Facing the Light (60 page)

He helped himself to another slice of toast. It would be ages before they all sat down to lunch and he intended to start drinking very soon. He had, he felt, every justification. It wasn't every day that your wife left you. Saying it over to himself like that was a kind of test. He was missing Fiona, wasn't he? Of course I am, he thought. And Douggie. I really am missing him. It's just because there's so much else going on here that I'm not completely miserable. Reuben is here. He's walking around the grounds. He'll be coming to the terrace at eleven and I'll introduce him to Leonora. Efe intended to be good, and circulate for most of the afternoon, but he was longing to see Melanie again. There would, surely, be some time for them to sneak off somewhere, away from everyone.

His mind turned to their last meeting, which was three weeks ago. Far too long. He remembered that they'd barely managed to shut the door of the back room of Melanie's shop behind them before she'd started to tear his clothes off. She'd been waiting for him to arrive, so she was naked under her thin frock. Efe put the remains
of his toast down, suddenly overcome with desire. He had intended to try Fiona's number again, to talk some sense into her, but this wasn't the right time. He was going to be in the money now, thanks to the revelations about Maude Walsh. He wondered whether that fact would influence Fiona in any way and decided that it wouldn't make any difference. She'd always had exactly what she wanted from her parents, who were certainly not short of a bob or two. No, if Fiona came back it would be because she couldn't bear to live without him. She needed him, he knew that, and he was reasonably sure of being able to win her round if he wanted to. The only thing he had to work out was whether he did or not, and there was time enough to worry about that after the party.

*

Gwen went over everything in her mind. All nine tables in the marquee were ready. Jane the florist had two helpers and together they were seeing to the flowers. The theme flower at the family table, set for twelve people, was pink roses. There were eight other tables, each seating eight, and the theme flowers for those were white roses, gerbera, freesias, iris, carnations, lilies, scabious and marigolds. Flowers to give out to the guests were ready in their baskets. The food was being prepared and delicious smells hung in the air. The champagne had been set up on the terrace. Everything was ready.

‘You look great,' said Chloë, peering over her mother's shoulder into the dressing-table mirror. Gwen was wearing a bronze linen dress and sapphire earrings. Gwen smiled gratefully up at her daughter, who seemed to be in a good mood.

‘So do you,' she said gallantly, though she thought Chloë's dress looked exactly like a nightie.

‘This dress is a nightie,' Chloë said. ‘I found it in a
brilliant second-hand shop. It's the most beautiful fabric, isn't it? I can't believe anyone would wear it to bed.'

The fabric was apricot satin. There was a panel of lace set into the bodice and it occurred to Gwen that Leonora used to possess a garment very like this long ago. She hoped that today her mother's mind would be on other matters or she might very well be reminded of it, and make some remark.

Chloë sat down on the chair near the window. She said, ‘Do you think I'm a horrible brat, Mum? Do you wish you had a good daughter like Beth? Someone who wasn't so … I don't know. Rude, or something.'

Gwen hesitated. She realized that what she said now was important; would set the tone for the future, perhaps. This wasn't the moment, she knew, to say anything at all critical or carping. She said, ‘You're exactly the daughter I want, thank you very much. I wouldn't swap you for anyone. And there's something else I wanted to say.' Gwen paused. ‘I'm so grateful for the way you told Leonora about Maude's message. You were very discreet and thoughtful and I know you must have helped her greatly. It can't have been an easy conversation.'

‘No, it wasn't.' Chloë stood up and came over to the bed, and lay across it, Gwen noticed, in exactly the same way she used to do as a little girl. ‘Leonora went so pale, and then she cried. She just sobbed and sobbed and I didn't know what to do really, but it was awful. I always think of her as so strong and, you know, competent and then all of a sudden, she was like this little old lady.'

‘What did you do?'

‘I just hugged her. She's dead thin, and I could feel how … how fragile she was.'

‘That's splendid of you, Chloë. No one else could have done that as well as you. Really, Leonora's always adored you, hasn't she?'

‘Well, whatever she thinks about some things I do and everything I wear, she never gets on my case in the same way that you do, Mum.'

‘I do not get on your case, as you put it,' Gwen smiled. ‘It's just that sometimes I think certain things you do are a bit … well, off.'

