Love Song Page 12

  ‘So what is your – what is your main thing?’

  ‘Music, I suppose.’

  ‘You play? You write? What exactly? You know so much about old houses I thought you might be an architect.’

  ‘No, I’m not an architect.’ Jack thought for a moment, the way he normally did when asked the question, then decided on what he always called his ‘number two answer’ – at this stage anyway. Maybe when I get to know her better, he thought. If I ever do, that is.

  ‘I teach music. Freelance.’

  ‘Really? What instruments?’

  ‘Keyboard. Guitar.’

  ‘Claire wants to learn the piano.’

  ‘Well – there you go.’

  ‘Are you frightfully expensive?’

  ‘Frightfully.’ He stopped by the chaos left by the builders outside the gutted kitchen and looked at his lovely, sad-faced companion. ‘I’m not at all expensive,’ he said, suddenly feeling sorry for her without knowing why. ‘Not at all. And if one of your kids is really serious, I’ll teach her.’

  ‘That’s very kind of you, thank you,’ Hope replied, feeling herself blushing. To hide the fact that she had coloured she immediately turned away and pretended to look at something of interest in the builders’ skip.

  ‘Got time to walk round the grounds?’ he wondered. ‘I mean this is some setting. No kidding.’

  ‘What’s it like where you live?’ Hope wondered, falling into step alongside him.

  ‘Nice. Not grand like this – but nice. Millpond, stretch of river, bit of garden – yeah, it’s nice. Good. We like it, all of us. Nicer than I ever thought I’d own. Still, there you go.’

  He turned and grinned again, a most beguiling boyish grin, in such sharp contrast to one of Alexander’s slow smiles. Hope had only just thought this when she frowned, suddenly realizing that she was thinking of Alexander as if he was someone in her past – a schoolteacher, a family solicitor, a bank manager, someone she no longer really knew.

  ‘Where did you think you’d end up?’ she asked. ‘When you say where you live is nicer than you ever thought you’d own?’

  ‘Certainly not where I started.’

  ‘Which was?’

  ‘Not like where I am now.’

  Again he smiled at her, this time as if in challenge, but Hope pretended to ignore it, leaving the gauntlet where it lay. Instead she pointed across the fields where she could see three girls running towards them, laughing and talking.

  ‘I’d have liked to have three girls,’ Jack said, watching them approach.

  ‘You like the thought of having three girls,’ Hope corrected him, laughing.

  ‘You’d rather not have had ’em, Mrs Merriott?’

  ‘No, I love them. But then, I’m a woman.’

  She introduced her daughters as they arrived breathlessly at her side and as one they all fell silent and started automatically to tidy their hair and their clothes before shaking hands very seriously, while Hope told them of Jack’s having invited them to his daughter’s party.

  ‘I am sorry – I’ve suddenly forgotten your daughter’s name.’

  Jack laughed. ‘It’s OK – I forget names all the time, Hope,’ he said, using her name with perfect ease, as if they had known each other some time instead of being strangers. ‘Cyndi. C y n d i.’ He smiled at the girls. ‘As in guess what?’

  ‘Cyndi Lauper?’ Rose replied.

  ‘She was christened Cindy with a y, then along came Ms Lauper.’

  ‘And your wife’s name?’

  ‘There isn’t one. We split. We’re divorced.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘I’m not.’ Jack laughed in a carefree manner which made the three girls smile in a shocked sort of way. ‘I’d be a whole lot sorrier if I was still married to the— to her. Name of Davina.’ He pronounced his ex-wife’s name in a deliberately mock-upper class way, pulling a little snobby face as he did so which made the girls smile again. ‘I used to call her Dave. Didn’t like that a lot, I can tell you.’

  ‘How long were you married?’

  ‘Ninety-eight years. And every day seemed a year too long.’

  By now the three girls could barely contain their laughter.

  ‘You’d all better go and get changed. It’ll soon be time for lunch,’ Hope told them, suddenly remembering they had rescheduled the postponed shopping trip for that afternoon. The girls ran off still giggling, and Hope watched them for a moment. ‘Like a bunch of fillies in a field,’ she said to Jack, shaking her head. ‘All legs and tossing manes.’

