Wish You Were Here (13 page)

‘It was bloody quick.'

‘A year.'

‘Bloody quick. And I gather you were drunk for most of that time, partying hard.'

‘Oh what, trying to forget you in a blur of alcohol and then marrying the first man who asked me out?'

He shrugged, his eyes mocking. He definitely had control of this conversation. But then he'd had a while to think about how it might go.

‘You've got a nerve, Max. Turning up on my family holiday with a failed marriage behind you, trying to suggest there's anything wrong with mine.' I was shaking.

‘You're livid, aren't you, Flora?'

‘Yes, I am.'

‘Which is interesting. Such a strong emotion. Surely you shouldn't give a damn if I'm here or not? Shouldn't give it a second thought?'

‘It's the deceit, the duplicity. You're with a girl we both know is not your –'

‘Max?'

Sally
appeared at the other end of the corridor. Her feet echoed along it now. ‘What are you doing in the dark?'

‘Flora was just showing me where the loo was. Come on, darling, let's find our room. I'm bushed, aren't you?'

‘Amelia's showing us, she's waiting at the bottom of the stairs. Night, Flora, and thanks so much for having us.'

‘Yes, thank you, Flora, we couldn't be more thrilled to be here.' And so saying, he gave me another wicked smile before moving smoothly around to take Sally's arm.

Only when they'd gone did I realize my hands were trembling. I clenched them together hard. I took another moment, then started back unsteadily to the garden.

Most people had drifted on up to bed; it was late. I saw Rachel helping her father make his way slowly inside, his back bowed in his cream linen jacket. Only Mum and Jean-Claude remained seated, deep in conversation at the far end of the table. James was circling it, clearing the last few glasses and napkins in a haphazard fashion.

‘Thérèse told us to leave everything, but I think that's a bit off, don't you? I thought I'd at least clear the ashtrays and take the cheese plates in.'

‘Yes, I agree.' I gave him a hand, knowing it helped to be married to a man who knew what was OK and what was a bit off. A man of integrity, who would never dream of being manipulative.

‘Is the Brig all right?' I formed the words: found a cloth and gathered some crumbs. ‘Has someone shown him where he's sleeping?'

‘The girls. They're loving being the hostesses with an enormous pile at their disposal.'

‘Doesn't happen often.'

‘Quite.
Make the most of it. Are you OK, Flora?'

He'd paused and was looking at me intently as I frantically swept the table, glad of something to do.

I stopped. ‘It is odd, isn't it, James?' I clenched the cloth and looked imploringly at him. ‘You must admit?'

‘It is a bit peculiar,' he said slowly. ‘But I don't think it's some deliberate campaign.'

‘I do,' I said vehemently.

‘I know, that's why I said it. I knew you would. I just think they coincidentally met and he's divorced and happens to be going out with Sally, that's all.'

‘But
Sally
.'

‘Steady. She looks terrific.'

‘She does, but – Christ, James, she drives
you
up the pole. Let's not pretend she's easy.'

He shrugged. ‘I'm her brother. She's bound to be different with him.' He put his head on one side. Gave me a kind smile. ‘Come here.' He held out his arms and I walked into them. Held on tight.

‘I'm scared,' I whispered.

‘Why?' He laughed into my hair. ‘He can't hurt us, Flora, don't be silly.'

‘I don't know. I just feel incredibly threatened. I want him to go. Now.'

He squeezed me. ‘Well, that's not going to happen, darling. Come on, you just have to make the best of it.' He patted my back. ‘And you really can't look too thrown, for the girls' sakes.'

‘I know.'

I bit my lip as he carried on clearing up. I couldn't be hiding behind my dark glasses all day, skittery and on edge
because my ex-boyfriend was amongst us; what would they think? That I was vulnerable, that's what. But he was on my patch. It was outrageous. Imagine if the roles were reversed and James and I were divorced and I'd turned up on his and Mimi's family holiday? It
was
outrageous. Why was I the only one with eyes to see? As James gathered the place mats, I wiped them down. Tried to be sensible. Not so childish.

