The Next Best Thing (34 page)

‘You see, you even speak French,’ said Rupert. ‘It was meant to be.’

In the village, he backed skilfully into an unfeasibly small space between an old Renault and a bashed-up white van. It was pathetic to admire a man’s ability to park a
car, but Jane couldn’t help it. Obviously what women wanted was intelligent conversation and men who understood them and shared a commitment to gender equality. But for pure sexiness you
couldn’t beat old-fashioned male competence.

‘I’ll wait here,’ she said.

‘Fine, I won’t be long.’

She wanted to stay in the car so she could watch him cross the road and walk down the street. When he came out of the shop she would compare him with the other customers and give them all marks
out of ten.

The village was bustling with Easter weekenders, and the pharmacy was busy. First man out hardly counted, too old and gnarled. Second man, not bad in a French strutting-cock sort of way, low
centre of gravity, pointy shoes, five out of ten. The third man was young and gawky, thin in a way that lacked energy, as opposed to wiry thin, four out of ten. Next up was obviously an incomer,
probably Dutch, with too much facial hair and a dodgy money-belt, four again.

She remembered a game she used to play with the girls at work. It was during the sales conferences, those depraved events when a hundred employees would hole up in a hotel and brag about how
much they had drunk. You had to pretend someone was holding a gun to your head and forcing you to go to bed with one of the reps. Which one would you choose? How they had laughed. Some years later,
the game became more sophisticated. Names would be produced from a hat and you had to decide whether to shoot, shag or marry the individual in question. Her thoughts briefly flickered back to Will,
lounging on Rupert’s terrace. She frowned for a second, but brightened again when she saw Rupert come out of the pharmacy, filling the doorway, broad and English, looking unkempt with his
hair falling over his face, his shirt unironed. Objectively, thought Jane, he would be a six or a seven, maybe an eight a few years back. But she was no longer being objective. He opened the car
door and threw the bag of medicine onto the back seat.

‘Shall we get some bread for lunch?’ he said. ‘Maybe a couple
of fougasses?
Why are you laughing?’

‘I’m not laughing.’

‘Smiling, then.’

‘I love you.’

He climbed in beside her and she smelt the now-familiar scent of his embrace. ‘Good,’ he said, ‘so can we stop messing around now?’

When they got back to the house, Lydia was still on the sun-lounger, a pile of magazines beside her.

‘God, I’m bored,’ she said. ‘It’s all very well loafing around when it’s your choice, but as soon as you’re told to put your feet up, the whole thing
becomes tedious beyond words.’

Rupert went in to fetch a glass of water then came out and opened the boxes of medicine, counting out the correct doses on the garden table.

‘You are a sweetie,’ she said as he handed her two tablets, ‘I can see how wonderful it will be in our old age. You can push me around in a wheelchair and get one of those
pill-boxes with compartments for each day of the week.’

Rupert smiled guiltily. He knew it wouldn’t happen, but had no idea how he was going to break the news. Until he did, it had to be business as usual.

‘It’s a shocking thought,’ Lydia went on, ‘being old. You don’t need to think about it in the city, far too much going on. But when you come somewhere like this,
all there is to do is sit around and wait for death. Have you noticed how many old people there are in this village?’

‘I like old people,’ said Jane, who had settled down into the chair beside Lydia and was trying to act normally, to calm her thoughts into some sort of pattern. ‘I like the way
they can say what they want,’ she added. ‘They’ve got less to lose, I suppose, it makes them more reckless.’

‘Come to think of it,’ said Lydia, ‘I don’t think I’ve spoken to anyone over fifty since my grandmother died. How old’s Will, by the way?’

They all looked at him across the terrace where he was engrossed in his hook.

‘Fifty next year,’ said Jane. He’ll be sixty soon, she thought, he’ll be drawing a pension and I’ll be responsible for him. She had never thought of it in those
terms before.

‘I’ll make some coffee,’ she said, getting to her feet, suddenly anxious to be doing something.

‘Oh by the way, the stables rang,’ said Lydia. ‘I got Will to bring the phone out here, so I didn’t have to move. They can’t take Liberty this week, all the horses
are booked on a
stage de perfectionnement
for experienced riders. I love that about the French, don’t you? You’re either on a course for beginners or else a course of perfection, there’s nothing in between.’

‘That’s a shame,’ said Jane. ‘I shouldn’t have said anything to her, I ought to know by now not to mention anything until it’s for certain.’

