Encounters (12 page)

We had finished the Parma ham garnished with figs and had already begun on the veal escalopes before the doors opened and Simon and Jocelyn reappeared. They both looked angry as they took their places and I found myself unwillingly catching Nigel’s eye. He winked at me.

‘Bad news?’ he asked innocently.

Sarah laughed. She had already finished a second glass of Chianti. ‘It must be bad,’ she said, slurring her words slightly. ‘It takes more than a bear market to make our Simon flinch.’ She leaned forward across the table to put her hand on his. Her gold bracelet clanked heavily against the cut glass. ‘That’s right, isn’t it, honey bunch?’

I was watching Davina’s face. She had refused to look up as her husband came in, toying with her food with her fork, but now I saw her staring at Sarah in disbelief. She opened her mouth to say something but before she had the chance her husband spoke.

‘I’m afraid it looks as if I’ll have to nip back to London for a couple of days.’ He cleared his throat. ‘Awful bore. Sorry. But Davina will entertain you all.’

‘And you, Joss?’ Maggie was watching her husband across the table.

‘Not Jocelyn.’ Simon answered for him. ‘Jocelyn has done enough damage.’

There was a moment of complete silence. Then Sarah started to laugh.

I cornered Davina in her bathroom. It was an amazing place of ornate marble and gold illuminated now by cruel hidden lights. She looked haggard as she bathed her eyes. ‘What the hell is going on here?’ I perched on the edge of the bath. ‘What has happened to you, Davina?’

She looked up at me, her face wet. ‘Did you know that Sarah woman used to be Simon’s fancy piece?’

I nodded.

‘Maggie’s a cow. You know it was she who asked her here. I detest her.’ She had drunk more than usual and her face beneath the heavy streaked layer of make up was flushed.

Privately I agreed with her. ‘You haven’t answered me, Davina. What is going on here?’

She shrugged. ‘What do I care? Simon never tells me anything. I just have to sign things; and entertain his guests.’ She was peering into the mirror now, her shadowed eyes expressionless. ‘And you’d better mind your own business. Don’t tangle with Simon.’

‘How long has it been like this?’ My sympathy for her had returned and I wanted to touch her, to comfort her. But I was not prepared to risk another rejection. She stared down at the mosaic floor.

‘Ever since we married. I’ve wanted to see you often but I didn’t dare ask you. I didn’t want you to see what I had become. I could bear the thought of you and Tim as long as you were unhappy. It meant you were no better off than me. You see what a horrible person I am?’

There was a long pause. I closed my eyes wearily. ‘And when you saw we were happy, you thought you’d take him for yourself, is that it?’ I asked at last.

‘You’re my sister. I thought …’ She stopped in mid sentence. Then she turned to face me. ‘Oh Celia, you shouldn’t have come.’ And she began to cry.

Tim went into our room ahead of me. He didn’t turn on the light. As I closed the door he came up to me and put his arms around me in the dark.

‘Celia. What is it? What’s wrong?’

‘I talked to Davina. She thinks we ought to go. Can we, Tim? Please. Tomorrow. I know it’s a disappointment but you’ll get work from other people. You’re good. We don’t need to rely on Simon for any commissions.’

I felt him tense. He was stroking my hair gently. ‘Celia, you can go if you want to, darling. But I can’t. Don’t you see?’

The room was very dark. The maid had pulled the curtains across the windows when she came in to turn down the bed and it was stifling. I pulled away from him wordlessly and went to open them. Outside the balcony was black. The brilliant moonlight flooded past the villa and focused on the lawn. The fountain was still playing.

‘Do you love her?’ I asked softly. I leaned on the stone balustrade and looked down.

‘Who?’ I felt the anger in him, the resentment which always came when I questioned him and I knew I could not fight it this time. What was the point? Tim came out onto the balcony beside me. ‘Don’t run away, Celia. I’m beginning to think you must be paranoid or something. Who do you think I’m having an affair with this time?’

‘Davina.’ I could hardly bring myself to say the name.

‘Oh for God’s sake. It’s always the same, isn’t it? The moment I show interest in a woman you imagine I’ve fallen into bed with her. What’s the matter with you?’

