Thicker Than Water (4 page)

‘Kindest for whom?’ Sylvie’s father took a long draught of beer. ‘I might as well admit that meeting you was my wife’s idea. She wanted me to see you immediately, before, as she put it, things had gone too far. By which I think she meant before too many people heard about it, and while the situation might still be salvaged.’

‘I’m sorry,’ James said quietly.

‘There’s no chance of that?’

‘No.’

The two men were silent for a while. Then Warren sighed. ‘It’s not easy, you know, seeing your daughter breaking her heart. And that’s no exaggeration; she really loves you, James. Always has done, though she’d kill me if she knew I was meeting you like this.’

‘I’m very fond of her,’ James said wretchedly. ‘The last thing I’d have wanted was to hurt her.’

‘Yet you didn’t think twice about doing so. Look, I know how these things happen. You can be strongly attracted to someone; but there’s always a point at which you can pull back, put a stop to it. You must seize it at once, though, because the longer you leave it, the harder it’ll become. You admit the truth of that?’

‘Perhaps.’ If he hadn’t walked down the length of the bar to speak to Abigail, hadn’t then suggested dinner, would he have been able to put her out of his mind? He doubted it. He’d not been granted even that split-second in which to pull back. And why hadn’t he? The answer was clear: because he’d not loved Sylvie enough.

He looked up to find Warren’s eyes searchingly on him.

‘I’m so very sorry,’ he said.

At least there’d been no mention of pregnancy, he thought, as he made his miserable way to his car. But his relief was short-lived; incredible as it now seemed, it was less than ten days since he and Sylvie had last made love, on the eve of his trip to London. There was still time.

They were in an Italian restaurant in Soho, where they’d been meeting one Tuesday a month for at least two years; even sitting at their usual table. Everything was as it had always been, and yet was totally different.

Abigail looked about her as though seeing her surroundings for the first time – the counter dividing the kitchen from the diners, behind which a group of dark men in white coats performed miracles with tuna, veal and pasta; the waiters in their tight black trousers and short jackets; the saucer of olive oil on the table between them, in which Sarah was dipping her ciabatta. She even reached out to touch the straw-covered Chianti bottle, in a kind of caress. Because, for her at least, this was the last of their monthly Tuesdays.

‘I’ve something to tell you,’ she said, breaking into the general chatter. The three of them turned questioning faces towards her, and she studied them with the same sense of distance: Sarah, who worked in television and looked like a soap star herself, with her springing chestnut hair; Eleanor, grey eyes huge behind outsize glasses, an up and coming lawyer; and Millie, a platinum blonde who appeared not to have a thought in her head, but ran her own catering business.

Abigail drew a deep breath. ‘I’m getting married,’ she said.

Her friends stared at her blankly. Then Sarah, the first to find her voice, said, ‘You’re joking, right?’

Abigail smiled. ‘No joke. I’m really getting married.’

They all started to speak at once: ‘But you swore you never would!’ ‘Not Theo, surely?’ ‘Why didn’t you say something?’

‘To answer you each in turn: I know that’s what I said, but I’ve changed my mind; it’s a woman’s prerogative, isn’t it? No, it’s not Theo, and the reason I didn’t tell you before is because I only met him last week.’

This time their reactions were identical, and voiced as one. ‘
Last week
?’

Abigail smiled. ‘Love at first sight,’ she said.

‘Now I really don’t believe you!’ Millie. ‘There must be some other reason. Is he a millionaire, or something?’

Abigail laughed and shook her head.

‘So the Ice Maiden melts at last.’ That was Eleanor. ‘Who’d have thought it?’ she added rhetorically.

Sarah moved impatiently. ‘Enough surmising. Start at the beginning, and tell us exactly how it happened.’

So Abigail related her meeting with James, their immediate attraction, and his almost immediate proposal. She skated over the fact that he was engaged – because it was no longer relevant – and made light of her meeting with his mother.

‘The thing is, though,’ she finished, ‘he lives in a small town in the Cotswolds.’

‘You’re never going to bury yourself in the country?’ Eleanor demanded incredulously. ‘Not you, Abigail?’

