A Ghost in the Machine (16 page)

Mallory had got up, was walking towards the window. “I'd better ring your mother—”

“No!” Polly jumped up. Suddenly frantic she ran across the room and grabbed the phone. “You mustn't.”

“She's expecting me.”

“OK, but— I mean, don't tell her about this, will you, Dad? Promise?”

“I can't do that.”

“It's none of her business.”

“She's your mother, Polly.”

“She won't understand – she doesn't care.”

“That's nonsense.”

“She hates me.”

“Of course she doesn't hate you.”

“Now you're getting angry,” cried Polly, swinging on her father's arm like a child, trying to grab the phone. “You see—already she's coming between us.”

“You're making all this up.”

“Am I? Look how pleased she was when I left home.”

Mallory said, “That's nonsense” again but, even as he spoke, couldn't help remembering the change in Kate once Polly had gone. Drowning as he had been in misery of his own making he had still been aware of the gradual lightening of her face and manner. She moved slowly, would spend time sitting about doing nothing special but smiling a lot. She was at home more and even gave up a couple of evening classes, which she had always said she couldn't bear to miss. Yes, she had been happier after Polly left home.

Polly watched her father, not without affection. He was so transparent. She said, with sorrowful gravity, “You see?”

“I don't ‘see' anything.”

“I shall never hear the end of it. How can I possibly come and visit under those circumstances?”

“What do you mean?”

“Oh, don't look so stricken, Dad.” She released her tight grip on the telephone and replaced it on the table. She gave him a reassuring smile. “We shall still see each other. Meet up in town for lunch and stuff…”

Mallory, cold to his stomach, said, “This is unworthy of you, Polly.”

“It's how it has to be. I'm sick of family rows. And this one'll run and run.”

Perhaps she was right. Mallory had never thought of Kate as naturally censorious but there was no doubt she would not just listen to the story and let it rest. There would be questions; she'd be as angry as he was. She'd demand the man's name, perhaps try to see him. Which meant another person entangled in the mess. Two more really, for Mallory would not be able to stand aside if Kate got involved. Slowly he dialled the number of Appleby House.

“Hello, darling…yes, everything's fine. I'm just running a bit late…Oh, there was more to do at the last minute than I expected. People kept coming in to…er…say goodbye, you know? Wish me well…”

“Are you ringing from home, Mal?”

“Um. Sorry?” Mallory remembered now that he had packed everything into the car that morning so that he could drive down to Forbes Abbot straight from work. Kate had helped him. “Home…?”

“I can hear the drilling.”

“Ah, yes. Home, yes. I forgot something.”

“What?”

“…Some books. Look – you and Benny eat. I'll be down as soon as I can.”

He hung up and looked across the room at Polly. She was standing very still, her head drooping. He noticed her toes were very slightly turned in and felt a keen pang of memory. Exactly so had she used to stand as a child when, after some lengthy argument or discussion she had finally got her own way. A less subtle child would rejoice; be triumphant even. Not Polly. She never crowed. Just smiled, shrugged, murmured something more or less unintelligible and slipped quietly away.

“Thanks, Dad. I'll never forget this.”

“It'll take a few days to get the money transferred.”

“OK, fine.”

“And it's just to cover what you owe, Polly. Don't ask for any more.”

“I won't, I won't,” cried Polly, recognising immediately what a fool she had been to name the correct amount.

 

Kate had emptied the food cupboards and the freezer before driving down to Forbes Abbot. Quite unnecessary, really. She would pass plenty of supermarkets on the way and the sensible thing would have been to get there first, see what was actually needed, then go out and buy it. However, Kate was not feeling sensible. To her stripping the freezer, packing all the stuff into padded bags and polystyrene cartons then stuffing them into the car boot was moving house in miniature. A tiny step but something to be going on with till the real thing.

Kate asked what Benny would like for supper, emptying all her bags on to the kitchen table. Benny had no preference. She said everything looked lovely and she would have what Kate had. So they decided on Sainsbury's Goa Fish Curry with fragrant Thai rice and some mangetout from the garden.

