Out of the Blue (24 page)

“Mummy, don’t infantilize him,” said Katie wearily. “He’s a dog, not a child.”

“Did you hear that, Graham?” I said with a smirk. “Your big sister thinks you’re a dog.”

“He is a dog,” she said.

“He is not…a dog,” I said. “I do feel that’s unfair.”

“He
is
a dog, Mum,” said Katie. “That’s exactly what he is. How
ever,
” she went on smoothly, “he’s a dog with special, almost human understanding and insight, so you’re quite right to be concerned about his mental health. It’s the divorce,” she repeated matter-of-factly. “It’s making him feel vulnerable. He may also be feeling guilty,” she added, “as though he feels the break-up is somehow his fault. Basically, he’s confused,” she concluded. “Perhaps we should get canine counseling.” Suddenly the letterbox rattled and we heard Lily’s crystalline vowels.

“Hellooooo—open up!” she shouted. “We’re here! The babysitters. Darling, you look divine!” she said as she swept inside. “Oh yes, that dress is a
dream
. Faith, what are you staring at?”

“Er, nothing,” I lied. In fact I was staring at Jennifer, who was wearing a tiny red T-shirt emblazoned with
So Pretty!
and a stars and stripes baseball cap. Her floor-length ears had been pulled through the specially cut gaps on either side.

“Isn’t this outfit sweeeeeet!” Lily raved. “We got it at Crufts and Jennifer specially wanted to wear it today, didn’t ’oo darling? I thought we could all go to the park,” she breathed. “As long as Graham isn’t too rough.”

“Oh no, he’s a little subdued in fact. Not his normal cheery self. We think he’s depressed about the divorce.”

“Well I’m certainly not!” said Lily. “I mean, I’m dealing with it,” she corrected herself. “Of course it’s
very
sad,” she went on hastily, “but, well, life goes on! Now where’s this delicious new man of yours?” she added. “I’m simply dying to meet him.” Two minutes later her wish was granted. We heard a car pull up, there was the click of heels on the path, then suddenly Jos was standing in the hall, looking like an absolute God. No, not a God—an angel. That’s what he looked like. His blond hair curled gently over the collar of his dinner jacket. He radiated a kind of magnetic warmth, like a distant fire on a freezing night. He looked so utterly gorgeous, I thought I’d faint with desire.

“Thank you God,” I prayed. “Thank you
so
much for sending me Jos.” Lily was almost beside herself as the two shook hands.

“How
lovely
to meet you,” she said. “I’ve heard so much about you, all of it terribly nice! You must let me interview you for
Moi!.”
she added enthusiastically. “Our arts pages are the best.”

“Thanks, Lily,” Jos said. “I’ve heard lots of wonderful things about you too, and I
love
the magazine—it’s so much better than
Vogue
.” By now Lily was holding up two cards saying “10”.

“And you’re Katie, aren’t you?” Jos went on, giving her a lovely smile.

“Yes,” she replied with a sophisticated air of indifference.

“So I guess you’re the boy genius, Matt.” At this Matt blushed and said, “Hi.” Jos stood there smiling at us all benignly as we basked in his male beauty and charm. And then he said, “Where’s Graham?” Oh. That was funny. Where
was
Graham? He’d disappeared. Matt went to find him and returned a minute later, dragging Graham by the collar. On Graham’s face was the mixture of fear and contempt he normally reserves for the vet.

“Graham, do say hello to Jos,” I said brightly. Jos’s hand went out to pat him, but in a flash Graham had bared his teeth and given his fingers a tiny nip.

“Ouch!” said Jos, shaking his hand. He looked appalled, then sort of irritated; but then he suddenly laughed. “My fault,” he said. “I must have startled him.”

“No, you didn’t,” I said. “Graham!” I exclaimed. “That was very,
very
naughty, and Mummy’s very
very
cross!” Graham slunk away. “I’m so sorry, Jos,” I said soothingly. “Do you need a plaster for that?” He shook his head. “Graham’s normally terribly friendly,” I went on, “but at the moment he’s a little…confused.”

“No he isn’t, Mum,” said Katie authoritatively. “He’s just jealous.”

“Jealous?” I repeated.

“Of Jos.”

“Ha ha ha—darling, really!” I said. “What a silly idea! Katie loves to psychoanalyze everything and everyone,” I explained. “She’ll be starting on you, Jos, if you don’t watch out. Won’t you, Katie?”

“Yes,” she replied flatly. “I will.” There was one of those rather awkward moments, when no-one says anything.

