Gucci Gucci Coo (20 page)

“Right,” she said, reaching for her mobile.

“What are you doing?”

“What do you think?” Her voice was shrill, verging on the hysterical. “I’m phoning the police. This guy is a nutter. He could kill us.”

Then, just as they were approaching Roehampton Gate, the Porsche overtook them, sped out of the park and disappeared. “Bugger,” Ruby said, “I didn’t get his license number, did you?”

“No, he was going too fast.”

She put down her phone. There seemed little point in calling the police now. Sam asked her if she was OK.

“Yes. A bit shaken, that’s all. I can’t believe that bastard got away with doing something so evil. Look, maybe we should phone the police. He might be known to them.”

“No,” Sam snapped. “Leave it.”

“But why? Why are you so anxious to let it go? We could have been killed back there.”

“You’re right, but I know how these things work. You spend hours making a statement to the police and then nothing happens. There’s no point—particularly when we didn’t get his number.”

But she refused to let it drop. The moment they got back she phoned the local police station. The duty officer immediately asked if she’d got the car’s license number. When she said she hadn’t, the officer said there really wasn’t much they could do.

“What did I tell you?” Sam said when she got off the phone.

“You seem almost relieved they didn’t want to know,” she said.

“Relieved? Why would I be relieved?”

The next day, feeling a good deal calmer after a night’s sleep, Ruby phoned her mother to tell her that there was a new man in her life. She decided not to mention what had happened in Richmond Park, as it would only scare the living daylights out of her and cause her blood pressure to shoot up.

“Oh, darling, this is wonderful news,” Ronnie said. “We haven’t seen much of you lately. I guessed you were seeing somebody. Why don’t you bring him for dinner on Saturday? No, scrub that. Dad and I are busy on Saturday. Our local branch of the National Childbirth Trust is having a Protect Your Perineum wine and sushi evening. How’s about Sunday?”

“Great.” She decided not to ask what happened at a Protect Your Perineum evening, as she was sure the answer would only make her feel queasy.

“So, Sam’s a doctor, you say?” Ronnie was doing her best to sound relaxed about this fact and failing miserably.

“Yes. Actually he’s a gynecologist at St. Luke’s.”

“Reee-ally? And he’s Jewish?”

“Uh-huh. But he’s not religious. I mean he’s not so much Jewish as Jew-
ish
.”

“I see. And is he good looking, this Jew-
ish
doctor of yours?”

“Very.”

“And it’s serious between the two of you?”

“Oh, yes.”

“Wow. So, my beautiful, successful daughter is in love with a handsome Jewish doctor.”

“And my trendy, liberated mother is suddenly sounding like Golde in
Fiddler on the Roof
.”

“I’m sorry, darling, but I can’t help it. I’m beginning to think that there is a whole part of my personality that I may have been repressing for years. Suddenly I seem to be getting in touch with my inner yenta.”

Ruby swallowed hard. “Mum, please tell me you’re kidding.”

Ronnie burst out laughing. “Of course I’m kidding. Me, a yenta? As if. Look, I have to ring off. I want to phone Aunty Sylvia and then there’s your grandmother in Marbella. Oooh, and your father’s cousins in Montreal.”

O
N THE GROUNDS
that Aunty Sylvia was so in touch with her inner yenta that she would burst into “Sunrise, Sunset” the moment she met Sam, Ruby suggested to Ronnie that it might be best if she wasn’t invited to dinner on Sunday. Ronnie immediately took the point and agreed. In the end, though, she was forced to invite her. Apparently Aunty Sylvia had phoned Ronnie in tears on the Saturday to say she thought that Nigel was seeing another woman. She was in such a state that Ronnie felt she had no option but to invite her to dinner in an effort to cheer her up. “She won’t say anything to embarrass you,” Ronnie assured Ruby. “She’s far too miserable.”

Food-wise, Ronnie went to a great deal of effort and produced a magnificent chicken-and-mushroom risotto. Phil had bought half a dozen bottles of wine, and judging by the labels, he had spent a fortune.

Having spent ages on her feet, stirring risotto, Ronnie also managed to look particularly stunning. For once she had dispensed with her hippie, boho look and had opted for something more elegant. She was wearing a long, coffee-colored Ghost shirt over matching wide trousers. Aunty Sylvia kept telling her how fabulous she looked. So did Phil, who could barely take his eyes off her. Several times during dinner he placed a tender hand on hers and asked her if she was feeling all right.

“Doesn’t it give you a kick seeing your parents so much in love after all these years?” Sam whispered to Ruby at one point. Ruby had to admit that it did.

