Lovers and Liars Trilogy (199 page)

He paused, and for one second Lindsay thought he was about to ring off. Clearly he had second thoughts, because with effort, he continued.

‘I told you,’ he said, ‘that I have to go to Oxford soon, and while I’m there, I thought I should look in and see Tom. There’s something—well, there’s something I need to discuss with him…’

‘Something you need to discuss with Tom?’ Lindsay frowned. ‘Well, of course, I know he’d be delighted to see you. Katya would too.’

‘I’d rather Katya wasn’t there actually. I wanted to talk to Tom alone.’

There was a silence; Rowland had spoken with emphasis. Lindsay felt a flicker of unease.

‘You don’t want Katya to be there?’ She hesitated, feeling suddenly afraid. ‘I don’t understand. Rowland, does this concern Katya in some way?’

‘You could put it like that. I want to make Tom understand that—’

‘Tom loves Katya.’ Lindsay spoke in a flat voice, panic rising. ‘He adores her. They’ve been together nearly three years. She’s the fixed point of his life, Rowland…’

‘Precisely. I know that. Which is why—’

‘Oh God. She wrote to you, didn’t she? You told me and I thought no more about it.’ Lindsay’s voice became unsteady. ‘I can’t believe this. Rowland—wait…’

In a second, a score of past incidents flashed before her eyes. She saw all those occasions when Katya glanced at Rowland as she made some provocative remark; all the occasions when Katya had tried to monopolize Rowland in argument; all the occasions when she had watched Katya mask attraction with antagonism, and had done nothing, assuming that Katya’s fascination with Rowland was harmless, that it would vanish eventually of its own accord.

‘So what’s happened?’ she heard herself say. ‘Has she written to you again? Have you seen her? Rowland—you haven’t encouraged her, surely? She’s nineteen years old. She’s young enough to be your daughter—’

‘I’m aware of Katya’s age.’ Rowland’s voice had become curt. ‘Lindsay, will you listen to me? For the whole of this past week I’ve—damn it, this is impossible on the telephone…’ Lindsay could hear the emotion in his voice then, and the urgency; it spoke volumes and it made her afraid.

‘Oh, I can’t believe this, I
can’t
,’ she burst out. ‘Rowland, how can you even
consider
such a thing? How far has this gone? You realize what this will do to Tom, do you? He admires you so much—he looks up to you. Rowland, if you’ve been anywhere near Katya, if you’ve flirted with her, I’ll never forgive you. For God’s sake, aren’t there enough obliging women in London? She’s Tom’s
girlfriend
. Don’t you
dare
go running to my son with that kind of problem…’

‘Have you finished?’

‘No, I damn well haven’t. What are you proposing to say to him, Rowland?’

‘I’m not proposing to say anything now. I’ll forget the entire fucking idea. Jesus Christ, I don’t believe this…I’m going to hang up—’

‘No, you won’t. You’ll explain and explain now. What’s happened? It’s something serious, I can tell from your voice…’

‘
Nothing’s
happened. You expect me to answer that kind of accusation? You think I’m that kind of man? What in God’s name has got into you?’

‘Yes, I damn well do expect you to answer. I can hear it—you’re hiding something. You said you had to talk to Tom alone. You said it concerned Katya…’

‘Damn it, I didn’t say that. Do you
never
listen? Fine. Just for the record, Lindsay, and to set your mind at rest, I’ll spell it out to you. No, I wouldn’t set out to seduce or encourage a nineteen-year-old girl who happens to live with a young man I like and admire. No, I wouldn’t encourage her in any way if I had the slightest suspicion that she was interested in me. And, finally,
finally
, Lindsay, if such a situation arose, the very last thing I’d do is run with the problem to a volatile boy half my age.’ He paused. ‘I’d have thought you might have known that. The fact that you clearly don’t hurts me more than I can say.’ He paused again. ‘In fact, it makes me so fucking angry, I don’t even know why I’m continuing this conversation, so—’

‘Wait. Don’t hang up. Rowland, listen—’ Lindsay hesitated, feeling a rising tide of shame and distress. ‘I’m sorry. I’m sorry if I jumped to the wrong conclusions, but you sounded—I still don’t understand. Why did you want to see Tom?’

