Two Loves Page 9

  ‘I posed in the nude for him and he paid me. That’s how I managed to get to Florence the summer I left Brighton. I told Mother I’d won the money in a competition.’

  ‘It doesn’t seem all that shocking to me,’ Dora said. ‘I did far worse when I was a girl.’

  ‘Oh yes?’ Paul muttered. ‘And what, pray, did you get up to?’

  ‘I’m not writing a book, so I’ll say nothing further.’

  ‘What an innocent I was,’ Paul said. ‘I actually went to a ball, met Marian and courted her very chastely for two and a half years.’

  ‘Men are so decent,’ Dora replied. Then, turning to Rosamund, ‘You needn’t mention the money. It’s only the relationship between you and Anthony which is important. When did it develop beyond the nude posing?’

  ‘I’m not sure it did. We were very happy together. I used to make him laugh. I’m not sure how, I don’t think I’ve ever made anyone else laugh, but we always seemed to be laughing and happy. I used to look forward to seeing him every holiday, but I don’t think there was much development. I suppose I’d have to admit that if I was being truthful. Our marriage was never consummated. As I told you last night.’

  ‘And during one holiday you arrived telling him that you were pregnant?’

  ‘Yes. And wondering about having an abortion. And this part is really about Erica Underhill because she nearly died having an abortion, so that Anthony was absolutely adamant that I wasn’t to have one.’

  ‘You didn’t consider marrying the father?’

  ‘He was married already. But I wouldn’t have considered it in any case because I didn’t love him. It was an altogether sad little episode. He was unhappy in his marriage and because I was on my own, he assumed that I should be grateful for whatever came my way. He called at my flat, I invited him in for a coffee and then found that he wouldn’t take no for an answer.’

  ‘Are we talking about rape, here?’ her father asked.

  ‘No. Just the seduction of an inexperienced woman by a very experienced man. Just an old-fashioned seduction.’

  There was a moment’s silence before Rosamund continued. ‘And I’m loath to admit to all that because of Joss. He might be very hurt by it.’

  ‘Oh Rosie, I don’t know how you’ve been able to keep all this to yourself all this time. You really are a very strong person, isn’t she, Paul?’

  ‘Women are very strong and very devious.’

  ‘Of course, it would do Joss good to have a father,’ Dora continued.

  ‘But it doesn’t have to be his real father does it?’ Rosamund said.

  ‘Does his real father ever visit you?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘A man answers your telephone from time to time, Rosamund.’

  ‘That’s Thomas – Thomas Woodison. He and I had an affair for about three years, but he’s married too, and it’s recently ended because his wife had another baby.’

  ‘I think I’m going to bed,’ Paul said.

  ‘One careful little affair in the last ten years. Is that enough to turn you against me?’

  ‘I haven’t turned against you, God knows, but I really feel I want to close my eyes now and think of my own small problems. Like lack of work, lack of prospects and lack of money. OK?’

  ‘There’s not much more, anyway. Thomas was a very sweet man, but we weren’t desperately in love – at least I don’t think so – so neither of us was heartbroken. Just rather sad, I suppose.’

  ‘When you came in tonight, you looked more than rather sad. But I mustn’t pry,’ Dora said virtuously.

  ‘I was crying about someone quite different. I’ll tell you about that another time.’

  ‘Go to bed, Paul. I’m staying up with Rosie. Just another half-hour, love, and another gin.’

  ‘Good night,’ Paul said. ‘I really can’t be doing with heartbreak. Not at this time of night.’

  They watched him leave the room. He turned at the door shrugging his shoulders; an actor trying to make as much as possible of a small part. Both women smiled indulgently at him.

  ‘His name’s Daniel Hawkins. He was a third-year student when I was in my first year at art school. I think I’ve loved him ever since those days, though I thought I was over it till I met him again in the underground.’

  ‘And he’s married now?’

  ‘No. He’d been with someone for years, he said, but she recently went back to America.’

  ‘So that’s promising.’

