Rumours (37 page)

‘Have you been there? Have you visited?'

‘Yes – yes, I have But not for a while. I took Lydia once. And I've been a couple of times. But I could see our presence was not good for Verity. I understand. I understand how she can't have a crossover in her new life from her old. Not that she's reinvented herself – she's just comfortable there, it's where she's at her most capable. Happy. Her independence from what was. Her belief in herself and the life she's chosen. She lives there
successfully
. So even for me – let alone Lydia – to go there, you can sense it's disruptive. Intrusive. Potentially destructive – like a self-sufficient tribe suddenly exposed to bacteria from the outside world. If that doesn't sound too extreme.'

‘Some Eskimos had never had the common cold before they had contact with the likes of us,' said Stella, who'd recently learned so when watching
Blue Peter
with Will. ‘She's made a life for herself, Xander – she has balance. How many of us can truly say we've achieved that?'

‘Lydia
does
know that.'

‘Ultimately, Verity chose life,' said Stella with not a little awe.

‘Lydia knows that too,' said Xander. ‘The tattoos.'

‘On her foot – and on her wrists,' Stella recalled.

‘They're very profound for Verity. Lydia hates them, of course – makes light and says her daughter is “
inked like a navvy
.” But for Verity, they signify something positive and profound over something negative. Apparently they translate to
peace, life, hope
– in ancient something-or-other. They cover her scars.'

‘Is she OK now? I mean – medically?'

Xander smiled. ‘She seems absolutely fine. Has been for years. She's just – unusual. And for an unusual person to enjoy life, they have to gain the wisdom to choose a life that is as unconventional as they are. Otherwise it's forever square-peg-in-round-hole syndrome.'

‘But it means they have to leave the round hole.' Stella paused. ‘Longbridge.'

Xander nodded. ‘Longbridge was bad for her health. Wales is good.'

‘Why was she back?' Stella asked. ‘Why did you rush there?' She needed answers. ‘Did you see her?'

Xander shook his head. ‘She went after lunch.'

‘Did you speak to Lydia? Mrs Biggins?'

‘Lydia was there,' Xander said. ‘She told me Verity had phoned me earlier. I didn't tell her I'd ignored the call thinking it was just Lydia.'

‘What did she say?'

‘Lydia said she wasn't sure whether Verity would be back before Longbridge is sold.'

‘Was Lydia OK?'

‘Yes. She seems tired though. She has her arm in a sling. Tripped.'

‘You're very close,' said Stella. ‘To Lydia.'

‘Even when I was very young – even when I found Lydia really quite terrifying – I felt like a mediator between her and Verity. When Verity went – that's when Lydia reached for me. That's when I became her link with both Edward and Verity.'

‘Dear Lydia,' Stella said softly.

‘One thinks of her as this hard, aloof, upper-class harridan. But God she must have been through it. She doesn't hate her daughter, she doesn't resent her, she's no longer embarrassed by her. I think she's even happy for her – but I also think that alongside day-to-day Lydia who's a dreadful snob and terrorizes people, she runs a private parallel life in constant mourning for her children.'

‘It's no one's fault,' Stella said. ‘Edward could have lived – and Verity would still have been Verity.'

Xander tipped his head and finally he smiled and his laughter lines superseded all others. ‘I knew you'd see it that way,' he said. ‘That's why I felt I could go – but also come back. And I'm going to sound like a soft bastard now but I don't care – I'm almost forty, fuck it! But I wanted to tell
you
, Stella, because I sensed you'd feel it, that you'd understand and not judge.'

Stella shrugged. ