie which, suddenly, she could not resist.

‘As a matter of fact, I was thinking of the football results!’ She laughed. ‘Both my sons used to play – just locally, you know – so I always let them know how their teams are doing.’

He said, ‘They live away?’

She made a face. ‘Australia. For the last nine years – nearly ten. I think they will stay there – they’ve been back several times but they have never wanted to stay. They’re with family out there. My brother-in-law.’

Len had never married. Jack had hinted at an unhappy romance as the reason for Len’s emigration, but there had never been any details. ‘He’s a close one, is our Len,’ he had said.

Nathaniel said, ‘There’s a country I’d like to see. Do you get out there often?’

‘Not often, no.’ She dabbed her mouth with a corner of the napkin and poured more tea. ‘They come over twice a year.’

She had started well, going out once a year, gritting her teeth for the first two hours of the flight. Then she had stopped going altogether. She could have done it; other mothers with children abroad did it often. But it was such a long flight and she felt physically ill for days afterwards. Jack had suggested finding a professional nurse to live in and look after Eunice so that they could go together, but he’d understood why she wouldn’t do that. After all, his parents had died when he was six years old and, only half-jokingly, he had asked Eunice if she would adopt him. They had been close, too. So Jack stopped inviting Judith to come with him and he took reels of film, kept a diary, did lightning sketches for her. She kept one of them on the fridge door; it was of
the boys peering into the engine of one of Len’s helicopters, both scratching their heads à la Laurel and Hardy.

But after Eunice had died, Jack had not suggested that a holiday would do Judith good. He had cancelled his own visit. He had stopped talking about the boys. Or anything much. She frowned, coming upon the realization unexpectedly.

Nathaniel was chuntering on about opportunities being missed. Sven was shepherding ‘the girls’, as he called them, into their seats as Irena arrived with a trolley holding four full English breakfasts, two racks of toast, a dish of butter curls and marmalade. Judith felt her mouth water. Irena was followed by a man, presumably her husband, bearing coffee and teapots. What had Hausmann called him? Bart. Bart Mann. Sounded strange. Perhaps he was Bartholomew. Or just Mister. Mr Mann. She caught Sybil’s eye and saw amusement there, too, then realized with a shock that Nathaniel was proposing himself as a ‘fellow voyager’. What on earth did he mean?

‘Look on me as a courier, if you like,’ he said portentously, spreading a great deal of butter on a slice of toast. ‘I know the ropes – we could stay over in Singapore if you find the journey too much. It would save travelling alone, after all.’