  Jack seemed to want to go on talking so they wandered on round the grounds, stopping every now and then as they discussed some aspect of the lovely old house, or an old tree that would have to be removed, and Jack continued the story of his marriage, seeming almost anxious to do so.

  ‘I was married nine and a half years. We really should never have married in the first place. I mean talk about not meant for each other. I only wanted to play music and she only wanted to have babies. Then one day she decided she preferred music after all and ran off with my drummer. I got custody of the kids, which is what I wanted – and the rest, as they say, is history. It was a while back now – an age, or that’s the way it seems. Haven’t heard from her or of her in years. They went to America apparently – and I never did meet a woman, to tell you the truth, who in the end had so little maternal feeling. I think she would have eaten her young, if she could have, which was all the more bewildering since they were all her idea in the first place.’

  ‘How very odd.’

  ‘You said it. Odd and scary. I lost three stone after she left, and of course the children – well, I thought they would be devastated, you know, but after a while they were fine. Great, in fact, once they got over the initial shock. They took it in their stride, realized it happened to other children so why not them. That’s when I gave up performing and stayed home to compose and teach, all that, so’s I could be with them. Never regretted it.’

  ‘You were a performer?’ she said. ‘A singer? Or what?’

  ‘Or what,’ Jack replied, realizing he’d unbagged the cat. ‘Another time.’

  Hope was about to show Jack round the interior of the old stables when he looked at his watch.

  ‘Look, I can’t quite make the full tour,’ he apologized. ‘I must pick up young Tobe from the stables and Cyndi from her friends – so all right if we make it another day?’

  Hope agreed. They parted, smiling, and she watched him drive off in a big black four wheel drive before she turned back to the house. He had said the party for Cyndi was on Sunday – in which case she had better get organized.

  The crisis with the builders, although temporarily resolved, had left Hope with only a few hundred pounds. It was enough for the shopping trip to Marlborough, but not much more, which was why she found herself trying to steer the girls towards clothes which she thought would be useful for many different occasions. Needless to say her efforts were met with derision by all three.

  ‘It’s a party, Mums!’ they kept reminding her, over-patiently. ‘We’ve got to look cool.’

  In the end Hope relented, allowing them to choose pretty rather than practical, paying for the treat from what remained of her little nest egg. She salvaged part of the cost by sacrificing her hair appointment, privately resolving that since she wasn’t going anywhere she might as well wash it at home with the aid of the rubber-hosed shower extension in the cottage. Who would notice the difference?

  Alexander finally returned from London late Saturday afternoon with a strangely elated Aunt Rosabel in tow. Hope had expected the old lady to be exhausted after her protracted stay in London but far from it. She and Alexander were like a couple of school kids who’d been allowed to spend their entire half term in London unsupervised.

  But the biggest surprise of all was the method of transport by which they returned. Gone was Alexander’s much loved old Mercedes 280SE coupé and in its place stood a shining new silver-blue Mercedes B
enz estate car.

  ‘Whose is the motor?’ Hope asked, never for a moment expecting the answer she was to receive.

  ‘Mine,’ Alexander replied, smiling. ‘Or rather ours.’

  ‘Alex—’ but he already had his hands up to stop her.

  ‘She insisted, didn’t you, Aunt Rosabel?’

  ‘I insisted,’ the old lady replied warmly. ‘Of course I did, but it was your choice, Alexander darling, and very comfortable too.’

  ‘I loved that old car, Alex.’ Hope dropped her voice. ‘And so did you.’

  ‘The two doors were very awkward for Aunt Rosabel. She insisted on replacing it with whatever we would like. Sweet of her, don’t you think?’

  ‘I hope you kept the old one.’

  Alexander shifted awkwardly and opened the fifth door of the Mercedes. ‘Here,’ he said, handing Hope three very expensive-looking boxes. As she took them Hope could see the back of the estate was piled high with more shopping bags and boxes. ‘For you.’

  ‘From?’