  ‘That’s what I thought. I was so happy, Dora. But he didn’t turn up for our date yesterday. I waited and waited. I thought it meant as much to him as it did to me – but it obviously didn’t. And I can’t track him down. I phoned every art gallery asking if they had an address for him, but no one had. ‘

  ‘This is a temporary setback,’ Dora said briskly. ‘He’ll turn up, I’m sure. Where were you supposed to meet?’

  ‘Outside the National Gallery.’

  ‘So he couldn’t have phoned to let you know he was unable to make it. He’ll get in touch with you.’

  ‘But how can he? I didn’t give him my address or telephone number. He doesn’t know where I live.’

  ‘Darling, there aren’t too many Gilchrists around. He’ll get hold of you.’

  ‘I don’t think he even knows my name, doesn’t even know I was married.’

  ‘In that case he’ll look up Harcourt and he’s bound to get us. Did you tell him you were visiting us?’

  ‘You’re not in the directory, Dora. I’d thought of that.’

  ‘He’ll find us. I expect he knows your father’s an actor. He’ll contact us through Equity.’

  ‘I don’t know. We didn’t have time to talk much. He said he’d like to come home with me to share my studio, and then there didn’t seem much more to say. Ingrid said he’d found it too much to take and decided to back out.’

  ‘Rubbish. He’ll turn up here within the next week and I’ll give him your address. No, I’ll drive him straight down to the schoolhouse. It’s going to be all right, I promise you.’

  ‘Oh Dora, I can’t be at all optimistic. I want him so much that I can’t help fearing the worst.’

  Chapter Ten

  Rosamund arrived back by four o’clock on Friday and before she’d had time to draw breath, her mother was at the gate.

  ‘Where’s Joss?’ she asked, kissing her and trying to keep the panic out of her voice.

  ‘That’s what I’ve come to tell you, dear.’

  ‘Oh, God. What?’

  ‘He’s all right. He’s fine. He’s gone away for the weekend that’s all. Just sit down, dear, and try to keep calm.’

  ‘Mum, I’ve never been away from him before. I was looking forward to seeing him. Where is he?’

  ‘We had bad news, dear, on Wednesday night when we were in the George. It’s Harry’s mother, dear.’

  ‘Harry’s mother? Whatever’s the matter with her?’

  ‘Killed herself, dear. Yes, committed suicide. No one knows why. Took a massive overdose of something. I knew you’d be shocked. You knew her quite well, didn’t you? I remember you telling me about the new baby. I suppose it could be something like post-natal depression. Well, I told you how dreadful she looked when I saw her last. So old and drained. Awful, isn’t it.’

  ‘Terrible. And Joss has gone to stay with Harry?’

  ‘Yes. They’ve gone to North Wales. To their Granny. Yes, the whole family. Well, her husband couldn’t cope with a new baby, could he, as well as everything else? His mother is a doctor’s widow, apparently, a very capable woman no doubt, with a big house near Denbigh in North Wales, and he’s taken them all there. Of course the older boys were better able to cope, but Mr Woodison felt Harry would be so much happier if he had Joss with him. He came to see me after school yesterday. I think Mrs Butler or the Headmistress must have given him our address, and I didn’t feel I could refuse. He’ll be bringing the boys – but not the baby, of course – back on Tuesday for the funeral on Wednesday
. Cremation I think, dear, though I can’t help feeling that a burial would be much easier for the children to accept. There’s something very brutal about … What is it, dear?’

  ‘I think I’m going to…’

  ‘Put your head right down between your knees. That’s it. Very disturbing, isn’t it? Shall I get you a drop of brandy? Oh, you really should keep a bottle in the house, dear, for this sort of occasion. Well, I’ll make you some tea. Now don’t sit up too suddenly. Harry’s father left you his mother’s telephone number so that you can contact Joss later on. I expect they’ll be there by about seven. Now would you like to come and have supper with Brian and me? I’ve got a piece of really fresh Scottish salmon with new potatoes, new peas and watercress sauce, and you can tell me all about your father and Dora.’

  ‘Thank you. I have to talk to Thomas first – and to Joss, of course. But I suppose I will get hungry and I’m not feeling up to doing much for myself.’

  ‘Of course not. Drink your tea, dear. They should be there by seven, so that you can phone and come afterwards. I’ll make supper for eight. We might go to the George, later, to cheer you up.’

