The Decision (114 page)

‘You should have left it,’ Jeremy said when she told him, ‘the ordinary punters would have assumed it was a mistake, and you might have got some rich outsiders coughing up, putting you in profit. How much do you think you’re going to make, anyway?’

‘We’ll be extremely lucky to break even,’ said Eliza, ‘it’s a very good thing we’ve got some sponsors.’

‘Sponsors? Darling, how grand. Who would that be?’

‘Well, Shaw Construction, funnily enough, and Scarlett’s travel company have put in five hundred pounds as well, bless her.’

‘Are they coming?’

‘Scarlett and Mark? I hope so, but her baby’s due on Sunday, so not quite sure—’

‘I don’t think a little thing like that would deter our Scarlett.’

‘Well, she’s pretty nervous about it all. What about Mariella, Jeremy, is she coming?’

‘Would she miss it? Not for the world. Of course she’s coming. Only thing that’s worrying me is she’s got some mysterious plan.’

‘What sort of plan?’

‘I don’t know, except that it involves arriving at Summercourt long after I do, and she has some appointment quite early in the day just outside Marlborough. We’re staying at the Bear overnight, it seemed simpler. Oh, and Pa wants to come too, he’s never seen Summercourt, and it’s quite famous, of course, being in Pevsner, and he likes houses. And he’s quite lonely these days, poor old chap, misses Ma more than he’d ever admit, even misses the bullying—’

‘Jeremy, of course it’s all right. I love your father, you know I do. I bet he loves Mariella,’ she added.

‘My God, he does. Whenever we have a row, she threatens to marry him instead.’

‘Well, that’d be interesting. Anyway, stay for supper afterwards, why don’t you? Loads of people will be there, and Charles is bringing his new girlfriend, she’s a teacher, sounds a bit worthy, but perfect for him, and I’d love you to meet her.’

‘Try and keep me away.’

The sun was beginning to work through the mist; a pale glow settling on the fields, drifting over the wood. Eliza took her mug of coffee and went to sit on the fence of the paddock. Mouse was tied up, clearly resentful at his curtailed freedom, and Emmie was rather unsuccessfully trying to re-oil his already shiny hooves. Eliza held out her hand to him; he pushed his soft nose into it, seeking Polo mints or carrots, and finding neither pushed his face against her body, jerking his head gently, slobbering onto her T-shirt. Good thing she hadn’t cleaned herself up yet.

She looked across at the house, the pale light dusting it, catching the windows, turning the stone lighter, almost luminescent. God, she loved this house. It was such a good friend to her, a gentle, graceful, welcoming friend, always ready for her, to greet her, to contain her.

But a shadow hung over it still. Matt had never – of course, how could he? – loved it as she did. He had bought it for her, because he loved her. He would have bought her anything – then. It had been the hardest part of the negotiations, the house; Matt’s initial heady relief at getting custody, thus saving face and his sense of justice, had given way to his usual truculence; why should he, he argued, spend thousands a year on its upkeep for Sarah to enjoy, for Eliza to visit, when another house, cheaper, easier to run, closer to London, would serve as well.

‘But what about Emmie and Mouse?’ said Eliza tetchily.

‘I’ve seen a couple of houses in Surrey, just outside Guildford, got paddocks, nice little stables. What’s wrong with them?’

‘They’re not Summercourt,’ said Eliza.

‘No, and not as costly either. I could buy one of them and a cottage for your mother, and still be quids in. Ivor Lewis says I should appeal against that part of the settlement, and I’d be sure to win. Emmie would be fine, what she cares about is Mouse and her weekends with us. She’s got a lot of common sense, Emmie has, and she likes her comfort, she won’t go mooning about because she’s lost Great-great-grandpa’s legacy.’

He did appeal and won the right to sell; it would go under the hammer in the autumn.

Eliza told herself that set against losing Emmie, it really wasn’t very important. It still hurt though; she could hardly bear even to contemplate its loss from her life.

But, for now, for today, it was theirs; the lovely heart of the family, and at its very best, beautifully on show, preening itself, asking to be admired. Which it would be, of course … She slithered off the fence and walked back towards it, determined on only positive thoughts.

