More Than You Know (98 page)

“Lovely,” said Eliza. “Thank you.”

It was coincidence, and its close relative chance, at work that lovely summer evening, as everyone concerned with the case of
Shaw v. Shaw
became increasingly obsessed, as well they might, with its outcome.

“I … um … I wondered if you’d like to have a drink this evening?”

“Well … why not. OK, Matt. Would you like to try one of my hotels? The one near Hyde Park is very good.”

“Yes, nice idea. Thanks, Louise. I’ve never been to one, and I should. Great.”

“OK. Champagne bar, that’s what it is, six thirty?”

“You’re on.”

“Gina, doll, this is Freddy.”

“Oh … hi, Freddy.”

Freddy was her business partner; or rather, he’d put up most of the money for Dressing Up. He was flashily handsome, gay, and extremely rich.

“I’m in town. Just for tonight. I was wondering if you’d like to have dinner? Maybe go on somewhere—I could do with a bit of nightlife.”

“Well …” She’d been about to refuse, then thought it could be a good idea. Freddy was amusing and very good-looking; it would be no disgrace to be seen with him. And she was beginning to feel she’d had it with Matt. But … she’d invested a lot of emotion in him, and she was actually extremely fond of him. Or had been. And when this bloody divorce case was over, things should steady again.

“Yes, that’d be nice,” she said.

“Excellent, I’m staying at that new hotel just below Hyde Park Corner, very nice. They’ve got a champagne bar; we can start there, and then go on somewhere to eat … you choose.”

Matt was late—of course. God, he was annoying. It had surprised her when they started meeting socially, his pathological lateness. He was never late for a business meeting.

She had ordered a glass of champagne and done a quick recce of the reception rooms and the ladies’—always a barometer of a good hotel—when he finally arrived.

“Good of you to come.”

“Louise, don’t start. I’ve had a hell of a day. But I’ve got some good news: we’ve got a judge who’s very keen on fathers’ rights. So … could be a good omen. Now, no need to worry about their barrister; he’s a junior, as I said, not much cop, probably, and Bruce Hayward will give you a very easy ride, obviously. If you can just say—you know—the sort of things you said the other night—”

“Matt, don’t worry. I won’t let you down. How’s Emmie?”

“She’s fine. Well …” He sighed. “Not really.”

There was a silence; then he nodded in the direction of her glass.

“Another?”

“Yes. Please. I’m breaking my golden rule tonight. Planning to drink more than half a teaspoonful.”

“Why?”

“Oh … just feel a bit … a bit like it. But I’ll have to be careful; I’ve got a big day tomorrow; going up to Stratford for a meeting with the builders on site. Not good with a hangover.”

“No. Look—I’ll get a bottle, might as well.”

The bottle arrived; they seemed to get through the first glass very quickly. Matt poured them a second.

“Wow, this’ll have to be my last,” said Louise. “I feel a bit dizzy already. I might go to the ladies’ now, while I can still walk straight.”

“You look sensational, doll,” said Freddy. “Love the hair.”

“Thanks. Good day?”

“Yup, very.”

“So where’s Sam?”

Sam was Freddy’s partner, a sober-looking academic specialising in medieval history, and about as unlike Freddy as a man could be.

“He’s at home finishing some paper on the rise of the antipopes.”

“Christ,” said Gina.

This was not a reaction to the subject of Sam’s paper, but the fact that she had just seen Matt across the bar.

“Anything wrong?”

“Could be. Might be best to move on.”

“Gina! I haven’t even ordered a drink yet. Have a heart; I’ll make it a quick one. You?”

“Oh, yes, all right,” said Gina. She had taken comfort from the fact that she and Freddy were in a banquette, fairly well shielded from view. And the bar was quite dark. She could actually observe Matt without his realising it. She wondered whom he was with …

Louise combed her hair, touched up her lipstick, and sprayed on some more Miss Dior perfume. She studied herself in the mirror; she looked all right. She didn’t look drunk. But it had been a bit hard to walk straight across the bar.

She went back to Matt, who was looking broodingly into his glass.

“Matt! You’re not going to survive the weekend if you go on like this. It’ll be fine.”

“I … hope so,” he said, but he didn’t sound very convinced.

“It will. What are you most scared of? Apart from losing?”

“Oh, reliving it all, in public …”

“What?” she asked, genuinely curious.

“The … the marriage. All the awful things, the fights, the cross-purposes—oh, I don’t know, I just feel so confused. Part of me wishes I’d never even started on it …”

“Of course. You’d be weird if you didn’t. But …” She struggled for the right thing to say. “But everything you really care about is worth fighting for—sorry, terrible cliché—and … and surely Emmie comes under that category.”

“Yes, of course. But you know … I was thinking about her the other day, how I was high as a kite after she was born; I could have flown out the window; it was so amazing and we were all so happy. I thought, ‘I’ve really, really got it all now,’ and … look at us. I did that.”

“Matt, you
both
did it. Maybe … maybe the two of you should never have got married. You’re so different. I mean, I know you were in love and everything, but there’s love, isn’t there, and there’s marriage and … Oh, never mind. I don’t know what I’m talking about. Last of the spinsters, that’s me. Married to hotels, what a prospect for my old age …”

“I don’t know. Could be worse. Someone to look after you. Lots of someones. Not many old people have their own personal chambermaids …”

She smiled. “Nice one, Matt. Oh, could you excuse me just a moment? The manager’s spotted me. I’ll be back.”

Gina watched Louise as she walked across the bar; she was very stylish. Not exactly fashionable—those shoes were last year’s without a doubt, and her little black dress was neither mini nor maxi, just knee-length. But that long rope of pearls, possibly the Chanel boutique, was very nice, and so were the gold bangles—and her legs were very good indeed. And she had a sleekness about her that meant self-confidence and success—big success. Louise was a tycoon, one of the very first females to be so, not just the part owner of some crummy boutique. Gina suddenly felt rather depressed. No, more than depressed, distressed.

Here was the man she was hoping to … well, actually, marry one day, in the company of a woman who …

“Let’s go,” she said to Freddy, “please.”

“OK, doll, but I’ve left my wallet upstairs. I’ll have to go and get it. See you in the lobby.”

“Yes, fine.”

She stood up; as she did so, Louise came sashaying across the room, sat down with a bit of a thump half on Matt’s lap, and laughed. He wouldn’t like that, Gina thought; he hated any kind of public intimacy. But … he smiled back at her and patted her thigh fondly as she slithered off it.

And then … then … No, couldn’t be, but yes, yes, it was; they stared at each other, clearly quite startled, and there was a pause, and then Louise leaned forward and smiled and kissed Matt—OK, very briefly—on the mouth. And then pulled back. And then he did the same. Equally briefly. And then they sat staring at each other again.