As we walked inside carrying the debris, we passed behind my mother and Jean-Claude at the far end of the table. Mum didn't turn, but she reached a hand out behind her back. I squeezed it gratefully. She'd looked after me that year before I met James, nursed me at her house. She'd sat on my bed as I'd sobbed. She'd asked me, more than once, if I wasn't cutting off my nose to spite my face. The rest of my life, even. Asked me, if I was so upset, so heartbroken, why I couldn't forgive him? Take him back? Get over my pride?

If anyone had eyes to see what came after pride, she did.

Yes indeed.

‘Oh
God.' I swung around in alarm. ‘I've put her next door!' I breathed to James as he closed the bedroom door behind us.

‘Well, that's all right, darling. They're hardly going to be at it like teenagers, are they? Especially after a ten-hour drive. And, anyway, so what if they are?'

He was beginning to look a bit cross. I knew I had to keep my paranoia under wraps. Nonetheless, I found myself looking at our double bed, its headboard against the shared wall, as I knew theirs was too. While James was in the bathroom getting ready for bed, I tried to drag it across the floor. It was bloody heavy and I only got it a few inches. It also made a terrible racket.

James shot back into the room, toothbrush in mouth. He stared.

‘I thought it might be nice to sleep under the window.'

He removed the brush. ‘Flora, you're being absurd! I'm beginning to wonder why it would affect you so much to hear your ex-boyfriend in flagrante with another woman.'

‘Shh!' I glanced at the dividing wall in horror. ‘And, anyway, do you really want to hear your sister in the same state?' I whispered.

He looked appalled. Hesitated a moment, then put his toothbrush back in the bathroom and hastened to help me.

‘Lift, don't drag,' he muttered.

With
much puffing and cursing, we shifted the heavy bed to the other side of the room. It left behind an empty, dusty stretch of floor, which, framed by the great sweeping damask canopy, looked most peculiar. I solved that by dragging a chest of drawers across to fill the space. Or started to. James had to help, of course, in the blue T-shirt he wore to bed, his willy poking out beneath it.

‘Happy?' he panted.

‘Yes, much better.'

He stood up and gazed around. ‘Camille will think it's bizarre.'

‘Why will Camille know?'

‘Thérèse is bound to tell her.'

‘I'll just say I'm a fresh-air fiend. Have to sleep under a window.'

‘You'll have plenty of it – we can't close the bloody curtains now.' He got on the bed and tried to yank them across.

‘Yes, we can, just pull the bed out a bit. It's too close to the wall.'

We went to the other end and were pulling, bottoms up, when Amelia came in.

‘Oh, gross, Dad.' She covered her eyes.

‘Well, knock, damn you!' James stood up and pulled his T-shirt down.

‘Sor-ry. Why have you moved the bed?'

‘Your mother wants the air.'

‘Oh.' She looked at the dividing wall. Her eyes widened. ‘Oh, right. Important not to overreact, Mum. Um, Jean-Claude needs a room, obviously, which means there isn't one for Toby.'

I
gazed at her, still panting with exertion, hands on my hips. Infuriating. For her grandfather and Aunt Rachel's sake, I'd insisted Toby nominally had a room. My mother's new boyfriend obviously had to have at least the semblance of separate sleeping quarters, too, since she'd only known him five minutes, which meant my daughter's boyfriend no longer had a smokescreen. I looked at James hopelessly. He shrugged and threw up his hands.

‘You sort it out.' He stalked back to the bathroom, muttering darkly about the bloody women in his family.

‘Yes, well, obviously, he'll have to go in with you, Amelia, even though it's not what I wanted.'

‘It's not my fault.'

‘No one's saying it is.'

‘I don't see why you have to keep up this bonkers sense of appearances, anyway.'

‘Because your grandfather is of a different generation, as is Rachel, in a way, and also, it's the thin end of the wedge. In a twinkling, Tara will be next, and I promised Rory's mother –'

‘Oh, grow up,' she interrupted. ‘Do you really think Rory and Tara are going to sleep at opposite ends of the corridor?'

And with that she flounced out, having got what she wanted. So why flounce? Why?

