The Look of Love (30 page)

Saul didn’t wear a wedding ring, but with Daisy it was hard to tell. She habitually had several rings on two or three fingers of each hand, all flamboyant and chosen to tone with whatever she was wearing. Bella tried not to stare too blatantly to see if a plain gold band nestled among the tourmaline and opals on her left hand, but she caught herself, on the rare moments that Daisy’s expressive gold-nailed hands were still, eyeing her left ring finger, just in case.

‘We need to have a party when all this is finished.’ Daisy’s mood lifted as she gulped down wine rather quickly, ‘Can we do that here, Bella? Just the victims and the crew and so on? The catering people can rustle up a bit of nosh – maybe a barbecue. We’re right in the absolute suburbs, aren’t we, here? Isn’t a
barbecue what people have in places like this? Such fun!’

Bella, who wasn’t at all in party mood and was trying to ignore Daisy’s customary little stings, nevertheless didn’t want to be a downer on the others. ‘If you like,’ she agreed – with Mandy the cook in charge, plus all the kit from the truck, it would hardly be a hassle. ‘I’ve got some outdoor lights in the cellar. Perhaps Nick could rig them up in the trees.’

‘Settled, then.’ Daisy nibbled the edges of an olive. ‘You were all
wonderful
today, by the way. Sorry I’ve been a bit vile. I’ve loved this gig – you’ve all been
stars
.’

‘You mean we’ve been good girls and done what you’ve told us, don’t you!’ Jules said.

Daisy, beaming her scary Transylvanian smile, was being unusually generous with her praise. ‘Jules, admit it, I know what I’m doing – those straight-leg linen trousers were perfect on you, weren’t they?’

Jules laughed. ‘They were, and thanks for that. I’d never even have looked at them on a shop hanger. I can’t hundred per cent promise I won’t still sometimes wear jeans, but I’ll make sure it’s when nobody’s looking. I wouldn’t want to inflict my vast behind on the outside world for fear of an outbreak of mass fainting.’

‘Well, in the privacy of your own home, I suppose that’s
just
about acceptable,’ Daisy conceded. ‘I mean,
I’m sure we all – though not me, obviously, because I know you can’t go wrong with essential cashmere lounging items – have secret slobbing-about outfits that we couldn’t be seen in, not even to open the front door to the postman. This one here,’ she waved her glass in the direction of Fliss and wine slopped over the side on to the table, ‘
she’s
got some Paddington Bear winceyette PJs, haven’t you darling?’ She continued in a loud pretend-whisper, ‘She wears them when she’s watching reruns of
ER
or if she’s feeling a bit peaky.’

‘Mum, please!’ Fliss mumbled, embarrassed to be picked on. ‘You’re pissed!’ It was true that Daisy had downed her first glass in record speed. She was now close to finishing the next one.

Daisy cut in, loud and emphatic, banging her glass down dangerously on the table. ‘Ah – now that’s what I meant to say earlier after the burglar-alarm thingummy happened!’ she slurred. ‘Remember when we’re at work, Fliss darling, it’s an absolute rule: you call me
Daisy
, not Mum. Otherwise looks very neposh, er … nepo-thing.’

‘Nepotism,’ Bella supplied for her, wishing they’d all just go home so she could lie on her bed and drift into sleep.

Bella saw Saul flash a look at Daisy. ‘Ah, now I get it …’ he murmured to no-one in particular, then he leaned forward and quietly asked, ‘Bella, could we just go inside and talk?’

‘When they’ve all gone,’ Bella murmured back.

‘I’m not pissed!’ Daisy snapped suddenly. ‘I just haven’t eaten much today and this
hugely
acceptable vino is going straight to my head.’

‘Sweetie, you don’t eat much
any
day,’ Saul sniped back. ‘The moment you allow a carbohydrate past your lips, it’ll be breaking news on CNN.’

Jules winked at Bella. ‘Been a long day,’ she commented briskly, quickly finishing her drink. ‘And it’s possibly getting to the tears-before-bedtime stage.’ She nodded almost imperceptibly in Daisy’s direction. ‘I think I’ll go home and see if any of the other inmates of my asylum have thought about supper.’ Jules stood up, ready to leave. ‘Come with me a sec, Bella, I need to ask you about
Molly’s exams
.’

Bella took the hint and followed her, but as she went, she heard Saul saying, ‘Fliss, can you take Daisy home? I think it’s time …’

‘Sorry Saul, I didn’t bring my car. I’m meeting someone in Richmond.’

