Good Husband Material (44 page)

‘I bought those portraits with the house and look – see her left hand? I only noticed yesterday.’

The painting was of a young, fair-haired girl, elaborately dressed. She was holding a fan half open, and on her finger was my ring.

‘It’s the same one, isn’t it?’ He took my hand and compared it.

‘But, Fergal, it must be an heirloom.’ I would have given it back then and there if his hand wasn’t still enclosing mine.

‘If it is, then it isn’t mine. No, it belongs to you, and it suits you.’

I do love it … and since I flogged my wedding and engagement rings and bought with the proceeds a small pair of heart-shaped sapphire earrings to match it, it would be a pity to lose it.

We ended the tour with the new recording studio, built in part of the former ballroom. Then, with a strangely self-conscious air, he threw open a door and I walked past him into an artist’s studio with great canvases full of colour everywhere, and the spicy smell of linseed oil and paint.

Astonishment struck me dumb. After all, I hadn’t had a proper chance to look at the paintings in the gallery that time, and now here I was, faced with something pretty amazing … quite a lot of the pictures featuring images of a red-headed woman.

‘It’s not been easy, trying to paint when I’ve been away with the band so much,’ he said rather defensively. ‘It’s not easy getting your work taken seriously when you’re famous – or infamous – for something else, either. But it’s part of the reason I want to settle down – to paint more.’

I walked round the studio wonderingly. I mean, I knew he could paint, he got a first-class honours degree and an MA in Fine Art before he took to the music highway, but these were very different from the way he used to paint.

Suddenly I thought: why shouldn’t they be? He’s matured in more ways than one. And then I had the oddest sensation of the old Fergal and the new one overlapping and melding. I blurted without thinking first (as usual), ‘Fergal, in Rome – with the nuns. Did you really—’

‘No!’ he interrupted, scowling blackly.

‘Oh. What about that time in Sweden, with the six—’

Noticing that his mouth was closing like a trap, I shut up suddenly. But for the first time I began to believe that the wildness of his lifestyle had been exaggerated, for publicity purposes, if nothing else. Not all of it. I don’t think he’s been a saint for the last few years – far from it. But he couldn’t have been doing
all
those wild and crazy things and still have produced so much brilliant work.

‘They’re wonderful, absolutely wonderful!’ I enthused. ‘They look a bit familiar too, especially this one.’

I’d stopped in front of an enormous canvas on which numbers and letters seemed to be leaping and diving like fish across the surface.

‘I’ve been exhibiting under a different name. One of these won the John Moore’s competition last year.’

‘That’s it! It was in the Sunday papers. “Reclusive painter shuns limelight”! Reclusive – you!’

He grinned. ‘I only wanted to be taken seriously.’

‘You will be. Anyone would have to take you seriously when they see these!’

His eyes met mine, glowing with a bright green light, and he took a step towards me.

There was a faint cry from the house and he started. ‘Maria! We’ve been ages. Come on.’

Taking my hand he towed me briskly back to the library where he sat back and watched, amused, as Maria (as she asked me to call her) pumped me mercilessly about the baby, my pregnancy symptoms, diet and all the rest of it.

Actually, she was very practical and gave me some good advice, though her statement that I was not to worry about the actual birth, because the Good God would not send me any more pain than I could bear, was not
that
reassuring.

When she went out with the tray, Fergal moved next to me on the sofa before the crackling fire.

‘Right!’ he said, taking my hands in his, ‘you told me most of your worries yesterday, but I can see there’s still something bothering you. What is it?’

I don’t know how he guessed. ‘Well, yes, there is something, but I’m sure you didn’t buy a quiet country retreat just to have other people’s problems dumped in your lap!’

‘You’re not “other people”, Tish, you should know that.’

I looked doubtfully at him. Surely he must be tiring of my sordid little affairs by now?

‘What are friends for, after all, if not to share your troubles with? And don’t ever think you’re a nuisance. You can’t imagine how relaxing it is to be with a woman who isn’t struck dumb by wonder and amazement at my very presence.’

He left out lust.

And little did he know I occasionally felt all three and found myself thinking: wow! I’m alone with Fergal Rocco! until he merged back into the familiar, everyday (though no less gorgeous) Fergal.

‘Maria didn’t seem awed and amazed.’