I brushed my teeth very hard and drew blood. I stared at it against the white porcelain. No. Over my dead body would my seventeen-year-old daughter disport herself thus. Eighteen was the rule in this family, with at least six months of dating behind them. I spat more blood, pleased with that. I'd just made a rule. A good one. Also, with Tara
directly opposite us, Rory would have to be pretty bold to sneak down here. And he was a good boy, I knew that. I got into bed, knowing I wouldn't sleep for ages, that there was too much in my head. After a bit, eyes shut but mind whirring, I heard footsteps padding softly down the corridor. Tara's door opened quietly. I froze. Then I heard her giggle. I leaped out of bed and flew to my door, flinging it wide.

Max was outside, talking to Tara, who was fully dressed at her open door. They stared at me.

‘What are you doing?' I asked, wrong-footed.

Max regarded me a moment. ‘Borrowing an adapter. I didn't bring one and your daughter said she had two.'

‘Right. Where's Rory?'

I threw a wild glance up the corridor, then peered past Tara into her room. She recoiled in mock-horror, squinting in that ‘You're so weird' way beloved of her tribe. ‘In his
room
?' she suggested incredulously.

‘Right. Good. Go to sleep,' I said, as if I'd sorted out something crucial.

I shut my door, but not before Max had managed to look me up and down, taking in my heavily night-creamed face, my very cheap, very short Primark nightie, eyes ironic and amused. His, not mine. I crept back to bed, feeling like a humped beast. Splendid. Oh, splendid.

‘Might I suggest, if you're intending to leap up and down all night and patrol the corridors like something out of a French farce, you keep the noise to a minimum?' enquired James sleepily as I curled up beside him. ‘God help us if Jean-Claude is down this way, too. Your mother will be here in a minute.'

‘He
is,' I said miserably. ‘Toby's designated room was next to ours, and Mum will definitely do the creeping. So, far from having the quiet end of the house, we've ended up where all the action is.'

‘Well, let them get on with it,' he grumbled, turning over on to his side, his back to me, and bunching up his pillow. ‘Good luck to them. Everyone will be bonking away like rabbits, but you can rest assured there's one couple who won't be.' He gave a hollow laugh.

I didn't reply. Thought about giving a hollow laugh back, since it wasn't always me that was tired, but decided against it.

Instead, I listened for sounds next door: strained my ears. Nothing. I'd heard murmurings earlier, but only the motion of two people going to bed. And, anyway, why would I care? Max had been married to Mimi for eighteen years, been going to bed with her night after night – why would I care about Sally? I wouldn't. Care was the wrong word. The right word was … I thought hard. For ages. When I did locate it, the word which summed up the way I was feeling, it took more than one. Out-manoeuvred. Out of control. Spiralling into the stratosphere. Almost to the point where I couldn't breathe. I knew I'd felt like this once before, when Coco, huddled in a huge coat in the corner of the pub like a fragile bird, had delivered her
coup de grâce
. It was the same flailing experience that I'd do anything to escape from. Next door, I heard Sally giggle. I shut my eyes tight and rammed in my earplugs.

The following morning, Sally came down to breakfast looking flushed and happy. I was already at the table under the trees with some other early risers, it being warm enough to eat outside. I smiled at her brightly over my coffee.

‘Morning,
Sally.'

‘Morning, Flora. I say, James has finally told me who this place belongs to. I couldn't believe it! Camille de Bouvoir, the opera singer!'

‘Yes, I know. He was asked not to broadcast it, and you know what he's like. His word is his bond, and all that.'

‘Max was flabbergasted when I told him last night, we had no idea. Is she very glam?'

‘I've only met her briefly, but yes, she is. Oh,
merci
, Thérèse.' I smiled up at Thérèse, who'd arrived with some fresh coffee. Sally wanted to know if it was Brazilian, Max's favourite, and when Thérèse said she wasn't sure, she asked her in an imperious voice to please check and, if not, to add it to her shopping list? I cringed and pretended to check my phone.