‘I told you. I won’t be making that visit now. It’s not really your concern—but Tom’s reading History, and it was history I wanted his opinion on; ancient history at that. As to how you think I sounded—no doubt it’s the strain of having a conversation with you. For what it’s worth, Lindsay, you’re one of the stupidest women I’ve ever known. You leap to conclusions; you don’t listen half the time; you’re so wrapped up in your own plans, and your own activities, that you never notice what other people are thinking or saying, let alone feeling…’

‘Wait—Rowland. That’s not true—’

‘I’d like to know, before I ring off, just what possible justification you think you have for what you’ve just said to me. In all the time you’ve known me, have I ever behaved in that way?’

‘No. Maybe not…’ Lindsay hesitated. ‘But if we’re going to be honest, you have a certain reputation, Rowland, you know.’

‘Do I? I see.’ He gave a sigh. ‘And you believe the gossip you hear. Well, that’s good to know. So much for
your
loyalty, Lindsay.’

‘That’s not fair either,’ Lindsay said, fighting tears. ‘I’ve always—Rowland, please, I’ve said I’m sorry. I was upset and I was confused. You’d been so harsh about all my plans. You sounded so strange…’

‘I may have sounded harsh, but what I said was accurate.’

‘You talk
down
to me, Rowland. You do it all the time. I don’t understand why you do that…’

Lindsay paused, fighting to steady her voice. She had begun to cry.

‘You tell me I’m stupid and disloyal and incompetent, and I get to the stage where I can’t think clearly any more…’

‘You
never
think clearly, and your failures in that respect have nothing to do with me.’

‘You see? You’re doing it again. Why? I’ve tried to apologize. You’ve done it right from the start of this conversation. Everything I do is wrong. Why? My plans aren’t that bad. Colin says—’

‘I don’t damn well want to
hear
what Colin has to say,’ Rowland shouted, losing his temper as suddenly as she had done. ‘Learn to stand on your own two feet for once in your life…’

‘What?’ Lindsay had begun to tremble with misery and anger. ‘How can you say that? What do you think I was doing when I spent twenty years bringing up my son on my own? What do you think I’m trying to do
now
, Rowland? Don’t you shout at me. Anyone would think you were my father the way you talk to me. Do this, don’t do that…’

‘Your father? Thanks. I can imagine only one worse fate than being your father. I’m going. I’ve had more than enough of this conversation. I have better things to do with my time…’

‘I agree. Just fuck off, Rowland. I’m sick of your preaching. Don’t talk to me about not listening to other people, or not noticing what they’re feeling. You do it the whole bloody time…’

‘Oh, go to hell,’ said Rowland, and slammed down the phone.

Twenty minutes after that, Lindsay was lying on her bed and Colin was lying beside her. Colin, whose perceptions of that morning’s events were jagged at best, was not sure how he came to be there, but now he
was
there, he knew it was the right, the only place. A trajectory begun in TriBeCa some four hours earlier had now completed its course; the laws of dynamics had determined that he had to be here, with Lindsay in his arms, and nowhere else.

He had walked to the Pierre from the Conrad, as not one cab in New York seemed to be free; he had been soaked to the skin for the second time that day, but since Lindsay did not seem to mind that his clothes were wet, neither did he.

‘Don’t cry, Lindsay. Dear Lindsay, you mustn’t cry. Come here,’ Colin said, as he had already said several times before. He drew Lindsay closer into his arms, so she could weep against his wet shoulder. Every so often, he produced another of the beautiful linen handkerchiefs that Thalia had mocked and dried Lindsay’s eyes. Lindsay, who had poured out the whole story of Rowland’s telephone call to him, would thank him, attempt to calm herself and then weep some more.

‘I am so bloody miserable,’ she said now, in an—indistinct voice, into damp Brooks Brothers cotton. ‘I’m sorry about this, Colin. I’d quite like to die, but I may recover if I weep for the next week.’

‘You can cry on my shoulder for the next
month
,’ Colin said, feeling rapturously happy. ‘For the next
year
.’

‘He said such wounding things…’ Lindsay continued, wiping her eyes. ‘And the worst part of it is—they were all
true
, every one of them.’

‘I know.’ Colin sighed. ‘There’s always a vile accuracy about a dressing-down from Rowland. I’ve had a few. Was he cold? Something happens to his voice, have you noticed? It’s not just
what
he says, it’s the
way
he says it. It makes one want to shrivel up and die.’

‘I was horrible back.’ Lindsay made a moaning sound. ‘I made all those awful accusations. I told him he had a reputation.’

‘So he does. It’s rather longer than your average arm.’

‘I told him he was patronizing.’

‘Quite right. He can be patronizing.’

‘I told him he was pompous.’

