More Than You Know (76 page)

“I’d like to take Emmie down to Summercourt,” he said the first time. “I presume that’s all right.”

“Yes, of course,” she said, and it was still at the stage when she was hoping he would relent, that things would be normal again. “When shall we go?”

“I don’t want you there,” he said. “I’ll take her on my own.”

That was terrible, that he should put this awful impenetrable barrier round Summercourt too. Even for one weekend.

“But I want to go,” she said, “please.”

“Of course,” he said, and she looked up, sharply hopeful, but, “You can go next time,” he added, and he walked out of the room.

She had to explain then to her mother; Sarah, while upset, didn’t understand, thought it was just a row.

“Don’t worry, darling,” she said. “He’ll get over it. Just humour him; that’s what I always did with your father. And don’t worry about Emmie; I’ll see she has a nice weekend. And … who knows, I might be able to talk him round. What was the row about? Not that silly article, surely; that was nothing to do with you …”

Eliza said she didn’t want to talk about it.

The weekend while they were there was endless. She stayed in the house alone, didn’t want to see anyone. It meant explaining too much.

Her mother phoned after the weekend, interestingly cheerful: “Honestly, darling, you must be exaggerating. He was very much himself, I thought, very sweet and polite to me, and so wonderful with Emmie. He does adore that child, Eliza; I’ve never seen quite such a besotted father. I’m not sure it’s good for her. I didn’t mention anything about a row, of course, but when I asked him how you were he said you were fine. He seemed very relaxed altogether. Oh, and he insists on my having the room next to mine turned into an en suite bathroom; doesn’t that sound wonderful?”

“Very … wonderful.”

“Of course, he dressed it up, as he always does, said it was only to improve the overall value of the house, but I know it was still largely for my benefit. I mean, he’s not going to sell it, is he?”

“He can’t,” said Eliza. “It’s in our joint names.” But anxiety suddenly flickered through her. There were only two ways Matt could really hurt her: through Emmie—and through Summercourt. That would be … But no. No, he couldn’t. However angry he was. He wouldn’t.

And then it happened; after two more weeks of the absolute hostility and disdain, as she struggled to remain calm and outwardly cheerful in the face of it all, she received a formal offer of a job with KPD.

“Sorry to have been so long getting back to you,” Rob Brigstocke said when he called, a wonderful bright warmth breaking into yet another bleak morning. “Had to get a few things rubber-stamped. Hope that’s OK.”

“Oh … yes. Yes, of course. Marvellous.”

“Good. So when do you think you might start? Is the nanny you found still available? I know that was an important part of the mix.”

“I’m … Yes, yes, I think so.”

She felt her mind racing; why not? Why bloody not? If Matt was never going to speak to her again, she had to do something to help herself. And this was just about the perfect something. But … what would he say? What might he do?

“You do what you want,” he said that night. “You always do. What are you going to do about Emmie, have her adopted?”

“Matt! Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t say such awful things. Please.”

He shrugged.

“I’ve been thinking,” she said. “Except for the school holidays, she’ll be at school most of the time. After school, I could do exactly what I do now, if I have to, and ask your mum to look after her. I’d pay her—I wouldn’t expect her to do it as a favor—and Emmie loves her so much. What would you feel about that?”

“I don’t want anyone else looking after her,” he said. “You’re her mother; that’s your job.”

She felt a flare of anger.

“Matt—don’t be so bloody unreasonable. You don’t mind your mother looking after her if I’m at the dentist or have to sort out something to do with the house. What’s the difference?”

He was silent.

“And then on the holidays, maybe she could go down to Mummy at Summercourt. For two days a week. Surely that would be all right. She’s stayed there with Mummy lots.”

“Your mother’s not up to it,” he said. “I was watching her when I went down there; she can’t even pick her up.”

This was undeniable.

“OK. Well, maybe your mum could have her on the holidays as well. Just for two days a week. Why don’t I ask her? See if she likes the idea.”

“I’ve told you,” he said, “I don’t want Emmie left with anyone. She’s your responsibility, not my mum’s.”

“Matt, you’re being so unreasonable. So absolutely unreasonable.”

“Really?”

“Yes. Yes, yes, yes.” She was screaming at him. “No one, no one in their right minds would refuse to agree to this.”

He stood there, staring at her across the room with the same, awful blank anger; she felt quite frightened, as if he was going to hit her again. Then quite suddenly he said, “You do what you like, Eliza. Like I said, you always do. Just don’t expect me to agree to it.”

“And … what does that mean?”

He shrugged.

“Work it out for yourself. But I don’t want Mum involved.”

“Oh,” she said, taken totally aback. “Why?”

“I just don’t,” he said.

Maybe he was afraid she would confide in Sandra, Eliza thought; maybe he had talked to her himself—unlikely, though; he was terrified of confronting his parents with any kind of emotion.

Eliza switched her mind to her current problem: something had to be done about caring for Emmie. She started calling agencies. And that led her to Jennifer.

