The Complete Pratt (115 page)

But she liked Cap Ferrat, the glimpses of sea and mountain, the stunning villas, the huge, immaculate gardens.

Uncle Teddy’s villa was set behind a row of colour-washed fishermen’s cottages. It was just over three years since Henry had been there, on that momentous journey of discovery, when his
whole
world had seemed to turn upside-down. Now he could approach it calmly, happily, in holiday mood.

He pulled up neatly on the gravel outside the gate, got out of the car and gave himself a luxurious stretch.

Enjoy that stretch, Henry. Make it last. Your mood is about to change.

Uncle Teddy was at the door already, and Henry and Hilary both knew, before he opened his mouth, that something was very wrong.

‘Anna left me yesterday,’ he said.

IT WAS COOL
and dark in the shuttered villa. Uncle Teddy opened the shutters and let in the smell of the South, the salty lethargy of the sea, the stale breath of the afternoon sun, and the herb-scented freshness of the evening breeze.

He flinched from the cruel light, which was merciless towards his greying hair, his ashen face, his hollow sleepless eyes, his thin ageing legs and his unlovely paunch. He smiled and said that he was fine. He showed them their room, large and cool, with shutters on to a balcony, and two hired cots. He tickled Jack’s chin and made awkward remarks to Kate, who stared at him solemnly as if he frightened her. He made tea in the marble kitchen, and said, ‘I thought we’d eat out tonight. I haven’t been able to get myself organised to shop.’

‘Of course not,’ said Hilary. ‘We’ll shop and cook.’

Uncle Teddy handed them an envelope.

‘She left a letter for you,’ he said.

They read it in turn:

Dear Henry and Hilary,

I know this will come as a great shock to you, and I feel really bad about spoiling your holiday, but my first thought must be for Teddy. Don’t give that hollow laugh. I mean it. I’ve known for some time that I’ve got to go. I just haven’t got it in me to stay with an old man and I owe it to Teddy to get out before he becomes old. He still has a chance of somebody much more suitable than me, some rich widow or something, he’s a sexy man and fun quite a lot of the time, but he’s never really tried to understand me and how I tick. I really think the only woman he’s ever really been interested in is Doris. He wanted a fling and an adventure. He wanted to seem to be a bit of an old rogue. He’s done it and that’s it.

Anyway, I can’t feel too guilty because it was great fun while it lasted and we both have some fantastic memories. Well, all right, I shouldn’t have gone with him, but I did and that’s all there is to it. There isn’t anybody else, no Jed or anybody, so I’m looking for Mr Right! Anyway, the point is, if I’d left him at any other time he’d have had nothing to occupy his days and I know you and the kids’ll cheer him up for a couple of weeks and by then the worst’ll be over. So I’ve done it at the best time, even though I feel rotten about it.

Washing stuff et cetera under the sink, foodstuffs fairly self-explanatory, brushes and mops in an
outside
cupboard at the back next to the third shower and loo.

I’ll miss seeing you all very much. This isn’t easy for me either.

With love,

Anna

PS Not a word to Daddy. I’ll just tell them I couldn’t cope with life as a nun. Anyway, they’ll be so relieved that they won’t ask too many questions.

Hilary said that the children were too tired to eat out that night, so they bought food in, and Hilary made chicken
provençale
, because if the food wasn’t Mediterranean, they might as well have been in Thurmarsh.

When he came in for pre-dinner drinks, Henry caught Uncle Teddy holding a photograph of himself and Anna, and there were tears in his eyes. He put it down hurriedly as soon as he heard Henry, and gave a watery smile.

‘We were happy that day,’ he said.

‘Would it be better to put the photos away?’ suggested Henry.

There were photos of a scantily clad Anna all over the villa.

Uncle Teddy shook his head. ‘I’ve only just lost her,’ he said. ‘I couldn’t cope with losing the memory of her as well.’

Over their dinner, which he hardly tasted, Uncle Teddy said, ‘Never should have done it, I suppose. Should have known better.’

‘There’s no point in thinking that,’ said Hilary.

‘I don’t regret it, though. Not a moment of it.’

‘Well, then.’

After the meal, as they sipped wine on the terrace, with the incessant clattering of ten thousand crickets challenging the velvet stillness of the southern night, Uncle Teddy said, ‘How
is
Doris?’