‘I can work there just as easily as in Pimlico,’ she said.

‘But work’s only part of it!’ Millie put in. ‘What about restaurants and theatres and concerts and shopping? Not to mention us! What about us?’ she repeated on a rising note.

‘I’ll miss you all, of course, but we can email and text, and I’ll have to come to London every so often anyway. It’s not the other side of the world.’

‘Does Theo know?’ Sarah asked suddenly.

Theo Hardy had been – probably thought he still was – Abigail’s latest partner, presently away on a business trip to China.

‘I’ve not had the chance to tell him. It didn’t seem fair to email.’

‘So where is this James now?’ asked Millie. ‘When are we going to meet him?’

‘After a week away from the office, he can’t take time off at the moment. I’m driving up again at the weekend.’

‘So when will this Wedding of the Year take place?’

‘It won’t be that, Sarah,’ Abigail said seriously. ‘In fact, it’ll be a very quiet affair in a register office, but of course you’re all invited. As to when, probably one day next month.’

Again, they all stared at her in astonishment. Abigail, who had been the most resolutely anti-marriage of them all; who swore she’d never been, and would never allow herself to be, in love; who weighed all possibilities before reaching a decision – this same Abigail, marrying a man she’d have known less than four weeks – and for love, at that!

Who said the age of miracles was past?

The family’s meeting with Abigail couldn’t, of course, be postponed indefinitely, and his parents’ first move was to invite James to supper, when a long and searching discussion took place. No punches were pulled, and he was left in no doubt that they considered he’d behaved shabbily. But once they’d seen he was adamant, they’d no option but to make the best of it and extend some sort of welcome, however restrained, to their proposed daughter-in-law. It was either that, or risk estrangement from their son.

So an invitation was extended, via James, that she join them and the rest of the family for lunch the following Saturday. The change of day was significant; Sunday lunch was a family institution. Saturday would be less formal, and as it happened, suited himself and Abigail better, since the prospect would not be hanging over them all weekend. Also, she wouldn’t have to set off for London again immediately afterwards.

James delivered the invitation when he phoned on the Wednesday evening.

‘Tina, Ben and the kids will be there, too. Can you face it?’

‘Better to jump in the deep end,’ Abigail answered philosophically. ‘As you said last week, there’s a lot to be said for getting everything over at once.’

‘Don’t worry about it, sweetheart; I’m the one they’re annoyed with, not you. I’m sure it will all be very civilized.’ He paused. ‘We’ve not really discussed this, but it might help if we can give them a definite date. Have you thought about it?’

‘Sometime next month?’

‘Perfect. I’ll just about last that long! A Saturday?’

‘It would be easier for my friends; they’re all working girls.’

James waited, and when she didn’t enlarge on that, prompted, ‘And your family?’

Her tone of voice changed. ‘I told you, there’s no one I want to be there. We’re completely out of touch.’

He was aware of disappointment and a vague feeling of unease. He’d have liked their families to meet; it would have somehow rooted her more securely, made it a more normal affair.

Relinquishing the prospect, he asked, ‘So who
would
you like to be there?’

‘Just my three closest friends, your parents, and Ben and Tina, if they’ll come.’ She paused. ‘Is that all right from your angle?’

‘Well, I’d have liked to show you off to the world, but there’ll be time for that later. We can all have lunch afterwards – I’ll book a private room somewhere. So – name the day, my darling.’

‘How about Saturday the eighteenth, in three weeks’ time? Will that give you long enough to sort things out?’

‘All I have to do is fix a loft ladder!’

She laughed. ‘I’ll have to consider what to do with the flat. Since there’s no room at your place, I think I’ll let it furnished, and just bring personal things with me. Which, of course, includes my easel and work materials.’

‘But there must be some things of sentimental value? I’m sure we could find room.’

‘I don’t do sentiment, James.’

‘You mean, you didn’t!’

He heard the smile in her voice. ‘Even now, only in very prescribed circumstances. No, really. I bought the furniture when I moved into the flat; now I’m moving out, I’ve no further use for it.’

