The Queen of New Beginnings (32 page)

They were in the hospital cafeteria; misleadingly it was called The Orchard Cafe. The name conjured up a place of elegant refinement, of chintz and cream teas and starched linen napkins. The reality was quite different: the smell of fried food was heavy on the air and the place was a tip, with stacks of abandoned trays of plates waiting to be removed. There were chips mashed into the floor that was as sticky as a roll of fly paper, and stains on the walls that looked like Jackson Pollock had had a hand in their creation. To describe it as grim was a gross understatement. It was probably the breeding ground for the NHS’s next superbug.

But if their surroundings were grim, it was nothing compared to the gloomy expression on Clayton’s face. Alice wanted to believe it was the awfulness of the oil-soaked sausage roll he was endeavouring to eat that was responsible for his expression, but she had her doubts. She sensed he wanted to tell her something. Something that he believed would upset her more than his earlier revelation about Isabel. Which actually didn’t seem that bad to Alice. She was hardly going to throw herself at Isabel after all this time and scream, “You stole my daddy!” A meeting with Isabel would be all right. She would be able to cope with that. What she wasn’t so sure about, if it ever happened, was a meeting with Rufus and Natasha.

“Alice?”

Realizing that Clayton had been talking to her, she said, “Sorry, I was thinking of Isabel. And then Rufus and Natasha. How long do you think it will be before we can rule out them getting in touch via your agent?”

Clayton put down his knife and fork and moved the stainless steel salt pot to the right of the pepper pot, then, as if not liking the arrangement, he switched it back. “Um…I don’t think it will work quite like that,” he said. “There are things we script writers rather hope for, things like repeats and DVD sales.”

“You mean it’ll go on for ever, that I’ll never be able to stop worrying that they’ll suddenly reappear in my life?” Some of her old anger resurfaced. In fact, damn near all of it resurfaced in one furious instant. And in that instant, gone was her apology, her intention to say that it had been hypocritical of her to condemn him for something she was also guilty of doing. “Just what gave you the right to go sneaking around behind my back the way you did!” she threw at him. “How the hell did I ever trust you? God, you were convincing!” Her voice was raised and people were looking at her, their curiosity undisguised. But she didn’t care. Let them look. Let them know what kind of a man she’d been conned by.

“You’re right,” Clayton said quietly, his head down, “and on all counts. I’m not to be trusted.”

“And that doesn’t bother you, admitting that you’re the lowest of the low?”

“Would it make you feel better if it did?”

The heat of her anger cooled. She sighed. “I’ve lost the plot, if I’m honest, Clayton. I no longer know what would make me feel better anymore. Other than George making a miraculous recovery or dying sooner rather than later so that her last days are still worth something to her.”

After fiddling with the sugar bowl, and with his head still down, Clayton said, “I’m glad I came up to see George.”

His words further calmed the atmosphere between them. “I’m glad, too,” Alice said.

“Will you keep me posted on her?” he asked.

“Yes.”

He finally raised his head. “She seemed to think I made a reasonable fist of
The Queen of New Beginnings
,” he said, “if that doesn’t sound too much like I’m blowing my own trumpet.”

“You have every reason to be proud of it; it was good. The programme turned out better than I imagined it would.”

“Is that the nearest I’ll get to an honest appraisal from you?”

“You want more? You want me to shower you with flattery? Is that it?”

He shook his head. “I just want your honest opinion and then…” His words fell away and he was back to playing chess with the salt and pepper pots on the table.

“And then what?” pressed Alice.

He looked at her. “First give me your honest opinion. Whatever else, that’s important to me.”

Whatever else…Alice thought, that sounded ominous. “OK,” she said, “since it seems to matter to you so much, I thought you did a great job. For that reason alone I thought I could forgive you for what you did. You gave George a fantastic amount of pleasure, too. So that adds to your stock.”

After a lengthy silence, he said, “I never set out to hurt you. I want you to know that. But I had to write your story. It was a lifeline to me; I had no choice but to grab hold of it. I’m just sorry it was at your expense. I’m also sorry for everything else that may happen as a consequence of what I did.”

Again his words had an ominous ring to them. “Such as?” she asked.

“Such as Isabel wanting to meet you. I wasn’t sure how you’d react to that.”

“Right now, I think it’ll be OK. How did she seem? Has she changed?”

“You’re asking the wrong person. I never met her before so I don’t know how the years have treated her.”

“Of course,” Alice said absently. “It’s easy to forget that you weren’t there with us all. When I was watching the programme I sometimes got the strangest feeling, as if you’d been there with us at Cuckoo House. It was because you’d captured the mood and feel of everyone involved so well.”

“I was only able to do that because you told me your story so well in the first place.”

“At last, I get some long overdue credit.” Her voice was heavy with scorn. He couldn’t fail to hear it.

