More Than You Know (77 page)

“As long as you’re rid of him now. And yes, you’re right. Advice is pretty useless. It’s so bloody easy to live other people’s lives for them. I should know.” He sighed, felt the tears at the back of his eyes, the treacherous tears he shed every night, shocked at himself for his weakness, unable to stanch them, biting the pillow lest a sound might escape. “I … I’m just going to get another drink. You?”

“Yes, please. G and T again. Lots of ice. I learnt to love ice in America. It’s such a lovely country. Matt … sorry, but are you really all right?”

“Not really,” he said, “but best not to talk about it. Like you, I want to deal with it on my own, for now, at least. No one can help.”

“OK. I won’t press you. But when you’re ready—”

“Yes, thanks.” He managed to smile at her, went to get the drinks; when he came back he sat down in silence again, staring into his glass.

“Sorry; I’m not very good company at the moment.”

“Oh, Matt,” she said, putting her hand on his arm, “what a pair we are. We used to be able to help each other; it’s gone a bit past that now. But for what it’s worth, I’m so fond of you, you know. And glad you’re around.”

He felt the tears rising again. Shit, what was the matter with him? He was acting like a bloody girl.

He rummaged in his pocket for his handkerchief, blew his nose hard.

“Sorry. Getting a cold.”

“Matt, God, you’re crying. Matt, what is it; whatever is it; is it Eliza?”

“I am not bloody crying,” he half shouted. “I’ve got a bloody cold. Now, look, I really must go. And please—please—any serious problems, in future, please come to me. I know I’m only your kid brother, but I can still look after you, OK?”

“Yes,” she said, very soberly, “yes, Matt, I know. I should have done. But I thought you’d be shocked and I couldn’t face that. And you … well, you know, I’m always here. We must look out for each other, Matt, you and me. And at least you’ve still got Eliza—”

Only he hadn’t, he thought, walking swiftly out of the pub after kissing her good-bye. He hadn’t got Eliza. It was over. The sweet, sweeping, heady love and love affair were over. And he had to make the most of what he had left.

And make sure he kept it.

Spring 1971

T
HE JOB WAS … WELL, IT WAS WONDERFUL
. E
LIZA COULDN’T REMEMBER
when she had last had such fun.

The lines of command were very clear initially, but Rob increasingly referred to her on models, rather than to the fearsome Babs Brown, who ran the bookings department at the agency, and there had been quite
sharp words exchanged between them. And although Rob chose the photographers, he began to discuss the choice with Eliza beforehand. If she felt he was making a serious mistake—such as when he wanted to use the dreamily romantic Sarah Moon to shoot some dazzlingly sexy poolside images and she would have chosen Helmut Newton—she would say so in no uncertain terms.

It was very odd: to be so happy and so unhappy at the same time. While she was working, absorbed, confident, excited, surrounded by the kind of people she most admired, she was happier than she had been for years. And while she was at home, with a husband who appeared to dislike her, who certainly didn’t trust her, she felt an abject failure and was very, very unhappy indeed.

It wasn’t easy doing the job in two days a week: especially as she could never be late home, or even start early, as sometimes was required. Jennifer wouldn’t have minded coming in early, she knew, although she couldn’t stay late—she had an invalid mother to care for—but Matt simply wouldn’t have tolerated it. And looking at the clock sometimes, if they were having a prolonged meeting—and oh, God, how many of them were in the afternoon—seeing the hands apparently fly round at twice their proper speed, she dreaded the moment when she would have to say, “I’m sorry, but you’ll have to excuse me,” knowing that the people she worked with found it at best irritating and at worst unprofessional.

It was Jennifer who made the suggestion, as Eliza flew in breathless and panicking one night, saying, “Sorry, sorry, sorry, meeting overran; it’s so hard to get away, and it looks so unprofessional—”

She stopped. As if Jennifer would understand that. But.

“Mrs. Shaw, I’ve told you before, you mustn’t worry so much. I do have to get home to my mother, so I can’t stay very late, but I could always bring Emmie to you at the agency, if you were stuck in a really important meeting. That would buy you at least another half hour, and—”

Eliza stared at her, wondering how someone so apparently stolid could possibly understand not only her job and how much she wanted to excel at it, but the need to deceive Matt, and in a most subtle way. “Jennifer,
you are a genius,” she said, finding it hard not to hug her. “That would be so brilliant. Next time I’ll ring you. Actually, in the traffic it would take at least forty-five minutes. That’s wonderful. And then … well …”

Then, she thought, she could sort of imply Emmie had been at a party or something—if Matt was home. He usually wasn’t, of course.

The plan worked brilliantly; Arabella, the girl in reception who worked late anyway, was enchanted to have care of the famous Emmeline, and the very first evening asked her whether she’d like a cocktail while she waited for Mummy.

“Yes, please.”

“Right. Well, I can make a pink cocktail or a green one. Which would you like?”

“Pink, please.”

“It was raspberry cordial and soda water,” Arabella explained when Eliza came down. “She loved it. And then she helped me tidy up the magazines; didn’t you, Emmie? She’s so sweet, Eliza, and so bright. She can have a job here whenever she likes.”

The only problem was, it worked so well that Eliza was tempted to do it every time …

“Miss Scarlett, you must forgive me, but I have made a mistake. Mr. Frost will be here in just two days’ time. I thought he said two weeks, but—”

“Oh, Larissa, no. Oh, that’s … that’s quite difficult.”

“Miss Scarlett, why, do you not like him? Did you have a quarrel?”

“No, no, Larissa. And I do like him. But … well, I … Oh, you wouldn’t understand. Is he … is he coming alone, do you think, or with … with Mrs. Frost?”

“Oh, alone, I think. Yes.”

“In that case, then, I must go. I know I’ve only just got here, but it … I … we can’t be here together. I’ll go and see Ari, ask him to take me back tomorrow first thing. I’m going to bed now; I’ll see you in the morning.”

Larissa looked after her sadly. She was such a lovely person, and Mr.
Frost was such a lovely person, and perhaps, in time, they might become friends. No, not friends, more than friends. Of course, Mrs. Frost was very frightening, but Miss Scarlett would be able to manage. A person who ran her own business should not be frightened of a mother.

The first thing she must do was try to keep Miss Scarlett on Trisos for at least one more day. That meant a visit to Ari the Ferry; Larissa pulled on her shawl and set off down the hill towards the little harbour.

Scarlett woke to the sound of rain.
Damn
. Well, it would make leaving Trisos less painful.

She set off for the harbour, pulling her small suitcase—her still-packed suitcase—behind her. Demetrios and Larissa had been nowhere to be seen, presumably busy in the kitchen.

She knocked on Ari’s door; he came out looking slightly sheepish.

“Hallo, Ari. Are we all set?”

“Oh, Miss Scarlett, we not go. Not today. I am so sorry. Weather too bad. Big wind, big rough. But tomorrow, we can go tomorrow?”

It meant he would have to collect Mark from the big ferry and drop her off at the same time. Well, that would be all right. They didn’t need to meet.

“Hallo, Larissa. How are you?”

“Very well, Miss Scarlett. Your breakfast is there, for you, on the table.”

“Is Demetrios around?”

“No, he goes fishing, Miss Scarlett.”

“Fishing! I hope he doesn’t get caught in the storm.”

“I, too, Miss Scarlett. I did not want him to go at all; there is too much to do here—”

The weather really couldn’t be too bad if Demetrios was going fishing.

“I have to stay another day,” she said, sitting down at the table, spooning honey into the yogurt. “Ari won’t go today. I can’t understand it; look, the sun’s coming out; it’s as calm as can be.”

“So you can have a nice day here?”

“Yes. I’ll try.”

Larissa looked at her. It was now or never.

“Miss Scarlett, have you ever met Mrs. Frost?”

“No, Larissa, I haven’t.”

“She is very, very nice lady, Miss Scarlett. Nothing to worry you.”

“I’m not worried about her, Larissa. I’m sure she’s delightful.”

“And very, very clever too. And she has been so kind to me always, brings me things for Stelios and Tina.”

“Yes, that’s lovely. Larissa, I really want to do some reading, so if you’ll excuse me—”

“Yes, Miss Scarlett. Sorry, Miss Scarlett. But—”

Scarlett picked up her yogurt and her coffee and said in a voice Larissa had not heard before, “I think I’ll have breakfast in my room. Excuse me.”

Larissa looked after her sadly. This wasn’t going as planned at all.