The Look of Love (28 page)

‘Are you going to tell me, or was it so magically wonderful in a disgracefully private way that you can’t say a single word about it in case the spell evaporates?’

Bella thought for a moment. Really, she didn’t want to say anything at all to anyone, but if she didn’t, Jules would be hurt and puzzled and would look at her in a Concerned Way all afternoon. She couldn’t face that. It would be bad enough facing Saul later, let alone coping with someone else doing too much wondering.

‘OK, look come through to the garden; I’ll give you the bones of it before the others come back.’

‘Ha ha! Bones! Did he jump on yours?’ Jules was nothing if not upfront.

‘Jules! So subtle, not! Hey, it’s lunchtime; do you fancy a sandwich in here rather than out in the truck with the others?’ Bella opened the fridge. ‘I’ve got a load of chicken and some salad stuff, though what about Molly … she’s out there …’ Bella thought about how Molly had been feeling earlier. So that would be two in the house that evening having man-misery. She only hoped her mother was having better luck out with hers (wherever they were … did all older people gad about as much as Shirley and her new beloved did?) or it would be all-round tears and a takeaway later. Not a jolly prospect.

‘Don’t worry about Molly; last seen flirting with that nice boy who plays with the big fluffy sound thingy.’

Bella’s heart upped its pace. ‘Are they all back? Is …’ her voice faded out. She couldn’t quite say his name. Ridiculous – whatever she was speculating about in terms of the Saul-and-Daisy scenario, she had to work with both of them this afternoon. And tomorrow and the next day. Of course, she could just see him alone later and ask him to explain. But if she did, she wouldn’t know if he’d ever intended to come out with the truth. This was a case of setting a test for him, and she didn’t like herself very much for it.

‘No, no one else is here. It’s all clear for you to tell me all,’ Jules said.

Bella and Jules assembled a couple of doorstep-sized chicken salad sandwiches, deliciously spread with cranberry sauce but no butter, ‘as a gesture towards the diet’, Jules claimed, and splodged with mayonnaise as a bonus, then took them outside to the garden with generous glasses of Sauvignon Blanc.

‘Not enough to make us pissed,’ Jules assured Bella as they settled at the terrace table, ‘but enough to loosen us up and make us sparkle on camera later. I hope. OK, now I’m sitting comfortably, you can begin.’

‘We went out for dinner at Mon Plaisir,’ Bella told her, ‘That’s … er … about it really.’ It sounded a flat, dull event when put like that. Thinking of how it had really been gave Bella a delicious reminiscent tingle, followed by a surge of sadness.

‘Oh come on! I didn’t forgo Mandy’s crispy bacon and avocado salad just to hear you say you had a Quite Nice time, thank you, and with no details!’ Jules studied her intently. ‘I’ve seen the way you two look at each other. There’s definitely a buzz between you. Or was. Did it all go horribly wrong? It didn’t look that way this morning. You had that glow-of-shame. I was
so
envious.’

Bella felt ridiculously close to tears. This wasn’t allowed or Simone would have to redo all the so-natural make-up, right back to basics.

‘No.’ She sighed and pushed the second half of her sandwich away, suddenly without any appetite. ‘No, it all went horribly right. It was fantastic, brilliant. But – maybe I’m just not cut out for being good at relationships. There’s always some great big furry fly in the ointment. Sorry, Jules, I can’t really talk about it right now. I know that sounds a bit up-myself-ish but I promise I’ll explain some time after all this stupid
Fashion Victims
palaver is over. It’s just a bit too close to home with this going on. I can’t wait to be back to normal, if I’m honest. And,’ she laughed rather shakily, ‘I don’t care what Daisy says, I
don’t
want to wear the skirt on my rail that’s got a waist like a gathered-up paper bag! I had one of those years ago, a suede Maxfield Parrish one which I thought was gorgeous, but it made me look like a big tree trunk with
a frill round its middle.’ She felt she was waffling, anything to distract Jules from talking about Saul.

‘You should tell Daisy about the old skirt – she’ll be desperate to know if you’ve still got it. She’d go, “Oh but
darling
, how
perfectly
vintage.”’

‘Perfectly vintage if you want to look like that elephant in a ballet skirt. Babar, wasn’t it? I used to read those books to Alex and then later Molly.’