  ‘Mum, I had a bit of a fling with Thomas. Which is why I feel so particularly dreadful.’

  Her mother sighed dramatically. ‘I had gathered something, of course. Joss used to talk so much about him. Everything was Thomas at one time. I thought you seemed … very good friends.’

  ‘It was over, though, Mum. We’d broken it off because of the new baby.’

  ‘So you must put it right out of your mind, dear.’

  ‘She’d lost a very prestigious job. That was her main worry, I know that.’

  ‘Quite. And having a baby at her time of life was the worst thing she could have done. It plays havoc with the hormones. Did I tell you there was an article about it in the May Readers Digest? Remind me to show it to you. Do you feel better now, or would you like me to stay with you for a while? Are you quite sure? I’ll be on my way then, dear, to let you get on with the unpacking and so on. By the way, I put Joss’s school clothes and his games kit in the washing machine as soon as he got back this afternoon, so they’ll be clean and ironed for him when he gets back.’

  ‘Thanks, Mum. What would I do without you?’

  If only she had a mind like her mother’s, Rosamund thought, everything thrust neatly into its own compartment and shut away. She walked with her to the car. ‘Love to Brian,’ she called as Marian pulled away.

  * * *

  When her mother had gone, Rosamund put on some boots and climbed up Barrow Hill. It was a misty evening, the sky dove-coloured, the air still, the bleating of sheep and lambs the only sound. Eliza’s face was before her, thin and finely drawn, long straight nose, fair hair fashionably sculpted, pale drooping eyes with reddened eyelids; a face often plain but occasionally beautiful. She suddenly remembered the way she’d shrugged her shoulders when she’d last seen her. A gesture, she realised now, of utter despondency, a signal that she was somewhere far, far beyond hope. Why hadn’t she felt able to respond to that despair? Was it from guilt? Because women were supposed to stick together – sisters – not steal each other’s husbands? But Eliza, God knows, had never made the slightest overture of friendship towards her. It was Thomas who had needed her, whereas Eliza had made it very clear that she was far too busy to have anything to do with any of her neighbours in the village. She often had evenings out – dinners with important clients, she told Thomas – though Rosamund had always suspected more intimate occasions.

  She felt an immense sympathy for poor Eliza, but anger too, at what she had done. She should have considered Thomas and their children. In her agitation, Rosamund climbed the hill faster and faster until her chest began to ache with the strain, and when she sat down at last on a low stone wall, she burst out crying, her loud, terrible sobs frightening her by their suddenness and because they reminded her of the way Eliza had cried the last time they’d met.

  Once she’d started she couldn’t seem to stop. She was filled with a sorrow and an anger she couldn’t bear. Everything had gone wrong and there seemed no comfort in the world. By this time she didn’t know whether she was crying for herself because she’d lost Daniel, for Eliza, driven to despair, or for Thomas left alone with three motherless boys and a baby who didn’t even have a name. What had Tess called her little son? Sorrow. She started sobbing again, even more desperately than before.

  And then it was over. Nothing could get worse, she told herself, so it could only get better. And as she blew her nose and dried her eyes she saw the sunset, tenderly pink and calm in all the misty greyness. It seemed an omen; it seemed like hope.

  She sat for a few more minutes, then made her way home, still gulping air and sniffing.

  When she arrived, she felt more tired than she’d ever felt in her life. She wished she hadn’t agreed to go to her mother’s for supper; what she needed was a sandwich and an early night.

  The telephone rang and she rushed to answer it, hoping it was Joss. But it was Ingrid to tell her that she and Ben had had a devastating row. Something had gone wrong concerning the autobiography. He wouldn’t tell her what it was because he was convinced it was something she already knew. ‘What can it be?’ she asked Rosamund. ‘Do you know anything about it?’

  ‘No, nothing. Erica didn’t mention any sort of hitch.’

  ‘Will you let me know if you hear anything?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘He’s moved out, Rosamund. I thought he was bluffing, but he packed all his bags and went.’

  ‘God, I’m sorry. Whatever can be the matter with him? He seemed in a pretty bad mood when I was there.’

