Olivia’s Luck (2000) (55 page)

Ursula’s back was still to me, but I saw her delve into her bag for a hanky and pat her eyes, as Imo reached anxiously across to clutch her hand. What is it, what’s wrong? I saw her ask. Ursula began to speak but the strings were growing louder and I couldn’t hear what she was saying, could only watch Sebastian’s face grow darker, more concerned, more – angry. Imo’s eyes widened, her jaw dropped, then as Ursula dabbed with her hanky once more, they both turned and stared in my direction, turning shocked, horrified gazes on me. There was a brief moment when we all locked eyes. Then they turned away, back to Ursula. I saw Sebastian put a hand under her elbow for support, and as she gravely nodded to them both that she was fine, fine now, they helped her into her seat.

The orchestra had gone very quiet and the audience were hushed with anticipation, with only the odd muffled cough punctuating the silence. Imo sat down next to her mother with Sebastian beside her. Realising suddenly that I was the only person in the hall left standing, I turned and made my way shakily back to my place at the rear of the auditorium. A moment later, Hugo Simmonds took the podium to an enormous roar from the crowd. I sat, dazed and bewildered, watching blankly as he acknowledged the audience, then turning his back on them, he raised his arms, brought them down with a flourish, and with a blast of trumpets and horns, the symphony began. I looked down and realised my programme was shaking on my knees. I must have listened to three, maybe four bars of the symphony, before getting up, gathering my bag and my programme, and leaving the hall.

I
don’t remember hailing a taxi, sitting shocked and white-faced as I no doubt did in the back, gazing blankly at the thronging London streets as they swept by, or even arriving at the car park, and somehow, dazedly, finding my car, but I suppose I must have done that too. I do remember the drive home, though. I remember how dry my throat felt, how knotted my chest was, and how I had to keep a really firm grip on the wheel to stop my hands from shaking and the car from veering into another lane. But if my body was having problems reacting properly, my mind was compensating by going into overdrive. Imo and Sebastian – of course. God, what a fool I’d been! It was him she’d been angling for all along, not Hugo. Cosy dinner parties at her parents’ house, all no doubt arranged by her Svengali, Ursula, and then yesterday – why, I even
saw
Imo, alone, going into his house. Why hadn’t I clicked? Even Hugh had hinted at it now I came to think of it, and of course, she’d been so thrilled when Johnny and I got back together, coming round with flowers, hugging us, tears of relief in her eyes: “Oh God, guys, this is what we’ve all been hoping for!” Well, of course it was, of course! I buzzed down the window and gulped in some air. So – how long had it been going on? While he’d been seeing me? If indeed he
had
been seeing me, I thought with a jolt, because actually, in
his
eyes he probably hadn’t, which would explain his reluctance to comply when I offered him my body on a plate after Molly and Hugh’s barbecue, and his bemused expression when I popped round later to inform him that our tempestuous affair was over. No wonder he’d looked surprised. No wonder he hadn’t broken down in floods of tears. As far as he was concerned I was Mrs Friendly Neighbour with whom he had the occasional matey drink when he wasn’t canoodling with his main squeeze, Imogen Mitchell! I thought of Imo’s beautiful, shining face tilted up to his and a hot flush washed over me. “Don’t make a fool of yourself,” Ursula had said. Well, it was too late for that. I’d done that already. In fact, it occurred to me I’d been doing it for years. About thirteen, to be precise.

Yes, thirteen years ago, I thought with a wave of misery, when Imo had apparently decided she wanted to marry Johnny, but unlike me, had thought through the implications, had known intuitively what she was taking on. She knew full well she had to bring a man like Johnny to his knees, drag him out to Italy, shove Paolo in his face, humiliate him, have him storm off in high dudgeon, but all the while be waiting, waiting for his anger to cool, for his unquestionable passion to surface, for him to beg her, on bended knee, to come back, at which point she’d have tossed her blonde head, slipped on her Gucci mules and returned to have him right where she wanted him. Except that she hadn’t reckoned on me, creeping stealthily in, like some fat, spotty teenager who’d never been allowed to join in the games, and who’d spotted a gap and gone for it. Oh yes, in I’d nipped, always on the sidelines, always marginal, but, boy, was I seizing my chance now – but only, mind, only because Johnny had no one else to play with.