‘OK … down to me then, I suppose. Come on Daisy, I’d better drive you home before you make a complete idiot of yourself.’

Bella glanced back at him. He looked weary, hauling a rather wobbly Daisy off the bench. So much for the chance to explain. Was he really being kind to his ex-wife, or just copping out?

‘What’s going on?’ Jules stage-whispered to Bella as soon as they got to the hallway. ‘Did you and Saul have a sudden spectacular falling-out? I mean call me old-fashioned, but usually between secretly loved-up couples there’s at least a bit of sly eye contact …’

‘It’s unexpectedly complicated. Possibly,
probably
, dead in the water,’ Bella told her, feeling glum. She’d only had half a glass of wine, and decided that was enough for the night. Any more and the miseries would set in even further. Saul couldn’t have failed to twig that she knew now who the mother of his stepdaughter was.

‘Oh darling, I’m sorry! You really don’t have much man luck, do you?’

‘No!’ Bella gave a shaky laugh. ‘But there you go: my own fault. I just rushed straight in there, didn’t I? Again! I must be one of those stupid people who really does keep on making the same old mistakes.’

And as she watched Jules pacing away across the gravel to the gate, there were Saul and Daisy behind her, about to leave. Daisy was lurching slightly sideways, tottering on her sky-high heels.

‘Till tomorrow, then!’ Daisy put her skinny arms round Bella and hugged her. ‘You are
quite a nice woman
you know, Bells.’ She smelled faintly of hyacinths. Through the tumbling flat dark curtain of Daisy’s hair Bella glanced at Saul, who was looking a bit frantic – as
well he might, she thought. ‘I’m amazed you haven’t got some man who
totally
adores you.’

‘Me too, Daisy. Me too,’ Bella told her, feeling nastily caustic.

‘But you have,’ Saul murmured to her.

‘One of my own, I meant,’ Bella snapped back. Please just
go
, she willed them. Never mind drifting to sleep, she really just wanted to lie down and weep for a while.

‘Daisy, come
on
.’ Saul was impatient now.

‘I’m being taken home! Come on, husband!’ Daisy demanded, abruptly letting go of Bella and snuggling up to Saul. ‘Help me get across that lethal gravel.’ She turned back to Bella. ‘Terrible stuff, gravel, you know. You could break an ankle on it in heels, easy peasy. And it is
vilely
provincial.’

‘Yes, it is,’ Bella agreed, all bright and brittle. ‘But I recommend it highly for pre-warning you when unwanted visitors are approaching. You get an extra few minutes before some scumbag breaks your locks and nicks the telly. It was James’s idea, way back. He was in his security-mad phase.’

‘I really must talk to you, Bella,’ Saul said. He moved towards her as if to kiss her, but this coincided with her stepping back inside the doorway. Damn, the moment missed. Now she’d looked openly hostile and she hadn’t meant to at all.

‘OK,’ he said, his face clouding. ‘Look, I’m really sorry
that there’s a bit of confusion. But I can explain … we really need to …’

‘… go home! We need to go home!’ Daisy interrupted before he could finish. She clutched Saul’s hand and tottered across the gravel, pulling him with her. Saul looked back at Bella, briefly and with what could have been an apologetic appeal for clemency. Whether for being economical with the truth or for Daisy being drunk (which was hardly his fault), Bella couldn’t tell. As she watched Daisy gigglingly pick her way across to his car, she thought about what it was they said in theatres for good luck. Bella trawled her brain to remember; oh yes, that was it –
break a leg
. While she would never go quite that far with malice towards Daisy, just now it was hard not to wish on her a lightly turned ankle.

Bella lay on the purple sofa and tried some yoga relaxation techniques with a bit of restorative deep breathing. She was now alone in the house and instead of finding the solitude peaceful and calming as she’d hoped, she felt restless and agitated and more than a little cross with herself for having leapt into yet another man mistake. Taking clothes on and off all day (as opposed to flinging them off in a rush of passion the night before) was surprisingly tiring, and her arms ached lightly from hauling things over her head. Her
thigh muscles ached too, but that, she realized with a flash of delicious recall, was nothing to do with the day. That was from making love with Saul, and heavens, it had been so fantastic. It seemed close to tragic that it would possibly never happen again. Oh well, she tried telling herself rather bitterly,
some you lose
. The phrase sounded so hard and cynical.

