What Will Survive (15 page)

The phone rang again. With a feeling of resignation, Carolina picked it up.

‘Lina?'

‘Yes, I'm here.'

‘Look, Stephen's thrown the Party into turmoil. The very least he can do is put out a statement saying it was all a terrible mistake.'

‘A mistake?'

‘He can cite personal reasons, a — what do they call it? A midlife crisis. Frankly, darling, he can say he's been experimented on by aliens, as long as he takes back these perfectly ridiculous —'

‘Mercedes, please, I can't get through to him either. I've been fending reporters off all morning.'

‘Surely you're used to that by now? You've been an MP's wife for long enough.'

Carolina tried to contain her irritation. After the third or fourth call — ‘Sorry to trouble you at home, Mrs Massinger, but I really do need to speak to your husband' — she had talked to Stephen's researcher, Sunil, who sounded excited and said Stephen was on his way to a lunch in the City. Sunil blurted out that Stephen's remarks were ‘brilliant', a wake-up call to the Party, and Carolina thought about Mercedes's views on young men with first-class degrees and no experience of the ‘real world', as she and Georgie always referred to it. Especially if, as Stephen had seemed to imply in a recent conversation, the boy in question was gay.

‘So where is he? You must have some idea.'

‘Stephen?'

‘Of course I mean Stephen.'

‘I know he had a lunch —'

‘When's he coming back?'

‘I'm not sure.'

‘Lina!'

‘We had words this morning, before he left, if you must know. I asked if he was going to be home tonight, the Andersons are coming to supper and Jenny Bowman is bringing a friend of hers from Abu Dhabi.'

‘Abu Dhabi? What's that got to do with it? You do say the strangest things, Carolina.'

She gripped the handset. ‘It's a business thing, apparently this chap owns hospitals out there and Jenny's keen for him to meet Ralph Anderson. Ralph's been working on this new... I'm not sure what it is exactly, but it's something to do with a new way of doing a heart bypass. The NHS isn't interested, Ralph says they're completely risk-averse, and he's been looking for somewhere to do it abroad.'

‘You mean he's looking for guinea-pigs?' Without a pause, Mercedes picked up on something else Carolina had said: ‘Words? You mean a row?'

‘I reminded him about the Andersons and he claimed to have forgotten all about it. He said there's a reception at the American embassy tonight, but I don't see why he has to go.'

‘If he's got any sense he'll come home and talk it through with you. I must say it's hardly fair, leaving you under all this pressure.'

The sympathy was so unexpected that it silenced Carolina for a moment.

Mercedes persisted: ‘Darling, didn't he say anything over the weekend? Something must have happened to make him behave quite so stupidly. We've had our disagreements; you know I think he should have taken the Northern Ireland job and so does Daddy. But Stephen's no fool. What's got into him?'

Carolina put her shoulders back and made herself sit up straighter. ‘To be honest, he hasn't been home much. He had a surgery on Saturday and a meeting about the new school — you know how these things drag on.
Yesterday we had to go for drinks with the Simons, then I'd promised to take Nicky to that new rainforest centre near Leatherhead. Stephen was going to come but he had calls to make —'

‘I'll bet he did.'

Carolina rolled her eyes. Then she happened to glance at the wall clock. ‘Oh God,' she exclaimed gratefully, ‘is that the time? I have to pick Nicky up from school.' She stood, her chair sliding on the polished tiles.

‘Hasn't he broken up? I know these state schools have longer terms, but it's almost the end of July.'

‘End of this week. It's winding down but he's got a meeting of the —' She tried to remember and had to make a guess. ‘The drama society.'

‘Surely he can make his own way home? I thought that was the point of taking him out of boarding school, give him a sense of responsibility.'

‘You know how unhappy he was, Sadie. He's been so much brighter —'

‘Good God, Carolina, this is hardly the moment to start discussing the merits of comprehensive education. What about Francis? Is he still away?'

‘Till Thursday, yes.'

‘Thank God for small mercies. You don't want him being teased.'

‘What do you mean?'

‘By other boys. He's not exactly robust. You spoil that boy, Lina.'

‘I don't —'

‘Are you quite sure you don't want me to come over? I could be there in an hour.'

Panic gripped Carolina and she heard herself use a favourite phrase of their mother's: ‘No. I mean, thanks, Sadie, but Stephen and I need to sort this out on our own.'

‘Fat chance of that, with all these people expecting to be fed. Is Mrs Kelly coming in?'

‘Yes, she'll be here at five. She's bringing a beef Wellington.'

‘Bit heavy for a summer evening, surely? Have you spoken to Mummy?'

‘Mummy?'

‘I didn't think so. I have to say she's been — whenever I ring her lately, the roof's spraying tiles everywhere or she's trying to get hold of the vet. Those damned dogs, there's always something wrong with them.'

When her husband left her for a younger woman, Lady Restorick filed for divorce and bought a draughty Elizabethan farmhouse in a remote part of Wales, where she threw herself into breeding a rare type of Hungarian gun dog. To her ex-husband's irritation, she also made friends with the local MP, who represented Plaid Cymru, and had recently announced that she was learning Welsh. Carolina's father, meanwhile, was endlessly taking holidays with his second wife or rescuing her elder daughter, a sullen fifteen-year-old who had been arrested several times for shoplifting, from trouble with the police.

‘OK, best leave Mummy out of it. You'll let me know the moment you hear from Stephen?'

‘Of course.' It was always easier to give in to Mercedes. ‘I must go, Sadie. I don't want to leave Nicky standing at the school gate.'

‘Oh, all right.' At the other end of the line, Carolina heard a sigh, followed by a pause. ‘Chin up, darling.'

Carolina finished her camomile tea and tried to remember where she had left her car keys. Just as she found them, under her handbag in the hall, the phone rang again. She let the answering machine take the call, then hurried back to the kitchen when she heard Stephen's voice.

‘Stephen? I'm just going to get Nicky. Are you — is everything all right?'

‘Fine. Look, I'm sorry about this morning, I've told the embassy I'm double-booked. What time are these people coming? I should be home by seven.'

Carolina's spirits lifted. ‘Oh — shall I pick you up?'

‘Don't worry, I'll get a taxi from the station.'

‘Stephen — are you sure you're not in trouble? Sadie says—'

‘God, don't take any notice of your sister. Listen, according to the
Standard,
someone's got hold of an old photo of a junior minister and a bag of white powder, which will knock my little problem right off the front pages. You worry too much. Bye darling.'

Feeling slightly dazed, Carolina gazed round the kitchen, returned to the hall and let herself out of the front door to fetch Nicky.

Hello Amanda,

Thank you for your fax. I am sorry for the delay, my fax machine was not working for two days. Yes, if you come to Lebanon, I will be able to help you — what is it you wish to do? Of course in Beirut many people speak English, also in Damascus, but travelling is not so easy if you do not know Arabic. I can go with you to Damascus — it is not a long way, but you must get a visa before you leave London. We can come back through the Bekaa valley and look at the place of the accident, although an American journalist told me the south was closed again last week. (Don't worry, she was trying to get to the refugee camp at Ein el-Helweh, nothing to do with your Aisha!)

As you know, if the army will let us through, there are unfortunately many landmines — every day almost someone is killed or hurt, and that is why people here are not so shocked by the deaths of these foreigners. They are not hard-hearted, but you will find it is not a big story, although they are very interested in Lady Diana and her Egyptian lover. Will your Queen really allow her to marry a Muslim?

You ask if you can talk to the driver — yesterday I went again to the hospital, to see if he can have visits, but his room is empty. The nurses said two men took him away to hospital in Syria as he has so many injuries. I ask to see his doctor but an old mortar shell exploded in Ain-Al-Mraisse, on the site of the old St George Hotel, and he was called to treat the casualties.

I do not know what is your budget, but there are some decent hotels in Hamra. Let me know when you are coming and for how long, and perhaps I can get a discount. I think you will need me for a week — the best thing is if your paper pays me by the day, plus expenses. Can you let me know what is the rate? I have not been paid yet for the work I did for Michael, but he says the system is slow.

Best wishes,

Ingrid

Spring 1996 — Summer 1997

The bedroom was on the top floor of the house, with a low ceiling and a single sash window overlooking the street. Both bedrooms in the flat had been decorated the year before and just about everything in the room was new: carpet, curtains, fancy blinds — which had been let down, although it was not yet dark — and a pair of Victorian watercolours Carolina had found at an auction. On the bed were half a dozen cushions, in various shades of yellow and green, chosen by the decorator whose final bill she had never dared show Stephen. Now she stood by the open door, forcing herself not to look again at her watch.

‘We're going to be late,' she said, sounding apologetic.

Stephen was speaking into his mobile, buttoning a shirt with his free hand. He ended the call, let out a sigh and tossed the phone among the cushions.

‘Do we have to have those things on the bed?' When he was here on his own, he swept them on to the floor, leaving them to be put back by Carolina or the cleaner. Tucking the shirt into his trousers and fastening his belt, he strode to the wardrobe, flung open the door and began rooting inside.

‘If one of us wants to read —'

He looked over his shoulder. ‘Neither of us reads in bed. The light keeps you awake, and I never have time when I'm here on my own.'

‘I mean during the day.'

He shook his head at this preposterous notion, which had been the decorator's, not Carolina's.

‘What are you looking for? You said you wanted the blue—' She waved a hand towards a chair, where she had laid out a blue tie and a clean shirt before he arrived from the House.

He glanced at it. ‘Not that one.' A moment later he stepped back with a different tie in his hand, leaving the wardrobe door open and fumbling with his collar.

‘Let me.' She moved towards him, her skirt rustling.

‘Thanks, Carolina, I'm perfectly capable.' He straightened the knot and picked up his suit jacket. ‘Phone, phone — where did I put it?'

‘On the bed.'

He retrieved it. ‘Did you order a cab?'

‘No, I thought we could pick one up outside.'

‘To Bermondsey? I suppose we might be lucky.' He looked at her as though he had only just seen her.

‘What is it?'

‘Nothing.'

‘Is it my dress?' It was strapless, with a skirt made of layers of pink taffeta. Stephen had been downstairs in the living room when she changed, talking on the landline, and brushed past her on the stairs without a second glance when he came up to shower. Now he was staring at her, frown lines on his face, and all at once Carolina felt overdressed. The invitation did say ‘lounge suits' but the party was at a new London gallery, a venue that had been mentioned in the latest issue of
Tatler,
and Carolina wanted to look her best.

‘Shall I change? I suppose I could wear the lavender suit, the one I bought for Daddy's birthday.' She looked anxiously at the open wardrobe. ‘I haven't got much else here —'

‘You mean the mauve?' he said instantly. ‘No, not that. Christ, look at the time, you'll have to come as you are.'

‘Stephen.'

‘For God's sake, Carolina, don't start.'

Her fingers curled in on her hands, the nails pressing into her palms. ‘You don't want me there, do you? I'm an — an embarrassment to you.'

He breathed out. ‘How many times have we been through this? You're not an embarrassment, I expect you to come with me. I just wish you wouldn't make these scenes. Are you wearing a coat? Where is it? It'll be chilly later on.'

She sat down on the bed, the skirt rising up around her. ‘I'm not coming. You can go on your own.'

‘Christ, how many times have I —'

Tears slipped down her face, trembling for a few seconds on the lipstick she had chosen to match her dress, and plopped on to her skirt, making dark stains.

‘We don't have time for this.' Stephen came and sat beside her, placing an arm round her shoulders. ‘Marcus wants me there when he arrives. The
place will be crawling with hacks. You know what he's like — anything could happen.'

Marcus Grill, Stephen's closest friend in the House, had become an arts minister in the latest reshuffle, to widespread astonishment. ‘No one else left, old boy,' he told Stephen cheerily when he called from his home in Gloucestershire with the unexpected news. ‘Ran off with my s-secretary years ago and married her, so nothing to fear in that department. Too bloody expensive to do it again. S-s-sorry, joke, I won't have a word said against Melanie.' He had then invited Stephen to be his unpaid aide: ‘Come and be my p-parliamentary private secretary. May need a bit of minding. You know my talent for putting my foot in it.' Not long after, a journalist with either a long memory or very good contacts in the Middle East dug out an article Marcus had once written for a liberal Israeli newspaper, forcefully condemning new settlements in the West Bank. For the last forty-eight hours Stephen had been involved in a damage limitation exercise, briefing political correspondents that the Prime Minister was actually very relaxed about the whole business; after all, it was no secret that Marcus was a long-standing member of the All Party Friends of Palestine, and Stephen even insinuated that, for once, it was a refreshing change to see a minister in trouble over good old-fashioned politics. The government was still reeling from a succession of embarrassments caused by the PM's idiotic remarks about a return to Victorian values — principally adultery and fornication, judging by the example set by some of his backbenchers — and one or two jokes to this effect, dropped into carefully-selected ears in the lobby, had taken some of the heat out of the situation. Even so, Marcus was relying on Stephen to turn up this evening and repeat the trick at the private view: keep the beasts amused, as he put it.