A Question of Love (31 page)

She was talking to me about the quiz.

‘We
love
watchink it, don’t we Jessica, darlink?’ Jessica nodded. ‘You are
so
clever,’ she said smoothing the front of her floral silk dress. ‘But Luke said that you were always
verrry
clever when you were students together.’

‘Oh she was,’ he said. ‘Top notch.’
Top notch
? Luke
never
said things like ‘top notch’. ‘Tea anyone?’ he added. I thought he was going to produce a tennis racket.

‘I’ll have Lapsank Souchonk,’ she said. ‘You don’t mind makink it do you Luke? What about you, though, Laura? What would
you
like?’

‘I’d like a herbal tea,’ I muttered. Something calming, I thought to myself. That’s what I need. ‘Erm…camomile would be great. If you’ve got it,’ I added, as though I had no idea that Luke had two boxes of the stuff. I didn’t want to enrage Magda by reminding her that I had an association with the house that entailed a familiarity with the contents of the kitchen cupboards.

‘Righty-o,’ Luke said, clapping his hands together. I had never ever heard him say ‘Righty-o’ in his life. Perhaps you could slip something pharmaceutical into it, Luke, I wanted to add as he went down the stairs. A valium, preferably. Or half a bottle of whisky. A general anaesthetic, maybe.
Anything
to reduce the tension of this bizarre encounter. Oh and could you go and get me the can of Sure while you’re at it because there’s a damp patch the size of Bangladesh under my left arm.

But Magda was talking away, as though she was the Queen putting some minor Commonwealth official at their ease, or rather, yes,
that
was it, as though she was Luke’s
mum—
meeting the nervous girlfriend for the first time and doing her best to be kind and welcoming, reserving judgement about the poor girl’s pasty complexion, or thick ankles, or gauche manner or patent, spot-it-a-mile-off let’s-just-forget-this-shall-we unsuitability. And it was on the tip of my tongue to tell Magda how very,
very
strange this was for me, sitting there, talking to her in this pleasant way, given that she’d trashed my things a mere forty-eight hours earlier. As she sat there, bludgeoning me with her charisma—she was talking about Chiswick now, something to do with Jessica’s school—I tried to imagine her orgy of destruction but found it impossible. I thought of the dismembered dressing gown which, even now, lay in a black bin liner at the front of the house, like a butchered corpse. I was itching to ask her what emotions had gripped her as she slashed and sliced—but somehow the question would have seemed in poor taste.

And now here Luke was with the tea. He was a good ten feet away from me but I could see that his brow was beaded with sweat. And now, just
like
a nervous girlfriend desperate to impress, I asked Magda about the goats. It was a good move. Her face lit up. And as she began her exposition about pygmies I made a mental note to try and incorporate some caprine questions into the quiz.

‘So what qualities should one look for when choosing a pygmy goat as a pet?’ I asked her politely.

‘Well the most popular ones are the “wethers”,’ she explained. (Q. What, in goat husbandry, is a “wether”? A. No idea.) ‘These are castrated bucks. I
much
prefer them castrated,’ she went on, as I stole a glance at Luke, ‘because, when they stop thinkink about sex the whole time, then they seem to develop their intelligence and…I don’t know,’ she gave an elegant little shrug, ‘their…
personality
.’

‘Goatonality,’ said Luke affably.

‘
Person
ality
,’
she corrected him with a smile. ‘And you see, the lack of testosterone makes them more interested in socializing with
people
rather than their four-footed friends.’

‘Really?’ I said.

‘Oh yes. Our pygmies follow us around like dogs, don’t they, Jessica?’

Jessica nodded. ‘Especially Sweetie.’

‘They bleat when they hear our voices. They like to sit on our laps.’

‘
How
adorable.’

‘But we do
not
allow them on the sofa or beds. Do we darlink?’

‘No,’ said Jessica seriously. ‘
Or
the table.’

‘Well, that’s…sensible. And what do they eat?’

Magda smiled. ‘Oh, that depends. We call Heidi “Pig Me!” because she’s such a greedy little guts, don’t we Jess?’

Jessica nodded. ‘She’ll eat
anything
.’

‘But the others are fairly picky. But all pygmies need hay in their diet.’

‘Alfalfa hay!’ I almost shouted, suddenly remembering something Luke had once said and desperate to drop it into the conversation.