For the first half of the evening, Aunty Sylvia’s mood was pretty subdued, and as a result—just as Ronnie had predicted—her behavior toward Sam was impeccable. There was no gushing, no cheek pinching, not a whisper about wedding caterers.

Then, after she downed two glasses of merlot before the main course, glimpses of her normal self began to appear. As they all sat down to dinner she grabbed a handful of Sam’s cheek and mouthed to Ruby that he was “gorgeous.” Ruby colored up on Sam’s behalf, but he seemed to take the cheek pinching in his stride. It probably reminded him of being with Irene’s mah-jongg cronies, she decided.

“So, you’re into all this natural childbirth then, Sam?” Aunty Sylvia said, tucking into her risotto: “You know, in my mother’s day, natural childbirth just meant taking your makeup off.” Clearly encouraged by his laughter, she carried on. “Mum was always saying how she was in labor for seventy-two hours with me. Seventy-two hours of agony. I couldn’t imagine doing something I
enjoyed
for that long.”

“So, Sam,” Ronnie said, shooting Aunty Sylvia a sour look to indicate she was lowering the tone of the evening, “they say that the episiotomy rates at St. Luke’s are the lowest in the country.”

“Apparently so,” Sam said. “It’s really good for the hospital’s reputation.”

Aunty Sylvia put down her knife and fork and grimaced. “Ronnie, please, we’re trying to eat.”

“Oh, by the way,” Ronnie continued, ignoring her sister, “after dinner I must show you all my belly cast.”

Aunty Sylvia gave an incredulous blink. “Come again?”

“I’ve made a plaster cast of my bump.”

“Now I’ve heard everything,” Aunty Sylvia said, shaking her head.

“I felt I should pay homage to the way my body has changed to grow this baby.”

“In other words, you wanted a souvenir,” Aunty Sylvia said.

“It’s much more than just a souvenir,” Ronnie came back, clearly rattled.

Phil seemed to sense that the atmosphere between the two women was heating up. He steered the conversation toward Sam. “So, Sam, what are you driving while you’re over here?”

Sam said he had use of Kristian’s Audi, which had come with the flat.

“Oh, which model?”

“The V8.”

“Lovely car. So is it the 3.7 liter or the 4.2?”

He had to think. “Er…the 4.2.”

“And how are you finding the five-speed automatic? I don’t know about you, but this Tiptronic technology just fascinates me.”

“I can’t say that I know much about it—”

“Me neither,” a clearly bored Aunty Sylvia broke in. “You know, Sam, I need to pick your brains. I’ve had this brilliant idea for a TV health show.”

Panic shot across Ronnie’s face. “Sylvia, I’m not sure Sam wants to hear about…”

“Sure, I do,” Sam said, brightly—clearly trying to avoid a lengthy treatise on Tiptronics. He turned back to Aunty Sylvia. “Please, go ahead.”

“Well,” she said, “it’s a quiz show. I’ve called it
Name That Specialist
.”

“Oh…kay…”

“It works like this,” she went on. “You have two families of hypochondriacs competing to identify a doctor from descriptions offered by the quizmaster.”

“Uh-huh.”

Ruby squeezed Sam’s knee under the table to let him know how much she appreciated him humoring Aunty Sylvia like this.

“It works like this.” Aunty Sylvia was warming to her theme now. “Imagine I’m the quizmaster, speaking to the panel.”

“Right,” Sam said.

“Gawd,” Ronnie groaned, running her hand over her forehead.

Aunty Sylvia cleared her throat and sat up straight. “OK, everybody, fingers on buzzers. This doctor has consulting rooms in Harley Street and St. John’s Wood. His specialty is gastroenterology. He is considered to be the top man in his field and is famous for his catchphrase:
I think we should try you on a proton pump inhibitor.
Name that specialist!” Aunty Sylvia started to cackle at her own brilliance. “Is that great TV or is that great TV?”

“Well…” Sam paused, clearly searching for a diplomatic response. “I think it’s got, er…definite possibilities.”

“Did you hear that?” Aunty Sylvia said, shooting Ronnie a look of disdain. “Sam said it has possibilities.”

At this point Phil suggested that Sam might like to come upstairs and see the wireless camera he had fitted in the baby’s nursery. “It’s going to be fantastic for keeping an eye on the baby.”

Ronnie gave an amused shake of her head and turned to Ruby. “As ever, your father’s got his priorities sorted. We’ve got no furniture for the nursery, no carpet down, but we have a CCTV camera installed.”

