Facing the Light (53 page)

No more daydreams, he said to himself. He could see that his brother was in a terrible state. Alex could have sworn he'd been crying, but that was unlikely. Maybe he'd been helping down in the marquee and got something in his eye. Alex had been on his way to shower before dinner when Efe came out of his room and nabbed him. The bedroom door opened so suddenly that it looked as though he'd been watching out for Alex to come upstairs.

Alex had taken his shoes off. His back was against the wall and he'd drawn his knees up under his chin. Efe came to sit on the edge of the bed and put his head in his hands. Alex knew he was supposed to be comforting Efe but he found it hard to understand exactly what had happened.

‘It's perfectly simple,' Efe said. ‘Fiona has buggered off. She's taken Douggie with her. She won't answer her mobile. On the way to her parents, I bet. What the fuck am I meant to do? She knows something like this could wreck Leonora's party. What she's done is a kind of sabotage. What's got into her, d'you think?'

‘Are you quite sure you apologized?'

‘Of course I bloody did. I told you I did.'

Alex said nothing. Efe often apologized in a rather inadequate way that left you uncertain of whether he really meant it.

‘I know you told me.' Alex tried not to sound impatient. ‘But did Fiona realize, that's the point.'

Efe nodded. ‘She was absolutely fine when I left the
room. I'd swear she was. We'd been getting on okay. We hadn't had a proper fight in ages.'

This wasn't the time, Alex thought, to go back over the day and the several separate things Efe had done that would have driven another woman away long ago. He said, ‘I don't know what I can say, then, Efe.'

Efe flopped back on to the bed. It was something he used to do when they were children and, indeed, there was a part of Alex's mind, a part that stood outside a situation and looked at it dispassionately, which was thinking exactly that – they could have been their ten and eight-year-old selves, wondering how to get out of some trouble or other that Efe had landed them in. They used to sit in exactly this way, Alex against the wall and Efe on the edge of the bed. It was strange how your body was programmed into patterns that were difficult to change.

‘I
do
know, actually,' Efe said. His arm was across his face now, hiding his eyes. A sure sign, again from their childhood, of guilt. ‘She opened a text message of mine. She might have thought it was urgent. That led her to a missed call and then I suppose she just kept on listening and picked up a message I hadn't deleted from before. I know she heard it because I went to listen to it again and it's been deleted. I assume it was her. In any case, it's not there and neither is she, so I'm putting two and two together.'

Alex groaned. ‘The message was from a woman, right?'

‘Right. And it wasn't the sort of message I would have wanted her to hear.'

Alex was silent. He could guess why Efe hadn't deleted the offending words. He said, ‘What are you going to do, then? D'you want her back? You could persuade her if you do.'

‘Dunno what I want. That's the truth. But Fiona's
leaving isn't exactly going to help the celebratory mood, is it?'

Alex thought of tonight's dinner.

‘I reckon you shouldn't tell anyone. Not tonight anyway, and by the time tomorrow comes, everything will be in full swing and no one'll mind so much.' He looked at Efe.

‘Did you say you went to listen to the message again?' A thought had suddenly struck Alex.

‘Yes. Why?'

‘No special reason,' Alex answered. How heartbroken could Efe have been if, in the midst of discovering his wife had left him, he'd wanted to listen again to what was probably an obscene message from his mistress? Not very heartbroken at all, but just annoyed because this was something he hadn't planned and over which he had no control.

‘Right, then.' Efe sat up suddenly and got off the bed. He ran his hands through his hair and said, ‘That's it. I'll tell them she's not feeling too good. Headache or something. Tired. Don't you breathe a word, okay?'

Alex nodded. Not breathing a word was second nature to him.

*

Rilla sat in front of the dressing-table mirror, but even though she was looking into it she saw nothing. The bath had helped a little but her mind was still crowded with images of the lake as it must have been that day, and her child calling out to a heedless Efe who could have turned, could have looked behind him, instead of plunging further and further into his game. She let out a breath she didn't even know she was holding and thought, poor Efe! How terrible for a child to have that always in his history. Knowing this about him made certain things about her nephew much clearer. He'd coped with guilt by becoming selfish, by going full tilt for whatever he
wanted without much thought for anyone else. Rilla realized now that his short temper and impatience with those who were weaker than he must have been made even worse by this suppression of guilt.