‘She’s very well,’ said Henry. ‘She’s put on quite a lot of weight.’

‘She’s never had a lot of self-discipline, hasn’t Doris,’ said Uncle Teddy. ‘Not easy to, running a pub, mind.’ He sighed. ‘I can’t believe she’s ended up running a pub.’ He sighed again. ‘What a mess. Pub still doing all right, is it?’

‘They get by,’ said Henry.

They didn’t tell Uncle Teddy that it was so popular that it was known throughout the Dales as ‘Doris’s’. They didn’t think it would be what he wanted to hear.

‘I don’t blame her for not waiting,’ said Uncle Teddy. ‘My fault for getting sent to prison. Doris couldn’t live without a man. No idea how to start.’ He sighed. ‘You’d think she’d have been able to get somebody better than Geoffrey Porringer, though.’

‘I thought he was your friend,’ said Henry.

‘As a chap to do business with, fine,’ said Uncle Teddy. ‘Chap to eat with, grand. Chap to drink with, no problem. Chap to wake up to, all those blackheads on the pillow beside you, horrendous I’d have thought.’

‘Well you couldn’t be expected to fancy him,’ said Henry. ‘I mean, I can’t believe that I would if I was a woman, but you never know. Women have strange tastes in men.’

‘I know,’ said Hilary. ‘I married you.’

Henry assumed that it was a joke, and laughed not because it amused him, but in order to make it clear that it was a joke. But Uncle Teddy took it seriously.

‘That’s very true,’ he said. ‘I can’t believe some of the fellers women take up with. Sidney Watson over at Mexborough. Hollow chest, halitosis, and an undertaker. They were queueing up. Tommy Simonsgate, the plumber. Wallet full of moths, and always had bits of cabbage sticking between his teeth. Married a
model
. I gave it two years. Ten years later, they’d three kids, she looks like a brick shithouse, and he’s just the same, except a bit more sophisticated. It’s broccoli instead of cabbage.’ He fell silent for a reflective moment. ‘I don’t blame Anna for going. I’m getting an old man’s legs. I’ll end up looking like a punchball on matchsticks. I’m not bitter. She gave me some wonderful times. Always knew it had to end. I just wish we could have had one more year. Just one more year. I’d have settled for that.’ His voice was choking. He blew his nose. ‘May as well kill the bottle.’

He filled their glasses almost to the brim. A plane winked across their natural planetarium, and there was a soft whisper of wind.

‘Grand kids,’ he said. ‘Grand. I’m going to love having them around. I’m so glad you came, son. And you, Hilary. You’re a belter. I’m proud of him, winning you. Always knew he had it in him, mind.’

He paused. Neither Henry nor Hilary spoke. They didn’t know what to say. They decided to let Uncle Teddy get it off his chest.

‘I’m frightened of growing old. I had looks, you see. It’s sad losing them. You’re all right, Henry, because you’ve never had looks.’

Henry had to bite his tongue to stop himself saying, drily, ‘Thank you very much.’

‘So you’ve nothing to lose. Women find you irresistible because of your …’

Uncle Teddy paused for so long that Henry felt compelled to speak.

‘Charisma?’ he said hopefully.

‘Vulnerability. They want to mother you and then when they realise you’re a proper sexy man they’re hooked.’ He sighed again. ‘I should have gone back to Doris when you gave me the chance. Tell me, would you say … would you say Doris and Geoffrey are … happy?’

Henry’s head was swimming with wine and exhaustion. He longed for sleep. He couldn’t think. He knew that it was important to answer carefully, but he simply hadn’t the energy.

Luckily, Hilary had.

‘No,’ she said. ‘They aren’t happy, but they aren’t unhappy either. They’ve formed a
modus vivendi
. A way of living.’

‘Thank you for translating,’ said Uncle Teddy, ‘but I’m not completely ignorant.’

‘Sorry.’

‘Anna and I used to read Shakespeare’s plays out loud.’

Henry and Hilary tried hard to hide their astonishment. Without success.

‘You’re stunned. We decided to expand our horizons. Couldn’t get to grips at first. Then, suddenly, open sesame, we got it. Loved it.
Romeo and Juliet
, know it?’

‘I know it,’ said Hilary.