Then Jos smiled and said, “Well, I’m very interested in psychiatry myself, in fact I’m a friend of Anthony Clare.”

“Wow!” said Katie. She’d lit up like a firework. “I think he’s great, though I don’t agree with his views on Freud.”

“Would you like to meet him?” said Jos. “I could arrange it.” I thought her eyes would pop out of her head.

“I’d love to,” she said.

“Well, Jos’ll fix it,” he replied with a smile. Then he picked up my picnic hamper, we said our goodbyes and left.

“You look gorgeous,” he said as we drove away from Chiswick in his MGF with the roof down. He reached out and stroked my right knee with his left hand.

“So do you,” I said. “Divinely handsome, in fact.” I looked at the broken skin on his middle finger. Thank God he hadn’t drawn blood. “I’m really sorry about Graham,” I said.

“It’s OK,” he replied wryly. “I’m just glad he didn’t have a gun.”

“You see, he’s not quite his normal, happy little self,” I explained. “I don’t know what it is.”

“I do,” said Jos. “Katie’s right. He’s jealous. And it’s understandable,” he added. “Because he loves you, and he knows I love you too.” It was as though my heart had done a somersault, three handsprings and a backflip. I felt breathless, dizzy and ecstatic. For Jos has this habit of suddenly saying something which takes my breath away. Peter never did that, I reflected, but then he’s not really the romantic kind. Though now I began to wonder whether he was romantic with Andie. Perhaps he was… But then I banished such unwelcome thoughts, because I knew I’d moved on. Lily was right when she’d said I was going to go forward. And here I was, going forward with Jos. As we drove down to Sussex I felt as though I were in a dream. As we’d idle in the traffic I’d catch myself looking at his handsome profile, and then he’d turn towards me, and reach out and hold my hand. I didn’t care if we never got to Glyndebourne, just sitting in the car with him was bliss. Soon we had left behind the fume-filled arteries of south-east London and were driving down narrow Sussex lanes. The countryside was as green as salad. The cow parsley was high in the hedgerows and the trees were dressed in pale lime. The towering chestnuts waved their pink and white candles in the light summer breeze. We passed beneath a tunnel of beech, their leaves a translucent, coppery green; and now we were suddenly nose to tail with Bentleys and Mercedes and Rolls.

“Welcome to Glyndebourne,” said Jos as we turned into the long tree-lined drive, then nosed into a space and parked. I looked around as he flipped up the boot and removed the picnic things. It was as though we’d stepped onto the set of a Merchant-Ivory film. Men in dinner jackets and cummerbunds strutted like glossy black crows; women proud in their haute couture or billowing silk tripped elegantly across the lawn. In the distance sheep were dotted white against the rolling, hillocky fields.

“What we do,” he said, “is claim our picnic spot, have a few drinks, then have dinner in the long interval at half past six.” We carried our hamper and rug through the garden, past the rose beds and the lily pond. I caught my breath at the beauty of the Elizabethan house, with its wisteria-clad casements and warm red brick which glowed bronze in the late afternoon sun. The sheep grazed on with nonchalant disdain as we spread out the soft rug by the sunken wall.

“This is the ha-ha,” Jos explained as he twisted open the Krug. “And the point of the ha-ha is to protect the sheep from the opera-goers.”

“Ha ha!” I said.

“I’m sorry the Krug’s only non-vintage!” he added as I held up my glass. “I only ever have vintage on very, very special occasions.” I smiled. This was special enough.

“Now, what’s the weather going to do?” he asked. I glanced up at the sky.

“It’s set fair,” I replied happily. “With blissfully long, sunny intervals.” We sipped our champagne and nibbled smoked salmon canapés, then a distant bell summoned us in.

“This is another world,” I whispered as we walked hand in hand towards the house.

“It certainly is,” Jos replied.

“—no, I’m with Rothschilds, actually.”

“—are you doing Ascot this year?”

“—our two youngest are at Radley.”

“—yes…yes…Mozart’s
super
.”

“Most of these people have affluenza,” Jos whispered with a grin as we found our seats. Then the orchestra tuned up, the house lights dimmed and a reverential hush came down.

