Deception (22 page)

'Very
wise,'
her
father
had
said
dryly.

'Coffee?
On
the
terrace?'
her
mother
had
said
almost
hastily.

Alice
felt
bewildered.
Molly
sounded
too
bright.
Too
hostessy.
Not
like
her
mother
at
all.
If
it
had
been
a
formal
lunch,
she
could
have
understood
it.
In
spite
of
herself,
they
all
knew
that
unlike
her
father
who
revelled
in
entertaining,
the
grander
the
better,
her
mother
had
never
enjoyed
standing
on
ceremony.
Claude,
she
argued,
mystified
at
him
being
treated
as
though
he
was
one
of
her
father's
difficult
clients,
hardly
fell
into
the
last
category.

The
visit
hadn't
been
repeated
and
her
mother
had
dismissed
Alice's
dismay
as
Alice
just
being
over
anxious.
But
Alice
knew
she
wasn't.

There
was
still
no
word
from
Claude
as
the
last
lingering
visitor
was
being
waved
off.
It
was
with
a
herculean
effort
that
Alice
forced
herself
not
to
ring
him
instead,
breaking
their
rule
that
she
never
phoned
while
he
was
with
his
family.
For
the
umpteenth
time
she
checked
her
phone,
scrutinised
her
messages
knowing
perfectly
well
he
hadn’t
left
one,
but
it
was
driving
her
mad
not
knowing.

So
it
was,
that
the
sun
was
beginning
to
dip
behind
the
two
sturdy
oak
trees
through
which
a
glimpse
of
the
square
Norman
church,
that
had
been
there
long
before
the
rectory,
could
be
seen
before
Harry’s
guests
started
to
make
their
reluctant
way
home.

Victoria
had
disappeared
to
change.
Molly
was
rounding
up
her
grandchildren.
James
had
emerged
from
Harry's
study
only
to
retreat
again
to
close
his
eyes
‘just
for
ten
minutes'.
Provisional
estimates
for
the
amount
raised
in
one
afternoon
could
have
put
a
sizeable
dent
in
the
Peruvian
National
debt.
The
weight
of
Harry's
name
behind
the
cause,
was,
Alice
knew,
quietly
powerful.
A
moment
of
pride
in
having
him
as
her
father,
briefly
flickered.
Suddenly,
Alice
felt
a
hand
on
the
small
of
her
back.

'C'mon
then,'
Harry
said
lightly.
'Let's
hear
this
amazing
news
of
yours.'

He
was
smiling,
but
she
knew
that
smile.
It
had
nothing
to
do
with
his
eyes.
It
was
watchful,
guarded.
Then
and
only
then
-
and
much
too
late
-
Alice
wondered
what
on
earth
had
made
her
think
he
would,
at
the
very
least,
try
to
understand.

*

‘Are
you
mad?’
Harry
thundered.
It
had
taken
less
than
five
minutes
to
tell
him.

A
deep
breath,
all
in
one
go.
But
as
usual,
confronted
by
him,
she
had
sounded
defensive,
nervous,
along
with
the
last
guest,
her
confidence
had
fled.

His
face
was
suffused
with
rage.
'He
will
never
divorce
his
wife,’
he
roared.
‘Men
like
that
never
do.'

’It's
her,'
Alice
protested.
'It's
not
Claude.
I
doubt
there's
a
divorce
law
in
France
she
hasn't
dismantled
to
stay
married
to
him.’
Alice
was
almost
shouting
as
she
followed
him
from
the
garden
into
the
kitchen.
'He's
asked
her
again
and
again.
Long
before
he
and
I
even
met.'

'Met?
You
mean
lost
your
mind?'

'Harry?'
Molly’s
voice
held
a
warning.
'The
children.
They'll
hear.
And
the
waiters
are
still
here.
And
you
know
what
John
said?’

'Oh,
what
do
bloody
doctors
know?'
Harry
retorted
impatiently.
His
anger
had
made
him
white
with
rage.
Suddenly
he
looked
exhausted.
'I'll
outlive
him.'

Alerted
by
the
raised
voices,
Victoria
strolled
in
still
glancing
through
the
gossip
column
in
one
of
that
day's
papers,
only
interested
as
Alice
knew,
in
finding
her
own
name.

'So,
let’s
see,’
Harry
went
on
ignoring
Victoria’s
raised
eyebrows
and
Alice’s
pale
face.
'You're
throwing
everything
away
for
a
man
you've
known
for
five
minutes.'

'Three
months,'
she
interrupted,
'almost
four.'

'Who
lives
in
Paris
and
goes
home
to
his
wife
every
weekend?'

‘To
see
his
children;
not
her.'
She
knew
she
should
stop
talking,
walk
away,
but
this
time
it
was
too
important.
'One
of
us
has
to
compromise.
It
can't
be
them.
He
has
to
be
near
them.'