  ‘From Aunt Rosabel. And girls?’ The girls all gathered closely round him, having collected to inspect the shiny new car. ‘Aunt Rosabel hasn’t forgotten you lot either.’

  ‘Hey,’ Melinda wondered as she saw the Harrods bags. ‘I mean – what is this?’

  ‘Check this out,’ Claire whispered, looking inside hers and seeing silk and sequins.

  ‘This I do not believe,’ Rose said quietly, pulling out a sparkling and obviously very expensive top. ‘This I just do not believe.’

  Hope stood back for a moment, watching Aunt Rosabel watching the children as they dived in and out of the collection of shopping bags, holding up shoes, skirts, tops, bottoms, and bits of glittering paste jewellery with a variety of delighted gasps. Nothing she saw except the paste could have cost under a hundred and fifty pounds, making the clothes she had bought for them earlier that week look like offerings from a charity bazaar.

  ‘Aren’t you going to open yours, Hope darling?’ Alexander asked, taking out a set of large boxes and piling them up in her arms.

  ‘Clothes for you as well?’ she asked.

  ‘Aunt Rosabel insisted. She thinks we’re too scruffy!’ he added teasingly, and turning back to his old relative he winked.

  ‘Not scruffy, Alexander, dear boy. I just thought it would be fun for you to choose them all something glamorous, and expensive. After all what is money for but spending?’ Aunt Rosabel exclaimed, laughing delightedly.

  Even as she spoke Hope suddenly found herself determinedly replacing the unwanted boxes on the open tailgate of the forty-thousand-pound car, unable to control the flood of furious jealousy coursing through her, ashamed of how she felt, and at the same time helpless to stop herself.

  ‘Mums!’ Melinda exclaimed as she saw what her mother was doing, and she sidled up to her out of Aunt Rosabel’s hearing. ‘What do you think you’re doing?’

  ‘These are really too expensive for us to accept, Mellie,’ Hope told her quietly, in sudden desperation. ‘it’s very sweet of Aunt Rosabel, but we really cannot accept.’

  ‘Mums!’ Both Claire and Rose now joined the chorus.

  ‘We can’t accept such generosity—’

  ‘Mums, these are presents!’ Melinda pleaded with her mother in a low tone. ‘You can’t take away our presents from Aunt Rosabel, it will hurt her feelings!’

  ‘Of course she can’t,’ Alexander said, over-hearing and taking the bags back from Hope and handing them to his daughters. ‘She’s just being polite.’

  Giving his wife his best hard look, Alexander made sure the right parcels were returned to each recipient while Hope waited to take him aside, walking him away from the rest as the girls tumbled over each other to rush off to the barn to try on their new clothes.

  ‘Just tell me you didn’t sell Brünnhilde?’ Hope pleaded quietly, using their pet name for the car they had owned since they were married. ‘Please tell me that you kept her?’

  ‘She’s already done one head gasket. Remember? Too costly by half.’

  ‘But Alex—’

  ‘She was a car, a piece of metal, that’s all, Hope. Don’t sentimentalize, will you, not now, not when Aunt Rosabel has just spent forty thousand pounds of her money buying us a beautiful motor car that few people could afford.’

  ‘But why should she buy us such an expensive car?’

  ‘Never heard of generosity, Hope? Of people finding they have money and wanting to do something useful with it?’

  ‘This isn’t what this is about, Alex.’

  ‘And you – you are about something else altogether!’ Alexander walked away from Hope, shrugging his shoulders. ‘Really, you astound me. You want one thing one moment and the next …’ He raised his eyebrows and shook his head in despair, then turned and entered the housekeeper’s cottage. In a moment, Aunt Rosabel came out to talk to Hope.

  ‘I must speak with you, my dear. I perfectly understand how you feel. Perhaps I should feel as you do if I were in your position, but I do assure you these gifts are given in good faith. I only want to spend my money before I die, see people enjoying it, and enjoy it with them, that’s all. And what better way to do that than to give it to you and Alexander and the children? Money is for enjoying, and now that you have come to live with me, what better way to spend it than on you? And, too, you must always remember that Alexander is not just a Merriott. His mother was a Williamson, and he likes nice things, it is in his blood. It is in all our blood. Perhaps you do not understand, because you are not a Williamson, but never forget that your children too have Williamson blood. They too will grow up to want good things, and to want to mix with distinguished people – they too are looking to make the best possible lives for themselves. And lastly, if a very old lady may give you some advice – we must always, all of us, be at pains to look – and be – gracious.’

