Breaking and Entering (16 page)

‘Sober down, don't you mean?'

‘
I'm
not pissed.'

‘You must be.'

‘No.' He shook his head. ‘It was probably all that throat stuff I forced down. Perhaps it diluted the alcohol, or coated my stomach, like milk's supposed to do.'

Penny spooned half-melted sugar from her empty coffee-cup. ‘Well, something's worked anyway. Your voice is almost back to normal.'

‘Maybe it's the country air.'

She glanced out of the window at the jammed and noisy road. ‘Hampton Court's hardly the country.'

‘It was in Henry VIII's time. I remember reading once that Wolsey fixed on Hampton for his palace because all his physicians assured him it was the most healthy spot within twenty miles of London. Though I'm afraid they wouldn't think so now,' he added wryly, grimacing at the traffic. The restaurant was right opposite the palace, and coachloads of tourists were being disgorged at its gates; more coaches lumbering over the bridge towards the congested roundabout.

‘Well, let's get out anyway and walk off all that food. Come on – finish your coffee.'

Daniel drained his cup, took a last long swig of brandy. ‘I'll just ask them for the bill.'

‘And I'll go and have a p–p–pee.'

He grinned and watched her bounce across the room; sat wondering what she did regret. Every anniversary he found himself reflecting on his marriage, always secretly astonished that he had managed to propose at all. He'd had no idea when he'd made that fateful phone call how much turmoil and complication would ensue, and today the memories were surging back unchecked, perhaps because they'd repeated their P-lunch. He could remember really vividly that sense of guilty frustration he'd battled with nine years ago, when he'd wanted Penny as his wife, but was opposed at every turn. Divorce had been just a word to him, and he was pathetically unprepared for the toll it took on Penny, the brute emotions it unleashed in her and Phil, the bitter legal wrangles which hammered on interminably. Even without Phil and both the lawyers, there'd been so many other obstacles – Pippa and her nightmares, his Paris job, his way of life, Penny's intrusive retinue: the sisters, squatters, nomads, who dropped in and out of the house. Once they were finally married (a minor miracle in itself), he'd insisted that they found a place of their own, and then barred access to the oddballs. He'd also taken a strong line on the dogs and cats and other assorted animals previously allowed the freedom of her sitting-room. Now they had one hamster (in a cage) and a house more or less to themselves.

Of course, he'd had to make his own concessions, some of them quite painful. It had been a wrench to give up Paris and his flat; a total shock to the system exchanging bachelor existence for the roller-coaster of family life. And the work he did now – an admin job in a Third World development agency – was nothing like as challenging as his previous work on illiteracy. But then he couldn't keep beetling off to Africa with a wife and child in tow, and Penny had hated the thought of him going on his own, or working in a field where there was any element of danger.

‘Your bill, sir.'

He hadn't seen the waiter stealing up; changed his face from frown to smile as he rummaged for his credit card, suddenly realizing how far he'd come since he'd paid the bill for that first P-lunch in Paris. Many of the problems, which he'd regarded as insuperable, had simply faded into oblivion, or actually been solved.

He added a fat tip, handed over bill and card, then relaxed back in his chair. He was definitely feeling better. The wine had helped, of course, and an indulgent morning lying around in bed; and another heartening thing was that Juliet had receded, temporarily at least, as if she'd had the natural tact and grace to absent herself on his wedding anniversary. From the moment he'd phoned her to cancel lunch (grabbing his chance while Penny was listening to ‘Midweek' in the bath), he'd experienced a huge relief. Up till then, his mind had been stretched to breaking point by his mistress, daughter, wife – each fighting for more space in it. Juliet had sounded cool. He'd been vaguely hurt by her business like response; would have liked a little sympathy, some concern about his croaky shred of voice. But then he'd received that from his wife. Penny had been up and down the stairs all morning, bringing him antiseptic gargles and hot drinks.

