Daughters of the Silk Road: A beautiful and epic novel of family, love and the secrets of a Ming Vase (13 page)

‘I ought to go,’ he said abruptly. ‘I’ll be back in a couple of weeks, and I’ll call you, OK?’

Miranda had to admit that she had been slightly disappointed and surprised that he had not suggested they go into her house together to finish what they had started. They were both adults, and she thought she had made it clear enough that she fancied him – wanted him. Perhaps he was an old-fashioned sort of guy. Perhaps he had an early start. To be fair, she hadn’t suggested it either, but mostly because she was at a loss to know how she could sleep with anyone with Georgie in the next room. It was unimaginable. The thought of her daughter either hearing them having sex or finding them together the following morning was so appalling, that she had not encouraged it. Sex was something that had effectively been turned to ‘off’ since she had split up with her husband, but her desire for Charles was becoming harder to control. She only had to see him cross the road to her house from his car to feel the familiar surge of longing. His body was perfect: tall and angular; his voice was low and strong. When they sat together having dinner, she was mesmerised by his forearms – long, lean, covered in fine gold hairs that matched the hair on his head. When he spoke, he used his hands quite a lot in an expressive way. He often had his shirt-sleeves rolled up and she loved those arms. His watch was elegant and expensive. He dressed beautifully, but not in a mannered way. Always blue shirts. Nice cufflinks. Smart suits.

But she did wonder why he hadn’t mentioned the sex thing to her. Why, for example, had he not taken her to his house? She knew he lived a little way out of London down the M3, but she didn’t know any more than that. Sometimes, in her darker moments, she wondered if there was a wife somewhere in the background, managing the M3 life. Elegant and beautiful, just like him. But she couldn’t bring herself to ask. Besides, how do you ask?‘ Oh Charles, lovely dinner. By the way, do you have a wife?’

She’d discussed it with Jeremy, of course. In fact, Jeremy had become positively obsessed with her love life.

‘So,’ he’d say when they arrived together at the shop on a Saturday, ‘tell me
all
. I want to know
every
detail.’

‘Oh Jeremy, there’s nothing to say.’

‘What do you mean, there’s nothing to say? Have you slept with him yet? Why not? Do you love him or is it just a physical thing? Do you think he loves you? What do you mean, he calls you darling? That means something, surely!’

‘Oh Jeremy, you call me darling, and that doesn’t mean anything at all, does it?’

‘It means I love you, just not in that way.’

‘I know, but maybe he’s just a bit theatrical,’ said Miranda.

‘No. I know his sort. I think he’s an old fashioned romantic. It’s all those antiques he deals in. He’s like some wonderful Edwardian gent, don’t you think? Miranda, I think maybe he’s the one. And you not sleeping with him is probably the best thing you could do. You’ll drive him wild with desire.’

‘I think you’re a little bit in love with him yourself, Jeremy,’ said Miranda, laughing.

Jeremy blushed. ‘And for the record, I’m not avoiding sleeping with him,’ she continued, ‘I just don’t know where we can do it. I mean I can’t do it at home with G there, can I?’

Miranda sat musing on this last conversation after she hung up the phone to Charles. She dialled Jeremy’s number.

‘Jeremy, darling,’ she said in a sweet, almost unctuous tone.

‘What do you want?’

‘Oh Jeremy, really, you are so cynical.’

‘I am not cynical. I’m realistic.’

She outlined her plan. She was having dinner with Charles the following evening, and might Jeremy possibly take pity on her and have Georgie for the night? Perhaps they could have an ‘unsuitable movie’ extravaganza and sleep-over at his house?

‘My God,’ he protested, ‘how old do you think I am? Fourteen?’

She laughed.

‘Oh, of course I will – anything for my goddaughter. I can’t have her despoiled by the sound of rampant sex going on in the next bedroom can I? It might scar her for life.’

‘Oh Jeremy, thank you…’

Miranda nervously suggested the idea to G over supper.

‘So Jeremy wondered if you’d like to go there tomorrow. He’s got a plan to take you to some madly risqué movie or something and then to his flat. You’d like that wouldn’t you?’

‘Oh, I don’t know, Mum. I was thinking of asking Cassie over; we’ve just been on Facebook.’

Miranda felt a wave of disappointment, followed by the familiar feeling of resignation.

‘Oh. Well, OK, if you don’t want to.’ She spooned shepherd’s pie onto Georgie’s plate.

‘But,’ said Georgie, gazing intently at her mother’s face, ‘it would be nice to see Jeremy. And I do like his idea of an unsuitable film. So yeah, tell him, yes.’ She noted how her mother flushed with excitement and felt pleased that she could make her so happy quite so easily. She wondered what plans her mother had in her absence. ‘Don’t you want to come with us?’