  ‘He was. And afterwards he got worse and worse. He seemed to think it was you who’d persuaded Erica Underhill to change her mind about publishing the poems. And of course he knows the book would be a financial disaster without the poems.’

  ‘I had nothing to do with it. I didn’t suggest that she change her mind, because I knew how much she needed the money. Perhaps Molly or her son have tried to put pressure on her. I’ve no idea, but I’ll let you know if I hear anything.’

  ‘I’m really upset, Rosamund. I know he was boorish when you were here, but he isn’t usually like that. I’m really desperate.’

  ‘I’ll phone you tomorrow, Ingrid. I’m expecting a call from Joss now. Things are very complicated here; too complicated to explain at the moment, but I’ll ring you tomorrow.’

  ‘You don’t sound very concerned or sympathetic.’

  ‘Of course I am, Ingrid. All the same, I’ve got to ring off now.’

  * * *

  It was almost eight before Thomas rang. He told her that everyone was all right, including Joss. He begged her not to feel guilty about anything, but he himself sounded overwhelmed with guilt and despair.

  ‘Here’s Joss,’ he said suddenly, as though he couldn’t manage another word without breaking down.

  ‘I’m being a great help, Mum,’ Joss assured her. ‘Granny said I must try to be a great help and I am. I’m not arguing with Martin and Stephen and I’m not fighting with Harry and I’m saying thank you and please may I to their Granny and passing things at the table.’

  ‘You’re a very good boy and I miss you.’

  ‘I knew you’d say that. Tomorrow we’re going to a funfair at the seaside.’

  ‘Be very careful, won’t you, on the rides.’

  ‘I knew you’d say that.’

  * * *

  ‘Thomas is taking the boys to a funfair tomorrow,’ Rosamund told her mother and Brian over supper. ‘I do hope they’ll all be safe.’

  ‘Of course they will. Harry’s father is a teacher, isn’t he, so he’s used to looking after children.’

  ‘He didn’t look after his wife too well,’ Brian said. ‘Frank Dudley was telling us there was another woman involved.’

  ‘Rubbish,’ Marian retorted. ‘His poor wife was suffering from post-natal depression. I saw her in the butcher’s la
st week and she looked frightful. It’s strange how people can’t accept any obvious explanation but have to invent some unpleasant story. They just can’t resist a bit of scandal.’

  ‘She’d lost her job,’ Rosamund added. ‘She was one of the directors of some computer company. She was sacked and her PA promoted.’

  ‘That wasn’t the story, according to Frank Dudley.’ Brian coughed, declining further revelations till they were more suitably impressed.

  ‘Frank Dudley is an old woman. Don’t mention him again, I beg you. Why don’t you stay here tonight, dear?’ Marian asked Rosamund. ‘Why go back to that empty house?’

  ‘I think I should. There may be a phone-call. I feel I should be there.’

  ‘Anyway, you’ll come to the George with us, won’t you? Just for one drink? You’ll feel so much better to be with a crowd. It’s no use dwelling on the tragedy when you can’t do anything to help. Don’t you think I’m right, Brian?’

  Brian looked as though he might still be offended. ‘No, I don’t think one drink will be much help. She’s had a nasty shock so she’ll need at least two or three, and we’ll drive her home afterwards.’

  * * *

  In bed, after several gins at the George, Rosamund thought about being in love, the extraordinary force of it. Suddenly, out of the blue; there she was again, all her nerve-endings quivering. It was like being nineteen again, and all the time in between – teaching, looking after poor Anthony, taking Joss to clinic and nursery school, years of conscientiously trying to paint, times when she’d considered herself growing into a sensible, mature woman – all might never have been. She was a student again, hanging out of her window, hoping to catch a glimpse of Daniel Hawkins passing on his way to college.

  She thought of Thomas with affection and pain. He was bound to blame himself for Eliza’s death, but she felt convinced that he’d done all in his power to make her happy. When they’d begun their affair, it was quite apparent to her that his marriage was in a state of terminal decline and that he wouldn’t have embarked even on an extra-marital flirtation if that hadn’t been the case. ‘I’ll never be able to leave Eliza,’ he’d told her over and over again, ‘so do you think this is fair to you?’