She closed her eyes and tried to put Saul out of her head, thinking of something else: where
was
Molly? She’d rushed off as soon as Saul said that was it for the day, and she hadn’t so much as sent a text to say where she was. Bella thought of her own teenage years, of being accused by her mother, as every adolescent had surely been since Moses was a boy, of ‘treating this place like a hotel’. It had seemed a peculiar expression, as she and her mother weren’t at all familiar with the kind of grand hotels that weren’t run on far tighter rules and regulations than the average family home.

Holidays had been mostly in rented seaside cottages, but on the occasions she and Shirley had stayed in small hotels – for a family funeral, weddings, big anniversary parties – the proprietors had been very strict about mealtimes, about late-night comings and goings and general behaviour. It was now way past seven and still no Molly. If this
were
a hotel, and if she’d cooked, she could almost justifiably refuse if Molly came strolling in and attempted a late booking for dinner. Still, so long as
whatever the girl was doing cheered her up and helped her get over the Giles thing, Bella could only wish her luck with it.

In spite of (or possibly because of) spending the day chatting about the superficialities of who looked good in what and churning out sound-bite opinions to order, Bella had a sudden urge to distract herself by getting some work done. Gradually, as she lay idly on the sofa thinking about – of all things –
accessories
, a magazine piece was becoming almost fully formed in her head. It had to be got down in writing immediately – at least in note form – or it would vanish, so she brought the Mac downstairs from her office, put it on the kitchen table and started on the piece while what she wanted to say was fresh in her mind.

‘I really don’t get … Statement Handbags’ she began typing, determined to get Saul out of her brain, at least for an hour or so. Daisy and Dominic had accessorized every outfit they’d all worn over the past few days with items they kept referring to as ‘important pieces’. How, she wrote, can a handbag ever be described as ‘important’? The contents, for sure – money, credit cards, driving licence, diary, phone, photos of friends and family – but the bag
itself
? Many of the bags Daisy mentioned, in a tone close to that of a fervent worshipper, were priced at well over a thousand pounds. And they were never of a practical size – that
was another thing. Either they were large enough to transport a well-grown three-year-old (and whatever did you put in a bag that size to pad it out and stop it looking as pathetically empty as a just-milked udder? And could you even reach to the bottom corner when you were scavenging for loose change to make up the amount for a parking meter?), or they were teeny, dolly-sized evening bags which weren’t long enough to hold an essential Tampax, and which bulged and wouldn’t fasten if you dared add a tissue and a lipstick.

Who, exactly, at the average party/office/restaurant, she continued, would recognize the ‘importance’ of this trophy accessory that cost as much as a sofa? And how mortifying was it to those who
were
in this elite circle to have to downgrade to a chain-store shame item in times of credit stress? Who would want to be the sort of person who needed to impress a tiny teeny band of total strangers who would know the retail price of the sack-thing you were carrying your wallet and Oyster card around in? It was a weird exclusive little club she couldn’t ever imagine wanting to join and, fired up by pent-up fury about the mess that she’d laughingly call her love life, she speedily bashed out seven hundred satisfying words that lashed the bones out of these perfectly innocent and possibly beautifully crafted fashion items.

There, she thought, as she ended with the virtues of
the unpretentious canvas tote,
that
felt better. Much.

She went back to the beginning of the piece, tidied up the prose and emailed it to Charlotte at the
Sunday Review
before she had time to change her mind about it, then made herself a cup of tea. While she was texting Molly to ask when she’d be back, her phone rang.

‘It’s me, darling. Charlotte. Lovely piece you’ve just sent me, very pacy and furious. You sound as cross as a trodden-on snake. I take it the makeover thing is pissing you off, big-time?’

‘Hi Charlotte, oh it’s not so bad … just tiring. But it’s nearly finished. How’s the
Review
?’

‘Oh fine. Listen, we’re looking for someone to cover skincare. I was wondering if you might be interested?’

‘Well yes I would, absolutely!’ Oh joy, Bella thought, crossing her fingers, at least one thing might turn out all right today.

‘The only thing is,’ Charlotte sounded a bit hesitant, ‘it’s all very
high end
. You’ll need to go to a lot of product launches and so on. We really need to feel that when you’re out at events, you’d be representing the image of the … well you know … sort of a bit cutting edge, kind of thing.’

‘Er, image? The readers don’t need to see me, Charlotte, surely? Or do they?’