‘She’s seen me grow up. But that’s what I mean – family, old friends’ (that’s me, just an old friend) ‘see me as I am, not as the dangerous character I’m hyped up to be. Which reminds me,’ he added gloomily, ‘
Hello!
magazine want to do a feature on me and my new house.’

‘That sounds terribly domestic. But you don’t have to do it if you don’t want to, do you?’

‘I won’t. But it means that everyone knows where I’ve moved to.’ He sighed. ‘It had to come sooner or later. There were a couple of fans hanging round the gate yesterday.’

‘You aren’t likely to have hordes of screaming fans besieging you at your gates, are you?’

‘Hardly, but there always seemed to be a few hanging round my house in London. Some have been to so many concerts I recognise them. They’re all right. It’s just the odd ones, who try and get in the house, and the reporters short of a good story … I suppose I should be grateful I’ve
got
fans, or I wouldn’t have all this.’

‘There is that. And if there weren’t any women hanging about drooling over you, you’d probably start worrying in case you’d lost your charms!’ I said tartly, and he grinned.

‘Drooling!’

‘They do. Haven’t you ever seen the close-ups of your audiences? But anyway, you can keep the gates locked, can’t you? Aren’t they electronic?’

‘Yes, though I haven’t had to use them so far. I’ll give you one of the controls – it works on the back gates, too.’

‘Thank you!’ I said, surprised. ‘But I won’t want to be barging in disturbing you all the time.’

‘Disturb me any time you like,’ he said, and smiled. ‘I’ll need the company when the fans stop drooling!’

I don’t suppose they ever will … but he’s so kind to me. In fact, he seems to be quite fond of me, and I don’t know why that thought is depressing!

‘We seem to have wandered off the original subject, Tish: what’s bothering you?’

‘Oh – it’s the silliest thing really. Just something Granny keeps hinting about.’ And I told him what she’d said … or, perhaps,
not
said.

It was amazing how quickly he managed to pick out the salient points. ‘It is a bit strange that your conventional mother departed solo on a long holiday to Cornwall and came home with a new baby. But having an unexpected baby might have been enough to make her go all prim and proper when the subject came up, you know.’

‘That’s what I thought. But I’d just like to know for sure – probably something to do with being pregnant myself. I wrote to my friend Peggy in Cornwall and she promised to dig around, but she hasn’t found anything out yet.’

He put a comforting arm round me. ‘If there’s anything to know, I’ll find out.’

I looked up at him, startled. ‘
You
will?’

‘You can’t go down to Cornwall at the moment, and that’s the place to find out, but I’ll send someone down – a professional.’

‘A professional – your detective?’

‘That’s the one!’ He grinned unrepentantly.

‘Won’t it be terribly expensive, though?’

‘It’s pretty straightforward. I’ll organise it, and you can pay me back later. It’ll probably cost less than trying to do it yourself, and really, I don’t think there’s very much in it.’

‘I suppose you’re right,’ I conceded gratefully.

‘Then leave it to me. I’ll need your birth certificate, but I’ll photocopy it and give it back.’

‘Yes, of course,’ I replied, thinking how easy it would be to become reliant on him, and just how big a mistake that would be. After all, I know now that I can look after myself, financially and otherwise. I don’t need anyone else. It’s just that he seems to have inserted his dynamic presence into all the little crevices of my life …

I looked up, which was a mistake, because he was smiling down into my eyes from inches away, which tended to dislocate my brain functions (such as they are at the moment).

‘I’d love to see the pictures of Granny in Russia,’ he said unexpectedly, and grinned.

‘I’ll try and get copies. She’s wearing the most enormous fur hat pulled down over her eyes, and Grandpa has one with ear flaps. Do you know what she said to the guard at Lenin’s tomb? “I’ve seen better looking things laid out on marble slabs at the fish shop.”’

We were both laughing when there was a sudden commotion in the hall and the door was flung open. Nerissa stood framed in the doorway looking like Playmate of the Month, in a very long open coat over a very short dress.

‘How cosy!’ she drawled.

I suppose it did all look rather intimate and my first, almost guilty, reaction was to try and snatch my hand from Fergal’s. His grip tightened and the arm about my shoulders pulled me closer.

Maria pushed past Nerissa, dark eyes snapping angrily. ‘I told her you do not want to see her, you are not to be disturbed, but she goes right past me!’