‘OK, you know best. Admittedly we’d be rather strapped for space. I must go, sweetie; I’m off to make my peace with Tina and Ben. I’ll phone tomorrow, and you’ll be here on Friday, won’t you?’

‘Yes, as soon as I can get away.’

‘I’ll have an extra key cut, then you won’t be dependent on my getting home before you. Speak to you tomorrow, then. Love you.’

‘Love you, too. Good luck with Tina and Ben.’

After a cool and cloudy week, Friday ushered in an Indian summer. The forecast was for continuing high temperatures, and Abigail was thankful to leave the humid, air-starved city and head west for the country. She drove with the windows open, relishing the wind of passage that lifted her hair and, though warm, provided the illusion of freshness.

On this occasion, she drove straight to the alleyway and parked, as before, next to James’s black Peugeot. Rounding the corner into the square, she found the front door of the flat standing open, and a bouquet of roses on the bottom stair.

‘James?’ she called, and he came running down to greet her.

‘I’ve never known such a long week,’ he declared, pulling her close. ‘But only another three to go, and we’ll be together all the time.’

‘I see I have an admirer,’ Abigail commented, eyeing the bouquet.

‘A very devoted one.’

‘It’s gorgeous. Thank you.’ She stooped to retrieve it, and they went together up the stairs. Already, the sunny room with its pale walls and colourful rugs felt like home. Abigail drew a long, tremulous breath.

‘It’s lovely to be back,’ she said.

Three

By the Saturday, it would be hard to say which of the three couples meeting for lunch was the most apprehensive. Though James had been told twelve thirty, Rosemary asked her daughter to arrive at twelve, ‘to provide moral support’.

Tina’s family had not been cooperative. ‘But we went there last weekend,’ Charlie grumbled. ‘Archie’s parents have invited me to go swimming.’

‘Well, I’m sorry, but this is a special occasion. Aren’t you interested in meeting Uncle James’s new fiancée?’

‘No!’ he said flatly.

‘Surely you are, Lily?’

Her daughter shrugged. ‘How long will this one last? He was going to marry Sylvie till last week.’

‘That’s enough!’ Ben said sharply.

‘Anyway, Saturday isn’t grandparents’ day, and Debs and I are booked to go riding.’

‘You can’t always do as you want,’ Tina retorted, her patience wearing thin. She wasn’t looking forward to the day herself, and could do without aggravation from her family.

As the children sulkily left the breakfast table, Ben put an arm round her. ‘It’ll be all right,’ he said.

‘I thought we’d eat in the garden,’ Rosemary announced. ‘It’s less formal, and it seems a shame to waste the good weather. It’ll be autumn soon enough.’

‘Won’t it be too hot?’

‘Not under the chestnut; there’ll be plenty of shade. Be a love, and move the table and chairs, would you? There’ll be eight of us.’

Andrew surveyed the selection of food laid out under protective netting – curried eggs, bite-sized home-made pizza, savoury tartlets. There were several salads in the fridge, together with a bowl of couscous and a selection of cheeses and desserts. This meal, he reflected, ranked as what Tina had dubbed Ma’s Harvest Home – a scaled-down version of the fare she presided over on the church catering committee.

‘You’re doing her proud, love,’ he said.

Abigail was dismayed to find James’s parents lived a mere fifteen-minute drive away, in one of the hamlets that fringed the town. The house was approached along one side of a village green, where a group of boys were kicking a ball about. Across its expanse she could see several other houses, a church, and an old-fashioned pub, whose customers were sitting or standing outside in the sunshine. A gale of laughter reached them on the still air.

‘Very rural,’ she remarked, and felt James look at her, unsure if approval or censure was implied. Then they were turning into a wide, gravelled drive alongside a stone-built house with a veranda running along the front of it.

‘Dad’s grandstand for cricket matches,’ James commented, seeing her glance at it. They drew to a halt next to another car, and he switched off the engine.

‘Well, here goes,’ he said.

As he held the door for her, Abigail heard voices coming through the open side gate.

‘They’ll all be in the garden,’ he added, and, taking her arm, led her to meet his family.

