Unsuitable Men (38 page)

‘Bloody actors,’ whispered Martin’s voice behind me. ‘Always a drama, isn’t it?’

Before I could answer he raised his voice to address us all: ‘Right then, enough of this. I think it’s time we got our patient back into her sickbed. In we go, Lyd.’

I flinched as I saw Auntie Lyd’s shoulders tense. Martin meant to be kind, but he was so used to being in charge of everything that he didn’t see how much Auntie Lyd would resent
being dictated to in her own home. Not to mention calling her ‘Lyd’, which only family were permitted to do. Percy, sniffing, let Auntie Lyd go, and retreated backwards to dab at his
eyes with his shirtsleeve.

Auntie Lyd turned around; no longer shrunken, she seemed to grow in front of us.

‘Martin. How kind you have been to Rory. I’m so grateful. And for driving me home today. Thank you.’

Martin smiled with satisfaction, putting his arm around me as we stood framed in the open doorway. I couldn’t believe he couldn’t hear the frost in Auntie Lyd’s voice. If I
were him I would have been putting up my hands in self-defence.

‘But I am, as you rightly say, a poor old lady invalid who needs her rest. And for that reason I would like to spend my first night at home with just family. I’m sure you
understand.’

‘Rory?’ asked Martin, looking down at me with puzzlement. Auntie Lyd didn’t wait for an answer, but allowed herself to be escorted into the house by Percy and Eleanor.

‘Martin, it’s her first night home. She’ll come round,’ I said. ‘Just give her time.’

‘Give you time, give her time, it’s like I’m a fucking watch factory,’ he snapped, and then stopped when he saw my shocked face. ‘Sorry, sorry, Rory, sorry. I
shouldn’t have said that. It’s just getting to me, all of this.’

‘Look, I’ve talked to Auntie Lyd about us,’ I began.

‘So you think there is an us?’ he asked quickly.

‘I don’t know, Martin, it’s been a strange week. I haven’t had time to think about it properly.’ Martin frowned; it was clear he felt that four days was plenty of
time. ‘Time on my own, I mean. Can we just – I don’t know – can’t we just agree that we won’t contact each other for a few days, and then I promise I’ll
make a decision? Just give me until – until the end of this week, okay?’

‘Friday,’ he said.

‘Saturday.’

‘Friday’s the end of the week.’

‘There’s going to be a lot going on this week. Saturday is better,’ I insisted. ‘I want to think about this properly, Martin. I owe you that at least. Please don’t
rush me.’

Martin took my hands and looked at me with such intensity I worried he might be in physical pain.

‘Saturday,’ he agreed, crushing my fingers in his own. ‘Please come home then, Rory.’

There is a school of thought that says work can be a place of refuge during difficult times in one’s personal life. And in some ways I can see that might be true –
my colleagues had at least offered some sort of distraction from everything when I’d first broken up with Martin. Getting up and dressed every day, catching the tube and sitting at my desk
had forced me to carry on, instead of just sobbing under the duvet. And finally writing up my piece about Malky had been quite cathartic, drawing a line under our fling. Yet going back to the
office the day after Auntie Lyd came out of hospital felt far too soon to me; but she had become irritable when I said I’d stay with her, and insisted she was hardly going to come to harm in
her own home. So although I went back to
Country House
mostly to make her happy, I will admit that I thought I could at least get some headspace there to think about what was happening with
Martin. I had imagined it would be an easy decision – he had cheated on me and betrayed me, and that should mean it was over. But it wasn’t that simple to think about throwing away a
second chance at a relationship that had once meant everything to me. Life wasn’t black and white, I knew that. It’s just that I wasn’t sure if I was able to deal with the exact
shade of grey of the new relationship Martin was offering. At least at
Country House
, where things were reassuringly always the same, I could allow myself to think about it all properly.

But when I got in to work, although things looked the same, it turned out that everything was different.

The first thing that struck me on walking into my office was that Ticky’s desk was suspiciously spotless. For one scary moment I thought the feared redundancies might have started already,
but when I opened one of her desk drawers it was reassuringly still full of expensive make-up and low-carb chocolate bars. Instead of the usual scattering of papers,
Heat
magazines and pink
heart-shaped Post-its, Ticky’s desk was empty but for a lined pad with a neat list in her rounded handwriting:

If it hadn’t been in Ticky’s hand I wouldn’t have believed her capable of a list that demonstrated not only a thorough grasp of what needed to be done in my absence, but actual
forward planning and initiative-taking. It seemed a little excessive to be looking for a freelance sub when I had only been out of the office for a few days, but I couldn’t fault her for
trying. Despite this demonstration of efficiency, Ticky wasn’t here on time, of course, though I actually found this a bit of a relief. Otherwise I would have suspected some sort of
body-snatching Stepford scenario.

Lysander arrived in my office before Ticky did, which was even more peculiar, since it was far too early for one of his post-lunch office perambulations. Something was up. He reclined in the
chintz chair in a manner that said he intended to be there a while. Settling himself comfortably, he rested his elbows on the arms of the chair and tented his fingers like the pensive detective in
a murder mystery. Perhaps he was about to tell me someone had done away with Ticky after all.

‘What a week, Aurora, what a week,’ he said. When I failed to take the bait he seemed to remember that he had yet to acknowledge that I had been out of the office for personal
reasons. He hastily added, ‘I can’t tell you how relieved we all were to hear that your aunt is making a full recovery.’

‘Thank you,’ I said. ‘She’s doing well.’

‘How well I remember her in
Those Devereux Girls
,’ Lysander said. ‘A glorious woman. Indeed, how well I remember meeting her at Annabel’s in, oh, it must have been
about ’82.’

‘You knew Auntie Lyd?’ I asked, goggling at him. ‘Really? You’ve never mentioned this before.’

Lysander leaned forward. ‘No need to “freak out”,’ he said, making quotation marks with his fingers in a move he believed helped him appear down with the kids. Even
though the kids today had not been born in ’82, let alone hanging out at Annabel’s. ‘I had no idea Lydia Bell was your aunt until Amanda said so on Monday – none of us
had.’

‘So you, Lysander Honeywell, are a friend of my aunt’s?’ I asked, unconvinced. ‘How come I’ve never heard her mention you?’

He waved a hand dismissively before resuming his crime detective position. ‘Oh, not a friend, Aurora, no. I cannot claim that privilege. We just met the once. But I’ve never
forgotten. A marvellous woman.’

‘She is,’ I agreed, but his misty-eyed reminiscences over Auntie Lyd had already ended, replaced by the expression that I knew preceded the telling of gossip.

Lysander rubbed his hands together, building suspense. ‘Item two,’ he said. ‘Martha’s left. Resigned on Friday night, gone already.’

‘What?’ Was this why she had been trying to get me to cover for her over the weekend? Had my refusal caused her to entirely lose the plot?

‘Oh yes, Aurora, it’s been busy here while you’ve been away. And you will never, not ever, imagine where she has gone.’ His eyes sparkled with amusement. Wherever it was,
Lysander was delighted by it.

‘Wait – she’s left? Just like that? Without giving notice?’

‘Well . . .’ Lysander leaned forward again and I could see how much he had been delightedly anticipating my return to the office. Not for my own sake, but for the opportunity to tell
the story to the one member of staff who didn’t already know it. He had probably been lying in wait for me this and every morning to ensure he got to me before anyone else. ‘She told
Amanda that she’d consulted an employment lawyer. She was going to sue for constructive dismissal and age discrimination, but instead she’d settle for a year’s salary and no
notice period.’

‘What – but – a year’s salary? She’s been here for twenty years, that’s nothing!’ I wasn’t sure why I was leaping to Martha’s defence since
she had done little but make my life difficult over the years, but how could she give up her job – her life – like that? How would she live? Surely she’d find it impossible to get
another job? What about her retirement plans, her pension?

‘Ah,’ said Lysander, his face breaking into a broad grin. ‘She doesn’t need money where she’s going.’

‘Of course she needs money, Lysander,’ I snapped. With his rich family he had no idea what it might be like to be a woman of a certain age facing a penniless future. None. Martha
did; that had been why she worked so hard. ‘Unless – no, she’s not – she’s not joining a
religious order
, is she?’ It would be just like her to leave in a
manner that implied not only that she was on to better things, but that by remaining at the revamped circulation-chasing
Country House
we were all in some way morally inferior. Also it would
neatly do away with the need for a pension.