‘It’s all right, Maria. Nerissa hasn’t been house-trained yet. Strangely enough, I was just saying to Tish that I’ll have to start using the security gates or uninvited guests will be barging in all the time.’

Nerissa’s cheeks turned a hot red. ‘That’s not much of a welcome!’ Then, with a visible effort, she softened her approach. ‘Fergal, honey! You aren’t usually this cold. I don’t know what’s got into you, but you sure must be pining for a little fun!’

She let her coat fall further open, revealing her perfect figure clad, more or less, in clinging white. ‘It must be so-o boring for you here – I was going to say alone – but the next best thing, anyway!’

‘It’s neither boring nor lonely since my aunt came to live with me.’

Nerissa stared incredulously at Maria, having obviously discounted her as some sort of foreign help. Then she rallied and dragged in the cavalry, calling, ‘James, have you seen? Your dear little wife is here, too!’

His face loomed out of the cool dark tank of the hall like a strange fish and goggled at me over her shoulder.

‘
Tish
!’ His eyes bulged so much he reminded me of Wendy. ‘You’re wearing a dress!’

‘I’m not a transvestite, James. Why shouldn’t I wear a dress?’

‘Did you come here just to criticise Tish’s taste in clothes, or do you both have some other reason?’ enquired Fergal coldly, but James, reddening angrily, only had eyes for me.

‘You never wore a dress when
I
wanted you to wear one,’ he said pettishly. ‘I suppose
he
likes you in a dress. Did he buy it?’

‘For goodness’ sake, what does it matter?’ Nerissa exclaimed furiously. ‘Isn’t it obvious you’ve been taken for a ride? Why else should he take so much interest in your wife when she’s in that condition if it isn’t his? Well, all I can say is: I don’t admire your taste, Fergal! Come on, James.’

And out she swept.

It was a pretty good exit. Perhaps she’s a
Gone With the Wind
addict, like Granny.

James lingered, seemed about to say something else, but was yanked away by an invisible hand. The door slammed and a minute later a car revved up loudly and shot off in a scattering of gravel.

‘That won’t have done the drive a lot of good,’ Fergal remarked.

‘It will rake over,’ Maria replied absently. She was eyeing me thoughtfully, almost with a hint of speculation.

‘That was your husband, yes?’

‘Ex-husband. Well, almost.’

‘With Fergal’s girlfriend?’

‘Ex-girlfriend,’ Fergal said helpfully. ‘Though not even that, really.’

‘Ah!’ There was a pause. ‘And the baby?’ she hinted delicately.

‘My husband’s,’ I said regretfully.

‘Nerissa has a poisonous tongue, and your James looked ready to believe every word,’ Fergal said.

‘Not
my
James,’ I said wearily. ‘And I suppose he’s going to change his mind about the baby again. He’s like a revolving door.’

I explained (or tried to explain) to Maria: ‘My husband was unfaithful to me for months with a girl – not Nerissa – so I’m divorcing him. Fergal and I are just old friends and we hadn’t seen each other for years until recently.’

‘The English are all mad,’ Maria said sadly. ‘Why should your husband stray when he has a young, beautiful wife? That Nerissa, she is a bitch! Your husband is a fool if he lets such a one lead him by the nose.’

‘He’s still involved with this other girl, too, and I don’t suppose Nerissa is seriously interested in him.’

‘Just came to flaunt him in front of me,’ Fergal agreed. He didn’t seem to mind in the least. Plenty more fish in the sea, I suppose.

Maria sighed again. ‘I go to cook the dinner. You are staying? I will make a nourishing sauce with the pasta, and—’

‘No – no, I can’t stay, thank you very much!’ I said hastily. ‘I must get back and see to my dog, and I have work to do tonight.’

‘I hope you are eating well. The sauce, it will freeze. Fergal will bring you some.’

He rose and pulled me to my feet. ‘Good idea. Come on then, Tish, if you won’t stay, you can drive me back if you aren’t too tired?’

I was tired, but drove back anyway. I need the practice.

I haven’t told him – or anyone else – that I’m taking the written driving test tomorrow. It’s not that one I’m worried about, though!

Fergal has given me a little remote control for the electric gates, and taken my birth certificate away with him.

Next day on my way into town I came face to face with Wendy for the first time. I think she must have been lying in wait for me just inside Margaret’s hedge, because she bounced out into my path and stood there like a pugnacious Peke.