In spite of Mallory's suggestion that they go ahead and eat, Kate delayed cooking for an hour or so, just in case. She opened a bottle of Vouvray demi-sec. Benny, after only one glass, started giggling so much she couldn't swallow. Consequently Kate drank rather more than she intended. And, as she poured a third glass, felt her mood beginning to change.
In vino veritas
and all that. She started to feel aggrieved and inclined to defiant behaviour. A bit silly as there was no one present to be defiant to.

The truth was she had been tremendously looking forward to going out with Mallory tonight. To drawing a line under the past and celebrating the beginning of their new life together.

When Judith had rung describing Benny's distress Kate, genuinely alarmed, did not hesitate. Mallory would have come with her if he'd been able. Both agreed it was sad about Riva's but they could go another time. Anyway, their dinner that evening could still be a celebration but this time for three, which would be quite right, said Kate, because Benny would also be working in the new business. But, as eight o'clock slowly came around, there were still only two of them.

By now extremely hungry, she and Benny started to eat. They took it slowly and even had some pudding, apricot panacotta. Kate realised that in another hour or so this day, that was going to be so special, would be over.

So where was Mallory? The journey, even during the worst the Friday evening London exodus could muster, had never taken longer than three hours. They had spoken on the phone at around 5:30 and it was now nearly half-past ten.

Benny, aware that Kate was somewhat on edge, tried to express sympathy and concern without talking too much. Experience had taught her that this could be very annoying when a person was all wound up. She cleared the table, washed up quietly and put things away.

In herself, Benny was feeling much better. The muddle over the phone, while not exactly cleared up, now seemed pretty childish. Kate had actually laughed about it and said weird things were always happening to her as well. It was lovely, Benny thought, that they would both be down here now for the whole weekend. She pictured them sitting at the kitchen table, planning all sorts of things to do with books, and herself making tea and producing sandwiches and biscuits to sustain them all. Busy, useful, contented.

Suddenly headlights swept the faded walls, bathing them briefly in a flood of amber light. A car drew up outside and Benny hurried to open the door. It was Mallory.

He said, “Hello,” in a forced, hearty manner.

“Mallory,” said Benny. “We've been so worried.” Mallory frowned and Benny thought that had been the wrong thing to say. “What I mean is, I have.” That wasn't right either. It sounded as if Kate hadn't been worried at all. “That is…”

But he wasn't listening.

“Well,” concluded Benny feeling suddenly awkward, though she couldn't have said why. “I'm off to sunny Bedford. Would you say good night to Kate for me, please?” She pulled the heavy front door closed behind her and made her way across the stable yard. Climbing the wooden steps to the flat over the horse's mews, Benny found herself even more than usual looking forward to being at home. Truly, as the poet said, there was no place like it. First she would have a warm bath, then make a nice cup of cocoa, pile up the pillows on her bed and settle down with the latest edition of the parish magazine.

 

Kate, having spent the previous two hours struggling to disperse a huge knot of rancorous ill feeling, felt it regather with energetic force the moment she heard Mallory's voice in the hall. To restrain a terrible impulse to stand up and start shouting, Kate struggled to play devil's advocate. At least find out why he's so late. It's probably not his fault. What if he'd had an accident – think how you'd be feeling then. Be grateful he's here at last, alive and well. She wished she hadn't drunk so much.

“Kate – I'm terribly—”

“Where the hell have you been?”

“I'm sorry.”

“Sorry? What use is sorry? This was going to be our evening—remember?”

“Of course I—”

“A special day.”

“I know that.”

“The first day of the rest of our lives as
The Little Book of Psychobabble
would doubtless have it.”

“What on earth's got into you?”

“Well, let's see. Disappointment. Escalating boredom. Irritation. Mounting resentment—”

“And quite a bit of alcohol from the look of it.”

“Yes, that too. Shock, horror.”