‘Alfalfa hay—
yes
, that’s
right
.’ Magda smiled at me delightedly, revealing a row of orthodontically perfect white teeth. ‘But the problem with alfalfa hay…’

‘Yes?’ I said.

‘Is that it has a very high sugar content.’

‘Oh dear.’

‘Which could lead to increased weight, even obesity, and the chance of kidney stones.’ I arranged my features into a mask of anxiety. ‘And they need a lick-block of minerals and salts. That’s
verrry
important,’ she added.

Jessica nodded sagely.

‘Is that why Phoebe was ill recently?’ I asked solicitously.

‘Yes. It was a mineral deficiency. She had a bad fever, but she is
much
better now.’

‘And what do they sleep in?’ I asked. ‘I’ve often wondered.’

‘Well they have to have shelter of course. In Chiswick I have two large igloo-shaped dog kennels. They can climb on top of them and play “I’m the king of the castle.” That’s their favourite game.’

‘And they can sleep inside,’ said Jessica happily.

‘Or just have some private time during the day,’ said Magda. ‘But they like to go to bed early…’

‘With a good book?’ I suggested gaily.

Puzzlement momentarily distorted Magda’s lovely features. ‘No, Laura. Pygmy goats can’t read. What I am
saying
is that they are creatures of
habit
. They retire at dusk and get up at dawn.’

‘They don’t like getting wet,’ Jessica added.

‘No they
don’t
, do they, darlink. You’d think they were made of
sugar
!’ We all laughed. ‘But you can take them for walks on a lead, you know.’

‘Do you do that with yours?’

‘Yes, because I show them, so that’s all part of the training.’

‘Any prizes yet?’

‘Oh yes, Laura. So
many
.’ She then launched into a list of all the rosettes Sweetie and Yogi had won at the Surrey County Fair, and the Royal Show, and at Windsor. ‘Phoebe was expected to take gold at the South of England show,’ she added. ‘She was definitely best in her class, but I’m afraid she only got bronze.’

‘Really?’ I felt a flicker of genuine disappointment.

‘But between you and me—it was
fixed
.’

‘Fixed?’

She and Jessica were nodding slowly. ‘I’m afraid the world of pygmy goat showing can be quite corrupt,’ Magda went on, pursing her lovely, curved lips. ‘But my pygmies have done very well. Yogi is currently Goat of the Month on the Pygmy Goat Club website.’

‘You must be very proud of them.’

‘Oh I
am
. They are such delightful animals—and
so
intelligent.’

‘I’m not sure about that,’ Luke said. ‘Let’s face it, Magda, goats have an IQ of thirty-five.’ There was another quiz question, I realized. Q. What is the Intelligence Quotient of the average pygmy goat? A. Thirty-five.

‘No! They are
verrry
intelligent,’ Magda insisted. She looked at her watch. ‘My goodness I must go. I have to feed the darlinks their supper, then Steve and I are going to a party. So I must get my skis on.’

‘Skates,’ Luke corrected her benignly.

She smiled at him. ‘Yes, of course. Anyway, it’s been delightful meetink you, Laura.’ She embraced me warmly and I hoped she didn’t notice the stench emanating from my armpits. ‘Bye bye Jessica my darlink.’ She kissed her. ‘Be good for Daddy my little angel. Goodbye Luke.’

He saw her out, then came back into the drawing room, smiled, then clapped his hands.

‘Well,’ he said. ‘Wasn’t that
fun
?’

ELEVEN

‘How bizarre…’ said Felicity a few days later when I told her about my encounter with Magda. She was feeding Olivia at one breast while expressing milk from the other. I suddenly imagined the cross section of the lactating breast with its network of milk ducts, alveoli and Montgomery’s tubercles. ‘So she shreds your clothes and is then delightful to you. How…’

‘Capricious?’ I said as the electric pump droned away like a dentist’s drill, the silicone valve lifting up and down as though the gadget was breathing.

‘I
was
going to say “weird”. Perhaps she’s got bipolar disorder or something. You get massive mood swings with that. The two halves of the brain aren’t on speaking terms.’

‘She was so charming,’ I said wonderingly. The bottle of milk was already two thirds full. I wondered if Fliss ate grass to have such a good supply. ‘But it was obvious that she was quite mad.’

‘Mad Magda,’ Fliss said. ‘But Luke must have been relieved that she was at least civilized to you.’