‘How do you feel?’ Mark looked at Scarlett as she lay in the bath, her vast stomach protruding out of the Miss Dior bubbles.

‘Wonderful. Like a whale.’

‘A wonderful whale. But otherwise?’

‘Oh – fine. Yes. No twinges, if that’s what you mean. And before you ask, yes, I do want to go to the gymkhana.’

‘Dear love, it’s a long way. It could shake things up. Get you going.’

‘Well – good. I need to be got going.’

‘I know, but so far from London, away from the hospital? Is that a good idea?’

‘Mark, first babies take at least, at the very least, twelve hours to be born. More like twenty-four. Or even thirty-six. Stop fussing. If it starts, we can just head back. It’ll be good, it’ll use up some of the time.’

‘I know, but dear love, you must remember how important it is you’re in hospital. Near all the medical aid.’

‘Yes, I know. Double doses of gas and air and pethidine and chloroform if I can get it.. But I still think it would be better to go than sit here waiting for contractions to start. Anyway, the baby’s bound to be late, first ones always are.’

‘Yes, of course. Well, if you’re sure. I’d love to go. But I won’t mind if you change your mind.’

Mark was uneasy about Scarlett’s insistence on the opposite of natural childbirth. It would have been more than his life was worth to tell her so; and a great deal more to tell her that his mother had frequently told him how she had given birth to him without any pain relief whatsoever apart from self-hypnosis and infusions of raspberry-leaf tea.

He understood Scarlett’s fear of childbirth and sympathised; looking at her vast stomach and thinking of the baby’s exit from it, he felt quite fearful himself. He was very grateful moreover that she was as keen for him not to be present at the birth as she was on medical intervention; the thought of seeing this person he loved so much in terrible pain distressed him horribly. Mark was a gentle soul; he planned to spend the time Scarlett was in labour reading, listening to music and getting drunk by the telephone. He hoped for a son; but he would be almost as happy with a daughter, and besides, he very much intended for there to be others. He had a rather unrealistic view of fatherhood; he had been an only child and hated it, and he longed for a large family. The fact that it would bring noise and mess into his life had somehow escaped him; he imagined them all sitting sweetly together in the shade of the garden in Trisos in the summer, or by the big fireplace in the Bloomsbury house in the winter, their heads bent over books, with Mozart or Bach playing in the background.

He was deeply relieved that the rift between Scarlett and Matt was healing; it had upset him horribly. It had taken a while, but Matt loved Scarlett far too much to bear any lasting ill-will towards her, even in a situation as charged as this one: although what would have happened if he had lost Emmie did not, in Mark’s view, bear thinking about.

How long ago now it seemed, their own marriage, his and Scarlett’s, standing in the little church on Trisos, making their vows before a rather bewildered Greek priest, with only Larissa and Demetrios and the two Aris and of course Persephone to witness it, listening to Persephone’s lovely voice reading her epithalamium, and afterwards coming out into the glorious gold and blue day, and looking at Scarlett in all her beauty, in a white flowing dress, with white flowers and ribbons woven into her hair, and thinking what an astonishing and absolutely surprising thing love was.

‘Mummy, Gail’s here.’

‘Oh – good.’

Eliza went to greet Gail, who with Cal was dragging large baskets out of her old truck, filled with potatoes, woolly hats, scarves and gloves, and a lot of extremely muddy wellington boots.

‘What are the potatoes for?’ asked Emmie

‘They’re instead of apples,’ said the exquisite Cal, who was helping Gail to unload. ‘Too early for windfalls and your mum said we weren’t to buy them, too expensive, so we hit on the idea of potatoes. Just as good.’

‘What, to eat?’

‘No, of course not,’ said Gail, ‘you haven’t been listening to me, Emmie, it’s for the obstacle race, last heat when you have to get an apple out of a bucket with your teeth and then gallop round the ring. Your mum said she didn’t want you in that one, and I think she’s right, the big girls always do it and it gets a bit rough.’

‘I want to do it,’ said Emmie.

‘Emmie,’ said Eliza, ‘if I see you doing that, it’ll be last race not just for today, but the rest of the summer. You’ve got at least two more gymkhanas to go to, and I won’t take you if you’re naughty today. Is that clear?’