“I would have loved nothing more than to give you all the credit, Alice, but I didn’t because I thought it would make everything worse for you.” He picked up his fork, speared a piece of sausage roll, then seemed to think better of it. Pushing the plate away from him, he glanced at his watch.

“In a hurry?” she asked.

“Just keeping an eye on the time; I don’t want to miss my train. There isn’t another for several hours.”

“Oh,” she said flatly. “You’re not stopping the night then?”

“No,” he said. “Why? Did you think I would?”

“I thought maybe we could have had—” She stopped herself short. How had she got it so wrong? How had she leapt to the ridiculous conclusion that Clayton might want to spend the evening with her? Stupidly, oh, so stupidly, she had imagined that because he had said he’d missed her he might want to make things right with her. As shaming fury with herself grew, she was forced to acknowledge how much she had hoped the outcome of today would be that Clayton would be back in her life. She knew exactly where that hope had sprung from. It had been because he’d given
The Queen of New Beginnings
a rose-tinted happy ending with her living happily ever after. Yeah right! Like that was ever going to happen to her!

She looked at him across the table. He was now fiddling with a paper napkin, meticulously folding it in half and in half again. He was midway folding it once more when he suddenly screwed it into a tight little ball and tossed it onto his discarded plate. She had never seen him like this before. So distracted. So on edge. As though he were uncomfortable around her. One last vestige of hope roused itself: was he on edge because he didn’t know how she felt about him? Was that what this was all about? If she told him, would that change things?

“Clayton?”

“Alice?”

They’d both spoken at the same moment.

“You first.”

“You first.”

They’d done it again.

“Great minds think alike,” Alice said with a nervous smile. “You go first, I insist.”

If she had thought he looked edgy before, now he looked as though he were standing before a firing squad. Whatever he had to say, it was clearly causing him a lot of anxiety.

“I need you to understand something, Alice,” he said. “I really enjoyed our time together. It meant a great deal to me. It still does. Not only that, you gave me something incalculably precious; you inspired me to write again. And with that came the confidence and belief I could do it. You’ll never know just how grateful I’ll always be to you for that.”

She sensed the but of all buts just seconds away.

“But…”

There it was!

“…despite all of that, despite what you mean to me, or more precisely
because
of what you mean to me, I have to be completely straight with you. I can never be the man you’d want me to be.”

“How do you know what kind of a man I’d want you to be?” she said indignantly. “Or indeed if I want you to be anything at all?” Oh yes, present her with a but and she’d come out fighting, you could count on that.

“OK, admittedly I may have got that wrong, but perhaps that was because I was…Oh, well, whatever I was basing it on, you have to know that I can’t give you what you deserve. Remember, I’m the one we both agreed is morally bankrupt. I probably always have been and always will be. I wish I weren’t the man I am because then things could be different between us. But I can’t change. I am who I am. If I’ve shafted you once, who’s to say I wouldn’t do it again?”

“Put like that, how could I possibly argue with you? I’d have to be mad to want to have anything to do with you. I appreciate your honesty.”

There was nothing like being made to feel stupid to strengthen one’s resolve. That had to be a good thing in the long run. As was knowing exactly where one stood. Alice was grateful for that, at least.

But really. No,
really
. How could Clayton have tried that old it’s-not-you-it’s-me crock of shit on her? She would have expected better of him, something considerably more creative. Anything but some pathetic I’m-not-the-man-you-need number. Who was he to say what kind of man she needed? Who was he to say she even needed a man? Big mistake, mister!

Another anxious look out of the window.

Another anxious glance at her watch.

Alice had been doing this for the last twenty minutes. Isabel was due to arrive any time now. Alice had no way of knowing if Isabel was a punctual kind of person or the type who would bother to call if she knew was going to be late, so she was prepared to be on tenterhooks for a while yet. When she thought about it, and despite this woman having played such a crucial part in Alice’s life, she knew next to nothing about her. How could it be otherwise? They had met only the once.

After Clayton had left the hospital early yesterday evening, Alice had returned to George. Battling his rejection of her, and eschewing any references to Clayton that the old woman made, Alice had discussed with her what she should do about Isabel. They were in agreement; Alice should meet her as soon as possible.

When Alice got home, she had taken the contact details Clayton had given her and emailed Isabel. She had decided against telephoning—she didn’t want to hear Isabel’s voice; she didn’t want any clues to the Isabel of the here and now. She wanted to wait until she could look her in the eye and assimilate her. Within half an hour of sending the email, she received a reply. Ten minutes later and it was all arranged: Isabel would drive up to meet Alice the next day.

Today.

