Made in Heaven (34 page)

As far as food was concerned, there would be both a buffet
and
tables, so that everyone could help themselves and still sit comfortably to eat. The menus she'd been sent by Genevieve, who was so helpful when she'd been to see her last week, had been bewildering in their variety but she'd narrowed it down to four main dishes (seared duck breast salad with raspberry, balsamic vinegar and shallot dressing; wild mushroom and mozzarella tart; summer-fresh mint and honey marinated lamb fillet salad on tabbouleh and whole poached salmon with fresh herb sauce) and a few side salads. She still had to choose these, but there was plenty of time for that. And there was time for deciding on the desserts. Just reading the names of what was on offer made her feel hungry: pistachio nut and raspberry cream roulade;
dark chocolate and fresh ginger ganache tart; mango and amaretti cheesecake; cinnamon pavlova with strawberries and cream … even thinking about them was a treat. None of this, of course, would come cheaply. Thirty pounds per head with drinks and staff on top of that. Not for the first time Maureen blessed Graham's parents for dying so young and leaving him well off. It was comforting not to have to worry about money and Maureen couldn't think of anything she'd rather splash out on than her son's wedding. She was helping the Gratrixes as well, which gave her some satisfaction, but that mainly came – Maureen didn't admit this to anyone but she wasn't in the habit of kidding herself – from being able to choose and control. She liked being the one who was in touch with the caterer, the one who was constantly consulted.

The cake had been ordered from a local baker called Ronald Sprackley and she was immensely proud of it. Not only had she practically designed it herself, but she was supporting a small local firm and helping a talented young baker acquire a reputation. She'd opted for three square layers, not divided by columns, iced in white, with a waterfall of dark red rosebuds and tiny ivy leaves tumbling down one side and curling round to embrace three sides of the square. It would look heavenly, Ronald assured her, and she believed him. All she had to do now was discuss what the cake itself was to be. Wedding cake meant rich fruit cake to Maureen, but Zannah might have other ideas. She opened the email and typed in Zannah's address.

The phone, which was on her desk within easy reach, rang just as she was getting started on her message.

‘Maureen Ashton.'

‘Mrs Ashton, it's Genevieve. From the caterers … '

‘Oh, Genevieve. I was just thinking about you. I've practically made up my mind … Still a few things left to decide but we can do that later, can't we?'

‘Yes, of course. No rush at all. But I'd like to come in and talk about your plans if that's all right?'

‘That'd be lovely. Are you free tomorrow?'

‘Yes, tomorrow's fine. About eleven?'

‘Marvellous! Thanks so much. You know how to get here?'

‘Oh, yes. I've often passed your house. I'm looking forward to seeing you.'

‘Till tomorrow, then.'

Maureen put the phone down. Genevieve knowing her house and talking about it in those admiring tones was gratifying. She came very highly recommended by everyone at the tennis club. She'd catered the last New Year's Eve ball there and the food had been heavenly. It would be good to meet her in person.

*

‘Darling?'

‘Yes?' Joss turned to Bob. Something in his voice alerted her to the fact that he had something important to say. He usually left the room immediately after they'd watched the news on TV and disappeared to his study for an hour or so before bed. Tonight, he was sitting up and smiling at her in a most unusual way. He looked almost impish.

‘Monday's the day, then, isn't it? Madrigal Prize day.'

‘I'm surprised you remembered. Yes, I'm excited. Can't wait to see the girls, of course, but a night in a lovely hotel … you know how much I love them!'

‘I do and I feel … well, not to put too fine a point on it, Joss, I think I've been neglecting you, what with Egypt and all the work I've been caught up in recently. So I've been thinking. And not just thinking either, but acting! I've got a surprise for you.'

Joss looked at him. He was smiling so broadly, so sure that he'd done something tremendous, that she smiled in response. What on earth had he been up to?

‘I'm coming with you. To London. To the prize-giving. I'm going to stay with you at the hotel. And that's not all. I'm taking you out to dinner after the ceremony – whether it's for a celebration or a commiseration, doesn't matter, really, and, what's more, I've invited everyone – Charlotte, the girls, Isis, even the Ashtons.'

The Ashtons. Joss felt as though her heart was shrinking in her chest. How could this be happening? Bob? Coming to a poetry event? Inviting everyone to dinner? Why suddenly? Could he suspect something? She started to speak, then didn't know what to say and closed her mouth.