I gritted my teeth and breathed hard. And I’d never been enough for him, never – I saw that now. He’d always wanted more, needed more, and so he’d turned to Nina. It wouldn’t have happened if he’d married Imo – she was more than enough for any man – and now, because of me, because of my pathetic eagerness to have him at any cost, there was carnage all around. Broken marriages, mistresses, thwarted love affairs and at the heart of it all, a small, fatherless, disabled boy. My heart lurched. My fault. I shot my chin up and swallowed desperately, but it was no good, tears were falling relentlessly, sliding silently down my cheeks as chaos howled inside me. It was all of my making.

And all that time, I thought wretchedly, wiping my face with the back of my hand, all these years Imo must have secretly hated me. Must have swallowed it bravely, but how her guts must have twisted every time she looked at me, every time she saw Johnny and me together, came to our home, sat at our table.

Always in her mind – that should have been me! And I never
knew
!

I pulled off the motorway with an astonishing lack of care, horns blaring in my wake, and sped blindly away into more traffic. The sky was darkening overhead and a rainstorm threatened. At length it broke, and I drove the rest of the way in a torrential downpour, concentrating hard on the frantic dance of the windscreen wipers, grateful for their distraction.

When I finally pulled up in my drive I turned off the engine and sat for a moment. The rain had abated to a dismal drizzle and I leant forward and rested my head on the wheel. My insides were twisting themselves into a fierce ball of anguish, but I knew too that monthly abdominal cramps were also to blame. How convenient of my reproductive system to make its presence felt at this particular moment. Thank you, God. I dragged my head wearily from the wheel, massaged my tummy and leant back, reliving for a ghastly moment Sebastian’s face as he’d turned to look at me. Shook and disbelief seemed to be the overriding emotion in those dark eyes. So what exactly had Ursula said? That I was intent on the same, destructive course of action that I’d perfected thirteen years ago? That I was determined to muscle my way into his life and crowbar her precious daughter out, at all costs? I rested my head back wearily on the head-rest, and it was at the moment that I realised I wasn’t alone.

Just round the corner of the house, in the little car port that no one ever used, was a car I didn’t recognise. It was blue, an Escort, I think, and it occurred to me that I didn’t know anyone who drove a car as middle-aged as that. Its position in the car port rather than dumped in the middle of the drive gave it an alarming gravitas too, as if it had been carefully positioned, and as if its owner knew they may have to wait some time. Why yes, of course, I realised with a start, it belonged to the protagonists in the
other
disastrous chapter in my life, the chapter which, despite my desperate efforts to keep it under wraps, had clearly been unfolding relentlessly in my absence. The jolly old police. Oh yes, the boys in blue, who no doubt had been told I was out, but armed with a search warrant and an unending ability to sit soft and drink copious cups of tea, had camped out patiently in my sitting room, awaiting my return. Oh good. More music to face, and why not? Might as well get it all over in one day; might as well face a symphony as a string quartet.

I got out and slammed the door hard, rehearsing, slightly defiantly in my head – why yes, officer, I’m well aware that one of my workforce recently knocked off his wife, but seeing as it was a complete and utter accident I decided to give him a day’s grace to get away. You see I –

“
Ahhh
!”

I leapt inches in the air as someone stepped out of the shadow of the hedge and caught my arm from behind. Terrified, I swung round.

“Lance!”

“Shhhh!” He put his hand gently over my mouth, glancing quickly about to check I hadn’t been heard.

Wide-eyed I stared at him, then nodded to let him know I wasn’t going to shriek again. Slowly, he took his hand away.

“What’s going on?” I gasped, when I’d regained the use of my vocal cords. “What’s happened?”

“I’m waiting for Spiro,” he whispered. “The police should be back with him any minute. I don’t want them to know I’m still here.”

“Spiro?”

“Yes, poor bastard, he’s down at the station. They took him there this morning. He’s been there all day, being questioned.”

“Oh God! And you too?”

“Most of the day, but they let me out on bail a couple of hours ago.”

“On bail!” I stared. His face was very pale under his tan. “But, Lance, you weren’t even there when Vi died! You were here with me that weekend. You haven’t done anything!”

“Quite, but in the absence of Dad or Alf, Spiro and I are all they’ve got to go on. You were right to go to London, Liwy.”

“Did they want to speak to me?” I whispered fearfully.

“Yes, but only as a matter of course. Just as a formality, so they said, and certainly not as desperately as they wanted to speak to us,” he added drily.

“But,” I glanced back at the house, confused, “why is Spiro down there? I mean, if they’re up here – ”

“Who?”

I jerked my head. “Isn’t that their car?”

He stared, then clicked. “Oh no, that’s your mother-in-law. I let her in. She wanted to wait for you. She’s inside.”

