A Perfect Home (16 page)

The day had started overcast. Dull clouds had hung low in the sky all morning, but as Claire drove through the town she realized the sky had changed and was now bright blue. The sun shone warmly through her car window. Temporary traffic lights on the high street brought Claire's car to a halt just outside the gallery where Sally worked. Sally's boss, Anna, was in the window arranging a display of brightly painted pottery and handmade baskets. Looking up, she waved through the glass. Claire moved off; Anna was still waving and Claire hoped she wouldn't notice her turning into the car park and wonder why she hadn't come in to say hello.

She was late. She saw the car already there, standing out amongst the muddy 4x4s and small, dusty hatchbacks. Its hood was up despite the warm afternoon. Claire was relieved; she would feel less exposed as they drove through town.

Stefan stood beside the car looking ridiculously glamorous in a white collarless shirt and dark blue jeans. He wore sunglasses and his unkempt wavy hair and summer tan made him look like a film star himself.

Self-consciously, Claire parked the car. Stefan watched her with a smile as she tried to negotiate the narrow space.

‘I know it's not straight,' she said, as she climbed out.

‘It looks fine to me.' He walked up to her and lightly kissed her cheek. ‘I was worried that you wouldn't come,' he said, standing back.

‘Children, tractors, small roads. We're always late round here,' said Claire. She felt shy and awkward.

‘You look lovely.'

She shrugged and smiled, pleased and embarrassed by the compliment.

‘Shall we go?'

He opened the door for her and she slid into the passenger seat. The smooth red leather was warm against the back of her bare legs. The mahogany and chrome dashboard glinted in the sunlight. The smell instantly reminded her of long journeys as a child. She had a sudden memory of her parents together, laughing in the front as she ate Tic Tacs in the back. Her father driving with one hand on her mother's knee.
Had they been happy then?
she wondered.

Stefan started to manoeuvre the car out of the car park.

‘The only trouble with classic cars is,' he said, heaving round the steering wheel, ‘no power-assisted steering. Still, I'm sure it keeps me fit. Now tell me what you've been up to lately.'

In her nervousness, Claire found herself telling him about the fool she'd made of herself at the Oakwood Primary School sports day by falling over in the mothers' race and revealing her very large and very ancient maternity pants to the entire mass of assembled parents and children. As the words came out she wished they hadn't. This was not the sort of captivating conversation she'd imagined herself making with Stefan.

He laughed. ‘Sounds like you were the highlight of the whole event.'

‘If only I'd known I was going to fall over, then I'd have worn some less substantial knickers with a bit of lace on,' Claire went on, wishing she could just shut up. ‘I have a sparkly thong that Sally gave me as a joke once. Even that would have been better than my enormous Bridget Jones-style pair.'

‘Stop!' He was laughing. ‘I can't concentrate on my driving with you going on about lacy knickers and glitzy thongs.'

Claire felt herself blushing. ‘Sorry.'

‘No need to apologise,' Stefan said, flashing her a smile. ‘It's just I'm not used to picking up women in car parks who then launch into descriptions of their underwear.'

She cringed. ‘Sorry. Again. It's just I'm not used to being picked up in car parks and to tell you the truth I'm a bit nervous, and when I'm nervous I say the most ridiculous things.'

‘Well, if we're both being honest, I've been nervous about seeing you again too. But now I'm with you it feels as comfortable as …' He paused while he thought of a description. ‘As comfortable as putting on my favourite jumper.'

‘Or a big old pair of pants?' she offered, and they both burst out laughing. ‘Where are we going anyway?'

They were driving out of town in a direction Claire didn't often go in.

‘Surprise,' he said mysteriously.

‘I feel as if I'm being kidnapped.'

‘Actually, I have the ransom note written already.'

‘Just tell me where we're going or I'll throw myself from the car at the next junction.'

Stefan glanced at her. ‘I know you can't run. You've told me that. I'll just catch you and put you back in the car.'

She laughed. ‘I knew I should never have told you about sports day.'