‘I see I've silenced you, Jossie. I did hesitate about the Ashtons, as a matter of fact, in view of … well, in view of your … Never mind. I decided that it was childish to let that get in the way of what should be a proper celebration for all the family. What d'you think?'

Play for time, she told herself. Ask him something. She said, ‘How did you get in touch with the Ashtons? Did you speak to Maureen?'

He nodded. ‘An hour ago. Em gave me her phone number. Maureen seems very keen. Strikes me she's the sort of person who's always happy to dress up and go out. Likes a bit of an outing, that's the impression I got.'

But what about Gray? she wanted to ask, but couldn't. What would he think? Their night together, the night they'd waited and planned for ever since they'd met at the Malmaison, had disappeared. Part of her was so disappointed that she wanted to cry, like a child deprived of a treat. Another part was relieved. She'd been having nightmares, full of dreadful things that were a mixture of anxiety, guilt, fear of discovery, mixed up with leftover memories and flashbacks of the July bombs. Bob's initiative got her off the hook. Did she want to be off that particular hook? She feared what Gray would say. Might he wonder if she'd been the one to chicken out?
Perhaps he'd think it was her idea to instigate the invitation as a way of avoiding him. I must speak to him, she thought. I must reassure him. Maybe I can persuade him not to come to the dinner. How will I sit at the same table with him and Bob and Maureen? That would be like a particularly ghastly kind of torment.

‘That's lovely,' she managed at last. ‘ A lovely thought on your part, Bob. I'm touched. Really.'

‘There's more,' Bob went on. ‘I'm taking you to Paris for a couple of nights afterwards. We'll get the Eurostar on Tuesday morning.'

‘Bob! Paris!' Joss could hardly believe what she was hearing. It was as though he was doing it deliberately: tearing her apart. He was making such an effort to show her that he still cared, still remembered how happy they'd been on their honeymoon, and all the while she didn't want to go. She wanted to stay here and be with Gray and not have to travel with her husband to a past she'd thought he'd left behind long ago, as she had. What kind of horrible, ungrateful person had she become? This unwonted demonstration of Bob's love was exactly what she didn't need. Not now. She couldn't refuse to go. She wished this conversation had never happened. She wished she didn't have to face Gray, who would by now have left a message on her phone. What would he say to her? What would she tell him?

‘Are you happy, sweetheart?' Bob came and sat down on the sofa next to her, put one arm round her shoulders, pulled her to him and kissed her full on the mouth. She must have seemed taken aback, because he said, ‘Don't look so shocked, Joss. I do love you, you know. And we'll be able to relive our youth a bit in Paris, won't we?'

‘Yes,' said Joss, weakly.

Bob stood up and said, ‘I'm off to do a bit of work before bed, if that's okay. Don't wait, if you feel sleepy.'

‘I'm going to write a couple of emails before bed, I think. And thank you, darling,' said Joss. ‘This whole thing … it's a lovely thought. It's … well, it's very kind of you.'

Kind. Alone in the room, she covered her face with her hands. What an inadequate word
kind
was! The Madrigal prize-giving, the dinner, the trip to Paris … She didn't know what she thought about any of it and went upstairs dreading the message she knew she would find on her phone.

*

The snores coming from their bedroom were reassuring. Bob was fast asleep, so it was all right to talk on her mobile, but still Joss closed the door of her study and turned to face the window in the hope that the drawn curtains would muffle the sound of her voice. She'd sent Gray a text on her hidden phone when she'd taken it out before bed, ready to send the last message of the day. They'd fallen into a habit of exchanging texts late at night, wishing one another good night with silly xs like the ones Isis always used at the end of her messages. Tonight, his text read:
Phone me, however late. Urgent. xxx
and Joss was trembling as she keyed in his number. He answered at once. He must have been waiting for her to ring.

‘Lydia, darling … '

‘Gray … Maureen must have told you. Bob's … I don't know what to do. I can't not go. I can't refuse to take part. I can't get out of it.'

‘I know. I know you can't. It doesn't matter, Lydia. We'll arrange something else. This hasn't … I mean, you still …'

Joss knew what he was asking. Do you still love me? Will you leave Bob? Are we where we were? How to answer him? How could she convey the complete powerlessness to decide what was right that she frequently felt these days?

