The Decision (100 page)

‘You don’t know what she said,’ said Matt, trying to sound calm, ‘she was pretty convincing.’

‘I bet she was.’

He flung down his napkin.

‘This is a ridiculous conversation.’

‘Matt, it is not ridiculous. Honestly. And I’d lay a pound to a penny I’m right. Why should a girl do that, pretty scary experience, volunteer to go into the witness box – I presume she did volunteer? Only one explanation, Matt. She fancies you. Thinks maybe she can close in when the divorce is through. Well, if she knew how useless you are in the bed department at the moment, she’d pull out pretty fast, I’d say. Maybe I should warn her—’

‘Please stop talking like that,’ said Matt, his voice icily polite. ‘I know you’re not entirely serious but I don’t like it. I told you, she’s been a good friend to me and …’

‘Hmm. A friend who takes you out and serves up whisky and sympathy? And then says anything else I can do for you Matt, while I’m about it, oh, speak up for you in court did you say, yes, of course I will, three bags full, Matt. You’re more stupid and blinder than I realised, Matt Shaw.’

Matt suddenly had a vivid flashback to the evening in Louise’s flat, could hear her voice again working out what she might say. ‘I can tell them how much you love her … she’ll be so proud of you one day, Matt …’ and he couldn’t bear it any longer.

‘You’ll have to excuse me,’ he said, ‘I’m not enjoying this very much. I think I’d better go.’

‘Oh, don’t be so ridiculous,’ said Gina, ‘I’ll start thinking you fancy her back in a minute.’

Matt pushed his chair back and stood up.

‘Just shut up, would you?’ he said quite pleasantly.

Gina stared at him; she was flushed suddenly, and looked startled.

‘You do, don’t you?’ she said slowly. ‘You actually do fancy her. My God! What a turn-up for the books. A bit of office totty, how terribly, terribly corny – well, I hope it hasn’t got out of hand, Matt, that’s all I can say. But probably you’ve been dishing out the same old stuff you’ve been giving me. Jolly useful cover, I’d say, for not being able to get it up …’

Matt left, without another word.

‘Eliza, Philip Gordon here.’

‘Oh – hello, Philip.’ Now what?

‘Interesting one here; your psychotherapist has refused to disclose your reports, as she has at this stage a right to do. However, I should warn you that I think the judge will demand to see them. If he does, and she persists in refusing, she could be charged with contempt of court.’

‘Oh no! That’s awful, she’s so lovely and how brave of her. So, what do I do?’

‘I think we should warn her of that as a possibility. If she does get called, then you would have to waive patient confidentiality and the reports would be produced. But let’s not meet trouble more than half way.’

‘No. All right.’

Oh, God. Something else to worry about. Seriously to worry about. Was it ever going to end?

Eliza had taken the week before the case off. Sarah had brought Emmie up from Summercourt on the Monday evening despite the original plan to keep her there; Sarah felt she was too upset altogether to be away from Eliza, she was restless, fractious, clinging one minute, hostile the next. She cried every night in bed, and often woke up in the middle of the night, having wet the bed and complaining of bad dreams. And when on the Thursday night Emmie was sick Eliza decided that a long weekend at Summercourt would do them both good and drove down early the next day. And trying not to think of a time when she might not be able to turn to it for comfort.

They arrived just after nine; it was a perfect morning, and Summercourt looked at its magical best, the front still cool and shadowy, the terrace behind flooded in sunshine and warmth, the meadow grass long and drenched in dew; she felt herself comforted as always, felt her heart almost literally lift, watched, smiling, as Mouse cantered over to greet them, looking for the Polo mints Emmie always brought him; and she sank gratefully onto one of the old weather-bleached wooden seats, savouring the sound of Emmie’s giggles as Mouse nuzzled her hand, tickling it with his whiskers; and wishing she could hold this moment still, for evermore, this happy, sunlit, lovely moment, filled with the scent of the roses that climbed up the walls and the songs of the birds surrounding her, free from care, released from dread. And managed to think, perhaps, perhaps it will all be all right. But – how could it be, for whatever happened, whoever won, Emmie would lose. That was the pity of it, the dreadful, sad, unarguable pity; that it was Emmie, who had done nothing, nothing wrong, nothing selfish, nothing wilful, nothing greedy as both her parents had, Emmie who was suffering quite as much as either of them.

