Daughters of the Silk Road: A beautiful and epic novel of family, love and the secrets of a Ming Vase (14 page)

M
iranda woke
the following morning alone. The house was eerily quiet. She looked at the clock; it was twenty minutes past eight. She went downstairs and filled the kettle. Standing at the sink, she gazed out onto the autumnal garden. She made a cup of strong tea, sat at the kitchen table and thought about the previous evening.

Charlie had taken her to a ‘celebrity chef’ restaurant in Grosvenor Square. The diners had an air of money about them – overly made up, ultra-skinny women who looked as if they never actually ate anything, men in slim dark suits pontificating with wine waiters about vintages, and a sprinkling of celebrities intent on having a good time. Miranda felt distinctly out of place. But Charlie was charming and told her that she looked beautiful. They ate seafood and drank a very good bottle of white burgundy. Charlie took control of the ordering; in fact, he took control of the whole evening. They talked of course, but mostly about her. Once again, Miranda tried to draw him out about his personal life. He seemed elusive, but finally she persuaded him to part with a little information. His first love had been a girl he’d met at university. They split up soon after, and she worked in PR, he thought. Another girlfriend was a Scottish landowner’s daughter, who now ran the estate for her father. When she asked why they had broken up, he seemed vague. ‘We just drifted apart I suppose,’ was all he would say. Either way, they both sounded out of Miranda’s league.

At one point, emboldened by the wine, Miranda asked him if he had ever been married.

He looked at her with his clear grey gaze. ‘Married? No…’

‘Why not?’ she probed.

‘Never met the right girl, I suppose. And I’m busy, you know – travelling.’

‘But lots of people travel for work, don’t they, and they manage?’ she had suggested.

‘Just not lucky in love, I guess. Now – pudding?’

It seemed that particular conversation was at an end.

On their way back to the car he had put his arm around her shoulders and drawn her close to him. She timidly wrapped her own arm around his waist. As he opened the car door for her, he held her to him and kissed her. A long, tender kiss that left her breathless for more. She slid into the expensive leather seats and reached out to hold his hand. He held it to his mouth and kissed it, placing it back in her lap.

‘So – no Georgie at home tonight,’ he said. ‘Shall we go back to your place?’

There was an almost tangible energy between the two them as they sat in the dark in the car in Grosvenor Square. She sensed it and so did he.

‘Yes,’ she found herself saying.

He drove carefully out of town, crossing Barnes Bridge and turning towards Sheen. As he parked outside Miranda’s house, he turned to her and said, ‘Are you sure? There’s no pressure, you know, Miranda. I’m very fond of you – very fond – and I’m not messing around, you know? I’d love to take you to bed. But if you’re not ready, I do understand. I know you’ve had a hard time bringing G up on your own. It’s bound to be a big step, letting someone into your life.’

The emotion she felt was one of overwhelming relief. ‘Oh, I
do
want to sleep with you!’ she blurted out. ‘Oh, that sounds awful! What I mean is, I do really love being with you, fancy you, but you’re right. It is a big step.’

He kissed her again and stroked her hair.

‘Look,’ she said. ‘Come in, OK? I cleaned the house specially; you might as well see it!’

He laughed and they went inside holding hands. They made coffee in the kitchen and he kissed her again as she reached for the coffee pot. They took their coffee into the sitting room and as she put the tray down onto the table, he kissed her once more; this time it was longer, deeper and he held her closely to him, stroking her hair, breathing into her ear, ‘You smell delicious.’

They sat on the sofa and took one sip of coffee before he kissed her again.

At last, she said, ‘Come on… Let’s go upstairs.’

They almost ran up the stairs and into her bedroom. He lifted her dress high over her head; she unbuttoned his shirt, pulling it away from his smooth chest.

‘I’m not on the pill,’ she blurted out, blushing.

‘That’s OK,’ he said, fishing a condom out of his pocket.

‘Better safe than sorry,’ he murmured into her hair.

The sex was intense, good. He was passionate, loving, tender and yet strong. When they had finished making love for the third time, she said weakly. ‘You won’t believe how nervous I was about that.’

‘Oh, I think I would,’ he replied. ‘I was a bit nervous myself. you know.’

‘What, you? But, you’re so… Together.’

They fell asleep in each other’s arms, but he slipped out of bed very early and she woke up as he was putting his shirt on.