The little car went surprisingly fast down the high- hedged lanes. Wild roses and cow parsley brushed against its cream paintwork and shiny chrome.

After a few minutes silence he relented. ‘OK. You've worn me down with your sophisticated interrogation techniques. We're going to a little place I photographed for a magazine feature a few months ago. It's a Jacobean mansion converted into a five-star hotel. They lay on the most fantastic afternoon tea.'

‘Sounds lovely.'

The car stopped at a junction. Stefan looked at her and smiled. He arched an eyebrow. ‘They have the most delicious cakes.'

They drove for another half an hour. The smell of freshly cut hay came in through the open windows and Claire started to relax. Stefan told her about a house he'd been photographing in Scotland the day before.

‘It was a fortified house. A castle, really. Parts of it medieval. The old couple who live there are quite mad. They have fourteen Great Danes and a huge black goat with a big red collar that sleeps in a basket in front of the Aga.'

‘Makes a change from a cat, I suppose.'

‘Maybe William would agree to a goat instead of a dog?' Stefan threw her a fleeting look.

‘It would keep the grass short too,' Claire said, laughing, but she wished he hadn't mentioned William.

At last the car swung through stone gateposts and down a long drive. The hotel stood on the side of a steep hillside looking over a wooded valley below. Ancient weatherworn carvings adorned its walls. Stefan parked outside and they walked up wide stone steps into a cool, marble-floored foyer. Claire gazed around at the sofas and armchairs arranged in sociable groups around huge fireplaces. Elaborate floral arrangements filled vast urns.

‘Stefan, how lovely to see you again.'

A man in a pin-striped suit appeared and shook Stefan's hand enthusiastically.

‘I've wanted to come back ever since we did the shoot here.'

‘Your pictures looked superb in the magazine. It did business no end of good.' His accent was faintly European – French or Italian, maybe.

‘This is my friend Claire,' said Stefan. ‘I've told her about your fabulous cakes.'

‘Tea for two then? No problem,' said the manager. ‘Would you like to sit on the terrace? It's a beautiful day.'

He led them through a blood-red dining room. Crystal glasses glinted on crisp white tablecloths and Venetian mirrors reflected back at each other into infinity. They came out through French windows onto a long terrace. The sunlight was bright after the cool darkness of the interior.

The manager seated them at a table looking out across the view. In the bottom of the valley Claire could see a river twisting between the trees.

‘This is very nice,' she said when the manager had left them alone.

‘I knew you'd like it. Would you just excuse me? I'll be back in a minute,' Stefan got up and disappeared the way they'd come.

Claire looked at the other guests sitting around the terrace. They all looked extremely glamorous. She was sure she recognised a woman in a wide-brimmed hat and elegant cream trouser suit. Wasn't she someone on the television? The older man sitting with her looked vaguely familiar too. Claire couldn't help but stare at them.

When she looked away from then she realised that Stefan was back and had been watching her.

‘I can't work out where I've seen them before either,' he said sitting down and nodding towards the couple.

A pretty waitress dressed in black and white appeared and laid out plates and silver cutlery between them. Claire saw Stefan smile at the waitress and then give her the smallest suggestion of a wink. The waitress winked, more obviously, back at him and with a little giggle walked away.
How dare he?
Claire thought. How dare he flirt so brazenly in front of her? She contemplated getting up and leaving but the waitress was back with a tray of steaming teapots, jugs, cups and saucers. She placed a cup and saucer in front of Stefan and Claire saw a smile pass between them again, she decided she was definitely leaving; it had been a mistake to ever see Stefan again. A clink of crockery made her glance down at the cup and saucer the waitress placed in front of her.

Claire's eyes widened in astonishment as she picked up the porcelain cup. For a moment she let her fingers trace the delicate brush strokes that made up the pink camellias swirling around the fine white glaze, on the rim a band of gold lustre glinted in the sunlight.

‘It's beautiful,' whispered Claire still staring at the exact replica of her grandmother's tea cup. ‘Where did you get it?' she asked looking up at Stefan's smiling face.