Lysander shrieked with laughter, slapping his knees. ‘A religious order!’ he exclaimed, wiping at his eyes. ‘A religious order! Oh my. Aurora, no, it’s not a religious
order. Quite the opposite.’

I was beginning to feel annoyed by his hints and allusions. It wouldn’t have surprised me if he’d whipped out a fan and hidden behind it
Dangerous Liaisons
-style. ‘A
brothel?’ I asked facetiously.

Lysander’s smile dropped. ‘Please do not speak like that about my future cousin,’ he said sternly. ‘I do not care to have the Honeywell name brought into
disrepute.’

‘Your cousin?’ I echoed. Light slowly dawned. The softer colours she had been wearing. The weekends away. Hadn’t she even brought a tin of Scottish shortbread into the office
one Monday morning? I had been blind. We all had. ‘No! Teddy?’

Lysander beamed again and leaned forward, rubbing his hands together in delight. ‘Yes! Ethelred! She offered to pass on the contact details of the women who wrote in to the website about
him, apparently to save me the bother, but she got rid of all of them and contacted him herself instead.
Et voilà – l’amour!
’

I nearly clapped my own hands together. It was like a fairy story. Martha was going to be the lady of the manor.

‘Amazing,’ I said.

‘Oh faahrk,’ snarled Ticky, waltzing into the office, swinging her handbag off her shoulder. ‘Lysander, are you still going on about Martha? Jeez, get, like, a life, would you?
Get a life and get out.’ She stood over him in a stance that was made even more intimidating by her high stilettos, knee-length skirt and blouse. I was so used to seeing her dressed head to
toe in Jack Wills that I couldn’t stop staring at this new, business-like Ticky. ‘Out!’

Lysander leapt up obediently from his seat, muttering, ‘Sorry, Victoria,’ and fled the office.

‘Christ, Rory, am I glad to see you back. Faahrking major nightmare,’ sighed Ticky, dropping into the space just vacated by Lysander. ‘Martha walks out, you’re nowhere to
be seen; like, absolutely everything has landed on my desk.’

‘Well, it’s not been a particularly great week for me either, Ticky,’ I said stiffly.

‘Oh Goouurd, sorry, Roars,’ said Ticky, slapping a palm to her forehead. ‘Like, how rude? How’s your aunt? Maaahn says she’s like, some sort of famous bird from
back in the day?’

‘She’s fine, thanks.’ I wondered if I should have some sort of T-shirt made that said,

‘Look,’ said Ticky, ‘I don’t mean to be, like, an insensitive bitch here’ – which was in itself a surprising admission – ‘but we are having a
faahrking horror with the new issue: print deadline is next week and I really need to start handing stuff back to you, like, prontosaurus.’

‘Sure, sure,’ I answered, astonished that Ticky, of all people, would steer the conversation away from personal gossip and towards work. I gestured at her desk. ‘It looks like
you’ve got everything under control, Ticky, thanks so much.’

‘Yah,’ she said, rising up from the chair and flicking her hair over her shoulder. ‘It’s, like, actually been sort of
fun
.’

‘Really?’

‘I know, Roars, I know. Fun in, like, a totes ‘mare sort of way. But Maaahn’s had to, like, trust me with shit, you know? And nothing’s gone completely tits-up yet, so,
yah. It’s been quite good.’

‘Is that what the new look’s in aid of?’ I asked.

‘Well, like, dress for the job you want, yah? Not the job you have. That’s what Daddy always says, you know, although he completely meant
Please dress in Country Casuals like
Mummy does and stop walking around in denim cut-offs distracting the gardener.
There are going to be some changes round here and I’m, like, dressing up for them.’

Ticky’s revelations were almost as amazing as Lysander’s. The workshy public schoolgirl had suddenly turned into an ambitious career woman. I had the strange feeling that I was about
to be professionally leapfrogged by my own assistant. And the even stranger feeling that I wasn’t sure I cared. Seeing Martha’s unexpected escape made me think. I had assumed my only
choice was to follow in her Weldon’s of Ludlow footsteps up the
Country House
ladder; what if I should instead be following her out of the door?