A Close Connection (4 page)

However, Nicola had learnt something last night. Matthew reacted badly to criticism of his mother, even if it was deserved,
so for the sake of peace and harmony she would just have to button up in future. It was lovely in a way, for a son should stick up for his mother whatever the circumstances, but she suspected that, deep down, he might well agree with her and he probably felt guilty about that. Going to university, mixing with the Oxford set, had changed him and he had grown apart from his parents and their small lives. Within her own narrow world, Paula could hold her own, but step outside it and the poor soul was all a-flutter.

Nicola was glad, though, that she and Matthew had managed a quick kiss goodbye before she set off this morning and his murmured ‘Don’t let’s argue again’ had meant something. Maybe they would make up properly this evening and, as it was his turn to cook, she hoped he would get a bottle of wine even if it was midweek and they were trying to limit their drinking.

To her delight, her husband was the sort of man whom women inevitably stole a glance at and he was not even aware of his powers of attraction. There was no strutting around peacock-like from Matthew, just a slotting into whatever situation he happened to find himself. He was too fair-haired to fall into the tall, dark and handsome category, but there was just something about him, that indefinable something that ought to be snapped up and bottled.

She remembered clearly the first time she saw him at the hotel where he was attending some function, a boring-sounding seminar that had spilled over into the evening. The women in the group had abandoned their working suits and gone to town on their frocks as if it was some glitzy Christmas ball. The men were more soberly clad but even in the male uniform of well-tailored dark suit and white shirt, Matthew managed to stand out from the others.

By God, he looked good. She heard him laugh first and looked across, seeing some woman in a fitted red dress beside
him, a little dark-haired woman with a big bust, unashamedly flirting with him. Really, must she make it quite so obvious? Matthew was being charming but not taking the bait and she smiled to herself that all that ridiculous pouting and eye-fluttering was coming to nothing.

It was Nicola’s Mr Darcy moment, although she hoped as he glanced her way that she turned away before he detected her interest. She was supposed to be invisible, working at the time, assisting overseeing the corporate event and making sure it ran smoothly with no hitches, ready for action if it was necessary, standing unobtrusively off to one side watching proceedings in general but him in particular. She was not in the market for romance, for any sort of long-term thing, but not averse to a fling and there had been one or two of those at university and since, plus a few one-night stands at that, things she cringed at when she looked back at them.

She took after her mother with the same heavy dark hair and tall slender frame. She was not sure of her father’s contribution to the gene pool but she supposed some aspect of her personality was gained from him, for her father possessed a natural aura of charm and confidence and an undoubted ability to attract the opposite sex. That night, the night she met Matthew, she was severely hampered by her neat but dull suit so she could not compete with the woman in the sexy red dress but thank goodness her make-up was spot on and her hair looked good swept up.

It was entirely unethical of course to approach him in any way but she must have made some impression for he approached her as the party dispersed, exchanging a few words and somehow in the process getting hold of her mobile number. He was utterly charming with a gorgeous smile that reached his eyes but afterwards she felt quite flustered at the prospect of him contacting her again. She did not normally hand out her personal number to strangers – let there be a
modicum of holding back, for heaven’s sake – but he seemed witty and warm and it was love at first sight even if her mother laughed at that and told her she was watching too many of those romantic comedies. Walking on air – well, it felt suspiciously like that – she wished then that she had mentioned her feelings because normally she and her mother pretty much avoided talking about such things.

‘Love at first sight? Really, darling, I am sorry to disillusion you but it simply doesn’t work like that,’ her mother said. ‘It takes years to learn to love a man and in the end it’s more a case of just being used to each other and rather liking each other’s company.’

‘Thanks for that,’ she said, amused and not entirely surprised by her mother’s interpretation. She doubted her mother had ever been in love. She was in love with Matthew, never doubting for a minute that he was her Mr Right, and she was not going to let her mother’s rather jaded ideas about that stop her from believing it.

Her parents, particularly her father, were surprised at their insistence on a short engagement but they liked Matthew – also at first sight – and he charmed them as he had charmed her. Their only doubt was that the two of them were young to be considering marriage in this day and age, thirty-two and twenty-nine respectively, but they had not a leg to stand on there for both sets of parents had married when they were much younger.

Paula had only been twenty-two when she had Matthew, a mere child, and her own mother only a little older so if she became pregnant tomorrow she would be older than they when she had her first child. They should be glad they had decided to get married rather than opting to live together for a few years before they committed to that.