Jennifer was actually working for one of the other mothers at school, who was looking to share her with someone. She was a sturdy girl from Birmingham who had taught in a nursery school for five
years and seemed the absolute opposite of the sort of nanny whom Matt would have objected to. Emmie liked her, and she clearly liked Emmie, although Eliza could see she would be firm, would be able to deal with her tantrums and her manipulative ways. Eliza offered her the job.

Matt said he didn’t want to interview Jennifer, but then at six o’clock on the evening before Eliza was due to start work, he demanded to see her, and said he wasn’t prepared to allow Emmie to be left in her care until he had.

Eliza felt there was too much at stake to argue, and managed to get hold of Jennifer, who was just sitting down to supper; she was clearly surprised, but agreed to come over, if Eliza could collect her.

She sat stolidly relaxed, good-naturedly answering Matt’s increasingly absurd questions: “What would you do if there was a fire; do you prefer looking after girls to boys; have you got a boyfriend?” Her rosy, pleasant face showed no irritation or surprise, even when he suddenly said did she know that he didn’t approve of working mothers and that Eliza was returning to work very much against his will.

“I think children are best with happy mothers,” she said, “and happy mothers are best for children. And some mothers are happier working.”

Matt nodded and said she must excuse him now; he had a lot of work to do, and disappeared into the study.

Eliza drove Jennifer home; when she got back, she went into the study and said, very nervously, would it be all right for Jennifer to look after Emmie; he said he supposed so, but he would like to remind Eliza again that what she was doing was in direct opposition to his wishes and that he was going out.

And in the morning, Eliza got up an hour earlier than usual to wash and blow-dry her hair, got dressed in one of her new maxidresses and her new pink suede Biba boots, made up her face with her new Mary Quant paint box, delivered Emmie to school and told her to be good for Jennifer and that she would see her at six o’clock, and then turned her new, souped-up MINI Cooper in the direction of Carlos Place and, more nervous than she would ever have believed, returned to the world of work.

She had expected to spend the first few days, at least, in a state of trauma, at once unable to cope with the job and fretting over Emmie; in the event, she found herself so instantly happy and absorbed, so soothed
by being appreciated and valued and even talked to, for God’s sake, and so delighted once the first day was over at finding Emmie contentedly playing ludo in the kitchen with the estimable Jennifer that she was even able to bury the nightmare events of the past few weeks and turn her face determinedly—for two days a week, at least—towards what seemed like a new beginning.

Or at least what she hoped was a new beginning.

“Matt, hallo. Look, I’d like to see you. It’s been so long.”

“Scarlett, I’m terribly busy.”

“I daresay you are, and so am I, but I’d still like to see you.”

“Have you been talking to Eliza?”

“No. No, of course not. Haven’t heard from her for ages. How is she?”

“Fine.”

His voice was dismissive; not one to pursue then.

“Right. Well, can I buy you a drink?”

“OK. But I’m not very good company at the moment.”

Scarlett said she didn’t want good company; she just wanted to see him.

“Mum says you’re avoiding them; you’re certainly avoiding me. I just want to make sure you’re OK.”

“Scarlett, I’m OK. Believe me.”

“I want to see for myself. Tomorrow OK?”

“Yes, all right,” he said wearily.

“My pub, seven thirty. Don’t be late. And … will you be bringing Eliza?”

“I won’t be bringing Eliza, no.”

There was that same odd note in his voice.

He walked into the pub in the Old Brompton Road looking terrible: white, drawn, and he had obviously lost weight.

“Hi, Matt. You do look very … tired.”

“Well, I am tired. Probably the reason.”

“Everything OK business-wise?”

“Yes, perfectly OK, thanks.”

“And how’s Emmie?”

“She’s fine.”

“Good. Well … can I get you a drink?”

“Yes, thanks. Large whisky.”

He downed it in one; she watched, half-shocked.

“Matt, are you sure you’re OK?”

“Yes, I’m quite sure. What is it you want to talk about?”

“Oh … nothing much. I’m a bit low. Strikes me you are too. Want to talk about it?”

“No.”

“Well, I’ll talk about mine. I need to, really. And there’s no one else who’d listen; Mum and Dad would have a fit. Several fits.”

Silence.

“OK. Here goes. I’ve made a complete hash of my life,” she said quickly, as if it would make it all easier. “Complete.”

Matt listened, horrified. She didn’t spare herself. There’d even been a child—or rather a termination. Which she’d never told this bloke, this absolute wanker, about. And she’d had to cope with it all on her own. Had never told anyone.

“I’m so sorry, Scarlett,” he said, and then again, “so sorry. I wish you’d felt you could tell me.”

“Well … wouldn’t have helped.”

“Might. I could have given you some good advice. Like sending him round to me, so I could beat him up.”

“Oh, Matt. That wouldn’t have helped. It’s all right. I went into it with my eyes open. I should have known better. And advice, who takes advice? Especially the sort you don’t want to hear.”