Olivia’s Luck (2000) (60 page)

“Forget I said that,” muttered Lance, straightening up for a moment.

I smiled. “Forget you said what?”

He grinned, but I glanced away, point made, but not wanting to prolong that conversation, thank you very much. I gazed back to the house, to the new kitchen, its windows flashing knowingly at me in the sunshine. When I’d turned back, Lance had bent down again and was tightening up a bolt on the wheel. His broad back was smooth and brown. I remembered it well, felt I knew it intimately, in fact, from our suntanning session, together with that blond hair that curled rather seductively on the nape of his neck. I watched him working for a moment. Swallowed.

“Um, Lance, I don’t suppose you fancy a drink, do you?”

He straightened up. “Oh, Liwy, I’d love one, it’s just that…” He hesitated, glanced down at his oily hands.

“What?”

“Well, it’s just that, I sort of said I’d – ”

“Lance!”

We both turned as a shrill voice rang out behind us.

“Hey! You said twelve o’clock. It’s way past that. Come on!” Nanette was hanging out of her upstairs window, dressed in some sort of scanty, Caribbean sarong affair, complete with a flower in her hair. She waved an armful of jangling bracelets when she saw me. “Co-ee, Olivia! I say, all sorts of action been going on at your place, eh? Can’t wait to grill Lance!”

I turned and raised amused, quizzical eyebrows at Lance. He had the grace to blush.

“Ah, I see,” I murmured. “Off for a grilling.”

“Well, you know,” he said sheepishly, scuffing his toe in the dirt. “Seeing as how I’m going today, I thought – well. I thought just for old times’ sake I’d pop round and have a drink with Nanette. But you’re welcome to join us,” he added quickly. “I’m sure she won’t mind.”

“Oh, I’m quite sure she
will
mind,” I laughed. “I’m not convinced that’s entirely what our Nanette had in mind, are you?”

He looked at me a moment, then grinned. “Perhaps not. Well, bye then, Liwy. Best of luck.” He leant forward and kissed my cheek.

We regarded each other fondly for a moment, and perhaps even a touch regretfully.

“Bye, Lance,” I said with a smile, then I turned to go, making my way back up the parched lawn. A few steps on, though, his voice halted me.

“Oh, by the way, that musician chappie called round.”

I swung back.

“Oh?”

“Yes, he’s gone to Vienna.”

“Oh. Right.” My heart thudded on again. Of course. Ursula had said. With Imo. Hence the shuttered house.

“But he popped in to say goodbye. Left a note, I think.”

“Really? Where?”

He shrugged. “Kitchen table?”

Kitchen. Bloody kitchen. I hurried on up the garden, heart racing again, through the French windows, then steeled myself to – Yes, yes I could…I went in. I avoided looking at the Aga and glanced quickly at the table. Nothing. Totally bare apart from the fruit bowl. In the fruit bowl perhaps? No. Notice board? No. Counters, surfaces, pinned to the larder door? No, no note, nothing. I glanced all about now, even casting a desperate eye at the Aga. All was neat and tidy, and there wasn’t a fluttering piece of paper to be seen. He must have changed his mind. Dejected, I turned to go, but just as I was leaving, noticed that the rubbish bin was practically overflowing. Damn, I’d have to empty that or it would stink to high heaven in this weather. Irritated, I pulled out the plastic sack, but as I did, realised there were some balls of screwed-up paper on the top. They were from my telephone pad. I opened one.

Dear Liwy,

I popped round to say goodbye, but I also wanted to say…

I opened another.

Dear Liwy,

I’m off to Vienna today, but I just wanted to write to…

And another.

Dear Liwy,

I dropped them back in. One by one, slowly. Stared at the wall. What? What had he wanted to say? Deep in thought I lugged the bag outside and dumped it in the bin. I locked up the house, then, realising I’d left the photographs on the sitting-room sofa, went back in again, but I was totally distracted now. What? What had he wanted to say, for God’s sake? And why start a letter three times? I carried the photos back in my arms towards the front door, just as the telephone rang. I stared at it for a moment on the hall table. For some reason, I felt full of foreboding. Almost didn’t answer it. Then slowly, I put my bundle of photos down, and my hand went to the receiver. I picked it up.

“Hello?”

“Liwy, it’s Imo.”

I gazed into the hall mirror, saw my eyes widen. “Imo, hi.”

“Darling, I’m so sorry.”

“What about?”