‘No,’ said Miranda a little too hurriedly. ‘I thought you might like some time with your godfather alone.’

‘Really?’ asked G.

‘Oh, all right; Charlie has asked me out and…’ She trailed off.

‘You want to come back and shag each other’s brains out,’ said Georgie.

‘Oh Georgina!’ Miranda said sharply. ‘That’s a disgraceful thing to say.’

Georgie laughed. ‘It’s all right, Ma. I do understand; as long as you know what you’re doing. And as long as you think he really likes you.’

Her mother paused mid-forkful and gazed lovingly at her daughter. ‘Since when did you get to be so bloody wise?’

‘Since I had you for a mother,’ said Georgina.

O
n Saturday morning
, Miranda woke early, drowsy and with a sleepy sense that something important was supposed to happen that day. As she emerged into wakefulness, she remembered what it was. She and Charlie were going on a date that night. And what was more, she had managed to engineer it so that Georgina would be at Jeremy’s house. She swung her legs over the side of the bed and sat staring into space for a few moments. She felt nervous. It didn’t take long to identify the reason. Was this the night that she and Charlie would end up in bed together? If she was honest with herself, she felt acute anxiety at the mere idea of having sex. It had been so long – almost thirteen years. The number thirteen struck her as symbolic. Unlucky for some? Or lucky for others?

She wandered into her tiny en-suite bathroom and looked at herself in the mirror. Her hair needed washing and she looked tired. She peered down inside her nightie and decided that things needed a bit of a tidy up ‘down there’.

‘Oh God,’ she said aloud as she squeezed toothpaste onto her toothbrush. Maybe it was just all a bit too much effort – love. Maybe it would better if she just cancelled the date and instead spent a jolly afternoon with Jeremy and Georgie.

She washed her face and applied a little moisturiser. She was thirty-seven years old. She had not had a boyfriend since her marriage had ended. Surely it was time for her to embrace life, and Charles too, with open arms and see what might ensue? She’d played it safe for so long that she had really forgotten how to take risks. And there was no doubt that sleeping with Charlie would be a risk. She didn’t know him that well. He was deliciously handsome of course, and entertaining and charming. But there was a private core to him that appeared pretty inscrutable. Could she be comfortable having sex with someone she didn’t know that well? She had never been a one-night-stand sort of girl. But, she had known him for a few weeks now; they had been on four dates; he was not really unknown and, she reasoned with herself, it was just sex, after all. What was the worst thing that could happen?

She brushed her hair and tied it back into a ponytail before taking off her nightie and putting on some old tracksuit bottoms and a t-shirt. ‘Shit,’ she said out loud. ‘I’m not on the pill!’ She had not been on the pill for years. She might actually get pregnant. ‘Shit, shit,’ she said again putting on an old cardigan that had once belonged to her father – large, moth-eaten cashmere, but comfortable. How on earth could she suggest to a new boyfriend that he might actually have to use a condom? It was really all too complicated and embarrassing. Maybe, she thought to herself, as she peered under the bed for her slippers, maybe he wouldn’t want to sleep with her anyway. Yes, that’s probably what would happen. And who says she had to sleep with him? Just because G wasn’t there didn’t make sex automatic. Maybe they would just cuddle and have coffee and if she felt that he was keen, she could go to the doctor on Monday and get the pill sorted out. Then she would be ready the next time.

Her mind was a whirr of conflicting ideas and emotions as she descended the stairs. Georgie’s coat had been thrown onto the pegs in the hall the previous evening, and the hem was draped over the vase. She moved it to another peg and adjusted the vase so that it stood in the centre of the table. As she looked at the face of the dragon snaking its way around the centre, a comment her aunt had made to her on one of her last visits to the house in Cheltenham came to her: ‘Life, Miranda, is either a daring adventure or nothing at all.’

She went into the kitchen and turned on the kettle. The sound of morning television blared through from the sitting room next door. ‘Georgina,’ she shouted, ‘do turn that down a bit; they must be able to hear that telly in Richmond.’ She made a mug of tea and surveyed the kitchen. It was a mess from the previous evening. Jeremy had given her the day off work to get ready for her date. She might as well give the house a bit of a spring-clean. Whether she slept with Charlie or not, at least he would find her house clean and tidy.

‘Mum,’ said Georgie as her mother forced her to lift her slipper-clad feet from the floor in the sitting room so that she could push the hoover closer to the sofa. ‘Mum, he won’t be looking for dust under there – unless you get up to some seriously kinky stuff on the floor.’

Georgie changed channels and turned up the volume while slurping cereal from a large soup bowl.

‘I do wish you would stop focusing on the
possibility
that I might actually be a little intimate with my boyfriend this evening, G. Besides, I always clean the house; I just don’t usually get a chance to do it on a Saturday. I do normally work on a Saturday if you remember!’