What indeed? How could I explain to him how much I loved him; how much I feared to lose him; how much I had looked forward to these summer months in Italy as a second honeymoon? And now I saw the whole frail structure of my dream collapsing.

‘You really mean it, Tim? You would stay here and let me go home alone?’ I didn’t look at him. Below in the garden I saw a small glow in the darkness and I thought it must be a firefly. Then I realized it was a cigarette. There was someone walking slowly in the shadows of the trees.

‘I’ve come here to work, Celia. And it’s important that I do. More important than you know. Simon told me today that he is prepared to recommend me for a commission to do heads of all the members of a board he’s on. It means security and freedom to work without worrying for a while; without you having to go back to that job. I’m not going to blow it, Celia, even if it means we can’t be together. I don’t want you to go. It’s up to you.’

He turned and vanished back into the bedroom. A moment later I heard the door slam.

I could feel the hot tears burning my cheeks and I let them fell unchecked. The french doors below the balcony opened and someone stepped out onto the terrace. I knew it must be Tim. He would go to his improvised studio and work through the night, returning to fall into bed beside me at dawn. It had happened too often before after we had quarrelled. I did not call out to him. What was the point? He stepped out of the shadows of the terrace onto the grass and I saw him clearly walking towards the fountain. A figure detached itself from the shadows and joined him. A woman. The moonlight had washed the colour from her dress but I knew it was my sister. I watched as they stood talking then slowly they began to move, not towards the cottage but around the side of the house out of sight. Two minutes later I heard the sound of a car engine and the crunch of its tyres on the gravel of the long poplar-lined drive. Then there was silence.

I undressed and lay down on the bed, but my mind would not rest. I could not sleep and after a while I gave up trying. I rose and slipped on a thin sweater and some jeans.

The villa was in darkness save where moonlight slid through the windows on the staircase. I peered out. Our car had vanished from its place beneath the mulberry tree beside the wall. Behind me on the landing the clock chimed three. Tim had left the french windows open and I slipped out onto the terrace. I avoided the bright moonlight, following the dark shadows beneath the trees.

The cottage was in darkness, but the door was unlocked and I slipped in and at last allowed myself to turn on a light. The room was empty but for a large table and a couple of chairs. I recognized all the paraphernalia we had brought with us in the car. The plastic sacks of clay and plaster, the wire for armatures, the scalpels, the spatulas, the callipers and sketch books. Tim’s overalls hung on the back of the door and the room already had the cold oily smell of the clay. On the table I could see the outline of the head beneath its cloth and I moved over to uncover it.

He had made a lot of progress. Davina stared out at me, her lips enigmatically smiling, her eyes still a blind sightless sketch in the glistening clay. I stared at it for a long time, then I covered it again and moved across to the stairs. The cottage had only one bedroom and it was fully furnished. The bed had been slept in. Beside it the bathroom was also fully equipped with toiletries and cosmetics. I unscrewed a bottle of cologne and sniffed it. It was spicy and rather strong. I did not recognize it.

A bell pealed in the silence and I froze. Then I realized it was the telephone beside the bed next door. I tiptoed across and hesitated as it rang. Then cautiously I lifted the receiver. A voice was talking in fast Italian on the other end and I realized suddenly that it was an extension from the main house. I was about to replace it when a second voice cut in. It was Simon and he sounded once more very angry. Holding my breath I sat gingerly on the bed and listened.

They were speaking in English now. ‘I told you not to ring me!’ Simon’s voice hissed down the line.

‘The deal is taking too long!’ the Italian cut in. ‘You have only twenty-four hours. Then I pull out.’

‘You can’t pull out, remember? Your currency is being held in my wife’s name,’ Simon snarled. ‘I fly to London tomorrow. The transaction will be completed on schedule.’

‘And if she asks any questions?’

‘She won’t. She never does.’ Simon’s mirthless laugh floated from the receiver in my hand. I could feel myself beginning to shake as I listened in disbelief, and for a long time after he had hung up and the line was empty I sat there, the phone still in my hand.