The sound of a car engine had Alice hurrying to the window. In the process of being parked on the road behind Alice’s car was a large, shiny black four-by-four. When she saw the driver’s door open, Alice ducked away from the window. She went out to the hall and waited for the sound of the doorbell. The last thing she wanted was to appear too keen by flinging wide the front door and pouncing on Isabel. A strategy of cool, understated welcome was required. But even though she was anticipating it, the shrill ring of the bell when it came made her jump. She counted to ten, took a deep breath and opened the door.

The first thing Alice noticed was the enormous bunch of flowers Isabel was carrying. The second thing she noticed was just how beautiful Isabel was. And when she smiled, Alice felt as if it had been only yesterday when she had last been on the receiving end of its dazzling charm. “Come in,” she said, inexplicably tempted to do away with her strategy of restraint and to hug her guest. It was an echo of all those years ago when Isabel had arrived at Cuckoo House as the enemy and yet Alice had still fallen helplessly under her spell. Whilst it was true that she had aged, Isabel was unquestionably as lovely as Alice remembered. She was possibly even more beautiful; maturity had intensified what had been there before and given her an enviable depth of grace and elegance. In comparison, and beneath Isabel’s alarmingly direct gaze, Alice felt as polished as a warthog.

“What a lovely cottage,” Isabel exclaimed after Alice had led her through to the kitchen and had offered to make some coffee. The smell of freshly made bread greeted them. Seeing the plaited loaf on the table surrounded by plates of cheese, quiche, olives, slices of chorizo, Isabel let out another exclamation. “Oh, Alice, you’ve gone to so much trouble. Please don’t tell me you made that bread. Although I just know you’re going to say you did.”

Alice gave a little self-effacing shrug. “When I have the time I like to cook.”

“I remember what a good cook you were. For someone so young, you were immensely capable. I was quite in awe of you.”

“I wasn’t that capable. I just got on with things.”

“And you haven’t changed, I suspect. I’m so glad you agreed to meet me. When I asked Clayton to try and arrange it, I didn’t hold out much hope. He’s an interesting man, don’t you think?”

“That’s one way to describe him,” Alice said noncommittally as she poured their coffee.

“He mentioned that you had been involved for a while and that—”

“I don’t know what he told you,” Alice interrupted, “but if you don’t mind, I’d rather not talk about him. Milk? Sugar?”

“Just milk, please. I’m sorry for appearing to pry. That wasn’t my intention.”

“I’m sure it wasn’t,” Alice said curtly.
Really!
Just what had that wretched Clayton been saying! Was there to be nothing private in her life now? “I think it’s warm enough to sit outside,” she said, her tone no less clipped.

When they were settled in the small courtyard garden, after Alice had felt her scrutinizing gaze sweeping over her once more, Isabel said, “You have a lovely home, Alice.” The sun was shining brightly and for once the garden was looking its best. “How long have you lived here?” she asked.

Alice provided her with a potted history of what had brought her here, the hows and the whys.

“You seem settled,” Isabel commented when she’d finished. “I envy you that. My feet never stop itching; they’re always looking for somewhere new to go. Of course, it’s not my feet that are the problem, it’s what inside me that’s at fault. I’ve never been able to fill the gap your father left in my life after he died.”

At last, thought Alice, the elephant in the room had been referred to. But she didn’t say anything. She waited for Isabel to continue.

“Did Clayton tell you anything about the conversation he and I had?” Isabel asked.

“No,” Alice answered, “only that you wanted to meet me.”

“Good, that means I can tell you the whole story without worrying that you’ve heard some of it before. Firstly, I want you to know that I really did love your father. It wasn’t a mere passing fancy taking off with him the way I did. Never have I done anything so reckless or so impulsive and which felt so right. Since then, with one exception, I’ve never felt so sure about something as I did that Christmas. I hope you can believe me. Your father was genuinely the love of my life. I would have done anything for him.”

“Did he feel the same about you?”

“Yes.”

“You made each other happy?”

“Yes. Very happy.”

“Then it was all worth it then, wasn’t it?”

“And that, if you’ll forgive me, was said with great feeling. But then you’ve had a long time to wait before having the opportunity to say it.”

Alice took a sip of her coffee. “I hope you’re not going to be so annoyingly reasonable throughout this entire conversation.”

They stared at each other. Very slowly, they each began to smile, and then they laughed. Easily and companionably.

“You know, Alice, that’s exactly the kind of thing your father might have said. Do you suppose he’s looking down from on high and willing us to straighten this mess out on his behalf?”

“And wouldn’t it be just like him to leave it to us to sort it out?”

“Well then, if nothing else, let’s show him how it’s done.” Isabel put her mug of coffee down on the table. “I might be overstepping the mark, but can I do what I wanted to do when I first arrived?”

“What’s that?”

“I’d like to give you a hug.”

They were just letting go of each other when Alice saw Bob’s head appear over the garden wall. He whistled loudly. “I hadn’t got you pegged as being into girl-on-girl action, Alice, but now I see where I’ve been going wrong all this time.”

