A French Affair (26 page)

She cheered up when they got through the door of the centre. Things were bustling although it was early afternoon, which wasn’t always a very busy time. She saw Andrew, the Gilbert and Sullivan fan, and went over to talk to him.

‘How are you doing?’ she asked him.

‘Can’t complain. Business is doing quite well, actually.’ He smiled. ‘All thanks to you and your sister.’

Gina brushed this aside; it was very nice of him to say so, but it hardly mattered now. ‘And how’s the Gilbert and Sullivan going?’

Andrew sighed. ‘Well, not quite such a rosy picture. Our latest production was a bit disappointing.’

‘Oh, why’s that?’ asked Gina, wondering if she should go and find Matthew.

‘Well,’ Andrew said, launching in, ‘we borrowed this little theatre to do it in and although it was a gem, it only seated about a hundred people, which meant lots of the company’s family and friends couldn’t get tickets.’

‘Oh?’ Although no one would have guessed it, Gina was only listening with half her attention. She spotted Bill moving out a big table and wasn’t sure if he’d sold it or was taking it out of the centre. Was he moving out all together? That would be very bad news. She would never describe him as a rat, but if he’d found out the ship was sinking, she could hardly blame him.

Before she could get too gloomy Jenny appeared with a mug of tea. ‘Matthew said you wanted this. He’ll be down in a minute.’

He was hurrying her off the premises, she thought, as she sipped and nodded and tried to focus.

‘. . . we had such beautiful costumes and were singing better than we ever had done, and all for a couple of hundred.’

Gina frowned. ‘I thought you said the theatre seated a hundred?’

‘Two nights. It would have been OK if we’d had it for a week, but we couldn’t.’

‘What a shame!’ she said, looking round.

Matthew was coming towards them carrying a box. He was smiling. Not grinning from ear to ear or anything like that, but with a definite stretch in his mouth. It was a decided improvement on the last few hours.

‘This came for you while we were away,’ he said, handing it to her.

‘What is it?’

‘I have no idea. Open it and see. It came from Nicholas.’

It was an old-fashioned dress box from Harrods. It was in good condition but the Harrods lettering hailed from another decade; the 1940s possibly, thought Gina.

‘Here, put it down on this table,’ said Andrew. ‘I’ll find my knife so you can get in it.’

Eventually the tape was cut through and the box opened. Several layers of yellowed tissue paper were revealed. Carefully Gina lifted them and exposed layers of silk and lace. Confused, she lifted it out of the box.

‘Ah ha,’ said Matthew. ‘Now we know what it is.’

‘What?’ asked Andrew, together with Bill, who had joined the group.

‘I took Gina to see Nicholas Davenport the other day.
He took a definite shine to her and said she looked like his grandmother.’

‘It’s the dress she was wearing in the painting,’ said Gina, awed by the ancient beauty in her hands.

‘There’s a note,’ said Jenny, who had been passing and had stopped to see what they were all looking at.

Gina picked it up. It was a sheet of headed writing paper.
My dear Gina, I know you said you didn’t want me to give this to you, but I feel you should indulge an old man sometimes. I hope one day to see you in it. With very best wishes, Nicholas.

Gina held the dress up against her, admiring the delicate silk and lace.

‘Try it,’ said Jenny, clapping her hands. ‘Let’s see what it looks like on.’

‘I’ll never get into it. Women were tiny in those days.’

‘Don’t forget she was pregnant when she had that portrait painted. Nicholas told us,’ said Matthew.

Gina gave him a look. If he was saying she was fat he would live to regret it.

‘Do let us see you in it,’ pressed Bill. ‘It’s a beautiful dress. Worth a few bob, I’d have thought.’

Still Gina hesitated although by now she was dying to see what she looked like in it.

‘Come into my room,’ said Jenny. ‘Go on. I think you’ll get into it just fine!’

In fact it didn’t quite do up at the back but Jenny insisted it could be let out.

‘It would be a shame to spoil it though,’ said Gina. ‘Currently it’s original and valuable. I shouldn’t accept it really.’

‘Oh, don’t be silly,’ said Jenny briskly. ‘Now let’s show
the chaps. I’m sure Matthew – and the others,’ she added quickly, ‘would love to see you in it. You’re quite decent. I’ll just adjust the sash to hide your knickers. There.’