‘Where are you going?’ she asked sleepily.

‘Got a flight to New York later today. I need to get home and pack.’

‘Oh? You didn’t say.’

‘Well, I won’t be away long; just a couple of days.’

He sat down on the edge of the bed and put on his shoes, before turning and kissing her again.

‘Have a lovely day, and I’ll see you in the middle of the week; supper on Wednesday?’

‘Oh, I’d love that. Thank you. Come here. I’ll cook. G will be here, of course.’

‘Great. It’s no problem for me that she’s here you know. I think she’s a lovely kid.’

‘Do you? Well, yes she is. And I’d love you to get to know her.’

‘Well, let’s do it. Now, don’t move. Go back to sleep. I’ll let myself out.’

All things considered, she reflected, it had been pretty perfect. She began to hum to herself, as she tidied up the coffee cups from the night before.

On the way out of the house, just before eleven, she noticed water on the hall table. The hydrangeas were somehow different; as if they had moved themselves into a different arrangement during the night. ‘Odd,’ she thought.

Jeremy was waiting for her at the door to the shop. ‘Darling. G is glued to crap TV upstairs in the flat. I want to hear everything. Let’s go for a coffee next door.’

‘So – how does it feel to finally get laid?’ he asked, grinning at her over their lattes.

‘Rather good, to be honest. I’m just amazed that it all seems to be in working order… You know?’

‘So it was good then?’ he asked.

‘Stop being so bloody nosy. But yes, it was good.’

‘And are you seeing him again?’

‘Sure am. This Wednesday. He’s having supper at ours, with Georgie.’

‘And staying the night?’

‘Not sure… Probably. Do you think he should? I don’t want to upset G.’

‘Manda, we had a long chat about that yesterday – your girl and me. She’s unbelievably mature, you know. I think she understands that you are lonely and need a man in your life, apart from me, that is. I think she’ll handle it OK. At least that’s my opinion.’

Miranda and Georgie spent an amicable afternoon snuggled up on the now dry sofa watching old films. Miranda cooked a roast chicken for supper, something of a treat. As Georgie went upstairs to bed that night, she leant over the banisters. ‘Ma?’

‘Yes,’ called Miranda from the kitchen.

‘I’m so glad you had a nice time with thingummy.’

‘Charlie.’

‘Yeah, with him. Love you…’

‘Love you too darling.’

At breakfast on Wednesday, Miranda mentioned that Charlie was coming for supper that night. ‘I’d like you to meet him properly and vice versa.’

‘OK,’ said Georgie.

‘That sounds a bit qualified,’ said her mother.

‘No, not qualified. I just don’t know him, that’s all.’

‘Well, hopefully you’ll know him better by this evening,’ said Miranda.

She cooked a fish pie for dinner. Not one of Georgie’s favourite things, but it was easy enough to prepare in advance and would give her time to monitor any conversation between Charlie and her daughter.

They sat in slightly awkward silence at first in the sitting room. Charlie asked Georgie questions – how she liked school, what were her favourite subjects, what she wanted to do when she grew up – predictable questions that adults often relied on when talking to young people. Miranda was impressed that Georgie managed to answer politely without resorting to her usual sarcasm. Interrupting, she suggested they go into the kitchen to eat. Both looked relieved. Walking with her arm wrapped round her daughter’s waist to the kitchen she whispered in her ear, ‘Well done, darling.’

Charlie opened a bottle of wine over dinner, and rummaged in a drawer to find the corkscrew. This simple act of domesticity did not go unnoticed by Georgie. Miranda seemed to relax after a glass or two of wine and they ate their dinner in convivial enough fashion. Pudding cleared away, Miranda suggested they played cards together.

‘Oh Mum, I’d love to, but I’ve got homework to do.’ Georgie rose from the table, put her plate into the dishwasher and kissed her mother on the top of the head. She turned as she reached the kitchen doorway.

‘Nice to meet you properly, Charlie… See you.’

They heard her leaping up the stairs two at a time.

‘So, ’ said Miranda, ‘that wasn’t too bad was it?’

‘No,’ said Charlie. ‘I was probably a bit boring for her, wasn’t I?’

‘Not at all,’ Miranda said, a little too hurriedly. ‘Look,’ she said, ‘teenagers are not the easiest people to get to know. But she likes you, I can tell. And if I’m happy then so is she.’