‘Intimate – yuck!’ exclaimed Georgie, shovelling in another mouthful of cereal.

Miranda yanked the hoover round the coffee table, bumping Georgie’s arm as she did so, causing her daughter to spill Coco Pops over one of seat cushions of the cream sofa.

‘Oh no!’ screamed Miranda. ‘Oh look what you’ve done.’

‘What
I’ve
done?’ retorted her daughter. ‘You’re the one who pushed my arm.’

‘Oh never mind who did what to who – run and get some paper towels from the kitchen – quick!’

Georgie slowly put the bowl, dripping with chocolate milk, down onto the clean coffee table before ambling to the kitchen.

‘Oh, G, I’ve just polished this table.’

Georgie wandered back into the sitting room with the roll of kitchen towel. Her mother snatched it from her and began to mop furiously at the cream upholstery.

‘I cannot believe you did that,’ muttered Miranda furiously. ‘I think we’re going to have to have a new rule in this house; no cereal, and particularly no bloody awful chocolate cereal, to be eaten anywhere but the kitchen.’

‘How about we have a new rule about not hoovering while people are trying to eat their blinking breakfast?’ said Georgie before stomping upstairs.

Miranda went into the kitchen and filled a bowl of water from the kettle, adding some cleaning powder. She returned to the sitting room and began scrubbing at the sofa cushion frantically. The brown stain appeared to be indelible. She simply managed to spread it in ever-increasing circles. She sat down, finally, on the damp, sticky coffee table; tears began to roll down her face.

Georgie reappeared at the doorway.

‘Mum,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry. I know you’re a bit on edge. And I’m sorry about the Coco Pops. Is the sofa all right?’

‘Thank you, G. I’m sorry too – for shouting. It
was
my fault. But I’m just a bit upset. The sofa was the nicest thing we had. I only finished paying for it last month, and now it’s ruined.’

‘No it’s not,’ said Georgie brightly. ‘We can take the cushion cover off and put it in the washing machine.’

‘Oh, yes. I suppose we can.’

‘Worth a try?’ said Georgie hopefully.

‘Yes, worth a try.’

Together they removed the cover and Miranda stuffed it into the washing machine with a cupful of every cleaning product she could find.

Georgie magnanimously turned off the TV and went in search of a can of furniture polish.

Miranda had arranged with Jeremy to drop Georgie at the shop around three o’clock. She drew up outside the bookshop at the allotted time and kissed her daughter on the forehead. ‘Have a great time, sweetheart. I hope he takes you to something good.’

‘I will. I expect it will be something political and challenging. That’s his normal idea of a fun night out.’

‘Oh Lord, is it? He is a funny guy isn’t he? Well, I hope there will be a great supper then.’

‘Yeah, that should be OK. He’s promised me pizza.’

‘Oh, good. Well, darling, have a lovely time and tell him I’ll pick you up tomorrow morning at about eleven.’

She watched as Georgie climbed out of the car in her old army coat, dragging her sports bag filled with her overnight things out of the back seat.

‘Oh, and Mum,’ she said before she slammed the car door, ‘stay safe.’

‘Oh G, I’ll be fine, but thank you.’

She blew her a kiss before pulling out into the busy Saturday afternoon traffic in Barnes High Street. In her rear view mirror she could see her daughter standing anxiously on the pavement watching her mother drive away. Little did Georgie know that Miranda felt just as anxious as her daughter about the impending ‘date’.

When she got home, Miranda threw herself into her preparations. The house now tidy, she hung up the damp cushion cover on the line outside. The mark had gone, but she feared the cover was a tad smaller than when she had put it into the washing machine. She would have to put it back onto the sofa cushion slightly damp in order to stretch it back into position.

She dashed upstairs and ran a bath, and added some bath oil that Jeremy had bought her for Christmas and which she kept for special occasions. She bathed, and washed her hair, then, wrapped in an old towelling dressing gown, unpegged the cover and did battle with it. It had definitely shrunk, but she finally managed to squish the unyielding cushion back into its cover.

Back upstairs, she dried her hair, painted her toenails and put on her make-up. She wore the blue wrap dress that Sasha had given her, and a turquoise locket that had been a present from her grandmother for her twenty-first birthday. By six forty-five she was ready. She looked at herself in her bedroom mirror. She didn’t look at all bad.

She wandered into the sitting room and laid an old paisley throw over the sofa and rearranged the cushions. It looked quite elegant. Earlier, she had picked some bright blue hydrangeas from the garden, which matched perfectly the cobalt blue of the dragon vase. She had taken a close-up picture of the flowers and vase and posted it on Facebook. It already had twelve likes.

Miranda sat down at the kitchen table to wait. It was exactly seven thirty when the doorbell rang. She checked her reflection in the hall mirror above the table, and then opened the door.