Once the wedding date was settled, her mother pulled out all the stops, sadly spared the delights of the long-term
planning she had been looking forward to, but managing, with Nicola’s budding events expertise on hand, to arrange the whole caboodle within weeks. There were a few raised eyebrows, no doubt, at what seemed the unseemly rush. Nicola did wonder herself just why they were going the whole hog when they scarcely knew each other, when they had never actually lived together at that, but it seemed right and – what the hell – she had caught something of the bridal excitement as an events coordinator, her job being to make sure that their brides had a day to remember. And being the centre of attention, if only for one day, was not something to be sniffed at.

She had always told herself she would be married some day, preferably before she was an age when she would look ridiculous in a wedding gown, and now, nearing thirty, seemed as good a time as any. At thirty, she knew her own mind and it really did not concern her what other people might think. Her dress was slim and elegant, costing a bomb of course, although to keep the peace they halved the price when Father asked. He was practically a millionaire, for heaven’s sake, wildly extravagant in some ways and brutally tight in others.

Despite the rushed-through arrangements, it was a fairy-tale wedding, no expense spared of course, their vows exchanged in the sweetest little village church imaginable, followed by a reception held in a marquee on the lawn at her parents’ house. The honeymoon in the Maldives courtesy of her parents had been fabulous. She could not believe that she was Mrs Walker, married to this fabulous man. How lucky was she?

Then, it was home to the little cottage by the bridge, the boundary bridge that separated the counties of Devon and Cornwall, and indeed, the Welcome to Kernow sign was just a few hundred yards down the track from their cottage.

That cottage, Honeysuckle Cottage would you believe, that had seemed so cosy and romantic a year ago, was now, with its insufferably twee name, getting on her nerves big-time.

S
OMETIMES, KICKING UP
a stink was the only way to deal with an awkward situation and Eleanor was fully prepared to do just that when she discovered that, of the two rooms allocated to them, only one had a lake view with balcony. The whole tour group had assembled in the spotlessly clean, flower-filled hotel foyer in order to collect their room keys and most of their party had already disappeared towards the lifts that would take them up to those rooms.

The four of them were left, tired and a little dishevelled, but it looked as if they would not be getting up to their rooms for a while yet, not until this was sorted to Eleanor’s satisfaction.

‘We don’t mind, do we, Alan?’ Paula said, a little tight-lipped as the tour representative was called over to the reception desk. Eleanor’s conversation with the reception clerk had been conducted in Italian – even though he spoke excellent English – but Paula got the gist of it as Eleanor kept leaning towards her to kindly translate. The clerk, superbly cast in the moody, darkly handsome Mediterranean mould, was being polite but firm. Totally embarrassed by the fuss, Paula almost got to the stage of tugging at Eleanor’s sleeve and telling her please to stop it. She was travel-weary and hot and in no mood for it. She
wanted to get up to her room – it could be a broom cupboard for all she cared just now – kick off her shoes, have a shower and unpack.

However it was apparent that Eleanor was not going to be moved, not easily. All her life, Paula had worked on the principle that arguments were just not worth the pain. Luckily she and Alan were not given to arguing, not much, and when they did, it blew over quickly and was as quickly forgotten. Sometimes there were little blowouts at the card shop amongst the staff, understandably not all of them getting on, and it was Paula who generally defused the situation. Peacemaker, negotiator, smoother and soother of ruffled feathers, that was Paula. However, dealing with the juniors at work and dealing with a mad-as-hell Eleanor were not quite the same thing.

‘If they think they are going to get away with this, they can think again,’ Eleanor muttered. ‘You have to stand firm on these things, Paula, or people will walk all over you.’

Paula sighed. For the love of heaven she couldn’t see what all the fuss was about. It wasn’t as if the room at the back had a view of a dustbin area because, on the contrary as the rep was quick to point out, it had a lovely view of the swimming pool at the rear and the terraced garden rising above it. In any case, they would be seeing plenty of the lake over the next two weeks and she wasn’t bothered about having a balcony. As Eleanor was forking out for this, it was, however, only right and proper that she had the better room, the superior they called it.

The rep, young and harassed, looked at them, specifically at Eleanor, with a pleading look, having introduced herself on the coach as Deborah. She was made up to the nines, her make-up shiny by now, and in her uniform of patterned blouse and dark-blue winter-weight skirt, she looked as hot as Paula felt. The uniform was unflattering and made her look twice her age although perversely just now as she chewed on her lip
trying to pacify the outraged Eleanor she looked like a child. Vaguely, in the delicate face, there was a look of Lucy about her, enough to cause a fluttering in Paula’s heart, enough to cause her to take a deep breath which she exhaled slowly.