He watched her returning from the ladies' room, the outline of her figure seductively revealed through the flimsy fabric of her dress. He was seized by a strong urge to have her, there and then; strip off the skimpy sundress and roll her over and over on the restaurant's plush pink carpet. They could always skip the walk, go straight home to bed. But dare he risk another failure? Juliet's damned earrings had put paid to his attempt this morning. Thank God he'd persuaded Penny to take them off – they were too dressy for the daytime, he'd told her with (spurious) sartorial authority, and didn't match her outfit. Lunch would have been intolerable with those traitorous pearls and amethysts dangling just in front of him. The thought alone was enough to kill his desire stone dead. And anyway, he'd drunk too much. All that wine and the remnants of a throat infection might put him off his stroke.

Penny picked up the last chocolate mint, offered him a bite. ‘Why don't we walk in the palace grounds? I'd love to see the flowers. I bet they're quite fantastic at the moment.'

He crumpled up his napkin. He had no objection to the flowers – it was the prospect of the trippers which depressed him. He could see them from where he was sitting: trooping in across the bridge, armed with radios and camcorders, manoeuvring their way between the ice-cream vans and hot-dog stands which had sprouted on the pavement; the tacky souvenir stalls selling policemen's helmets, Union Jacks.

‘It'll be cooler by the river,' he said, pushing back his chair.

‘Not so special, though. We've got the river any old day, but we haven't been to Hampton Court in ages.'

‘Okay.' He ushered her through the door, recoiling from the heat outside, as if from a physical blow. It was her day, after all, and at least the trees would provide some welcome shade.

They crossed the road and walked into the palace grounds through the elaborate wrought-iron gates. There was a queue at the main Gatehouse, so they turned into the rose garden. Daniel caught his breath. He had never seen such a magnificent display. It seemed almost a sin of indulgence to stand neck-deep in roses, feasting on their colours, drinking in their smell. Intoxicated bees were lurching from flower to flower, dazzled, as he was himself, by the fiery reds, vermilions, deep yellows, vibrant pinks. Some bushes were so laden they appeared to be spawning as he watched – each lush bloom bringing forth another.

Penny thrust her nose into a brilliant scarlet tea-rose. ‘We should have brought the empty wine bottle and filled it up with all this gorgeous scent!' They wandered down the path, examining the tags, reading the names aloud. ‘Mischief, Sensation,
Cuisse de Nymphe
. That's French, isn't it? What does it mean?'

‘Nymph's thigh.' He touched the shell-pink petals. Strange how all the names were related to seduction.

“Have you found a Penelope?'

‘Not yet.' Nor a Juliet, he thought. Perhaps he should take up rose-growing – a new hobby which would anchor him to home. His modest fifteenth of an acre couldn't rival this extravaganza, but even a few bushes would make a decent show. ‘Oh, look! Here's one called Guiding Spirit, and another with …'

He was interrupted by a shout – someone calling Penny's name. They turned to see a tall blonde figure dashing excitedly towards them: a girl in skin-tight jeans and a striped sailor-top.

‘Alison!'

‘Penny!'

The girls hugged each other in delight and some surprise. ‘What are you doing playing truant?' Penny asked. ‘I thought you had some super-duper job in a swanky office in Mayfair.'

‘Yeah, that's right. I'm here for work. We're designing a new brochure on all the London palaces, and I've been asked to do the illustrations.'

‘Lucky thing! I never get commissions like that – only deadly boring stuff. You'll never guess what I'm doing at the moment – drawing men's Y-fronts for a mail-order catalogue!'

Daniel crushed a rose petal in his hand. Why did Penny always put herself down? Last month she had designed a book jacket for a major publishing house, who'd declared themselves extremely impressed. He was proud of the fact that she was working as an illustrator, and had completed her degree course, notwithstanding all the turmoil of divorce, remarriage, moving house. It was he who had suggested that she re-apply to art school, fulfil her childhood dream.

‘Remember when we came here in the first year?' Alison was saying. ‘To do that project for the photography course?'

‘Yes, and you brought Matthew in a baby-sling, and he spent the whole day yelling. How is he, by the way?'

‘Still yelling, but no longer in a baby-sling – thank God! How's Pippa?'

‘Okay.'