Most people were already up, it being after nine, aside from the teenagers, who wouldn't appear until much later. The Brig was seated facing the view, almost in a trance. The hazy morning light shimmered over the valley floor below us, heralding another hot day, and he looked sweetly delighted in his panama hat, mouth slightly open, as it often was these days, as he rested both liver-spotted, gnarled hands on his stick. Rachel, beside him, poured coffee for both of them. She was wearing an ancient blue shirtwaister which was already dark under the arms. It occurred to me that she really had tumbled into the carer role if Sally had broken free. Rachel had always done the lion's share but, to give her her due, Sally had never stinted. James and I were the slackers, I knew, but then we had a family and lived in the south. I wondered if Rachel minded. She gave so little away. Always a very private
person, it was as if, as Tara had once commented, she concealed a lot of things: as if she carried her past around with her at all times. Lizzie, beside her, glamorous in a yellow-and-white striped sundress and gold sandals, provided quite a contrast, reading her emails on her iPad, slim legs crossed. She glanced up as Michel delivered a basket of fresh croissants. I saw him smoulder at her. Ah. Not just me then.

Max appeared, looking impossibly handsome in a pink shirt and khaki shorts, tanned legs beneath them. He smiled down at Sally as he took a seat beside her and she squeezed his leg, leaning in to whisper something. She was wearing a plunging halterneck sundress that revealed acres of bosom. Those hadn't reduced much, I observed as I sipped my coffee. Or dropped. Extraordinary. She really had turned into a very good-looking woman. Perhaps I had got it all wrong. Perhaps they really were in the first flush of love. I pretended to read a guidebook, taken from a pile which the Brig had brought out from the kitchen. Sally leaned diagonally across to me.

‘Did I tell you Max and I are going on to St Tropez for a few days after this?' She helped herself to a croissant, then put it back in the basket.

I looked up, as if I had been miles away. Blinked. ‘You didn't, no.'

‘To stay with the Hamilton-Frasers. Remember I cooked for them when they took that shooting lodge in Perth? I'd love Max to meet them, they've become such good friends.'

‘Oh, really?' I was surprised. I'd run into Felicity Hamilton-Fraser coming out of M&S on the King's Road not that long ago. We'd chatted and I'd asked how it had gone, and
she'd said, ‘Well, your sister-in-law is an excellent cook but we learned not to ask her for a drink. She's feet up in the drawing room making herself very at home, isn't she? And not just one drink, either!'

‘Oh, sorry, Felicity.' I'd recommended Sally, who'd been at a very low ebb at the time.

‘Oh, it didn't matter, we got quite giggly about it, actually. Put bets on how long she'd stay!'

I'd felt a bit cross then: I didn't want her to be the butt of their jokes.

‘Probably just relaxing after all that cooking? It's hard work.'

‘This was
before
dinner, Flora. We didn't get fed until well after nine.'

‘Heavens! Oh, I am sorry, Felicity.'

‘Oh, don't worry, we didn't mind. She was hilarious at the after-dinner games. Any excuse to strip down to her underwear!'

I'd scurried away into M&S. Hadn't told James. He'd have been mortified.

‘They've replied, have they, darling?' asked Max.

‘No, but they know we're coming. I emailed weeks ago. But you know Felicity, she's so disorganized. It's probably slipped through her net.'

Stupidly, I caught Max's eye.

‘We might just see if she makes contact this week, hon.'

‘Oh, I'm not fussed either way. We could have a couple of nights at that place you found in the Michelin Guide instead, if you prefer.'

‘Yes, we might do that.'

Was she the butt of Max's joke, too, I wondered? That
would be cruel. And would make him a very unpleasant person, surely? Something I'd never known him to be. I thought of the lovely, crazy, funny Max I knew. I voiced this to Lizzie in the kitchen, when we went inside to make some instant coffee, which we preferred.

‘It must be for real, Lizzie,' I whispered as we waited for the kettle to boil. ‘It makes him the most terrible cad if not, don't you think?'

‘Yes,' she said slowly. ‘But then again, a marriage break-up does funny things to people, Flora. Makes them desperate. If his life has gone terribly wrong – which it clearly has – there's a temptation to lurch back to the past, when it was peachy. Look at the success of Friends Reunited. He may be here to banish a few ghosts, see you in the flesh and think – what was all the fuss about? She's just a middle-aged housewife carrying a few extra pounds.'