That was all back in the days of James. James had been a good and rather sweet father, till he decided that cleanliness might be the closest thing to godliness but was also next to impossible for a household with small, messy humans and an ordinary, imperfect, mortal woman in it. Bella felt sad for the swift passing of time, the even swifter passing of love. She felt rather silly, too. After last night, she’d really thought she and Saul had something special going. Now she could see it was just plain old geed-up lust with little depth to it. That, she thought as she cleared the remains of the sandwich away into the bin and finished the last of her wine,
that
would teach her to hear one tiny, insubstantial bit of information and blithely assume there was no more to the story.

‘Oh it’s hard to beat
Breakfast at Tiffany’s
, even if the film is a bit tame compared with the book. In the book she was
definitely
a tart and he was a kept man. In the film it’s only lightly implied.’

‘Or possibly a case of
politely
implied,’ Dennis suggested. ‘The Americans are a bit prissy about that sort of thing. Not quite done, openly embracing an immoral woman as a heroine.’

‘A flawed one, though; in many ways Holly Golightly is hard to like.’ Shirley felt utter contentment as she and Dennis emerged into the rush-hour crowds and sunlight from the Prince Charles cinema near Leicester Square. ‘All the same, it’s one of those films that’s such a perfect old friend. Like
The Great Escape
at Christmas; you have to watch it even though you’ve seen it a good dozen times before and probably know most of the lines, just to make sure it’s still there.’

‘And next week they’ve got
Some Like It Hot
. I know we could see all these on DVD but I think there’s something special and a bit naughty about sliding off to the cinema in the afternoon,’ Dennis said. ‘At one time it would have been an unthinkable indulgence, wasting daytime in frivolous entertainment, especially a sunny afternoon, cooped up in a cinema
in the dark
. Now, we have all the leisure time we want and can do what we like.
And
at concession rates! We’re
supposed
to do this!’

Dennis was holding Shirley’s hand, guiding her through the five o’clock crush and making her feel thoroughly cherished. It was a long time since she’d felt like this with anyone. And the cinema had reminded
her of her own teen years; plush, small and with such snuggly double seats.

‘Where shall we go now?’ she asked as they walked down Wardour Street. ‘Do you fancy tea at Patisserie Valerie?’

‘I’ve got something else in mind,’ he told her, hailing a taxi. ‘Just a little item that I need to pick up somewhere not too far away. It’s for you, actually. I think you’ll like it. At least, I hope so – is there a woman born who doesn’t like a spot of luxury shopping?’

He must have thought this through, Shirley realized as she climbed into the back of the cab, because their mystery destination was a secret written on a piece of paper and passed between the driver and Dennis. The driver was smiling, his eyes twinkling at Shirley by way of the mirror as he pulled out into the traffic and headed towards Regent Street, then turned off into the small back roads.

‘I won’t ask where we’re going,’ she said to Dennis, ‘because I can see you’re enjoying the mystery. Are you sure I’m going to like it? Luxury shopping sounds fun but if it involves something completely mad like … oh like a parrot from the Harrods pet department, then I have to tell you now, I don’t like birds very much.’

‘Oh no! That’s it then!’ Dennis laughed. ‘If I’d known you wouldn’t want to share our life with a big sweary
cockatoo I’d never have asked you to marry me! No, I promise it’s not a parrot. And we’re here.’

Shirley looked out of the cab window: Tiffany’s. Of course it was. First the film, now the real thing. How perfectly sweet of Dennis! ‘We should have our noses to the window and be having pastries and coffee!’ she laughed. ‘Except of course our generation does
not
eat on the street!’

‘Certainly not,’ Dennis agreed. ‘Though I’ve been known to indulge in an ice cream on Brighton seafront.’

‘Oh, I think that’s allowed,’ she conceded. ‘In fact it borders on compulsory.’

Shirley had never been inside Tiffany’s Bond Street shop. One Christmas she had bought silver Elsa Peretti earrings for Bella from the Tiffany concession in Harrods – the same Christmas that Bella had co-incidentally bought Shirley her broad silver bangle. However, she had never had reason to visit the big flagship store and for a woman who was well used to quite upmarket shopping, she was surprised to find she felt mildly intimidated as the doorman opened the door and she and Dennis stepped inside.

The display counters in front of her glimmered with diamonds. Shirley hung back a bit, unsure. She wasn’t unsure about marrying Dennis, not in the slightest, but was ambivalent about the formal engagement-ring thing and hadn’t anticipated that they’d be doing that
particular ritual. Her late husband had given her his mother’s sapphire and pearl ring when they’d got engaged, purely because it was apparently a family tradition to hand this ring down through the generations. It had never really fitted and she’d thought it rather old-fashioned but had kept it carefully in its little velvet box, feeling she was keeping it safe for her mother-in-law, should she ever feel the need to pawn it or even just to look at it. She never had. Perhaps she hadn’t much liked it either.