‘Oh dear.’

‘I told him to fuck off, Colin…’

‘Nothing wrong with that. I frequently do.’

‘He was so scathing about that contract I’d signed. Colin, he made me feel such a fool.’

‘Well, it wasn’t a
great
contract,’ Colin said gently, ‘but you’ll manage, I’m sure.’

‘I told him all about that lovely house you’d found and how excited I was. I thought he’d be pleased, but he wasn’t. He just got colder and colder, and more and more sarcastic…’

Colin gave another sigh. He could imagine Rowland’s reaction, since Rowland knew Shute Farm well, and Rowland did not take kindly to duplicity. He knew that, given Rowland’s character, there would be consequences for himself. He could predict them precisely and he knew precisely how he intended to deal with them. On another occasion, the thought of facing Rowland’s ire might have alarmed him; not now. Now he was here in Lindsay’s arms, he felt he could have dealt with the devil himself.

He began to stroke Lindsay’s hair and then her back—something he had been longing to do since she first burst into tears and he took her in his arms. Lindsay’s hair, soft but resilient, smelled of rosemary. In her uppermost ear, she was wearing a small gold ear-ring, with a jade teardrop. Colin found he wanted to kiss her hair, and her ear, which was small and delicate.

Lindsay tensed as he began to stroke her; then, soothed by the stroking, she relaxed. ‘Shall I tell you the worst thing he said?’ She turned her head to look at Colin, her eyes brimming with tears. ‘It hurt me so much. He said I was childish. He said I acted like a child—and I thought that wasn’t fair. I wasn’t childish when I was bringing up Tom—and I thought Rowland would have known that.’

More tears spilled down her cheeks and Colin resisted the impulse to kiss them away. ‘But he’s right,’ she went on. ‘It hurts to admit it, but he’s
right
. I don’t understand why it is—I’m not childish when I work. I can run a department, do my work, and do it well. I feel confident then—but outside of that…I just mess everything up. I try and reorganize my life, and Rowland’s right, I’ve done it in the stupidest way. I swear I’ll never act on impulse again, and then I do. I lose my temper, just like
that
; I sign bad contracts; I run away from things; I can’t make the simplest decisions sometimes—’

‘Give me an example. Tell me a decision you need to make.’

‘Well, Thanksgiving, for instance; that ought to be easy enough. I was going to Washington, but that looks unlikely now. I could stay in New York. I did think of going back to England. I change my mind five times a day…’

‘That’s easily settled. Stay in New York and spend Thanksgiving with me. I’d like that.’

‘Do you mean that?’ She turned to look at him. ‘I think you do. All right, that would be nice. Thank you, Colin.’

‘Anything else I can sort out for you?’

‘Oh, just my life. Just my life. Just my life.’ Lindsay looked up from his shoulder and gave him a wan smile.

‘Listen…’ Colin dried the last tears, kissed her forehead and positioned her so that she was more comfortably cradled in his arms. ‘You don’t want to take what Rowland says too much to heart. He’s always had a fiendish temper; he won’t have meant all he said. He can be gentle and understanding as well, you know—’

‘I know that. And he did mean it, I could tell.’

‘If it’s any consolation, I’m an equally hopeless case—much worse, in fact. Rowland reminds me of that from time to time, and if I’m in a bad mood, I remind him of the mistakes
he’s
made; there are plenty of them. We do all make them, Lindsay—you’re not alone.’

He paused. ‘Shall I tell you how I started messing up my life? It was when my brother died. I had an elder brother, Edward, whom I loved very much. Edward was well, he was everything I wasn’t, everything I’d have liked to be. He was brilliant at school—he took a First at Oxford—he was effortlessly clever, very funny, and very kind. I adored him—everyone did. And my father my father worshipped him.’ He hesitated, then gave a sigh. ‘My father’s a good man—he was always gentle and encouraging to me as I limped along behind Edward, but I always knew it was Edward he loved the most.’ He looked down at Lindsay. ‘When you love someone, when you care more about that person than anyone else on earth, it can’t be hidden, don’t you think? It shows in the eyes.’

‘Maybe.’ Lindsay, who had stopped crying, took his hand in hers. ‘Go on, Colin.’

‘Well, Edward was killed in a car crash, just before I went up to Oxford. I can’t really talk about this, even now, but what it did to my father was terrible; he aged overnight. It broke him inside. You’d never know that, if you met him, because he’s very proud, for one thing, and very much old school in his views. Men should never show emotion, you know.’