Gina gathered up her skirts and walked back into the main part of the shop. She realised Jenny must know about her and Matthew – or maybe she was just wondering. Did the others know? And would they mind? If Jenny was fine about it it would be such a relief. She was so important to Matthew and the centre. But then after what Matthew had said earlier perhaps it didn’t matter at all anyway. Their romance might have had ended before it had really begun.

‘Hey, look at you!’ said Bill.

‘Gorgeous!’ whistled Andrew.

Gina looked at Matthew. He was smiling at her, obviously approving, but with the sadness that caught at her heart. ‘You’re a delight,’ he said.

And as he drove her home, with the little table in the back of the Volvo, there were no more smiles. She couldn’t help feeling he was detaching himself from her.

‘Matthew,’ she said, ‘are we all right?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I mean – like we were in France?’

The fact that he hesitated told her what to expect.

‘I’m sorry, Gina, this whole business with Yvette and the centre . . . I’m likely to be left with nothing. I can’t seem to think about anything else.’

‘But I can help you with that, like I said.’

‘You can’t dig me out of this hole, however much you want to.’

‘And what about us?’

He sighed. ‘I can’t pay you the attention you deserve
while I’ve got this hanging over me. And I can’t expect you . . . I’m hardly a good prospect. Let’s just see . . .’

They pulled up outside Gina’s cottage. He took her bags out of the boot and handed them to her. ‘I’ve got to go, I’ll call you.’ He kissed her on the cheek and left her standing there by the gate wondering what had hit her.

Slowly Gina carried her bags and the box with the dress in it into the house and put the kettle on. What on earth happened there? It couldn’t just be Yvette’s threat hanging over him that had made him so distant, could it? Surely he didn’t think his money problems would mean she didn’t want him?

She hadn’t been dumped. She refused to be dumped. When she thought of all they’d shared – the wonderful tender, passionate, thoughtful sex – she couldn’t think they were finished. She wouldn’t let his pride ruin something that had been so lovely. She just couldn’t.

She pulled out a bottle of wine she’d bought for Sally and opened it. She wouldn’t despair, she’d just think bloody hard and work out a solution. She’d show Matthew. She could be as stubborn as he was.

After the first glass of wine she rang Sally. She told her how wonderful France had been but not what had happened at the restorers or afterwards. She didn’t want sympathy just now. And while she was willing to mentally hurl every insult she could think of at Matthew, she didn’t want anyone else to say a single bad word about him. This was a blip, it was not the end of the affair.

In the night she had an idea so crazy she actually jotted it down just in case it wasn’t quite as crazy as it seemed.
In the morning she looked at the words ‘Iolanthe’ and ‘Fairfield Manor’.

She took the old receipt, which had been the only bit of paper she could find in the middle of the night, downstairs so she could think about it with a clear head. Just how mad was the idea?

It was pretty off the wall, she admitted, as the kettle boiled and she transferred the words on to a foolscap pad. But it had merit. She listed the merits too, so when she talked to Matthew about it she would have all her ducks in a row.

First on her action list was to ring Nicholas. She had the perfect excuse. She had to thank him for the dress. She would have written as she felt such a wonderful present deserved something more than a phone call, but she wanted to invite herself to tea – or drinks if that would suit him better. She wanted to get back inside his house. Her mind was now fizzing with ideas. It was a good distraction from Matthew. He hadn’t phoned.

She caught up with other work until eleven o’clock when she felt a telephone call might be acceptable. Bernard gave her the impression that Nicholas would be pleased to hear from her and eventually he came on the line.

‘I’d really like to thank you in person,’ she said. ‘It was such a generous present.’

‘Darling girl, it would be delightful to see you. Drinks?’

‘Can I come to tea? I’ll bring a cake.’

‘A home-made cake? I can’t remember the last time I ate one. Come at four. We can always move on to sherry if it seems appropriate.’

Baking wasn’t one of Gina’s most practised skills and she considered buying a cake, or scouring the local WI markets
for one. But as she wouldn’t be able to lie to Nicholas, and trying to buy a decent one would probably take up more time than actually making one herself, she called in at the Spa shop and bought ingredients. She opted for chocolate and then any failures in the actual baking could be disguised with icing.

Her cake really looked very nice, she thought as she stood on the doorstep of the magnificent example of Georgian architecture that was Nicholas’s home. She just hoped it helped her cause.