Daniel heard the change in Penny's voice, though Alison was rattling on regardless, relaying news of other students: a successful exhibition, a new baby, a plum job. She had ignored him altogether, but then they'd never really hit it off. He was annoyed that they had run into her at all. Her presence reawakened those unpleasant memories he hoped he'd left behind him in the restaurant. In the first months of their marriage, soon after they'd moved house, Alison had dropped in fairly frequently – always, it seemed, at some inappropriate moment, when Pippa was in the middle of a particularly violent tantrum, or Penny bristling over the latest skirmish with Phil. (Her ex had been living only a mile or two away from them, and continually making trouble. His affair with Khadisha had proved stormy and chaotic, and he was clearly venting his spleen on the world.)

Alison looked much smarter than the scruffy girl he remembered; the once-tousled hair now sleekly groomed; the long limbs shown off to their best by casual but expensive clothes. He had never really understood what Penny saw in her. They'd been thrown together, more or less, as the only two mature students, the only ones with children, in their year. All the rest had come straight from school, and were more concerned with their sex-lives or the latest fashion-craze than with playgroups or the price of children's shoes.

‘Why don't we have a cup of tea?' Alison suggested. ‘Catch up on all our news?'

‘Oh yes!' said Penny eagerly, turning to Daniel to ask him if he'd mind. How could he object when the two friends hadn't seen each other in years? After graduation, Alison had gone to work abroad, and had returned to London only a few months ago.

‘That's fine by me,' he lied. ‘It'll give me the chance to have a quick look round the palace. You go and have your tea and I'll join you in the café in half an hour or so.'

Penny kissed him gratefully, then linked her arm through Alison's. They had resumed their dialogue before he could so much as say goodbye.

He meandered back the way he'd come, noticing couples everywhere – intimate, companionable couples, sauntering along with their arms around each other, or sprawled on benches, kissing. Now he was parted from Penny, his thoughts kept returning to Juliet. Was she missing him, he wondered, or regretting their cancelled lunch? It would have been an entirely different experience with
her
– different food, different wine, different conversation. And yet he'd enjoyed the meal with Penny: her non-stop lively chatter; the way she'd tucked in with such gusto to all the most fattening items on the menu; polishing off the remnants of his pudding on top of her own gâteau and ice-cream. (Juliet would have opted for melon and grilled fish; refused even to look at the dessert trolley.)

He walked across the Moat Bridge into the first courtyard of the palace, squeezing his way past a gang of adolescent schoolgirls clustered round their teacher. He couldn't shake them off. They were on his heels as he strolled across the next court; hemming him in under Anne Boleyn's Gateway, where their teacher instructed them to look up at the carved stone roof and note the fine example of fan-vaulting. She pointed out the Tudor roses, and the initials H and A, intertwined on small stone squares – Henry and Anne Boleyn. He found that he was eavesdropping as she explained to the group that Henry had resolved to remove all traces of ill-fated Anne when he married his next wife, but that these monograms had somehow escaped his notice.

He peered up at the initials himself, watching them change in his imagination to D and J, entwined. He closed his eyes – to no avail. They still taunted him indelibly in stone. He tried to conjure up a chisel, hack them from his mind. He must take a leaf from Henry's book and erase all traces of Juliet: burn her letters, give away her presents, stop carrying round the ticket-stubs from that first momentous concert. He patted his pocket instinctively (as he did twenty times a day). He had also kept the programme –
all
the programmes, actually, of every play and concert they'd attended, and foolish things like book-matches from their favourite bars and restaurants. His Juliet collection, which he knew he must destroy.

But why was it so difficult? Christ Almighty! Henry VIII could jettison his women without the slightest qualm, yet he himself was agonizing about disposing of a few mementoes. How could you behead two wives, divorce another two, and still carry on as normal – feasting, dancing, jousting? The mere thought of ditching Juliet, let alone his wife, brought him out in a cold sweat.

He followed the school party as they continued into Clock Court, taking advantage of a guided tour for free. The teacher was now expounding on the astronomical clock: it had been made in 1540, she said, and so showed the sun going round the earth. Some of her baffled charges started asking questions, apparently believing that they still inhabited a geocentric universe. He wished to God they were right. It would provide a stable base, more sense of man's importance in the cosmos. Modern physics and Chaos Theory didn't make for much security in life.