Toby Gilmour had tossed and turned much of the night, and then called Philip Gordon that same morning to tell him the bad news: that the judge they had been allotted was to their case what the Miss World contest was to the feminist movement. ‘Couldn’t be worse, he might have been handpicked by Ivor Lewis and Bruce Hayward. He’s extremely partisan, has come out several times in favour of the husband in divorce cases, feels they get an increasingly raw deal, especially with all this bra-burning stuff that’s going on, his phrase not mine, and – wait for this – lost his own two sons to their mother in his divorce ten years ago.’

‘His divorce?’

‘Yes. Oh, come on, Philip, you must know …’

‘Oh crikey. Not Clifford Rogers?’

‘The very one.’

‘Dear oh dear. That is bad luck. Are you sure?’

‘Am I sure we’ve got him? Yes, quite sure, I was at a dinner with him last night, it’ll be confirmed this afternoon. Am I sure about his divorce, yes, I met him at the Lincoln’s Inn garden party a couple of weeks ago, he was tight as a tick, and he got very maudlin, and held me in a corner like the Ancient Mariner while he told me all about it.’

‘Oh, Christ.’

‘I know. I’ve been trying to work out tactics all night; very difficult. He really dislikes women. He’s also – and this isn’t too good either – a grammar-school boy, one of the first judges to make it, and carries a banner for the new social order, so he won’t like our Eliza and he’ll think Matt and Ivor Lewis, come to that, both should have whatever he can give them.’

‘Jesus.’

‘Anyway, I think one of the things that might help is if we can get Eliza’s friend Heather into court. Nice working-class girl, friendship spans the class divide – and I’m delighted we’ve got Matt’s sister on our side as well.’

‘Surely she’s exactly the sort of woman he won’t like. Succesful, powerful, self-confident—’

‘No, no, I think it’ll be all right. She’s self-made, you see, clearly no silver spoon because she’s Matt’s sister—’

‘Hmm. Well, I think the case is even further loaded against us. What about Northcott?’

‘He’ll loathe him. I’m wondering about the wisdom of calling him at all. We’ve got the editor and he’s pretty middle-of-the-road socially – although I’ll have to check the cuttings, make sure they haven’t had any brushes in the past.’

‘What bad luck. Now – thing is, do we warn Eliza or not?’

‘I think we have to. She’s not stupid, she’ll soon pick up on it, surely. And anyway, if we want to get Heather Connell into court, we’ll have a better chance if we go through Eliza.’

‘What do you think he’ll make of the Italian countess or whatever she is?’

‘God knows.’

‘Now look, I’ve got back-to-back client meetings all day, clearing the decks for next week. Can you talk to Eliza?’

‘I was hoping we could at least draw lots,’ said Gilmour gloomily.

‘Dream on,’ said Philip, ‘and you’ll have to go alone, I can’t spare any clerks, they’re all in court. I know it’s out of order, but nobody need know.’

‘Emmie?’

‘Yes?’

‘Emmie, I want to talk to you about something.’

‘What, the stupid divorce?’

‘Well – it’s to do with that, yes.’

‘I don’t want to talk about it.’

‘I know, darling. But this is – important.’

This wasn’t the best time, but with the case starting on Monday …

‘I don’t care.’

‘Sweetheart – please—’

Emmie turned to look at her. They were sitting on the terrace in the sunshine; she was shovelling cornflakes as fast as she could into her small face, the sooner to go and groom Mouse.

‘Go on then,’ she said resignedly.

Eliza took a deep breath; Matt was totally opposed to what she was about to say, but Emmie hated shocks and surprises – they should, she knew, have broken the news of the divorce slowly and carefully over time to her, rather than hitting her with it all at once. She liked to be in full command of the facts in her small life, so that she could adjust her behaviour accordingly – to control things as best she could, Eliza supposed. And where did she get that from? God, she was like Matt.