It was delightful seeing Nicholas again. He was so charming and flattering Gina felt uplifted just setting eyes on him.

‘I do hope chocolate cake is all right,’ she said as Nicholas ushered her into a room she hadn’t seen before. ‘Bernard took it away but I couldn’t tell what he thought about it from his expression.’

‘We love chocolate cake. And I’ve brought you in here because it’s so cosy. If I’m having tea I like to have it here.’

It was warm and inviting but it was hard to think of a room this size as cosy, thought Gina. But she was delighted to think there was yet another reception room. It would make her plan easier to carry out.

Eventually, after two slices of cake, two cups of tea and a glass of sherry, Gina got to the point. ‘Nicholas, I have a very big favour to ask you.’

Nicholas, who had eschewed tea and drunk sherry with his cake, was in a good mood. He obviously enjoyed Gina’s company and smiled benignly at her.

‘Anything in the world I can do for you, I’ll do in a heartbeat.’

Gina laughed nervously. ‘I won’t hold you to that. It is a very big favour indeed.’

He inclined his head in query and Gina realised she would have to explain her plan, out loud, and it might turn out to be completely ridiculous. She took a deep breath and began.

Eventually, after listening to Gina’s request, which became very like pleading by the time she got to the end, Nicholas spoke. ‘As long as you wear the dress,’ he said. ‘I would so love to see you in it.’

She just about managed to leave Nicholas without flinging herself at his feet with gratitude. Once home, she rang Andrew and put her plan to him. He was ecstatic and kept her talking far longer than she would have liked, thinking of the different ways in which it could work. He was convinced he could work everyone up to the same pitch of enthusiasm.

Eventually she had to bring the call to a close. ‘That’s absolutely fantastic. But I’ve still got to get it past Matthew.’

She decided to ring him the following day. She wanted to arrange a time so she could talk about it to him face to face. She convinced herself this was so she could read his body language and if necessary seduce him into accepting her plan, but really she knew she just wanted to see him. And although she knew she could just pick up her phone and be connected with him in two clicks of a button, in her heart she was an old-fashioned girl: she wanted to give him time to ring her first.

However, she didn’t want to leave it too long so when she hadn’t heard from him by the evening, she picked up the phone.

‘
Matthew? Hi, how are you?’

‘Gina. I’m OK. You?’

But he didn’t sound OK. She sighed silently. ‘So, what have you been doing?’

‘Dealing with paperwork mostly, which was a bit depressing, but later I got a call from Bernard to say that Nicholas’s furniture had arrived so I went over to help him place it.’

Shit! Supposing Nicholas had told him her plan? Had she sworn him to secrecy? Was this why he was being a bit off? Was he being off? Maybe he was just being his normally gloomy having-to-sell-his-house self?

‘That was quick!’ she said brightly. ‘And did the furniture look nice
in situ
?’

‘It did, once he decided where to put it. I swear we tried every reception room – and there are several – and every bedroom, hallway, bay or passage before he was happy. He had some fixation about leaving enough room for God knows what.’ His tone softened a little. ‘How are you?’

She decided to keep it light. ‘Oh, same – I mean I’ve been catching up. Doing stuff. Nothing remotely exciting.’ She hesitated, then she said, ‘Matthew, can we meet?’

His pause seemed to go on forever. ‘Of course. But I am very up against it. It would have to be during the day.’

Gina forbore to point out that if he was really up against it evenings would make more sense than daytimes. ‘Great! Tomorrow?’

‘Not until teatime.’

‘Perfect. But I won’t offer to make a cake.’

‘Why on earth should you? Although Nicholas had some very good chocolate cake someone had given him.’

‘
Really?’ she squeaked. ‘I’ll come over to the centre.’ She hesitated. ‘Unless you’re going to be in my area?’

‘No, the centre is better.’

‘Fine.’ She softened her tone. ‘Bye then.’

‘Bye.’ His goodbye wasn’t exactly brisk but it wasn’t full of love and longing as she rather thought hers had been.

THE FOLLOWING MORNING
she had her calculator, her pad, her list of contacts who might be persuaded to sponsor champagne or the catering, or give raffle prizes – always a good idea to have a raffle – and was halfway through a letter of invitation when the doorbell rang.