Olivia’s Luck (2000) (54 page)

I bought a programme on the basis that I could at least put it across my knees to hide some thigh, and then went into the hall, wondering nervously if Sebastian would already be in the auditorium or perhaps backstage? I realised, with a little leap of pleasure, how excited I was about seeing him. All the ghastly horrors of yesterday and the equally ghastly horrors that would no doubt befall me tomorrow, fell away like a melting drift of snow, as I thought of his kind, sensitive face, relaxing into a smile of welcome as he spotted me. I glanced around. He didn’t appear to be about just yet, though, so I found my seat and perched on the edge, peering at the now gathering throng and looking for Imo.

It soon became clear that this was a very sophisticated London audience: there were no waving programmes, no excited shouts of “Co-ee! Over here!” as there had been at the more provincial Abbey; merely hushed, excited murmurings about the importance – musically speaking, darling – of this supremely momentous occasion. Highbrow to a man – and a woman, too – they were all very much in the Ursula Mitchell mould, until I realised that one of them actually
was
Ursula Mitchell, and that a few paces behind her was her daughter, Imo.

She was coming down the aisle behind a group of her mother’s friends looking absolutely stunning in an ankle-length, blue slip of a dress, arms bare and golden, the dress, loose and fluted around her ankles. I instinctively opened my programme on my knees and wished I’d listened to my friend in Donna Karan.

I stood up. “Imo!” I hissed, waving wildly and blessing my friend for his other tip, but she didn’t hear me, and sailed on down the aisle, talking animatedly. I kept my eyes trained on the group, watching closely as they made their way to the very front. Then, seeing them cluster around some seats, murmuring excitedly and fanning themselves with programmes, I left my chair and hastened down.

Ursula was looking very much at home and holding forth in hushed tones to anyone who cared to listen about what a marvellous season the London Symphony were having and what a tremendous violinist Stenbusky was and how lucky we’d been –
we’d been
, mind – to pinch him from the Birmingham Philharmonic, when, mid-stream, she saw me appear.

“Olivia!” She turned in surprise.

Imo swung around. “Good heavens – Liwy! What on earth are you doing here? How lovely!”

“Molly and Hugh gave me their tickets,” I said with a grin, kissing them both. “And I was in London anyway, so I thought – why not?”

“Why not indeed?” agreed Ursula, generously. “And what fun! Tell me, is Johnny with you or is he meeting you from work? You can’t
imagine
how delighted I was when Imogen told me you were back together again. That is
such
good news, my dear! Oh, Simon! Lovely to see you!” She turned as someone approached.

“Well no, it’s not good news, actually,” I grimaced to Imo. “You see, we’re apart again now.”

“No!” Imo clutched my arm in horror. “Oh God, I don’t believe it! Don’t tell me the bastard did it to you again?”

“Noo,” I said slowly, “actually, Imo, I did it to the bastard this time.” I smiled wryly. “I just realised how appallingly badly I’d been treated by him, you see. Oh, Imo, you were so right, right back in the very beginning when he’d first left me and you said I’d be mad to have him back!”

“I said that?” Her eyes widened.

“Yes, you did, and that was so incisive of you, but I just couldn’t see it at the time! It was almost as if I had to have him back to realise it. It was like – like some sort of warped rite of passage – and I had to be the one finishing it too. In the end I realised – well – I just realised I didn’t love him enough to swallow it all, I suppose.”

“Really?” Imo looked startled. Bewildered even. “Gosh. B-but, liwy, surely now that it’s on your terms, now that you’ve got the upper hand – well, you can call the shots for a change, can’t you? Be in the driving seat for once?”

“No,” I shook my head firmly, “still wouldn’t work, because you see I was in love with a dream. A fantasy Johnny, who just didn’t exist. The
real
Johnny McFarllen was a weak, selfish, vain, manipulative man who – Oh, but don’t get me on all that now, Imo,” I grinned. “I’ll tell you another time. I promise, there’s loads, and when you’ve got at least six hours and an extremely large gin I’ll fill you in on all the details, but what’s more important now,” I lowered my voice excitedly, “and what’s
so
thrilling, actually, Imo, is that for the first time in years, I find myself seriously attracted to someone else. Someone who I think is fond of me, but who up to now – well, I’ve just been so blind to! I was so consumed by Johnny, you see, I couldn’t even see this guy, not even when he was right in front of my nose!”

She gazed into my bright, excited eyes. “Who?” Quietly.

I grinned. “Sebastian.”

“Sebastian?”