‘I have a friend who decorates china. I took her a piece of your broken cup and asked her to copy it for me.'

Claire shook her head in amazement. ‘I can't believe it. What a lovely thing of you to do.'

The waitress was still standing beside them grinning. ‘Your friend wanted it to be a surprise. It's beautiful isn't it?'

‘I just wanted to say thank you,' he said, when they were alone again. ‘For my sister's present. Shall we christen it?' He leant across to pour tea into the cup.

‘You don't need to thank me like this,' said Claire. ‘A cheque in the post or a credit card number is usually enough.'

‘I've got your money here,' he handed her an envelope. ‘But I wanted to thank you for the lovely time I had photographing your house as well. I don't normally enjoy my job so much.'

‘Well, thank you for the thank you,' she said, suddenly feeling shy. With one hand she played with the corner of her napkin, rolling the stiff white hem between her finger and thumb.

The waitress reappeared with a three-tiered stand of cakes. Chocolate gateaux, creamy éclairs, custard tarts, and fruit pastries. Butterfly buns, fruit cake, scones, and little cream-filled pink meringues. Claire had never seen so many cakes.

‘Wow,' she said, wide-eyed.

‘You choose first. You look like you need feeding up. What can I tempt you with?' he asked, turning the cake stand around so that she could view the selection.

Claire took a slice of Victoria sponge oozing with jam and cream. It tasted light and fluffy. She was suddenly starving after weeks of having no appetite at all.

‘I wish I could make a sponge that tasted like this,' she said, wiping crumbs from the corner of her mouth.

‘Do you want to try a bit of this one? It's delicious.' Stefan didn't wait for Claire's answer but held out a forkful across the table. The pile of chocolate sponge and mousse slipped sideways on the fork. ‘Quick!' he said, laughing. ‘It's going to fall off.' Claire lent forward and took it in her mouth. It felt delectably soft and silky, melting on her tongue.

‘Do you want some of this?' she offered a forkful of her own sponge.

‘That's really good.'

‘What shall we try next?' he said when their plates were empty.

‘You've got jam on your chin,' Claire told him, handing him his napkin.

The afternoon passed quickly in a blur of cake tasting and cups of tea in her beautiful cup on the sun-drenched terrace. Stefan was so funny it almost made Claire forget how gorgeous he was. He made her laugh, gently teasing her and telling her stories about his friends and the houses he had photographed. They talked about their favourite food, favourite music and artists; about novels they'd both enjoyed and films he'd seen that she would have liked to have seen, if going to the cinema to see grown-up films were still possible. Claire couldn't remember the last time she'd talked to anyone about these things – things that used to be so important to her before the children, before William, before the house.

Stefan told her about his ten years spent wandering the globe: India, Russia, China, America – north and south. For the first time Claire wished she'd listen to her mother's advice and seen the world before she settled down.

Stefan's ambition had once been to be a travel photographer.

‘But somehow I got sucked into interiors. Wherever I went it seemed that I always ended up photographing houses until that's what I became known for and no one cared about my shots of Kilimanjaro at dawn or street vendors in Beijing.'

‘It's not too late,' she said. ‘Can't you have another go?'

He stared into the distance. ‘I don't know. Now I'm back in Britain I feel like I'm stuck in this rut for good.' He seemed lost in his own thoughts. Claire reached out and touched his hand; effortlessly their fingers entwined. For an exquisite moment they remained like that. Somewhere inside the hotel a clock struck six.

‘I've got to go,' she said. Stefan let her hand go. ‘I promised I'd be picking up the children now.' She couldn't believe it could have got so late.

‘I wish we could stay.'

Stay for what?
Claire wondered.
More tea and cakes? Dinner? The night?

‘I've got to go,' she said again and stood up, taking her jacket from the back of the chair.

They walked back to the foyer. Stefan went to the large oak desk to pay.

‘It's on the house,' she heard the manager say. ‘Please come back soon.'

‘I will,' said Stefan.

‘Bring your lovely lady-friend again,' the manager called as they went through the large double doors.

‘I'll see if I can persuade her.'