I love this, I thought to myself as the safety curtain rose. Jos was holding my right hand in both of his, and I could feel his body gently rise and fall with each breath. The opera was in Italian but I’d read the synopsis in Peter’s
Kobbé
. I’d found it a pretty silly sort of story, full of trickery and deceit. Two men, in disguise, woo each other’s girlfriends to test the women’s fidelity. They do this to win a bet with their cynical friend, Don Alfonso. And you really have to suspend your disbelief, because the two girls completely fail to recognize their own boyfriends, who they’ve spoken to only five minutes before, just because they’ve come on dressed as Albanians! The women faithfully hold out against their romantic advances, but then the men resort to low tricks. They pretend they’ve taken poison and can only be saved from death if the women relent. So they do. But it’s so unfair because the men have really deceived their partners into being unfaithful, and then they have the nerve to be cross. But the character who interested me the most was the girls’ maid, Despina. She’s really dubious, because although she seems friendly and loyal on the surface, in reality she isn’t. Because she’s busily manipulating the action, from the sidelines, as if she were a puppeteer. And I thought, how could she do that to the two women? What hidden motive did she have? So to be honest I found the opera disquieting rather than funny. Then I decided that the plot doesn’t really matter because the music is so sublime. The curtain came down for the interval in a shower of applause, and we all trooped out into the grounds.

“—better than Birtwhistle, eh?”

“—oh, I like modern opera, as long as it
behaves
itself.”

“—isn’t that the Duke of Norfolk?”

“—Cap Ferrat for us again this year.”

“—service was appalling.
Appalling!
”

“—no, I’m with Merril Lynch.”

“Josiah?” Jos suddenly stopped dead in his tracks. An attractive young woman in her mid-twenties had stepped right in front of him, blocking our way. “Long time no see,” she said. She had an oddly defiant expression on her face.

“Yes,” he said, “it is.” And although he smiled politely, he didn’t look at all pleased.

“How are you?” the girl enquired as she pulled her velvet stole round her slim shoulders.

“Oh, I’m fine,” he replied. “I’m fine. And, er, how are you?”

“I’m
very
well,” she said rather pointedly. “I’ve been working at Opera North.”

“Right. Well, that’s great,” he said. And I kept thinking he’d introduce me, but he didn’t. “Anyway, it’s nice to bump into you again,” he added, “but we really mustn’t keep you from your picnic.” At this he put his arm through mine and began to lead me away.

As we stepped onto the lawn she called out: “I hear you’ve been involved in some
very
exciting productions!” Jos stopped, then turned back to face her, and I noticed a small muscle flexing at the corner of his mouth.

“Yes,” he said. “That’s right. Well, nice to see you again, Debbie. Goodbye.”

We made our way back to our picnic rug and sat sipping champagne in the evening sun. But somehow, after that strange encounter, the Krug seemed to taste a little flat.

“Jos,” I said as I opened the hamper and got out the plates. “I know it’s none of my business, but that girl—who was she? She seemed a bit…hostile.”

“She was,” he said, sighing irritably. He paused for a moment before he continued. He clearly didn’t want to talk about it and perhaps it was wrong of me to have asked.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t mean to pry.”

“No, it’s OK,” he said with another, slightly fretful sigh. “I don’t mind telling you. She’s a young designer,” he explained as I handed him some smoked chicken. “I once gave her some work. It was set-painting, really,” he added as I helped him to some salad. “But she’s very ambitious and wants to get on. And…when she heard I was to do
Madame Butterfly
at the opera house she wrote asking me to make her my assistant. But I…didn’t think she was up to it, so…I told her that I’d filled the job. I thought no more about it,” he added wearily, “but it’s obvious that she hasn’t forgiven me.”

“Never mind, darling,” I said as I passed him a paper napkin. And I was relieved by his explanation because I’m beginning to feel a bit possessive about Jos, and I was worried that she might be an ex. But this was just a professional fracas. I could cope with that.

“My world’s a very bitchy one, Faith,” Jos added as we ate our supper. “I do like to bring on young talent, but I’m not going to give work to someone unless they’re really first rate.”

“I understand,” I said. “Anyway,” I added brightly as I passed him some potato salad, “let’s just forget it, shall we?” And though on the surface we had, I felt that a slight shadow had been cast over the rest of the night. I glanced at Jos’s face once or twice as we sat in the auditorium for the second half, and I thought he still looked a bit tense. But then I turned my attention back to the opera, and I was so surprised by what happened at the end. In the synopsis it had suggested there was a happy denouement, in which the two men “forgive” their fiancées for accepting the advances of the “Albanians”, and all ends happily with the peal of wedding bells. But it wasn’t like that at all. When they discovered that they’d been duped, the two women were absolutely livid. They gave the men a filthy look, flung down their engagement rings, then stormed off-stage in tears.