“Yes, Sebastian Faulkner, the composer, silly, our man of the moment tonight! Oh, Imo, I
knew
he liked me and I was so stupid, I simply couldn’t do anything about it until I’d got Johnny out of my – ”

“Imogen – ” Ursula suddenly leant between us and put a hand on her daughter’s arm.

“So sorry to interrupt, Liwy, my dear, but I’d just love Imo to meet Simon Allsop, the impresario, and this is absolutely her last chance. Hector!” She called loudly to her husband. “Hector, darling, introduce Imo to – ” She pointed wildly to a man in a flamboyant red coat, then turned her daughter round and gave her a little push in their direction. Hector obediently came to collect her.

“Now.” Ursula turned back to me, smiling broadly. “Olivia, did you say Sebastian, my dear?”

“Sorry?”

“When you were talking, just now to Imo. About someone you were fond of?”

“Oh! Oh yes, that’s right!”

“Well, good heavens, I must warn you, I really must.” Her eyes widened.

“What?”

“Well, Imogen is seeing Sebastian.”

I stared. “Imogen’s…what?”

“She’s seeing Sebastian. Walking out with him, as we used to rather coyly put it, and they’ve been together for some time now, quite some time, and terribly in love. They’re off to Vienna tomorrow, in fact. Sebastian has a performance out there.” She looked anxious. “I’m so sorry, Olivia. I’m really surprised you didn’t know.”

“But…she was seeing Hugo!” I felt panic fly through every vein, strange flutterings besieged me. “I-I thought it was Hugo she was so infatuated with, so besotted by and – ”

“Oh, Hugo,” she interrupted impatiently. “Heavens, for a bit, maybe, but he was far too puppydog-ish for her. Good Lord, he followed her everywhere, hung on her every word – much too needy for our Imo. No, no, Sebastian is altogether a different kettle of fish, very much his own man, far more cerebral and eminently more suitable for Imo.” She smiled, raised her eyebrows confidentially. “D’you know, I think I can quite confidently say that This Is It, Olivia? Isn’t that marvellous? Because I know that you and Molly – and, good heavens, even Hector and I at times – had almost given up on her, almost despaired of her ever finding the right man and settling down, but I honestly believe that this time, she’s finally done it!”

I gazed into the confident, grey eyes beaming down at me. But what about me? I wanted to say. Surely I found him first?

“And you didn’t really want him, did you, my dear?” she said softly, putting a hand on my arm as if reading my thoughts. “You told him so, remember? Although actually, he was terribly embarrassed about that. Came round one afternoon and told us about it.”

“Wh-what d’you mean?”

“Well,” she gave a tinkly little laugh, “between you and me, he wasn’t really aware that there was anything to finish!”

I stared at her. It occurred to me that this was actually an incredibly bitchy remark. I straightened up.

“Well, Ursula, believe me, there was. We’d become very fond of each other. Maybe he was too upset to admit that.”

A spot of colour came into each of her high, pale cheeks. She glared at me.

“Olivia, I’ve known you for many years, since you were a little girl, in fact. I’d hate to see you make a fool of yourself.”

“I have no intention of doing that.”

“Good, because I feel I must warn you that this time you’d be out of your depth. This time you’re in an entirely different league.”

“What d’you mean,
this time
?”

Her sharp grey eyes went cold. “I mean this time, as opposed to last time. When you crept in and took Johnny right from under her nose.”

I stared at her, aghast. My mouth dropped. “I did
not
!” I managed to gasp. “God – how can you
say
that? Imogen finished with Johnny, she – ”

“Oh, she cooled it with him, all right,” she said impatiently, “but she hadn’t actually
finished
with him, hadn’t actually ended it, and that’s the difference. No, no, she was testing him, Olivia. She wanted to marry Johnny, you see, and she was adamant about that – had been right from the very beginning – and we all knew that, the whole family knew, and frankly I’m surprised you didn’t, or perhaps you chose not to, hmm?” She sighed. “But she was so young, you see, still so very young.” She pursed her lips as I gazed, horrified at her. “For a long time, too, I’d felt that Johnny had had the upper hand in the relationship, was a bit too…well, a bit too conceited, too big for his boots, so I concocted a little plan, a way to bring him down a peg or two. To test him out. Imogen was convinced he was the only one for her, but I wanted to see if Johnny was up to it, if he was up to marrying my precious daughter. I wanted to bring him to heel,” she breathed, “to deserve her, to beg her to have him back!”