‘It’s not a problem. Really it isn’t,’ Paula insisted, smiling at the young girl before turning to offer Eleanor a look of reassurance.

Eleanor was flushed, her mouth tight, eyes narrowed, and somebody should tell her that being outraged was not one of her better looks. Her hair was swept up and off her face, a few stray hairs escaping now from the securing comb, and even her make-up was losing its edge. The coach trip from the airport had been horrific with the air-conditioning only partially working. Having worn the sun hat as they stood at the airport entrance waiting for the coach, Paula’s short hair was flattened and, catching a glimpse of herself in the mirrored wall opposite, she tried ineffectually to fluff it up as they waited by the reception desk. Her feet, in the wedge-heeled shoes, were killing her.

Already this hotel was exceeding her wildest dreams, beating any she had experienced before because, of necessity, on the few times they had visited hotels, they had always opted for something on the cheap-and-cheerful spectrum. This one with its marble floors and extravagant displays of fresh flowers in large beautiful vases was out of this world, out of her world anyway. Although they were conducting their conversation in subdued tones a few guests, sensing trouble, glanced their way. The tour rep was now talking to the reception clerk, in English, her body language an indication of her flustered state.

‘If you are quite sure you don’t mind?’ Eleanor said, sensing impatience and retreating a little although she ignored Paula now and looked towards Alan.

‘Quite sure.’ He spoke up for the first time, his voice firm.
‘Leave it as it is, Eleanor. We’re happy to take the room overlooking the pool. Thanks, Deborah,’ he said with a smile. ‘And thank you,’ he added to the clerk, who gave him a nod of appreciation.

Eleanor seemed reluctant to abandon her efforts to ‘get things sorted’ but, glancing at Alan’s set face and seeing she was beaten, she gave in gracefully, accepting the rep’s apology but leaving her in no doubt that nothing else had better go wrong or else. At her side, Paula noted that Henry had a resigned look, noting also that he exchanged a ‘you know what women are like’ look with her husband.

This was not the first irritation on the way here. There had been a long wait at the airport at the luggage carousel – it was lunch time – and Eleanor had nearly incited a riot there followed by an almighty fuss in the coach, where she insisted on changing seats because the air conditioning above her first-choice seat was working overtime with a cold draught blowing down her neck. Paula recognized that poor Deborah would already have marked Eleanor – and by default, the four of them – as a potential troublemaker.

It was a relief for Paula to escape to their room for a while having arranged to meet up later for drinks before dinner.

‘Thank goodness for that,’ she said, flopping down onto the big soft bed. She loved the room and its simple but elegant furniture – very continental – and as she lay on the bed she could hear happy sounds from outside. People were splashing about in the pool below, and from the pool, wide stone steps led to a garden full of bright colours. Alan took off his shoes and lay down beside her, reaching for her hand and giving it a squeeze.

‘Tired, sweetheart?’

She nodded but she could not idle the time away for long because she would not rest until the unpacking was done. She started to unpack whilst Alan had a quick shower, finding a
notice as she was doing so informing her of the small safe at the back of the cupboard for their valuables. She should be so lucky.

Eleanor, she had noticed, was wearing the Nightingale family collection: a flashy engagement ring plus another equally bonkers-sized one on her other hand, a fancy diamond-encrusted watch and a slim gold bracelet and earrings. All that, and the handbag of course, instantly recognizable as designer. The woman must have plenty because she never seemed to use the same one twice. Paula had two at any one time: a black one and a cream one which was enough to cater for any of her outfits.

Who cares? For once, she was determined not to let things like that bother her in the slightest. She was going to let things like that wash over her and just ignore it even though the little digs, more like stabbings, had been present from day one, from the very first time they met.

It was a joy to Paula that, following his spell at university, her son chose to return to Plymouth. Part of the reason was probably that he wanted to please her because after they lost Lucy she knew that Matthew was very aware that he was now the only one. Lucy’s death happened when he had just started at university and he was devastated as they all were, and for a while threatened to leave and come home to be with them because he had lost interest in his course.

It meant a trip to Oxford to talk to him to persuade him otherwise. The three of them had taken a walk by the river and although she had rehearsed in her head what she would say it was Alan who took it upon himself to take his boy aside and talk privately man to man, leaving Paula to sit on a bench and watch from a distance. She was still in a state of shock, still working through the daily routine in a kind of fog, still apt to break down in tears at the oddest moments, still unable to get
off to sleep because she could not get those final moments out of her head.