She wondered whether this confession that Leonora had dragged out of him would make him feel worse, and decided that it wouldn't. It might even make life easier for him. But Leonora hadn't done it for Efe but to make her, Rilla, feel better. She felt a lump forming in her throat. Oh, stop, stop, she told herself, don't start crying now. No need to feel that sorry for her. She would feel better too, no doubt about that. One always did after a confession. It was true, though, that over the last few days her mother had been far less acerbic than she normally was. Could it be that Leonora was mellowing in her old age? Rilla tried to recall any critical remarks, snipings, backbitings or exasperated looks, and only two or three came to mind. It's also me, she thought. I'm distracted by love.

Her mobile phone began to sing its ridiculous tune and Rilla groaned. I must change the tone, she thought. It drives me mad. As she picked it up, her heart literally sank in her breast. It could only possibly be Ivan. She'd never got round to phoning him after all. That was Sean's fault. As soon as she'd caught sight of him, poor Ivan had disappeared out of her head. Then she'd remembered about him and knew she had to tell him about Sean and hadn't phoned out of cowardice. She was going to have to dump him. That was what the young called it, and though inelegant as a phrase, there was a certain accuracy about it. She would try to stall him for now and arrange a meeting next week. She pressed the button and held the phone to her ear.

‘Darling Ivan! How lovely to hear from you … yes, I'm so sorry. You cannot imagine what it's like round here. Military campaigns are sloppy in comparison with
the arrangements that are going on. Tell me what you've been doing.'

She listened with half an ear while Ivan droned on about a party he'd attended, her mind wandering away from the words she was hearing to what she was going to wear for dinner tonight. When he got to the slushy stuff about how much he was missing her, and how he was longing to hold her, she took a deep breath.

‘Ivan, I can't talk now, but we have to meet early next week. Could we? There are some things I really do have to talk over with you.'

‘I think', said the disembodied voice in her ear, ‘that I hear a certain hesitation in your words, Rilla darling. Is there something you're keeping from me?'

‘No, Ivan, of course not!' Rilla could hear the false jollity she was exuding and hoped very much it didn't sound so awful on the other end of the phone.

‘You are sounding happy, but you are not really happy,' Ivan said. Shit, Rilla thought. So much for that. What now? She was considering whether she ought to tell him the truth and be done with it, when he interrupted her.

‘You are making this arrangement so that you can … how do you say … finish with me. Am I right? You have perhaps met someone else. Am I right?'

A silence developed while Rilla thought frantically of what to say next.

‘You cannot answer, because it is the truth,' Ivan sounded triumphant.

‘Well, yes, there is someone, but I didn't want …'

‘I know. I know. You wanted to do the proper thing. To see me. To tell me to my face. This is very good of you, but I will release you from such obligations. You are as free as a bird, Rilla. I will not tie you down.'

His voice rang with emotion. Rilla couldn't help smiling. What an old drama queen he was! She said, ‘It's
very kind of you, Ivan. I don't deserve it, and I didn't – don't – mean to hurt you, but I've fallen in love. Does that sound ridiculous?'

‘No,' said Ivan. ‘I fell in love with you the very first time I ever saw you. Who is this man?'

Rilla couldn't help feeling that his so-called love wasn't what might be called the real thing. He didn't exactly sound as though he was suffering. She ignored the first part of what Ivan had said and concentrated on answering his question.

‘He's the director of the TV programme that's being made about Ethan Walsh. His name is Sean Everard. In any case, I've got to go now, Ivan. You cannot imagine how busy it is around here. We'll talk properly when I get back to London, okay? We'll have lunch as soon as possible.'

There were a few more seconds of Ivan from the silver rectangle of the phone. It crossed Rilla's mind that he wasn't sounding exactly heartbroken, which was a good thing, even if not very complimentary to her. It made her life much easier.