I stared at her, astounded. “What – so you told her to cool it with him?” I gasped. “To hardly even speak to him after Oliver’s funeral, to never come home at weekends and – and to sleep with Paolo in Italy!”

Her face closed. “Don’t be so crude, Olivia. No, I merely suggested she play the fish a little, make him jealous, make him see that there were other men besides him who were attracted to her, desperate to take her out, see what his reaction would be. And he reacted pretty well, I must say. He even trekked all the way out to Italy to get her back, and I was impressed. I thought that with a little more of the same treatment she’d bring him quite conclusively to his knees, have him begging to marry her.” Her eyes hardened. “But I hadn’t reckoned on you, Olivia. Hadn’t reckoned on your part in the tale. Because then you appeared on the scene, didn’t you? You, with your green fingers and your broken home, wheedling your way into Angie’s garden with your secateurs and that wide-eyed, little-girl-lost routine of yours, winding yourself like bindweed around a broken-hearted Johnny.”

“Mrs Mitchell!” I gasped. “You’re rewriting history! He was devastated about Imo, sure, but he was equally adamant he wouldn’t have her back, not after what she’d done!”

She smiled. “Oh no.
You
persuaded him he was adamant he wouldn’t have her back. All those cosy little lunches in the City while you did some two-bit secretarial course and while my talented daughter studied Botticelli in Florence, waiting for him to come to her.” She tilted her chin up at me. “You played on a vulnerable young man, Olivia, a man whose girlfriend was conveniently studying abroad and whose father had just died. It was insidious, calculated, and very, very shrewd, I’ll give you that.”

I gazed at her, aghast. My God. All these years she’d thought this of me, all these years she’d harboured this bitterness, this resentment, considered me the fly in the ointment. And Imo too? I swung round to find her, but couldn’t see her. My heart lurched in horror. I also felt shocked into wondering – was this so? Was she right? But I’d asked Imo, I’d cleared it with her when Johnny and I had first –

“I
asked
Imo, Mrs Mitchell. I wrote to her in Florence, got a letter back saying – ”

“Oh yes, and that was jolly clever of you too, wasn’t it?” she sneered. “Let’s get it in writing. And what did you expect her to reply? Keep your thieving hands off my boyfriend? Over my dead body, you conniving bitch? What – dear, sweet-natured Imo? No, no, you knew darned well she’d give you the all-clear. You’re a sharp little thing, Olivia, you always have been. You sneaked in and – ”

“I did
not
sneak in,” I trembled. “I was fully aware of how delicate the situation was and – ”

“Not aware enough,” she snapped sharply. “And actually, for all your sharpness, not smart enough to see what was
really
going on, which was that Johnny took you on the rebound because he couldn’t have my daughter!” Her voice trembled. “Christ, she even came back from Italy to be your bridesmaid. You made her do that, and I’ll never forgive you for that because, God help me, I had to pick up the pieces the following day. The poor child nearly had a breakdown.”

I caught my breath in horror. Her face was pale now, taut with pent-up loathing. “My precious girl,” she breathed, “you did that to her. And she never found anyone else, never found anyone like Johnny.” She raised her chin high. “But she has now, you see. She’s all right now. She can be whole again – Sebastian’s seen to that. And we’re all so relieved, so thankful. They’re in love, Olivia, very much in love, and I’m not going to ask you not to interfere, not going to ask you not to meddle, because this time, you can’t. No one could possibly come between them now. Even if you tried, believe me, you’d be pissing in the wind.”

Something in the vulgarity of this expression, totally out of character, and the flash of steel in her grey eyes made me realise what Molly and I had always suspected. That Mrs Mitchell was a very, very tough cookie. I stared at her jutting jaw and her hawklike nose which seemed to be almost quivering with rage, just as Imogen came rushing up.

“Mummy! Are you all right? What’s happened? You…you look so upset!”

Ursula raised a brave chin. “I’m fine,” she whispered. “I was just explaining something very fundamental to Olivia here. Frankly, I’m surprised she didn’t know before. Any of it.”

She held my eyes a moment longer, then turned and walked away.

The orchestra were ready on the stage now, tuning up, violinists brandishing their bows, anticipating the appearance of their conductor. Imo stared after Ursula, then shot me a confused, anxious glance, before hastening to her mother. I watched them go, transfixed, literally welded to the spot by the ferocity of her words. A moment later, I saw Sebastian materialise from a side door. His face wore a defended, public look as he glanced about at the audience. Then, seeing Imo at the front, quickly walked across to join her as she stood, comforting her mother. I watched as he lightly touched Imo’s back and kissed her cheek.