“Go away, Bob!”

“Aren’t you going to introduce me?”

“No!”

“Spoilsport.” He waved at Isabel. “Hi,” he said, “I’m Bob.”

Isabel smiled. “I’d got that bit.”

“So who might you be?”

“She’s none of your business,” Alice cut in. “Now go and pump some iron or whatever it is you do to prove what a man you are.”

“Why? Are you going to start hugging again?”

“If you must know, we’re going to have some lunch. Now buzz off!”

Bob looked at Isabel. “She gets like this when she’s premenstrual. Very shirty. I’ll be seeing you, then.”

His head disappeared from view but his voice could still be heard. “Say nice things about me, Alice. I can still hear you.”

“Come on,” Alice said to Isabel, “we’ll have lunch indoors, away from Big Ears.”

“I heard that!”

“You were meant to!”

• • •

“You have some very interesting men in your life,” Isabel remarked when they were back inside the kitchen and Alice was slicing the loaf of bread. “I take it Bob has a soft spot for you?”

“A soft spot in the head more like it. For some strange reason he refuses to give up on the idea that eventually I’ll fall madly in love with him. He’s actually been very kind to me recently. He—” She stopped herself abruptly. She didn’t want to go into all that business with Clayton. Her priority today was her father. “Help yourself to some quiche,” she said as she put the bread knife down and sat opposite Isabel. “Glass of wine?”

“Thank you. But only a small one. Finish what you were saying.”

“What was I saying?” Alice said, feigning absentmindedness. “About Bob being kind to you.”

“Oh, that. It was nothing. Olives?”

“Was it to do with Clayton?”

Alice put the dish of olives down. “Now why would you say that?”

“Because I know he was upset about what happened between the two of you.”

“Well, that’s what you get when you prove yourself to be a duplicitous bastard. People get hurt and upset. He’ll get over it. Besides, I don’t believe he could have been that upset, not after his visit yesterday. He made his feelings very clear.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“Oh, yes. He gave me a very nicely prepared little speech about him not being good enough for me. Have you ever heard a more lame or more clichéd excuse for bailing out?”

“You don’t think he was being sincere? Maybe he truly believes he isn’t worthy of you after what he did. Mm…this bread is to die for, Alice. You must give me the recipe.”

“Do you always try to think well of everyone?” Alice asked after she’d considered what Isabel had said.

Isabel laughed. “Certainly not. But there was something about Clayton that struck me…oh, let’s just say he struck me as being quite a complex character. But a good man at heart. Which I know you won’t agree with, given the way he went about writing
The Queen of New Beginnings
without your permission, but I can imagine how that happened for him. There he was, presented with a fantastic opportunity to cure himself of his writer’s block—how could he not follow it through in the hope that, eventually, he would be able to convince you he wasn’t betraying you or your father?”

“Yes, yes, yes!” Alice snapped impatiently. “But you can’t deceive or trample on other people’s feelings without there being consequences.”

“You don’t need to tell me that. If I hadn’t given in to my feelings for Bruce, Julia might still be alive and you would never have been separated from your father. You don’t think I’ve had to consider those consequences all these years? But you know, the truth is, if you were to rewind time and put me back at Cuckoo House that Christmas, I’d do exactly the same thing again. I wouldn’t be able to stop myself. I think Clayton found himself in a similar situation with the golden opportunity your story gave him. He simply couldn’t stop himself. Maybe he and I have something in common: we’re both weak. Whereas you, Alice, are strong and able to resist such selfish temptation.”

Irritated that Clayton had found himself such a staunch defender in Isabel, Alice said, “Look, can we leave Clayton out of the conversation, please? I want to know more about the life you and my father had together. Tell me what you did when you left Cuckoo House on Boxing Day.”

Isabel smiled and helped herself to some cheese. “First let me say something I’ve always wanted to say. It’s many, many years too late to make a real difference but I need to do it. I need to apologize to you. I’m sorry your father and I left in the way we did. It was wrong on just about every level you could possibly name, and I’ve always regretted that we never explained or said good-bye to you. Your father felt the same way, too. It was why he wrote all those letters to you. You did receive them, didn’t you?”

“Whilst I was still living in Cuckoo House I received lots of letters, none of which I read.”

Isabel’s expression changed. She suddenly looked profoundly sad. “Oh, Alice, your father feared as much, but you must believe me when I say he never gave up.”

“I know. George told me about him going to see her.”

“Bruce knew and understood that you were angry and hurt by what we’d done but he believed that in time you’d forgive him. Have you forgiven him? Tell me that you have, Alice. If not for my benefit, for the sake of your half sister.”

“For Natasha’s sake? Why on earth would I do that?”

Isabel’s expression changed again and a slow smile radiated back at Alice. “Your father and I had a child, Alice. Her name is Grace and she’s eleven years old.”