More Than You Know (30 page)

“Well, Matt, it’s been so lovely, thank you.”

Eliza stood up and smiled at Matt, bent to kiss him again, on the cheek this time, and then rather unsteadily walked to the door.

As they reached the street, she turned to him, suddenly thinking she would offer him a lift, and saw he was standing stock-still and just staring at her, clearly wanting to say something.

“I’ve got a dare for you, Eliza,” he said. “Come back to my place. For a nightcap. You said you’d like to see it.”

And she said, “What, now?” and he said, “Yes, Eliza, now.” And there was a long silence and then her eyes met his, very steadily, and then she smiled at him and tossed back her mane of hair and said, “Dare accepted. OK, Matt. You’re on.”

That weekend, Jeremy Northcott went down on one knee in a muddy field in Norfolk, produced a rock of a diamond from his pocket, and asked Eliza Fullerton-Clark to marry him.

G
OD, SHE FELT TERRIBLE
. S
HE REALLY FELT SHE MIGHT THROW UP, THEN
and there. All over the registrar’s table.

The registrar’s table. In Chelsea Town Hall. Not the altar in Wellesley village church.

She looked down, saw her shoes. Her white pumps, with those wonderful red bows on them that echoed the red bows on her dress. Her short lace dress, not a long, full-skirted satin dress.

They made their vows, were declared man and wife, exchanged a kiss.

She felt better now, turned, smiled into the room. At their friends. Not a churchful, just a couple of rows, and only a handful of family, mostly his.

They signed the register, stood up, walked out of the room. Out of the room, not down the aisle, not into the church porch but the registrar’s office lobby. And then outside, onto the steps, not into a laughing, loving crowd but a couple of half-interested passersby.

What had happened to her; what would happen to her? And how could she possibly feel so shockingly, wonderfully happy?

Autumn/Winter 1964

“M
UMMY
, I
’VE GOT SOMETHING TO TELL YOU.”

“Yes, darling, we know. And it’s so lovely—”

“No, Mummy, it’s not so lovely. It’s not what you think. Jeremy’s asked me to marry him—”

“Yes, darling, we know. He—”

“Yes, but … well, I’m not going to. Marry him. I can’t. I really can’t. Because I’m in love with someone else.”

Who she wasn’t—necessarily—going to marry. She didn’t like his views on marriage. She didn’t like his views on lots of things. But she did, totally and absolutely and violently, love him.

It was partly the sex, of course. The sex was amazing. She would never have dreamed that a different body could make so much difference. The difference between smiling, easy pleasure and shrieking, frantic delight; between wanting and needing, desperately, desperately needing, so much that she was unable to think about anything else until she had it. Had him. Between comfort and torture; between warmth and tenderness and shocking, sweating near-distress; between saying, “That was lovely,” and speechless, tearful stillness.

“Oh, my God,” she had said when, after the first time, she finally flung herself back from him, gazing at him, fighting for breath, her body still pulsing in a sort of aftershock. “Oh, my God, Matt.”

“ ‘Oh, my God’ what?”

“Just … oh, my God.”

“I knew it,” he said, and sounded smug. “I knew you hadn’t.”

“Hadn’t what?”

“Hadn’t come.”

“Of course I had.”

“Not properly. Not how you deserved. You’re so bloody sexy, Eliza, and you were just missing the point. You were like … like some sort of half virgin.”

“You can’t be a half virgin; it’s like being a little bit pregnant.”

“Course you can. You were. Half-cooked—oh, shit, I’m no good with words.”

“No,” she said, “you’re not.”

“Well,” he said, after a pause, “how about this? I love you.”

It was the first time he’d said it.

Everyone was so angry with her. Her parents, in a quiet, damaged, seething way: how could she have turned Jeremy down, when he loved her so much—“I’m not sure he does, you know, actually,” when he could offer her so much—“but what he’s offering is not what I want.”

She could see, of course, what it meant to them.

Jeremy had been what her entire upbringing had been about: what they had worked for, sacrificed for, hoped for, almost prayed for. They saw it as a personal slight, an insult to their social creed. And she could see she had robbed them of something else as well, although they would die rather than admit it.

Charles, who had professed such genuine friendship with Matt, was nearly as angry. “It’s ridiculous, Eliza; you must see that, an absurd idea, throwing over Jeremy for Matt Shaw.”

“But why?” she had asked.

“You know very well,” he said, and no, she had said, she didn’t, and he said rather lamely that Jeremy was one of his greatest friends—he had been his best man, for God’s sake—and she had said she was very sorry, but she really couldn’t be expected to marry someone she didn’t love just because he had been her brother’s best man.

Juliet said nothing to her at all.