I could see the light on in his study as I tiptoed back across the lawn towards the french windows. I had no wish to meet Simon and I held my breath as I crept in. Then I realized he was not alone. Davina was with him and they were having a furious row. There was no question of them hearing me; they were making enough noise to wake the whole villa. The doors to his study were half open and I could see them both clearly. Simon was fully dressed still, but Davina was in a négligé and I could see from the stark paleness of her face that she had removed her make up. She looked as though she had just got out of bed and I wondered suddenly whether like me she had been listening on the extension.

I crept upstairs without them seeing me and peered out of the window on the landing. The car was still missing, and I realized bitterly that my husband’s midnight rendezvous had been not with my sister but with Sarah Cummins.

Simon was missing from the dining room when I plucked up courage to descend at about nine, but the others were there, all except Tim. Maggie smiled at me. ‘Is your divine husband at work already, Celia?’ she asked.

‘He’s been at it all night,’ I heard myself reply. I was watching Davina as she got up and went to the urn on the sideboard to pour herself a cup of black coffee.

She raised her eyebrows. ‘How dedicated,’ she said tartly.

‘But I don’t know where. He drove off with someone at about midnight,’ I went on quietly, ‘and the car’s not back yet.’

Maggie and Nigel were listening intently; Jocelyn was engrossed in the
Financial Times
and did not look up. I saw the coffee overflow into Davina’s saucer. Her face suddenly turned white.

‘The bitch!’ she said. ‘The bloody bitch!’ She put the cup down and flung her napkin on the floor.

There was a telephone in the hall – an ornate affair of gold and white – and she picked it up angrily. ‘Maggie, what is the number of that woman you brought here last night?’ she yelled through the door.

Maggie was smiling quietly. ‘I wrote it on the pad by the phone,’ she answered softly. ‘I figured someone from this house might want to call her.’

Davina was connected almost at once and I listened in disbelief. This was my husband they were fighting over. Sarah Cummins had arrived at the house, bent on revenge on Davina for stealing her man, as she saw it, and in order to do it she had decided to steal Tim from her. Wordlessly I stood up and went to stand in the hall behind her, listening. There was no question that Tim was there, but he was refusing to come to the phone. After five minutes’ vicious tirade Davina slammed down the phone and whirled round. She found herself face to face with me and for one second she had the grace to look taken aback. Then she smiled. ‘Don’t look like that, Celia. If you were any good at all with men you’d be able to keep him, wouldn’t you! You deserve to lose him!’ She ran to the staircase and vanished up it.

I was stunned. For a while I could not move, then I was conscious of the dining room door closing softly behind me, shielding me from the staring eyes within. An arm went round my shoulders. It was Nigel.

‘Come on up to my room. I’ve some brandy up there,’ he said quietly. I went without a murmur and sat on his bed sipping it until I had stopped shaking. His arms were round me, comforting, holding me close. I hardly noticed when he took the glass from my hand and set it down on the bedside table, then his lips were against mine and I felt myself lying back on the pillows. ‘I’ll take care of you, Celia. Forget him. He’s not worth it,’ he whispered, tickling my neck with a curl of my hair, wound round his finger. He looked down into my eyes with such concern and kindness that for a long time I lay still. I felt secure and safe. I was wanted. ‘Oh Nigel!’ My arms went round his neck and I was sobbing at last.

We lay like that for a long time and it was only the sunlight crawling across the carpet towards us until it threw a brilliant hot beam across the pillow which brought me to my senses. I pushed him away and sat up.

‘Nigel. What shall I do?’ I looked miserably down at the floor. I should have told him then what I had overheard on the phone, but I was afraid. Afraid for Davina but afraid of her too and I hated her at that moment almost as much as I hated Sarah Cummins. And myself.

Nigel did not try to touch me again. Getting up he poured another tot of brandy and put it into my hands. Then he walked across to the window and stared out. ‘Let me take care of you,’ he said. ‘There is no point in staying with a man who makes you so unhappy, Celia. You can fight for years, but he’s not going to change. Do you want to waste your whole life on him? He’s not worth it.’ He walked back and stood looking down at me. ‘You’re a hundred times more beautiful than your sister, Celia. You’re natural; you’re unspoilt. Don’t let them corrupt you. Let me take you back to London.’