‘“Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou, Romeo? We must defy our families, because … we’ve formed a
modus vivendi
.” Not good enough, is it? Doris deserves better. Doris deserves love.’ Uncle Teddy took a gulp of wine, not tasting it. ‘I should have gone back to her when you gave me the chance.’ He held his glass up against the night sky, as if surprised to have found that it was empty. ‘I don’t regret it, though. None of it.’ He stood up. ‘Starting to repeat myself. Time for bed. You’ve got a holiday to have.’ He shook Henry’s hand with strange formality. ‘Good to see you, son.’ He kissed Hilary. ‘You’re lovely.’ He weaved his way back to the house, turned, said, ‘I’m going to give you a wonderful holiday,’ and disappeared into the house.

Kate and Jack slept through till seven. Uncle Teddy was already up, natty in white shorts and a blue shirt. Breakfast was laid on the terrace. The morning was as fresh as a washed dairy.

‘Morning,’ said Uncle Teddy heartily. ‘Did you sleep well?’

‘Very well. How about you?’

‘Like a top,’ lied Uncle Teddy. ‘Right. Coffee?’

They nodded.

‘Right. Coffee coming up.’

Uncle Teddy tried to make a great fuss of the children without quite knowing how to, and said, ‘Oh well.’

They had no difficulty in supplying the missing sub-text: ‘I wish I’d had children. Too late now.’

‘We thought we’d go on the beach today,’ said Henry, as he spread honey on a crisp, fresh roll. ‘Jack isn’t really ready, but Kate’ll love it.’

‘You will come, won’t you?’ said Hilary. They had decided that it would be better if
she
asked.

‘Oh no,’ said Uncle Teddy. ‘I hate the sea.’

They looked at him in surprise. Uncle Teddy had no difficulty in supplying the missing sub-text: ‘Then what on earth are you doing living by the bloody thing?’

‘Oh, I love living by it,’ he said. ‘I love sea fronts, hotels, promenades, palms, seaside cafés, fish markets, children’s happy faces, everything about it except the bloody thing itself. Well, I don’t hate all seas. I love the Atlantic. That’s my sea. Breakers rolling in. Sand-castles eaten up by the onrushing tide. Sand left glistening by the receding tide. Limpets drying out on the rocks. Streams to dam. Tongues of sea flecking their way in, sliding into rock-pools. Rock-pools coming to life again. Tides, change, drama, that’s my sea. The Med just sits there, like a lukewarm soup. Disgusting.’

Henry looked at him in amazement, and Hilary looked at Henry in silent rebuke for not having told her that Uncle Teddy had a lyrical side.

‘You’re astounded. You think nothing excites me except sex and import-export,’ said Uncle Teddy. ‘I told you. We’ve expanded our horizons. Oh God, how could she go?’ His face crumpled and then the mask returned. ‘Out, damned self-pity. I’ll leave you now. Enjoy your day.’

And Uncle Teddy got into his Rolls Royce and drove off.

Jack crawled over the sand, Kate loved being buried in the sand, light aeroplanes passed overhead trailing advertising banners, Jack and Kate loved the water, and the day passed pleasantly; and they shopped, and Hilary cooked, and the children were utterly exhausted and fell asleep, and Uncle Teddy returned home and said, ‘Sun’s over the yard-arm. Time for the first Pernod,’ and they drank their
apéritifs
and ate
salade niçoise
and sea bass with fennel that Hilary had made very creditably, although the sea bass was slightly overcooked.

Over dinner Uncle Teddy asked what they’d done that day and pretended to be interested in their replies. Then they asked him what he’d done and he said, ‘Oh, you know, drove around the hills, put the roof down, felt the wind in my face, smelt the wild thyme, blew the cobwebs away.’

‘Don’t you have friends here?’ asked Hilary with that social directness that Henry admired and feared.

‘Oh yes. But you’ve heard of flags of convenience. These are friends of convenience. Friends of geography. I like the French, can’t think why so many British can’t stand them, but they’re foreigners to us, we’re foreigners to them, I don’t think we ever quite make real friends. The British are all exiles, like me, so there’s something wrong with them all, except the
bona fide
businessmen and diplomats, and the
bona fide
don’t like me because I’m not
bona fide
. Nice sea bass this, Hilary.’