She began to dread bumping into any of Jeremy’s friends; they were all very cool with her, clearly feeling that she had behaved extremely badly. Anyone would think, Eliza reflected, that she had been married to Jeremy and two-timing him. Whereas they hadn’t even been engaged, and whose fault was that? If he’d asked her earlier, she’d probably be married to him by now.

Most of her friends, the ones she had grown up with, anyway, and gone to school with and shared flats with, were horrified, and told her she’d regret it, though a handful were clearly intrigued, and asked her what exactly it was about Matt that was so special. She knew what that meant: sex. Everyone assumed it was sex and only sex. It had to be the only explanation for turning down someone as rich and handsome and totally suitable as Jeremy for someone who was—as one of her friends put it—“from such a different world.” But it wasn’t sex—or only partly;
it was almost impossible to explain, but the closest was that when she was with Matt, she felt absolutely and completely interested and absorbed by him, on every level and in every way. He engaged her. He engaged her head and her heart and her body and her very self. Life without him was completely unthinkable. It was as simple as that.

Even Maddy seemed a bit shocked. “Jeremy’s so sweet,” she said, “and he just is so suitable for you. And Matt’s awfully different from you, Eliza. As a person, I mean. And in his own way, he’s more old-fashioned than Jeremy.”

“Well, that’s just totally ridiculous,” said Eliza.

Only Jack Beckham seemed to be on her side, and actually took her out for a drink. “Well-done,” he said. “Liked that young man—what I saw of him, that is—liked him a lot. Not easy, what you’ve done, though, I can see that.”

Eliza was so touched and surprised she started to cry and then said she was sorry to be so silly, but Jack lent her his handkerchief, and said at least she wouldn’t be leaving to have any babies yet.

“Of course I won’t be having any babies,” said Eliza, sniffing.

Her godmother invited her to lunch and, instead of launching into the attack Eliza had expected, handed her a large sherry and said, “I’m sure everyone’s been telling you what a terrible mistake you’re making. I’m not one of them. I’m proud of you. Too easy to just say yes and do what everyone wanted. Now, don’t start crying, for goodness’ sake. I thought you’d be pleased.”

“I am pleased,” said Eliza. “Of course I am. But it’s been so awful, everyone telling me I’m mad or bad or both.”

“Well, people are bloody nosy, and nothing easier than to live other people’s lives for them.”

“I suppose so. And of course I’ve broken Mummy’s heart—”

“That’s nonsense. I can see it would be very nice for her to have you gliding up the aisle with young Northcott. But she wouldn’t have wanted you to be unhappy either. Which you would have been if you’d married someone you didn’t love. She’ll come round, darling. Don’t worry.”

“And then there’s the house.”

“Oh, I know all about the house, but you can’t go marrying someone just to pay for some building work.”

Eliza giggled, then looked more serious again. “Gommie, there’s
more to it than that; you know there is. It’s so important to her, that house, and with Daddy being so ill, she needs to stay there, if she can.”

“Well, we’ll sort something out for her; don’t worry. What about Matt—he’s in the building business, isn’t he? Can’t he help?”

“I … don’t know. He hasn’t got any real money, if that’s what you mean.”

“Maybe not, but he must know a few builders. You going to marry him?”

“I don’t know,” said Eliza, with a heavy sigh. “He hasn’t asked me, so maybe not.”

“He will,” said Anna Marchant. “I’d put money on it.”

The one person who’d been completely sweet and nice to her had been Jeremy. She’d looked down at him, as he knelt there in the mud, and after—actually—a very brief pause, said she was very sorry, but she couldn’t, she just didn’t love him enough, and then burst into tears, and he’d stood up, put the ring box back in the pocket of his Barbour, put his arm round her, and said, There, there, he quite understood; he’d much rather she was honest and didn’t marry him now than walk out on him later. They’d gone back to the house and had tea and crumpets in the kitchen, and then she’d said she really thought she’d better go and he’d said yes, probably best, and then he’d actually put her case in her car and kissed her good-bye and waved her off. That moment had probably been the hardest of all: looking at him in her rearview mirror, so unutterably handsome and nice and … so perfect, really, his golden Labradors on either side of him, and the massive house in the background, and she wondered, just very momentarily, whether she had done the right thing. Then she drove straight to Matt’s place by the river and he was waiting for her, anxious and almost truculent with trepidation, and everything was all right.

She stayed in her own tiny flat in Earls Court, spending most nights with Matt in Rotherhithe, and driving home at crack of dawn to get ready for the day. She had wondered if he would suggest she moved in with him, but he did rather the reverse, pointing out on that first Sunday that it really wouldn’t be very practical. “It’s so small here, we’d drive each other nuts.” He then added that it was very early days anyway, and they should probably take things a bit steady. Ignoring a stab of raw terror, she agreed.