‘He was.’

‘And did she apologize for what she did to your clothes?’

‘No. On the contrary, it was as though
she
was generously forgiving
me
, graciously choosing to overlook
my
appalling

behaviour.’

‘How Magdanimous of her.’

‘I think being pleasant was as near as she could get to saying sorry.’

‘But why her volte-face?’ She switched off the pump, then gestured to me to put the yellow top on the filled bottle. As I took it in my hand, it felt slightly warm.

‘Luke says it’s because Magda seemed to be genuinely contrite—she realizes she’d overstepped the mark, even for her. He also thinks it’s because it’s going well with her boyfriend. They had a dodgy moment when she had a punchup with one of his key clients—but they’re back on track now, apparently.’

‘What does he see in her?’ she asked as she flopped her left breast back into her bra.

‘What Luke did, I guess.’

‘Which was?’

I imagined Luke’s hand trembling slightly as he drew her naked form for the first time. ‘She’s absolutely gorgeous.’

‘Really?’

‘She’s…beautiful. You can’t help staring at her.’

‘How annoying,’ Fliss said. I was touched by her loyalty.

‘I do, meanly, wish she was more ordinary, but unfortunately she looks like Catherine Deneuve.’

‘But Luke wasn’t happy with her, was he, Laura?’

‘That’s true. Her behaviour was so bizarre that he fell out of love with her.’

‘And it’s
you
he wants.’

‘That’s what he says. He’s told me that he wants us to be together.’

‘
Good
. That’s obviously his agenda now. And what about children?’ she asked as she sat Olivia up and burped her. ‘Presumably he’d like to have more?’ She wiped a dribble of regurgitated milk off her shirt with a crumpled tissue.

‘We haven’t discussed it, but I’m sure he does.’

‘That would be wonderful,’ she said as she put Olivia on my lap. Then she opened the freezer and put in the bottle of expressed milk. I could see several more already in there, lined up like skittles. ‘It’s such
bliss
being pregnant, Laura.’

‘I know,’ I said. She looked at me. ‘I mean—you’ve told me often enough.’ And I thought,
but I’ve never told you. I’ve never told anyone but Nick that I was once pregnant.

‘It’ll be
such
fun if you could have one soon—Andwouldn’t-thatbeLOVELYforyoumydarlingbaby!’ she said, stroking Olivia’s nose with her index finger. ‘AlicklecousintoPLAY-wivwouldn’tatbeLOVELY?’

‘Khosaalthagazagoyagoya,’ Olivia replied.

‘It’s such a pity Hope doesn’t want the stork to visit
her
,’ Felicity added.

‘Yes, that
is
a shame,’ I said. I’d told her nothing of Hope’s problems.

‘Not that Mike seems to mind. He’s obviously not that bothered.’

‘Hmmm.’

‘Do you know where that business about the stork comes from?’ I heard her say.

‘No.’

‘It’s from a Norse legend that the souls of unborn children live in watery areas such as marshes and lakes. And since storks are known to visit such areas, they were thought to have gathered up the babies’ souls and delivered them to the parents. Isn’t that lovely?’ she sighed.

‘Yes. It is.’

As Felicity took Olivia, I wondered where
my
baby’s soul had lived—in a spring or a stream, or by a river. I imagined the stork scooping it up, and carrying it towards me with its big, slow wing flaps. Then suddenly turning round in mid flight.

‘I’ve never asked you this, Laura, but did Nick want children?’

I felt a wave of bitterness. ‘I’m not…sure…But in any case it’s not really worth thinking about is it?’

‘Still no news then?’ she asked. I shook my head. ‘Even with all this publicity?’

‘No. The
Daily Post
were asking readers to phone in if they knew where he was, so the
Daily News
, not to be outdone, have got two of their top investigative journalists on the case.’

‘Then they might very well find him.’

‘I don’t think they will—he’s the invisible man.’

‘And what would you do if they did?’

I looked at her. ‘God…I don’t know. That’s a scary question.’

‘Well, you might have to answer it—if they do track him down.’

‘They won’t,’ I repeated, ‘because they won’t commit resources to it for more than a few days, so if they
were
going to, it would have to be soon. By the way did Hugh
tell
you that he’d seen me at Luke’s gallery the other night?’

‘Yes. He was there with Chantal.’