‘I can't help it, Mum. That's me. I'm not like Beth. I do love her to bits but she
is
little Miss Perfect, isn't she?'

‘I wouldn't have you be anything like anyone else at all, Chloë darling. I love you. You know that, don't you, even though I probably don't say it nearly enough. And I'm not exactly a tolerant mother, am I? I expect you wish you had a mother like Rilla.'

‘No, I don't,' said Chloë. ‘Of course I don't. Though Rilla's a smashing aunt.'

‘And I'm very proud of you too,' Gwen added. ‘Your tree in the hall is lovely. I don't remember, what with everything that's gone on, whether I've told you how much I love it.'

‘Okay, Mum,' she said. ‘Ta very much. But we're beginning to sound like people in a soap, don't you think? Better change the subject, right?'

Gwen was about to answer when there was a knock at the door. She said, ‘Come in.'

‘Hello, darlings!' Rilla said. ‘It's only me and Beth. Are you ready? Oh, you both look gorgeous. Let's all go down together and find Mother.'

‘God, Rilla, you've rather overdone it with the perfume, haven't you?' Gwen wrinkled her nose.

‘Don't be a bore, Gwen,' said Rilla lightly. ‘I'm not going to get into any spats this morning, so you can say what you like. I shan't take any notice. Just spray yourself with something or other and join in the fun.'

‘Wow, Beth!' said Chloë. ‘That dress is fantastic. You look amazing.'

‘So do you,' said Beth.

Gwen added, ‘It's lovely. A wonderful colour for you.'

Beth was in a plain sheath of heavy red silk. Her only jewellery was a pair of long earrings in some pale, translucent stone.

‘Are they marble? Can you have marble earrings?' Rilla asked. ‘They
are
super.'

‘They're agate,' said Beth.

‘I think', Rilla said, ‘that we should go and find Leonora and wish her happy birthday and prepare for the fray.'

They went downstairs two by two, Beth and Chloë first, followed by Gwen and Rilla. Gwen said, ‘It's going to be all right, isn't it? The party?'

‘It's going to be sensational,' Rilla answered. ‘Don't worry about a thing.'

*

‘Is that me?' Nanny Mouse leaned closer to the television set and put out her hand as though to stroke the picture. Her mouth was slightly open, and her eyes were wide. Sean thought that it was like watching a child, or someone who'd never seen a television film before. She was muttering as she listened to herself talking, as though she were saying the words all over again, joining in with the Nanny Mouse on the screen.

‘It's you,' Sean said. ‘Star of the show. You're a very natural performer. You come across very well. And you look good, too. Not as smart as you do now, of course, but then we're going to a party today. Your brooch is very pretty.'

‘Thank you,' said Nanny Mouse with a flirtatious dip of the head. For a moment, Sean could see a shadow of the young woman she used to be in her movement and her smile and then it was gone and she was an old woman again, her small, mouse-like hands trembling slightly as they rested in her lap.

She watched the interview to the end, without saying a word and then turned to Sean.

‘Have you spoken to Maude? You ought to speak to her. She's the one who really knows about the paintings. She'd look lovely on the television. She's not a striking woman, but very pretty if you get to know her. You need to talk to her for a while though, before you turn on the camera. She's rather shy. She might be hiding, you know. She's always hiding. Well, you can't blame her for that, but still, on Leonora's birthday, she should be there to greet the other children, don't you think? I usually do it, of course, but I think you should see if she wants to do it, just this once.'

‘I think we should be off, Nanny,' Sean said. ‘I'll help Miss Lardner get the wheelchair into the car. The guests will be arriving soon.'

Nanny Mouse's eyes shone. ‘There will be cake, won't there? And balloons?'

‘No balloons, I don't think, but certainly cake. I think I can promise you that.'

*

That must be her, Reuben thought. Leonora Simmonds. As he looked at her from this distance, across the lawn that stretched like green velvet for about a hundred yards from where he was standing to the terrace, she reminded him of Shakespeare's Cleopatra, ‘The barge she sat in, like a burnished throne, burned on the water.' There was no water anywhere near Leonora, and the burnished throne was simply the sunshine bouncing off the metal back of her chair, but still, there was something regal in her carriage. She was sitting up very straight. He couldn't see the detail of what she was wearing but there was a general impression of a colour between grey and blue.