The following morning Charlie left early. He was conducting an auction down in Hampshire and had to be on the road before six thirty. Miranda was relieved that she did not have to endure the sight of her daughter and boyfriend together over the breakfast table.

Georgie shuffled into the kitchen at seven forty-five and opened the larder in search of cereal.

‘No Charlie then?’ she asked.

‘He had to go early,’ said Miranda, before adding, ‘thanks for being so polite last night. It wasn’t so bad, was it?’

‘No mum, it was fine, really. Like I said – if you like him then that’s all that matters.’

B
efore long
, Miranda realised, she couldn’t count their dates anymore. She was just ‘going out’ with Charlie. He came and stayed three or four nights a week. He helped to cook; he stacked the dishwasher; he even hoovered the house occasionally. One evening, he arrived for supper to find Miranda fighting with a plunger in the sink and failing to unblock the drain. He simply rolled up the sleeves of his expensive shirt and fixed it by unscrewing the pipework in the sink cupboard. He watched TV in the sitting room with Miranda and played board games on occasion with Georgie. One weekend, he turned up unannounced and asked if they could watch an international rugby match between England and Wales. He and Miranda sat together on the sofa, she resting her head on his chest. She felt utterly content, she realised, as he roared at the television. He picked up a take-away curry that night from the local Indian restaurant and the three sat together in the sitting room eating it on their laps.

‘Mum
never
lets me do this,’ said Georgie, struggling to hide her admiration. ‘And curry too; better not spill on the dreaded sofa or you’ll never hear the end of it.’

He had laughed and smiled fondly at Miranda.

‘And quite right too,’ he’d said. ‘It would be a terrible thing to do and I promise to be extra specially careful.’

And so it continued, until Miranda began to believe that her relationship with Charlie could become something really important. She had realised several weeks before that she had fallen in love with him. She daydreamed about him at work. She planned their meals together. She thrilled to the sound of his car drawing up outside. Two weeks before Christmas she took Georgie down to the local garden centre to pick their Christmas tree.

‘I want a really big one this year, G – something rather stunning.’

They selected the tree and managed to shove it into the Volvo. At home that evening, Miranda brought down the decorations from the attic and she and Georgie decorated it together.

‘I think it’s going to be a lovely Christmas this year, G,’ said Miranda, pinning the fairy on the top before standing back to admire their handiwork.

‘Why?’ said Georgie. ‘Because of Charlie?’

‘Yes – because of Charlie; is that so odd?’

‘No,’ said Georgie. ‘Is he coming here?’

‘I don’t know yet,’ said Miranda. ‘We’ve not had a chance to talk about it.’

The next time they met, she broached the subject. ‘Charlie, I just wondered what you were doing for Christmas this year?’

‘Oh,’ he said. ‘Not sure. Seeing you, I hope.’

She smiled. ‘Of course! That’s what I was hoping.’

‘I’ll have to visit my parents, of course, but only for one of the days. Let me sort a few things out and we can discuss it next time.’

The following week, he had to go abroad. ‘It’s a bit of a last minute thing,’ he said to Miranda when he rang her from the airport. ‘But I’ve got a bit of a treat for us on 23rd December. I remember you saying that Georgie liked pantomimes. Don’t make any plans for that evening, OK?’

On the evening of the 23rd, Charlie had arranged to collect them at six-thirty; at six-fifteen, Georgie jumped down the staircase and stood with her coat on in the hall. Miranda came through from the kitchen, pulling on her own coat.

‘My God. You’re ready,’ she said to her daughter.

‘Yeah, well, don’t want to miss the beginning do we?’ said Georgie.

‘You’re excited,’ teased her mother.

‘No, I’m not,’ said Georgie, chewing gum. ‘Well maybe a bit. There’s something about panto, isn’t there? Maybe it’s because we couldn’t really afford it when I was little. I never really grew tired of it. Don’t tell any of my friends though, will you?’

‘Darling, of course I won’t! Although you have nothing to be ashamed about. I’m quite excited too. I love pantos, and circuses come to that, and I’m sorry we couldn’t spare the money when you were little.’

Georgie hugged her mother.

As they climbed into Charlie’s car, Georgie said, ‘Thanks Charlie for this. It’s my guilty secret, my love of pantos.’

‘I know,’ he said, smiling back at her in his rear-view mirror. ‘Your mother told me. Your secret is safe with me.’