‘Oh good grief. All those diamonds! I really don’t like diamonds!’ It felt like a heretic thing to blurt out, here in this temple of jewels. She hoped none of the assistants had heard – she really didn’t mean to insult their stock.

‘Oh!’ Dennis laughed. ‘Just as well I didn’t go ahead and buy one and plonk it in a cake or something then, isn’t it? Or … Are you having second thoughts? I do hope not.’

‘Not about marrying you; of course I’m not. But engagement rings – I’ve never been that keen on those. I don’t see the point of them, really.’

‘Yes, I completely agree with you! That’s why we’re not buying one!’ He chuckled and pressed the lift-call button.

‘Oh!’ She felt flustered now, sure she’d made a horribly embarrassing mistake. ‘Of course, sorry! I’m
being disgracefully presumptuous. Maybe you’ve come to buy yourself some cufflinks.’

‘And maybe I haven’t,’ he told her, pushing her gently into the lift. He pressed the button for the top floor: Repairs and Engravings.

How little they really knew each other, she thought. And how little it mattered. At last she could trust that the all-important thing was how they felt about each other. They were fully formed, as evolved in their lives as they were going to be, and could absolutely accept each other as they were. Dennis was someone she loved being with and who loved being with her. As Molly would no doubt say, ‘End of’.

Shirley waited by the lift while Dennis went to talk to the assistant. Out of the window, across the street, was the Salvatore Ferragamo store. It was, from ground level, just a plain, rather dull building, gilded here and there with the kind of ordinary olive-wreath design that decorated so many London shops. But from up here, not far from roof level, she had a perfect view of a stunningly ornate plaque depicting Caspar, Melchior and Balthazar. She studied it, feeling privileged to be getting this sight of it that no one below could see.

‘I should probably give you this when we’re in bed, or in a restaurant or something.’ Dennis reappeared, clutching a small box. ‘But I can’t wait. I’m just dying to
know if you like it. I’m now thinking maybe
I
was being presumptuous – I’m afraid I skipped straight to the wedding ring. Do you think that’s something to do with not wanting to waste time?’

It was, if you could think of it that way, an unassuming little ring. Platinum. Plain platinum with one simple rose sapphire set into the metal.

‘Dennis, I love it. It’s absolutely perfect.’

‘Here, let me put it on.’ He slipped the ring on to her wedding finger. ‘It’s not unlucky, is it? I mean you have to see if it fits …’

‘Oh it fits, all right! How did you know the size?’

‘Ah – when we went to the Byzantine exhibition, you slipped a ring on your finger in the gift shop and it fitted, but you said you didn’t like it that much and put it back in the display … so I nabbed it and secretly bought it.’

‘Devious!’ Shirley looked at the ring in the window’s light. ‘The stone, it’s pink but it’s a sunset pink. The rays of the sun just as they’re going.’ One of them would almost certainly die, she suddenly thought, die in the next five, ten years, if they were lucky enough to have that long. She felt a stab of future pain; this really was a sunset romance. If only young people, and she was thinking more of Bella than Molly here, if only they realized how fast the time goes. Please make the best of love that you can, don’t waste time holding out for
something ‘more’ perfect; she sent a silent prayer up for her daughter.

‘And – I’m so glad you like it, because I can’t return it. It’s engraved,’ Dennis told her. ‘Have a look.’

Shirley removed the ring and peered at the inscription.

‘It’s to commemorate that day we first really
knew
,’ he said. ‘It just says “Barcelona”, and the date.’

Fliss and Nick had strung four brightly coloured washing lines up in the garden. The day had a hot, dull haze to it and the plum tree was looking as weary as the humans were feeling, dropping overripe fruit on the lawn down by the back wall. The cat lay stretched out in the shade of the camellia, fast asleep. Bella could see his pale tummy rising and falling evenly as he breathed. Every now and then his feet twitched, then his mouth and whiskers flicked as if he were trying to miaow in his dreams. If cats
had
dreams, she thought, watching Keith snoozing, oblivious to the activity around him. Perhaps he fantasized about the next mouse – the big one that kept getting away – or catching something bigger, more of a trophy than a mere pigeon, his current favourites.