‘Goodbye, Ivan,' she said at last. ‘I'll be in touch next week, I promise. Take care.'

One tiny click and he was gone. Rilla put the phone back on the bedside table and felt suddenly light-headed with happiness. It was going to be all right. The field was clear. Ivan had made it plain from his manner that he would recover, rather more quickly than she ever thought he would. He'd been much more understanding than she'd had any right to hope for. Some femme fatale you are, she told herself, and went to the wardrobe to consider her options for this evening. Black satin trousers again, and perhaps by the more forgiving light of the dining room she could get away with the pink silk top. The weather was still sultry and a scarf around her neck might be unbearably hot, but it was so beautiful that
Rilla thought she would wear it anyway. She could slip it over the back of her chair if it became too much.

A gentle knock at the bedroom door surprised her in the midst of these pleasant thoughts. Who can that be, she wondered, hoping that it wasn't anyone wanting her actually to
do
anything. She said, ‘Come in', and Leonora said, ‘I'm sorry to disturb you, darling …' before her voice faded away.

‘Mother!' Rilla didn't know whether this visitation was good news or not. She was almost sure that it was only Leonora checking up that she was okay after the revelations about Efe. She said, ‘Sit down here, Mother. Are you all right? You look rather tired.'

It was true. In the conservatory, in the shadow of a large leafy plant, Leonora had seemed exactly as she always did, poised, upright, and young-looking for her age. Here, in the low sunlight of early evening, the thinness of the skin around her mother's eyes, the shadows that were, surely, darker than usual, the blue veins standing out on hands that suddenly looked spotted and almost gnarled … with a shock to the heart Rilla realized that her mother was an old woman. She'd never thought of her in those terms before. I'm a fool, she thought. She's my mother and she always will be and so I don't really look at her. She's supposed to stay the same so I haven't seen her changing. She has no right to be different from all the memories I've carried since childhood, but of course she is. How could it be otherwise?

‘I'm fine, darling,' said Leonora, her voice exactly as it always was, strong, vibrant, ready to offer opinions and take no nonsense from anyone. Rilla smiled ruefully. So much for consigning Mother to the category of the aged and infirm.

‘I came in because there was still something I wanted to say to you,' Leonora went on. ‘First, though, I have to ask you a question. Do you mind?'

Was saying, ‘Yes, I do mind' an option? Of course it wasn't. Rilla said, ‘Not at all. Fire away.'

‘Do you ever think of Hugh Kenworthy?' Leonora turned her head towards the window as she spoke, allowing Rilla to collect her thoughts. What kind of a question was that supposed to be? Imagine Mother remembering his name! Rilla would have bet good money that the whole episode had faded from Leonora's mind years ago. And how was she supposed to answer? In the end she said, ‘Yes, of course. From time to time.'

I will not, Rilla thought, remind you how much I hated you for what you did, and how I still resented it bitterly, right up until a couple of days ago. I certainly shan't say a word about never forgiving you. And most of all, I won't utter a squeak about not giving a damn about the whole thing now that I've met Sean. I shan't say a word about that.

‘I hesitated about coming to see you, Rilla, but I thought about it and decided that in the end, it was better that you should know everything.'

‘About Hugh?'

‘About why I sent him away.'

‘I remember it all perfectly, Mother. He was married. He was unreliable in every way. He wasn't a bit suitable. I know all this. I was very young then – now I understand that you had to do what you did. I expect I'd have done the same thing if Beth had been in such a situation.'

Leonora said, ‘There was something else, though, that I didn't tell you at the time. It would have hurt you too much, and I was deeply ashamed of myself as well.'

She's blushing, Rilla thought. How astonishing! What is all this?

‘Hugh made a pass at me,' Leonora said. ‘Up in the Studio one afternoon while I was showing him round. I was sitting on the chaise-longue and we'd been chatting. He was such a good talker that I'd let myself get far
friendlier than I should have, I suppose. He was terribly charming, and very handsome, wasn't he?'