‘Yes, it’s clear,’ said Emmie resignedly. Eliza looked at her sharply; she knew that tone. But Emmie’s face was innocently blank, her eyes wide, as she looked back at her mother. God, thought Eliza, what is she going to be like in five years’ time … Now, maybe she should grab this opportunity to have her bath and change; she didn’t want to actually smell when …

‘Mummy, it’s the saints’ ambulance.’

‘The – oh, St John’s. Good. I was hoping they’d be here in lots of time. I’ll go and tell them where to set up their tent. Gail, next to the entrance to the ring, do you think?’

‘Louise, this is Matt.’

‘Oh – hello.’

‘Look, I’m – I’m sorry about last night. Really. And – do you want to come today?’

‘Well – I’m not sure. Not if you’re going to be in a foul mood all the time. And yes, before you say so, of course it’s a difficult day for you, but if you could just keep at least looking cheerful, for Emmie’s sake, it’ll help a lot.’

‘I just don’t – don’t fancy seeing him there. Poncing around. In my house, he’s so fucking arrogant, I can’t stand him—’

‘I know, Matt, and I had gathered that, I think I’d have worked it out even if you’d never actually told me. He seems fine to me. Very nice.’

‘I know you do. Bloody smoothie. Smarmy as they come. You don’t usually like them like that, Louise, I don’t know what you see in him. He’s worse than Northcott and that’s saying something.’

‘If by worse you mean more charming and agreeable, I’m not sure I agree. I’ve always liked Jeremy. Quite a close-run thing actually, I’d say.’

‘Oh for God’s sake.’

‘What about Mariella, is she coming?’

‘I suppose so. They’re engaged. She doesn’t like me either, but she’ll be there, in my house, dressed up in some ridiculous outfit, showing off—’

‘Oh, Matt. So – are you getting that place near Dorking?’

‘I think so. It’s relatively new, about ten years old, very good condition, plenty of room, but not a great barn like Summercourt. Save me a fortune.’

‘Has Emmie seen it?’

‘Not yet. I’m going to take her next weekend.’

‘And – how does she feel about losing Summercourt?’

‘I – don’t know.’

‘What, you haven’t told her?’

‘Not yet.’

‘Matt, that’s awful.’

‘I don’t see why. Long as she’s got Mouse, she won’t care.’

‘I think you might be wrong there,’ said Louise. ‘See you in an hour.’

She rang off. A year after the custody case, things hadn’t changed a great deal between her and Matt. They met regularly for dinner, drinks, occasionally for lunch at the weekends he didn’t have Emmie. She still, she supposed – no, she knew – loved him. He didn’t seem to love her, or to have any tender feelings for her whatsoever. He’d certainly never indicated that he did; the nearest had been when he told her he enjoyed her company more than that of anyone else he knew. As he seemed to dislike most people it wasn’t much of a compliment.

He had adjusted to the custody settlement pretty well; it had, in fact, as Eliza often said, made less difference to his life than it had to hers. His pride had been hurt by Eliza winning care and control, and by Clifford Rogers’s very public rebuke, but from a practical point of view, little had changed; he was so often out, so often worked late, that the adjustment required during the week at least was minimal, and he and Eliza had grown used to alternate weekends with Emmie at Summercourt in the run-up to the case anyway. He remained hurt and angry with Eliza; but he would, Louise thought, always love her to an extent in his own difficult way. He had had the occasional fling with women since, more one-night stands than affairs, but there was certainly nothing to be jealous about. She wasn’t sure if that made his attitude to her – an impatient, platonic affection was the closest she could come to describing it – feel worse or better.

In every other way, her life was pretty well perfect. Her hotels now numbered ten in construction or already constructed, and she owned three of them; the one just above Covent Garden was still by far her favourite. She described herself as fairly rich; her flat in Paulton Square was extremely luxurious, her twin wardrobes, filled with designer clothes, her latest car – a Porsche – parked outside, and she was in the process of buying a property in the new development of Port Grimaud in the South of France, on the northern tip of the Golfe de St Tropez. She had visited the place the previous autumn and fallen in love with it, with its Provençale-style houses, built in a series of exotic lagoons, each with a landing stage at the bottom of what passed for a garden.