Sitting on the bench that day in Oxford amongst all those beautiful ancient buildings, she watched her men. Her husband and son were alike and even from a distance you could tell they were father and son. Matthew was mercifully like Alan in looks, tall and strong, and Lucy had been like her, destined to be a little lady although Lucy had more about her and would never have been afraid to speak her mind. Lucy would have never let that silly situation in the foyer today develop as it had but then Lucy would never have allowed Her Ladyship to treat her as she did. Lucy, even at thirteen, had a mind of her own.

Sitting on the bench that day in Oxford, watching her two men in the distance, the recent devastating loss still raw in her head, she had held the tears at bay as she saw them heading back.

‘What did you say to him?’ she asked her husband afterwards when Matthew told her he had changed his mind and would be staying to finish his course.

‘Never you mind,’ Alan said, taking her in his arms as he had done so often since Lucy’s death. ‘He’s staying and he’s going to do his sister proud.’

And he did.

Returning to his roots then after getting his degree, Matthew might be working for an architect’s firm in the city centre but, as he was quick to point out, he would have to work hard to prove himself for the next few years. Then, he might move on, he warned his mother, so she was not to start thinking that he was going to be around here forever.

It was enough for her that he was close at hand for the time being, and she had to hide her disappointment when he announced, quite rightly according to his dad, that he would
not be coming to live back home but would get a place of his own in town, a bachelor pad, he called it, which turned out to be a lot-to-be-desired bedsit over a shop in a student-digs area.

She could not pretend that she liked that idea, which seemed daft to say the least when he could stay at home for a nominal rent, but Alan persuaded her that it was better that he had his own place because he was a grown man now and not the boy they had dispatched to university. He and Lucy had been close, the five-year age gap perfect, with none of the usual brother/sister bickerings. Lucy thought the sun shone out of her big brother, Matthew was very protective of his little sister and her sudden death had knocked them back but, looking back, Matthew, aside from that immediate gut-reaction threat to leave university, had coped well with it.

At least, on the surface.

He worked hard, was liked by his superiors and clients alike, so unsurprisingly he was on the fast track now and she was so very proud of him. She kept his bedroom more or less as it had been when he was at university and home for the holidays but she did not keep it as a shrine just as Lucy’s old room was not a shrine either. Her room became the study, a grand title for the small bedroom, completely redecorated with all trace of her removed.

They put the computer and a little desk in and Alan began to use it more and more as a bolt-hole. His disappearing up there in the evening did not bother her in the slightest, leaving her free to watch what she wanted on television – all the rubbish stuff – and, after a hard day standing on her feet at the shop, she was glad to slip off her shoes and put her feet up.

They had lived in this house since the children were small; tempted to move after Lucy died but, although they half-heartedly put the house on the market, it did not sell and in the end they withdrew it. Lucy was gone and would still be gone no
matter where they lived and Paula liked the house and the area and had a lot of friends round here, so they decided to stay put until such time as they were coming up to retirement when they might opt for something else.

She liked making plans, although of course things did not always follow that plan: but that was called Life, wasn’t it?

For a while then, for a few years following Matthew’s return to Plymouth, things went reasonably well. He was still learning the ropes at work and he had a way to go before he earned enough to be comfortably off, but in the meantime he was a handsome sociable soul and there were a few girlfriends, some of whom he brought home but none of them particularly serious. There was a teenage romance just before he went off to university and that had seemed worryingly intense for a while because Chrissie was in the Lower Sixth at school coming up to seventeen: a child from a broken home with a big chip on her slender shoulders. It was obvious to Paula that the poor child was on the lookout for a substitute family because her own was so disjointed, but, although Paula tried her best, she was uneasy about it, particularly so when Chrissie seemed to be spending more time with them than with her own mother. She knew Matthew cared for the girl and had been upset when she went off with her mother and stepdad to live in Kent so suddenly that it was very nearly a moonlight flit. But the teenage relationship would not have stayed the course in any event, not when he went off to Oxford and he met up with older, more sophisticated young women.

Matthew, hurt and disappointed, imagining Chrissie to be the love of his life, had slumped into a depression for a while immediately after her departure and it was Lucy who pulled him out of it, young Lucy whom he chose to talk to, not her.

To this day, though, whenever anybody said anything about that time, when various things were recalled, Chrissie’s name was noticeably absent from Matthew’s reminiscences.