“My bitch of a mother.” Her voice wobbled.

I lowered myself very slowly on to the hall chair. “How did you know?” I whispered. “I mean – did she tell you what she’d – ”

“No, no, of course not,” she sniffed. “When she came across to us in tears at the concert she just said you’d insulted her, called her some terrible names, accused her of being a culture vulture or something, but Daddy overheard the whole thing, he was just too terrified to interfere. We’re all too terrified. Have been for years.” Her voice sounded small and sad. Very far away.

“So you know – ”

“Not quite everything, but I’m keen to learn because, believe me, it’ll all be bollocks,” she rallied defiantly. “It always is with Mum, and there’s no way she’s coming between you and me, Liwy, no way on earth. So go on, darling, spill the beans. What’s the old cow been up to now?”

I licked my lips. “Well, she said…well, first of all she told me about Johnny. Imo, I had no idea. I never knew you were so besotted back then. If I’d thought for one moment you were still in love with him – ”

“You’d never have married him?”

There was a silence. I swallowed hard.

“Don’t be silly, Liwy,” she went on quietly, “you’d have followed your heart, and quite right too.”

“So – you were in love with him then?”

“Oh, back then, yes, I was, but the balls-up on that front was nothing to do with you, it was my own private tragedy, and my own stupid fault, too. You weren’t to know what was going on, but yes, there was a plan afoot, instigated by Mum, of course.”

“So that was true? She did intervene?”

“Of course! You know Mum. She knew that I was deadly serious about Johnny and was adamant that if he was going to take me to the altar so young he had to deserve me, or some such crap. Not coming back for weeks on end after Oliver died was her idea. It was all her idea.”

“And Paolo?”

“The son of a gallery owner she knew. He just arrived at my apartment one evening, asking if I’d like to have supper. Oh, I didn’t
have
to sleep with him, of course, but in those days I did most things Mum suggested…‘a delightful little dalliance’ was her euphemism for it, a brief romance, she said, before settling down as a wife and a mother for good. And I complied. Thought she was right. Thought I needed my last fling. Staggering really; I didn’t seem to have a mind of my own. She’s a control freak, you see, Liv, totally manipulative, and look where it’s got her. One of my brothers is dead from drugs, another one can’t stand her and married a hairdresser to thwart her, and the other one lives in New Zealand, so far away she can’t get at him. I always wanted to please her – we all did – but I can’t do it any longer.” She sucked in her breath. At first I thought she was crying, then I realised –

“Imo – you’re smoking!”

“I’ve smoked for years. Secretly, of course. Mummy would be horrified. And I’ve never, ever gone against her,” she said vehemently, her words tumbling out in a rush now. “Oxford, Florence, an art gallery where I’d meet nice, cultured young men – everything was her idea, and I so envied you with your sweet, unpushy mother who never – ”

“My mother? Jesus, Imo, my mother was a nightmare!”

“Only in your eyes. Molly and I were as jealous as hell. She was so discreet and elegant and unambitious, whilst I had the She-Devil Incarnate to deal with and poor Moll had the ghastly Millicent. But I envied you for defying her, too,” she said softly. “She was strong, your Mum, no pushover, but you signed up for that Cirencester course against her wishes and married without her blessing. I could never have done that.”

I remembered the rows Mum and I had had when I’d told her I was marrying Johnny.

“Well no,” I said slowly, “I’d certainly never let her run my life.”

“You see? And I did. And look where it got me. I’ve gone from man to man to please her. Oh, she thought Hugo was absolutely marvellous in the beginning, but then Sebastian came along and he was even
more
marvellous. It’s been the story of my life. I don’t even know what I think any more,” she said unhappily.

I licked my lips. “She said – Ursula said – that you were in love with him. With Sebastian.”

“Ah. Yes. That much, at least, is true. But then again, it’s not the whole story. You see sadly, he’s not in love with me. And no point forcing a square peg into a round hole, eh?” She gave a hollow laugh and I heard her drag hard on her cigarette.

“But I thought you were going to Vienna with him! Your mother said – ”

“Well, of course she bloody did. That’s her oh-so-subtle way of angling for an invitation for me, and warning you off. Christ, I’m surprised she didn’t book the bloody ticket, drive me to the airport, shove me on the plane and strap me into the seat next to him, taking absolutely no notice of his horrified face!”

There was a silence.

“It’s you he wants, Liwy,” she said softly. “You must know that.”