“I can explain.”

“So explain.”

“The car wouldn't start.”

“Mallory, Mallory. Five hours and that's the best you can come up with?”

On the contrary Mallory had come up with many alternatives driving down but he knew that, from him, they would all sound unbelievable. This was not because they were in any way extraordinary. It was enough that they were not true. Even at the age when children fib as easily as they breathe and with as little concern, he could never do it. He would turn scarlet and shuffle and wriggle and cry. Naturally now he did none of these things but the lie still lay, sharp as a bee sting, on his tongue.

The truth was that he and Polly had sat for a while drinking tea. Then she had suggested they grab a quick bite at Orlando's just round the corner. It would be empty so early in the evening. They'd be served straight away; just a plate of pasta. In and out, twenty minutes tops.

It took Mallory barely five seconds to see the reasonableness of this. Even if he set off now they would probably have already eaten at Appleby House by the time he arrived. It would be pretty selfish to expect them to start cooking all over again.

Sitting in Orlando's, which was nearly full, Mallory realised that this was the first time he and his daughter had been out and about on their own since she was quite small. He noticed people staring at her and was not surprised. She had on a tight, short-sleeved jumper of some gauzy black stuff. It was scrawled all over with silver pen markings and, even to Mallory's inexpert eye, looked very expensive. She had done something to her hair, which showed rich, red glints where it took the light. The soft, curly mass was piled on top of her head and secured by a bronze comb studded with pearls and turquoises and tiny shards of coral. That looked expensive too.

They waited nearly half an hour for their tonnarelle alla paesana, nibbling bread sticks and drinking Rosso de Verona with Polly making up cruel and funny stories about the other diners' private lives. Then, halfway through the pasta, she started to talk, quietly and seriously, about her own. Mainly about her course at the LSE and problems with her tutor in Business Statistics. Mallory, who, like Kate, had been subsisting on a crumb of information tossed occasionally his way for years, soaked up every word.

Polly had just got on to the other students, who seemed to fall into two categories: those who wanted desperately to be her friend and wouldn't leave her alone, and the rest who were simply jealous, when Mallory noticed the time. Polly begged for a zabaglione because, “They are my utterly absolute favourite, Dad and they're all on the trolly look, it won't take a second and I can eat it while you're paying the bill.”

It didn't work out quite like that because she ordered a cappuccino at the same time, then disappeared into the ladies' for what seemed like hours but was actually only ten minutes.

The lights were against Mallory at almost every stop in London and once he got on to the M40 and was able briefly to put his foot down, the dreaded cones appeared, leading directly into a one-mile tailback.

“What?”

“Why didn't you ring?”

“The mobile was down.”

“How convenient.”

“I'm tired.” Now Mallory was becoming resentful. Hell, it wasn't just his daughter he was saving from financial ruin.

“It was only serviced last week.”

“What was?”

“The bloody car!” Kate sat down suddenly. She felt as if someone had taken a chisel to her skull. “Did you ring the AA? Or the garage?”

“…Um…no…Turned out to be damp plugs.”

“Damp…? It's been twenty-two degrees all day.”

“Oh – for Christ's sake, leave me alone!”

They stared at each other, suddenly aghast. Two strangers in a strange room. Aghast and afraid.

If only I hadn't promised Polly, thought Mallory. I was wrong to promise not to tell. And wrong to go out and eat when I knew Kate would be waiting. Now she's angry and suspicious and I'm standing here full of mysteries and lies.

If only I hadn't been drinking, thought Kate. Her mind replayed Mallory's arrival differently now. She saw herself going up to him, relieved at his safe arrival, hugging him. Producing food kept warm or making something fresh. They would laugh and talk and drink some wine then go to bed and make love on this, the first day of the rest of their lives. Instead he stood there, exhausted and bad-tempered while she struggled not to give way and start crying. But perhaps it was not too late.

Kate forced a smile and said: “You must be starving, Mal. Let me get you something.”