‘Don’t beat yourself up about it,’ Lydia shrugged. ‘She might as well get used to disappointment, plenty more of that to come.’

‘Spoken from the heart,’ said Will, who had moved in to join the conversation now they had moved safely away from the subject of age. ‘Never mind coffee, Jane, it’s
nearly lunchtime, better make it a bottle of rose instead.’

They had salade nicoise for lunch, the olives plump and black, the eggs fresh, but Jane had no appetite. She tore off a piece of
the fougasse
they had bought that
morning and chewed on it mechanically, but her mouth was dry and she couldn’t swallow. She busied herself instead with Liberty, ensuring she ate properly, watching her concentrating as she
loaded her fork with small mouthfuls. Jane was unwilling to make small talk with the adults, it seemed so artificial.

Will was more than compensating for her silence, He talked about Plutarch’s letters and the loss of subtlety they suffered in translation; the difference between the two old French
languages,
langue d’oc
and
langue d’ol;
the way that second-home owners were killing the spirit of Provence.

You windbag, Jane thought, you insufferable, boring old windbag.

Across the table, Rupert was stacking the plates, his fingers strong and deft. ‘Did you know they’re prosecuting the
Sapeurs Pompiers
?’ he said, changing the subject.
‘They were talking about it in the pharmacy this morning. It seems they’re on commission for putting out forest fires and someone caught two of them down in the valley with a jerry can
of petrol.’

‘How very enterprising of them,’ said Lydia. ‘It must be the most interesting thing that’s happened here since the war. Would you mind bringing my manicure set, Rupert,
while you’re up? I might as well paint my nails, there’s bugger all else to do round here, even for those who aren’t handicapped.’

There’s riding,’ said Liberty. ‘I wish I could go riding.’

‘Never mind,’ said Jane, ‘there’s always next time.’

‘Next time?’ Lydia teased. ‘That’s a little presumptuous of you, Jane, to assume we’ll invite you again.’

‘Only joking,’ she added, mistaking the cause of Jane’s embarrassment for something more straightforward, ‘you can come again. Even the child is less bother than I
expected. Would you like me to do your nails, Liberty?’

Liberty nodded, honoured to be included in the grown-up-girls’ club, and when Rupert returned with the bag she sat solemnly still, hand outstretched, while Lydia buffed and polished her
small fingernails.

‘I’ll do the dishes,’ said Jane, glad for a chance to escape.

‘I’ll help you,’ said Rupert and he followed her into the kitchen.

‘I can’t stand this,’ she said, once they were out of sight of the others. ‘I feel so treacherous, creeping around behind their backs.’

‘It’ll be OK, just wait and see,’ said Rupert, putting his arms round her, ‘it’ll all come right in the end, it’s just the detail needs sorting. We know what
we want, and that makes everything easy. It’s the not knowing that’s so difficult.’

Jane thought of all the years she had spent convinced that Will was the one. She had been deluding herself with the energy of one who wants to believe. But who was to say she wasn’t doing
the same again now, with Rupert? What is love anyway, but the desire to believe?

‘I hope you’re right,’ she said, ‘because I can’t see what’s going to happen at all. It’s all such a mess . . .’

By the time they got back outside, Liberty’s little nails were shiny crimson. She waved them at her mother in delight. Jane pulled her onto her lap, wanting to hold her
still in time, to freeze her in this moment. Will had moved away from the table and was talking on his phone, pacing up and down the terrace, jangling the coins in his pocket. Jane watched him
dispassionately as she sat holding her daughter. He seemed a stranger to her, this man who had shared her bed for so many years. They had built a life together, she had jumped into line with his
aspirations, washed his shirts, espoused his views, and yet she had no idea who he was. When he returned he had a new vigour in his stride, his shoes clicked importantly across the stones.

‘I hate to be a party-pooper,’ he said, though he didn’t look like he was hating it at all, ‘but it looks as if I may have to break up this idyll. That was my agent, it
seems that Rob Bryson is in London and wants a meeting with me. I need to be at Sketch tomorrow night. No-one else will do, apparently. He wants me to act as a special advisor on a film on
Amerindians. According to Ed, I can dictate my terms.’

‘Not THE Rob Bryson?’ Lydia was impressed. ‘How very mainstream of you. And here’s me thinking you were a marginal intellectual.’

‘Who’s Rob Bryson?’ asked Rupert.