‘The thing is, Emmie, and I hope this won’t happen, but there is a – a chance that the judge – that’s the man who’s going to decide what will happen afterwards, which house we’re – you’re going to live in and so on – Emmie, are you listening to me?’

‘Sort of,’ said Emmie sulkily.

‘Good girl. Well, try to listen properly because it’s important. The judge might want to talk to you.’

‘I don’t want to talk to him. I just want you and Daddy to make friends and stop being stupid.’

‘Yes, darling, I know, but that isn’t going to happen. It just isn’t, you’ve got to understand that.’

A heavy sigh. Emmie started fiddling with the cornflake packet; it fell over and spilled. She started making a pattern on the table with the flakes.

‘Darling, don’t do that.’

‘I want to.’

Eliza fought for patience.

‘OK. But – do you understand?’

‘Yes.’

‘And is that all right?’

She shrugged.

‘Emmie—’

‘What does he want to talk to me about?’

‘Well – what you feel about it all. And – and what you think would be best for us all to – to do.’

There was a long silence. Then, ‘I’ve got to tell the judge man that?’

‘Well – hopefully not. But you might have to.’

Another silence.

‘I’d like that,’ said Emmie.

‘You’d like it?’ Eliza stared at her.

‘Yes. If he’s nice.’

‘Well – I’m sure he will be nice,’ said Eliza. ‘That is to say, I’m sure he’ll be nice to you. If you do have to speak to him. So – you really don’t mind?’

‘No. I don’t. Can I go and catch Mouse now?’

‘Yes, all right,’ said Eliza resignedly. She watched Emmie taking the packet of Polo mints out of her jodhpur pocket, climbing over the fence, and holding them out to Mouse, his head collar looped over her arm. She was extraordinarily competent for her age. She was extraordinary altogether.

God knows what a judge would make of her. Or she of him. Of course she didn’t understand. What an ordeal for a little girl: to be asked – in essence – which of her parents did she want to live with.

How could Matt do this to her – how?

‘What an exquisite place! Wonderful gardens too.’

‘You must tell my mother. She does nearly all the work. Come in – and this is Emmie. Emmie, this is Mr Gilmour.’

‘Hello, Emmie. I’ve heard a lot about you. Is that wild horse Mouse?’

Emmie looked over at the slightly stout Mouse, patently weary after half an hour of being lunged, and another half-hour of pole walking, and giggled.

‘Yes. Can you ride?’

‘I can. But I don’t. Don’t have time. Or anywhere to keep a horse. Sad. I love it.’

‘You could keep it here,’ said Emmie consideringly, ‘Mouse gets lonely, in fact Granny’s looking out for a Shetland, to keep him company.’

‘There you are,’ said Eliza, ‘you didn’t expect to find livery accommodation into the bargain this morning, did you?’

‘I didn’t. Sounds excellent. Only thing is I haven’t got a horse or I’d be down faster than you could say walk-trot-gallop.’

‘I like doing walk-trot-gallop,’ said Emmie, ‘only I can’t gallop, so I just walk and trot. I want to have a gymkhana of my own,’ she added, ‘here at Summercourt.’

‘That sounds fun. With just you, or other people?’

‘Of course other people,’ she said, her voice reproving. ‘Otherwise it wouldn’t be a gymkhana. Shall I show you how I do walk and trot?’

‘Later on. I’d like that very much. Just now I need to talk to your mother.’

‘What about?’

‘All sorts of things.’

‘The divorce?’ said Emmie and scowled.

‘Well yes, I’m afraid so.’

‘It’s so stupid,’ she said, and her voice was scornful rather than distressed, Toby Gilmour noticed. ‘They’re so stupid, too.’

‘Who, Mummy and Daddy?’

‘Yes. I thought they were clever but they’re not and we all have to be miserable and a man called a judge will decide what’s going to happen to me. How can he, when he doesn’t know me or what I want. Stupid.’