  She turned on her heel once more and Hope watched her elegant, upright figure disappearing into the old cottage. Seconds later she heard Alexander and the old lady laughing and joking with Verna. Together with the joyous shouts from the barn the sound seemed suddenly to isolate Hope from everyone at Hatcombe.

  Late that night, as Alexander lay sleeping, Hope slipped out of bed and crept off to the downstairs back room, the sitting room next to the dining room, where she proceeded to unwrap the clothes that Aunt Rosabel had shamed her into accepting.

  As soon as she undid the silvered paper in the boxes in which they lay Hope immediately saw that the clothes were beautiful. Not only that, they were clothes she could never, ever have imagined owning. They were clothes of which to dream, and she knew at once just from the look of them that they had been chosen by Alexander, who always did have such a good eye for lovely things. That had been yet another of the characteristics which had attracted Hope to him, besides his easy charm, his handsome looks, his lustrous dark hair, his apparently wicked gaze and his extraordinary poise. He had an unerring eye for the sort of clothes which would look good on her, and, though they had always shopped on a shoestring, whenever Alexander was with her he managed to choose clothes for Hope which made her look like a fashion model.

  But the clothes he had brought her back from London were something else again. There were three outfits, a black wool suit by Chanel, a red silk party dress by Armani, and a cream trouser suit with the palest of pale blue silk chemises by Caroline Charles. Shoes as well, two pairs, both by Manolo Blahnik, elegant, sexy and the height of fashion, one pair in a light slightly mottled tan, the other black and classically so. Overcome, Hope closed the door and tried on each and every item, having to stand on the sofa in order to catch a sight of herself reflected in the oval looking-glass hanging over the fireplace. When she had finished her luxurious session, she folded the clothes up as well and as dexterously as they had been folded by the shop assistants, wrapped the exquisite shoes in their fine tissue papers and returned them to their boxes. Putting the lights out and closing the door silently, she took them all upstairs again with h
er, and left them in their shared wardrobe, ready to wear, some day soon, when she was feeling – what was it Aunt Rosabel had called it – gracious.

  The next day was Cyndi Tomm’s party, for which, for no reason she could imagine, Hope still thought her daughters would elect to wear the clothes they had all chosen together, with the last of Hope’s savings, in Marlborough that happy day.

  Leaving Alexander, Aunt Rosabel, Verna and the baby to have a buffet lunch on the lawn in the shade of the old yew trees, Hope wandered off to the barn to help the girls dress, taking with her a holdall filled not just with the clothes she had bought them, but with the usual beauty aids that they had nearly always lost, misplaced, or broken, such as a hairdryer, pins and clips, ribbons and bunches. Everything, in fact, that they could possibly want or suddenly think that they might want, up to and including perfume and lipsticks, sparkle for the eyes and cheeks, and face paints.

  Hope often thought that the time before a party – the excitement of dressing and criticizing each other’s choices, bathing and snatching, shouting and powdering, teasing out hair, or putting it up, or down, or bunching it, tonging it, frizzing it or spraying it, the time of borrowed tights or pull-ups, skirts or shirts, lost and found shoes, near delight and near tears – all these moments added up to three-quarters of the fun of going out.

  ‘Hi, Mums—’

  ‘Hi, Mums—’

  The sudden quiet, the looks thrown and caught between them, the total silence that greeted the appearance of the clothes she produced from her holdall and laid out on Melinda’s bed, the utter astonishment when she put out ribbons and bunches for their hair, all carefully chosen to go with their clothes, should have told Hope which way the land lay, but it did not. And the reason it did not, she realized afterwards, was because she had still clung to the idea that for her sake they would wear the clothes that she had spent her hard-saved money on, rather than the ones Aunt Rosabel had bought with money that had come to her from anything or everything except her own toil.