‘Dear Rupert,’ said Lydia, ‘I sometimes think you live on another planet. He’s only the hottest producer in Hollywood, darling.’ She turned to Jane.
‘Rupert’s only interested in old films,’ she explained, ‘or else European art-house affairs where nothing ever happens. You might as well watch paint dry.’

Jane and Rupert were careful to avoid eye-contact.

Will was bustling around now, making plans. ‘I’ll leave in the morning,’ he said. ‘Jane can run me to the airport, and I’ll get on the first flight.’

He saw the confusion on Jane’s face and mistook it for disappointment. ‘If you don’t mind, that is, Jane?’

‘No,’ she said, ‘of course not.’

Poor old thing, he thought, she’d been looking forward to this week together, and it was true he didn’t get to spend much time with Liberty. A generous thought came to him.

‘Hang on,’ he said, ‘here’s a suggestion. Why don’t I take Liberty back with me? That way, she can go and stay with Cosima after all and get to ride that damn pony
we’re sick of hearing about. What do you say, Liberty?’

‘Oh, yes please!’ Liberty fell into a theatrical beseeching position. ‘Please can I go, Mummy?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Jane, ‘I don’t think I can change your ticket, and anyway, Cosima might have invited someone else now.’

‘Why not ring her and see?’ said Will, ‘and don’t worry about the ticket, I’ll buy another one. I’ve a feeling I’m about to get lucky.’

Hardly believing her ears, Jane went inside to fetch her phone. She had her meeting tomorrow at La Garde Freinet, so it would be convenient for Liberty not to be around. She couldn’t
imagine Lydia would be that delighted at having to play nanny for the day.

That’s settled then,’ she said, coming back outside. ‘Cosima’s mum says you can go whenever you like. She’s even said she can pick you up if you go tomorrow, as
she’s going to be in London.’

‘Hooray!’ Liberty pretended to be a horse and set off galloping round the garden.

‘Lucky you,’ said Lydia. ‘I’m really rather tempted to come with you.’ It wouldn’t be much fun once Will had left. Just her and Rupert having to entertain
Jane. ‘Maybe we should all go back to London?’ she said. ‘Enough’s enough, and we’ve made the point, we’ve had our taste of the South.’

‘But Jane’s only just arrived,’ said Rupert. He didn’t want her snatched away so soon.

‘And I’ve got to go and see this writer tomorrow,’ said Jane. ‘I’d rather not cancel.’

‘That’s settled then,’ said Will. ‘I’ll go and get packed.’

Upstairs, Jane watched Will packing his bag with an alacrity he hadn’t shown on the way out.

‘This could be very big, you know,’ he said. ‘I know it’s a bore cutting the holiday short like this, but you don’t say no to Rob Bryson.’

Jane was struck by the speed of his transformation from highbrow intellectual to rabid groupie, panting at the thought of getting in with the big boys.

‘I thought you hated his films,’ she said, ‘and I thought you despised those writers who wanted to get into movies.’

‘You realise what this could mean,’ said Will, ignoring her. ‘Mark Thomas can keep his miserable six-bedroom house in Notting Hill: if this works out, I’ll be able to buy
up his entire street.’

Liberty came into the bedroom. She had put on Lydia’s poisonous metal sandals and was twirling around, pouting like a model and holding up her painted nails for inspection.

‘Take those off at once!’ said Jane. ‘I don’t want
you
going home with a black foot.’

Liberty obediently kicked them off and jumped onto the bed.

‘Help me pack your things,’ Jane said. ‘Pass me the clothes out of that cupboard.’

Liberty got down to open the wardrobe. ‘When are we going, Daddy?’

‘Tomorrow, my love, first thing. Jane, could you bear to fold these shirts for me, you know how useless I am at that sort of thing?’

She took over from him, carefully folding the shirts like a proper lady’s maid.

‘You’ll need to take some more trousers to Cosima’s,’ said Jane. ‘Those joggers and a pair of jeans; will you be able to find them?’

‘Course she will,’ said Will. ‘She’s a lot more independent than you give her credit for. It will do her good to get out of your skirts for a few days. Leave you free to
get on with some work.’

Jane blinked hard and tried to focus on the road ahead. She didn’t like to think how long she had been awake. After a sleepless night it had been a relief to get up at
six and gently wake Liberty, coaxing her into her travelling clothes. Leggings, with a spare pair in her backpack just in case. She had been happy enough to go off with Will; it was Jane
who’d had to fight back the tears. In seven years it would be the first time they had spent more than one night apart, which she knew was wet beyond belief, but that was how it was.