“Wh-why should I know that?”

“Because…” she struggled. “Oh, I don’t know, don’t know for sure, but – listen, darling, I spoke to him this morning, before he left for Vienna. I wanted to set the record straight –
my
record straight, at least. Christ, I’ve made such a bloody fool of myself one way and another and I wanted to explain things, things that – Oh, but that doesn’t matter right now, the important thing is that he was asking about you. I think he might try and get in touch with you, Liv, write to you perhaps, or even – ”

“Oh!” I nearly dropped the phone.

“What?”

I couldn’t speak for a moment. I went hot, then finally pulled myself together and dragged my eyes away from the window by the door. In the mirror I could see the colour rising rapidly up my neck.

“Imo, it’s – it’s all right,” I breathed. “He’s here.”

“Y
ou’re kidding!” Imo’s voice was still in my ear even though I wasn’t with her. I was glued back to Sebastian’s eyes again as he looked at me through the hall window. “Gosh, I thought he’d gone!”

“What?” I whispered.

“I thought he’d gone to Vienna!”

I swallowed. “Obviously not.”

“Ah. Right.” Her voice went quiet. “Good luck then, Liwy. You deserve it.”

Her subdued tone made me glance into the receiver. “Imo?”

“Hmm?” She sounded distant.

“Lots of love.”

She paused. “You too, darling. You too.”

I slowly put the receiver down and stood up to open the door, my heart hammering around somewhere up by my oesophagus. Sebastian was there on my doorstep, leaning against the doorframe with his hands in his pockets. He was in khaki trousers and a pale blue shirt – quite smart for him, not his usual battered composing kit – but his eyes were the same as ever, dark and glittering, and he was wearing that devastating smile, the one that transformed his face, creasing it up into angles and slanting his eyes. It seemed to me it lit up the whole street.

“Hi.”

“Hi.”

With these modest monosyllables, I found myself to be suddenly wide awake. Alive again. I felt my whole body begin to glow and every nerve tingled.

“Can I come in?”

“Hmm?” I gazed, wantonly.

“Inside?”

I jumped. “Inside? Oh – no!” Hurriedly I hastened distinctly
outside
, and joined him on the step, slamming the front door firmly behind me. He looked surprised.

“Ah. I see. A doorstep conversation then.”

“Well, it’s just that – I’m rather off my house at the moment,” I explained hastily. “It’s – the wallpaper.”

“The wallpaper?”

“So depressing.” Or did that sound neurotic? “Er – no, OK, it’s not the wallpaper, but it’s a long story, Sebastian, and a rather tortuous one at that, so I won’t go into it right now, but…” I glanced about desperately, no, not out the back because Lance might still be there so, “tell you what, let’s go and sit over there.”

I hastened down the drive to the front wall, excitement mounting. It was a bit high and covered in creeper, but somehow, with a superhuman spring, I managed to jump up, and then contrived to look comfortable even though I had ivy up my bottom. He glanced at the filthy wall and in his smart clothes, clearly decided to stand. Suddenly it occurred to me he was spruced up for travelling.

“Oh yes, Imo said you were off to Vienna.”

“Imo?”

I flushed. God, why did I have to mention Imo? Right at this moment? “Yes, that was her on the phone just now.”

“Oh, right.” He coloured too, then recovered. “Yes, well, she’s right, I am, but the plane’s been delayed. I’m leaving any minute actually.” He glanced at his watch. “The taxi will be here soon. I just came round to say goodbye.”

“Oh! Right.” For some reason the excitement began to drain out of me. Seeped right down into my shoes. This didn’t seem to have the makings of an embryonic romantic conversation, more – well, more a matter-of-fact, bon voyage conversation, actually. I wondered if Imo had got the wrong end of the stick. I felt slightly foolish too, sitting up here like a little gnome, with him standing before me, his shoulders level with my knees.

“The symphony’s going to be played in the Musikverein tomorrow evening,” he explained, “so I’m flying out tonight to listen to the rehearsal. I’m leaving the house, too, hence all the frenetic activity.” He jerked his head down the street. I looked, and realised that his front door was wide open and that two men were busy heaving a heavy desk down the steps to a lorry. “My desk and my piano are the only things I actually brought with me to the house, so they’re going down to the country. The rest stays.” He grinned. “I thought you might think it a bit odd if I disappeared from the neighbourhood overnight without saying goodbye! I must pop in and see Nanette, too.”