All around her, guests were already doing that party-guest thing that he'd noticed so many times: standing and talking and then moving on to the next person and then
standing and talking again, in a pattern that was something like a dance.

Willow Court was the perfect setting for her. The walls, golden-grey against the blue sky, seemed almost to reflect the sunshine. Begonias spilled out of their stone urns in a flood of pink and apricot and scarlet. Reuben saw that Efe was talking to Leonora. He was sitting on a chair pulled up very close to hers. She listened for a moment and seemed surprised and then looked around. This was the signal Reuben had been waiting for. He and Efe had arranged for Leonora to be forewarned. It would have been unkind to catch her quite unprepared. He made his way over the grass and up the steps to the terrace. Then he found himself in front of her, and her clear blue-green eyes were looking straight into his. Before he could say anything, she smiled at him and said, ‘Mr Stronsky? Welcome to Willow Court.'

Reuben took off his panama hat and bowed from the waist. ‘It's a great honour and a pleasure to meet you, ma'am,' he said.

‘Efe, bring Mr Stronsky a glass of champagne.' Leonora patted the chair beside her as Efe stood up. ‘Come and sit down and tell me all your plans.'

*

‘It looks choreographed, doesn't it?' Beth was talking to Chloë and Philip and Alex and watching the guests on the lawn below the terrace. She had a champagne glass in one hand and her gaze was fixed on a stick-thin woman with surprisingly large breasts and a wide, red mouth who had squeezed herself into the tightest of white dresses.

‘That's Melanie,' said Alex, noticing where she was staring. ‘Eye-catching or what? Look at Efe.'

‘I've heard of body language,' said Philip, ‘but that's taking it a bit far, I reckon. He looks pissed to me.'

Efe had one arm draped round Melanie's shoulder and showed no sign of leaving her in order to circulate among
the other guests. Beth saw James approaching the couple. He said a few words in Efe's ear and the result was that Efe moved away at once, but not before he'd given Melanie's bottom an affectionate pinch. Her laughter was audible to them all.

‘Efe is clearly', said Alex, ‘devastated by Fiona not being here.'

‘Clearly,' said Beth and burst out laughing herself. The champagne was getting to her as well.

*

‘It is,' Rilla said in a whisper to Gwen. ‘It's that poisonous old busybody, Mrs Pritchard. How old must she be?'

‘You knew she'd be here, didn't you? Mother's known her for years. She couldn't have a party without inviting her.'

‘I suppose not,' Rilla said. ‘I'm going to go over and say hello.'

She approached the old lady, who had taken a seat on one of the chairs on the terrace. She looked, Rilla thought, like a very large walnut, dressed rather inappropriately in a tweedy affair with no discernible shape to it.

‘Hello, Mrs Pritchard!' Rilla said cheerfully. ‘How lovely to see you looking so well.'

Mrs Pritchard poked her head towards Rilla. Perhaps she's more like an old tortoise than a walnut, Rilla thought.

‘How do you do,' said the tortoise. ‘Do I know you?'

‘I'm Rilla. Cyrilla. Leonora's younger daughter.'

‘Ah. Well, you've aged somewhat since I last saw you. I remember you very well. You became an actress, I believe.'

‘Yes, I did,' Rilla agreed, and searched around for something witty to say along the lines of
and you're in the pink of condition yourself
and decided it wasn't
worth the effort. This exchange had probably exhausted everything she and Mrs Pritchard had to say to one another. Mercifully, someone else came up to speak to her and Rilla slipped away. There would have been no point in reminding the old bat how she used to spy on them, her and Hugh. She's probably forgotten all about those days, Rilla thought, and so should I. I'll go and talk to Sean. The crew was filming the guests on the lawn with a hand-held camera but Sean had been detailed by Leonora to look after Nanny Mouse and was valiantly pushing her wheelchair from one group of people to another.

*

Leonora took a deep breath. The mozzarella and basil fritters, the salmon crêpes, had come and gone and the chocolate mousse cake was on its way. She could tell from the happy murmurings coming from the other tables that the food had been a complete success. She had watched the black and white figures of Bridget's staff winding in and out between the tables like dancers, managing to fetch and remove and distribute the different parts of the feast. She'd even eaten every mouthful set before her, but she hadn't tasted anything properly. There was too much going on; too much to look at. There was also the matter of her speech.