The two men disappeared upstairs. “My little Ruby with a handsome Jewish doctor,” Aunty Sylvia squealed. This time it was Ruby’s cheek she pinched. “Who would have thought?”

“Thanks, Aunty Sylvia. I’ll take that as a compliment.” Rubbing her cheek, she turned to her mother. “So, Mum, you haven’t said what you think of Sam.”

“Oh, darling, he’s lovely. He’s intelligent, charming, funny, and watching the two of you together, I can see there’s a real emotional fit.”

Aunty Sylvia took another glug of merlot. “And I bet you anything he doesn’t half know his way around in the bedroom department.” She laughed a dirty laugh. “He could invite me up to see his speculum collection any day of the week.”

“Sylvia, please,” Ronnie said. “Do you have to bring everything down to such a base level?”

“So, Aunty Sylvia,” Ruby broke in, “Mum says things haven’t been so good between you and Nigel.”

“That’s right. And before you say anything, it’s got nothing to do with me being older than him. I haven’t mentioned it yet. I still haven’t been able to find the right time. This is something else. Lately, he just seems so remote, so distant, somehow. I keep asking him if he’s got something on his mind, something he wants to tell me, but he says there’s nothing and that he’s just stressed at work.”

“What makes you think he isn’t?” Ronnie said.

“Just a feeling,” Aunty Sylvia shrugged. “This isn’t about work. I know it.”

“OK, but it might not be an affair,” Ronnie persisted. “The two of you really need to sit down and talk.”

“I know. But a part of me doesn’t want to hear the answer. I know Nigel’s not perfect. I know he comes across as a bit dull and he’s not a project like all the other men I’ve been out with, but I’ve realized that I really do love him. If he’s found somebody else, I don’t know what I’d do.” Her eyes began to fill with tears. She sniffed and wiped them away with a tissue. “So, Ruby, does Sam make you happy?”

Ruby nodded. “You have no idea.”

“I’m glad, darling,” Aunty Sylvia said, squeezing Ruby’s hand.

“Of course, what worries me,” Ronnie said to Ruby, “is that he comes with so much baggage. You know, losing his parents the way he did. I can’t help wondering if he has dealt with his grief. I hate the idea of you doing what your Aunty Sylvia does and becoming his therapist.”

“There’s no danger of that. Honestly, Sam’s pretty together, bearing in mind everything he’s been through. But please don’t bring it up. Don’t start trying to analyze him. I know what you’re like.”

“Sweetie, as if I would. I wouldn’t dream of embarrassing him like that.”

At this point they heard Sam and Phil coming down the stairs. They didn’t come straight back into the living room. Instead they hovered outside the door. “So,” they heard Phil saying. “You don’t think the pain is anything to worry about.” Ruby exchanged a worried look with her mother, who didn’t seem remotely troubled. Instead she gave an amused shake of her head. “What’s going on?” Aunty Sylvia hissed. Ronnie told her to listen.

“I really don’t think you should be alarmed,” Sam was saying. “See your doctor by all means, but it’s not uncommon for expectant fathers to experience sympathetic breast pain.”

The three women clutched each other to stifle their giggles.

After dinner, they had coffee in the living room. Ronnie sat down on the sofa next to Sam. “So, Sam, tell me…” Panic shot through Ruby. Ronnie was going to do it. She was going to break her promise and start delving into Sam’s psyche. Ruby cleared her throat noisily to get her mother’s attention, but Ronnie ignored her and carried on. “Do you think Hillary will ever be president?”

T
HE FOLLOWING MORNING
, just as Ruby arrived at the shop, the phone rang. It was Ivan to ask if it would be OK to come round to her flat that evening to lay the kitchen floor tiles.

“Absolutely,” Ruby said excitedly. Once the tiles were laid, that was it—there was nothing left to do. Ivan had kept promising to finish the tiles, but every day there would be a phone call to say he was very sorry, but he had got called away to another job and could she just hang on a bit longer. Even though she had lost count of the splinters she had in her feet from walking on rough floorboards, she always said yes. She was so worried about his heart giving out and didn’t want to complain or put pressure on him.

Having said that, over the last few weeks Ivan’s health seemed much improved. He had finally been to see his doctor, who had put him on some new medication, which he said was making him far less breathless.

“OK, Ivan, bye,” she said. “Catch you later.”

As soon as she put the phone down there was a tap at the door. It was a deliveryman. Next to him were two giant cardboard boxes. She knew what they contained: baby clothes from Guatemala. She signed for them and dragged the heavy boxes across the floor into the middle of the shop.