Everyone turned as they appeared, and Rosemary, conscious of their last unsatisfactory meeting, came quickly forward.

‘We got off to a bad start, my dear,’ she said, ‘but I hope we can be friends.’ And, bending forward, she kissed Abigail’s cheek.

‘Thank you,’ Abigail stammered, and saw to her embarrassment that the rest of them were lining up to meet her. James’s father was tall and straight, with plentiful grey hair and shrewd blue eyes. His handclasp was firm as he subjected her to a long, assessing gaze.

‘Welcome,’ he said briefly, and she smiled and nodded, turning as Tina approached. She had James’s colouring, though she was considerably shorter, and her shoulder-length hair was a tumble of curls. She smiled her welcome, but her brown eyes were guarded.

As each in turn was introduced, Abigail searched their faces for a possible ally. Not Tina, she thought regretfully – at least, not immediately; nor was she convinced Rosemary’s overture was genuine, after her previous hostility. Andrew would clearly need winning over, and Ben, who’d smiled at her kindly and was her best bet, was, as Tina’s husband, sadly out of bounds.

The children, pushed forward by their parents, she initially discounted, being unsure how to deal with them. Charlie had stared at her with frank curiosity, but there was a flicker of admiration in the eyes of fourteen-year-old Lily, and Abigail breathed an inward sigh of relief. Here, then, might lie her chance of infiltration.

Ben appeared with a tray of Pimm’s, and Abigail, released from being the centre of attention, was able to look about her. The garden was large and secluded, with several old trees and a lush, central lawn. Down near the end wall, she caught sight of an old swing, and memory knifed into her, making her catch her breath. Instantly, James was at her side.

‘All right?’ he asked anxiously.

It was an effort to smile. ‘Someone walking over my grave.’
Or someone else’s
. She added quickly, ‘It looks an interesting house; what period is it?’

‘Early Victorian. It’s called The Old Rectory, and used to be owned by the church. Would you like to see over it?’

Abigail, always interested in interiors, brightened. ‘Would anyone mind?’

‘Of course not.’

They entered the house through the open doors of a conservatory to find themselves in the family sitting room. The large fireplace was obviously original, as were the cornice and ceiling rose, and the deep cream walls and turkey-red carpet were in keeping with its age. In room after room, Abigail found much to admire. The Markhams had achieved an elegant blend of old and new, even the bathrooms, with all their modern accoutrements, seeming appropriate to the style of the house. Two of its six bedrooms had been transformed into en suites and the old scullery was now an up-to-date utility room. The house had been built, Abigail reflected, when the clergy had large families, but she doubted if any man of the cloth could afford to live here now.

They reached the kitchen, a large, cool room where a tempting array of food was laid out, as everyone was coming in from the garden to collect their lunch. Plates and cutlery were at one end of a central table, and they slowly circled it, selecting their meal from the various dishes.

Back outside, Abigail was careful to seat herself next to Lily, who greeted her with a shy smile.

‘Thank you for giving up your Saturday,’ she said. ‘I bet you’d rather be doing something else!’

The girl flushed. ‘Not really,’ she muttered.

Her brother, across the table, wouldn’t let that pass. ‘She wanted to go riding,’ he said, and received a savage kick for his pains.

Another jolt from the past. Though Abigail’s throat constricted, some comment seemed called for, and she made herself ask, ‘So you’re into horses?’

Lily nodded, her embarrassment fading at the show of interest. ‘I love them,’ she said.

Oh God, what could she say now
? ‘So did I, at your age.’

Lily turned to her interestedly. ‘Did you have your own?’

Abigail’s hands clenched. ‘I did, yes.’
Why was she pursuing this? Lily’s potential friendship was costing her dear
.

‘I’m getting one for my birthday. I can hardly wait!’

‘We’ve stipulated she’ll have to look after it herself,’ Ben put in, ‘but we have a fair bit of land round about, so it shouldn’t be a problem.’

Tina, feeling that since her family was fraternizing, she should do the same, cleared her throat. ‘James says you’re an interior designer. What exactly does that involve?’

An olive branch, and, even better, a change of subject.