“My – ”

“Liwy? Is that you, darling?”

The front door opened and Angie stood there framed, peering out into what was now just a light drizzle, shading her eyes in the gathering gloom.

“Good God, does
she
know anything about all this?” I hissed, appalled.

“Of course not,” he hissed back. “What d’you take me for? No, by all accounts she just came round to discuss the state of your marriage.”

“Oh terrific,” I groaned.

“Liwy, is that you?” she called again.

“Go on.” Lance gave me a little shove. “Go in and act naturally, for heaven’s sake. I’ll let you know when Spiro gets back.”

He slunk back to his position behind the hedge, pulling up the collar of his leather jacket and lighting a cigarette, shading the match with his hands and looking for all the world like Orson Welles in
The Third Man
. I raked a despairing hand through my wet hair. God, Angie. She was all I needed right now, but then again I reasoned wearily, she was, admittedly, somewhat preferable to the police. I trudged dismally up the path and kissed her damply on the doorstep.

“Angie, I didn’t recognise your car.”

“It’s a hire car, darling. Remember I pranged the last one? And the bloody door leaks like a sieve so I have to put it under some shelter when I park. Good gracious, you look all in! Come in and I’ll make you a stiff gin and tonic. Are you feeling all right?”

“Period pains,” I said weakly, and not untruthfully. “But I’ll take you up on that gin,” I said following her in and collapsing into the nearest armchair. “It’s the best offer I’ve had all day.”

She bustled off to the kitchen and I rested my head back and gazed blankly at the ceiling. So, Spiro was, at this very moment, being grilled rotten in some cold grey interview room, was he? Poor boy. Heavens, he’d be terrified, and probably in floods too, wringing torrents out of his hat. I wondered when they’d be back for me. I shut my eyes and rubbed my forehead wearily. I could hear Angie rummaging about in the kitchen, no doubt looking for ice and lemon, which could be a very fruitless search in this house. How long had she been here, I wondered? And what was so important that she had to come over, rather than telephone? And then wait? I twisted uncomfortably in my chair, rubbing my aching tummy, as Angie reappeared with two large gins, predictably,
sans
ice. She handed me one and I took a large gulp as she settled herself opposite. She was looking lovely, as usual, in a pale suede jacket and biscuit skirt which went beautifully with her copper hair, but her face wore an anxious look. She went to take a sip of her drink, then thinking better of it, put it aside and leant forward urgently.

“Liwy, I’ve got to talk to you.”

“So I gather,” I murmured. I took another gulp. God, It was strong.

She leant back for a second and massaged the corners of her mouth with thumb and forefinger, gazing at a spot somewhere above my head as if for inspiration. Then her eyes came back to me. They were wide and frank.

“Liwy darling, I know what you’re up to.”

“Oh?” I blinked. Crikey, I wish I did.

“With Johnny. I know the game you’re playing.”

“I’m not playing any game.”

“Yes you are, and you’ve played it brilliantly, quite brilliantly. But listen, darling – he’s desperate. You’ve brought him comprehensively to heel now, brought him right back into line, so don’t make him suffer any more, eh? He so badly needs to come home.”

“Needs?” I muttered.

“Wants,” she corrected quickly.

I frowned. “So – he’s with you?”

“Of course he’s with me, where did you think he’d be? He’s been with me since you threw him out!”

“Well, funnily enough, Angie,” I said slowly, “I had a sneaking suspicion he might be with another woman. The woman who, actually, was the initial
cause
of my throwing him out.”

“Oh her,” she said dismissively. “No, no, that’s all finished. He’s over her now, and that’s all thanks to you, my dear. Golly, you’ve made him sit up. By showing him the door, just when he thought he’d got his feet under the table again and all was forgiven – oh, that was inspired, Liwy, and I told him so too. Told him he jolly well deserved all he got from you, and that it was up to him to win
you
back now. You’ve really brought him to his senses, my love, and it was absolutely what he needed – a good kick up the chauvinistic pants. But…I’m worried now.” Her well-preserved forehead puckered with anxiety and she clasped her hands tight. “I’m worried that if you leave him in the wilderness any longer your plan might backfire, that he may get
used
to being out there on his own, find some other form of distraction. Now’s the time, Liwy,” she said urgently. “He’s learnt his lesson, bring him in from the cold. He’d crawl back now if you said the word, and with everything out of his system! You’ve won hands down, darling, but – just be careful. A man like Johnny won’t stay on hold for ever.”