‘Lydia? Are you there? Did you hear me?'

‘Yes, Gray. I heard you. Of course I haven't changed my mind. Don't think that. It's just that … it's hard, that's all. Bob's taking me to Paris for a couple of days. Did Maureen tell you that?'

‘Yes … I wish, well, never mind what I wish. I'll take you somewhere else, very soon.'

‘But what'll it be like, with everyone else there? I won't know where to look. I don't know if I can do it, Gray.'

‘I could have an emergency at the hospital and not come. How about that? I'll do it if you want me to.'

For a second, Joss thought of saying, ‘Yes, do that. Don't come. Don't let's put ourselves through this,' but she wanted to see him. Wanted at least to look at him and listen to him speak. There would be no chance to see him alone, of course, but that couldn't be helped. If she won, she wanted him to be there. If she lost, she wanted him to be there. Sadly, she came to the conclusion that she wanted him to be there all the time. She said, ‘No, I want you to be there, if you can stand it.'

‘I will. I'll come. It'll be hard … '

Joss had an image of herself and Bob in the hotel, then of Maureen and Gray driving together back to Guildford. Unbearable, but she would have to bear it. ‘It's six months, you know,' she said, ‘till the wedding.'

‘I know, I'm counting the days. We'll be together very soon. You must hang on to that.'

‘I do. I think of it all the time. Good night, my darling. Sleep well.'

She cut the connection, and found herself almost out of breath. What she didn't tell Gray, what she'd never told him, was the turmoil she felt every time she considered the future carefully. Part of her was terrified of turning everything she'd taken to be her life completely upside-down. She found herself staring at Bob as they sat together in the kitchen and thinking,
Do I love him? I must do. I do. Does he love me? He must … mustn't he? As the time passed, as the days and nights since she'd seen Gray face to face went by, the doubts came and wouldn't go away. She asked herself constantly, How can I do it? How can I leave him? He's what I know. He's what I'm used to. He's my husband. It means something. It counts for something. He'll be hurt. Can I hurt him?

Then there were the moments when she found him annoying, when he didn't seem to take any account of her presence in the house, when he lost himself in his work, when he went into his study and rarely came out and, worst of all, when he didn't speak to her about anything that was of importance to her. Oh, they chatted about the girls, and about Isis and his work and his colleagues and that was that.
The Shipwreck Café
hadn't had many reviews, but when they did appear and she showed them to him, he'd smile and say:
Jolly good, darling. That's great
, and move on almost at once to something more urgent. He glanced at them, and never read one twice. Nor did he ever discuss their content, even though it had been favourable. With the first review, Joss decided never to show him any bad ones.

But, she told herself, if I do love Bob, then why do I think about nothing but Gray? Dream about him? Long for every message on email, on the phone, by text? Treasure every word he sends me? Is it about sex? Is it simply that Gray is a better lover? Makes me feel things Bob has never, ever made me feel? Is that all it is? She knew it wasn't. She just couldn't face the thought of years and years of not looking at Gray's face, not saying the silly things, the mad and ridiculous things that people who loved one another said when they were together. She and Bob had always been good friends, but the excitement of their first years together hadn't ever been like this. Their lovemaking in those days had been
energetic, and loving and enthusiastic, but they'd never been … Joss struggled with herself to know how to describe it … They'd never been mad, crazy, unbridled, even in the early days. Bob didn't do unbridled. He was too rational, perhaps, for unrestrained passion. That was the truth about him, and until she'd met Gray, Joss had assumed she was not particularly passionate either, but now she'd found that she was, and it was addictive. She wanted so much more now than she'd ever dared want before. She wanted everything: every sensation, and every taste and every adventure. She wanted to fuck in hotels with crisp linen sheets, on the grass in a wood, on a beach. For the very first time in her life, that word, one she'd never used, appeared in her innermost thoughts and Joss recognized the thrill that comes with breaking the rules. Most people, she reflected, get over this sort of thing when they're sixteen. I'm too old. I'm scared. I'm elated. I can't sleep. I want to sleep and dream and hold Gray in my arms in my dreams and taste his mouth on mine all day long, every day. If I close my eyes, I can always bring back the taste of him. The touch of him on my skin.