‘It’s a wide spectrum,’ Abigail replied. ‘Sometimes people send me a diagram of their room, detailing its size, aspect and any fixtures, and ask me to suggest a new colour scheme, complete with curtains and soft furnishings. Or I might be approached by a building firm to furnish a show house, or by businesses, for ideas on modernizing their foyers or board rooms.’

‘It sounds fascinating.’

‘I was pretty nervous about her seeing the flat,’ James put in, ‘but it seems to have passed muster.’

He was relieved the conversation had moved to a subject she seemed comfortable with; he’d not missed her reaction when riding was mentioned, and it was brought home to him yet again how little he knew of her past. Was it the thought of riding itself that distressed her, or simply the reminder of her childhood? And in either case, why?

Helped by more general conversation, Abigail relaxed and consciously set herself to charm them with amusing comments and questions about their interests, gratified that the atmosphere had noticeably thawed.

Among other snippets, she learned that Rosemary, as well as being a pillar of the church, had been a magistrate for some years, and was thankful she wouldn’t have to appear before her; she didn’t doubt her hostess would penetrate with ease the fragile web she’d so carefully woven about her.

As the meal came to an end, James rose to his feet. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, I’d like to take this opportunity to invite you to a wedding in London on the eighteenth of next month. Formal invitations will follow, but this is advance notice so you can note the date in your diaries.’

There was an outbreak of exclamations.

‘So soon?’ Tina, thinking of Sylvie, who’d been told to wait for a spring wedding.

‘But that’s only – what? – three weeks away!’ Rosemary.

‘Three weeks today,’ James confirmed. ‘Time enough to buy a new hat, Ma!’

‘But – aren’t there things to arrange?’

‘Nothing major. Obviously, we’ll be living in my flat, and Abigail will lease hers. She’ll use the converted loft as her studio.’

‘Is there any heat up there?’ Andrew, ever practical, enquired.

‘I’ll get one of those portable radiators; it won’t be a problem.’

Soon afterwards the party broke up, and having helped carry dishes inside and had their offers of further assistance declined, the guests made their various ways home.

‘What did you think of her?’ Andrew asked, as he helped stack the dishwasher.

Rosemary straightened, rubbing her aching back. ‘I’m not sure. She’s intelligent and charming, and, of course, stunning to look at, but – I don’t know. There’s something I can’t put my finger on that makes me slightly uneasy.’

‘She seems to adore James.’

‘So I should hope, after causing this upset.’

‘And he her, of course.’

Rosemary sighed. ‘Poor Sylvie,’ she said. ‘I’d be much happier if it was she who was joining the family.’

‘What did you think of her?’ Charlie enquired of his sister, as they lay in the long grass of the meadow.

‘She’s all right,’ Lily replied, guarded as always in her brother’s company, since she never knew when her comments might be repeated. In truth, she was torn, being fond of Sylvie, whom she’d known all her life. But Abigail was glamorous and sophisticated, and her clothes and shoes were to die for. What was more, she liked horses, a sure way to Lily’s heart. All in all, she was just the role model she’d been looking for.

‘Actually,’ she added more honestly, ‘I rather liked her.’

‘What did you think of her?’

With no meal to prepare, Tina had joined her husband in their sitting room.

‘She seemed very edgy to begin with. Not that you can blame her.’

‘And?’

He was quiet for a moment. Then he said slowly, ‘I know it sounds ridiculous, when she and James are so obviously in love, but I got the impression that she’s deeply unhappy.’

‘Belated conscience, perhaps, for ousting Sylvie.’

‘I doubt if that worries her. No, this goes much deeper; an old unhappiness that she’s spent years fighting.’

Conscious of his wife’s stare, he gave an embarrassed grin. ‘Sorry to go all psychic on you, but you did ask. It was something in her eyes.’

‘Oh, so you’ve been gazing into her eyes, have you?’

He laughed. ‘You must admit they’re worth gazing into. Seriously, though, did you notice how she reacted when Charlie mentioned riding?’

‘Can’t say I did.’

‘She actually swayed in her chair. I thought she was going to pass out, but she quickly recovered herself.’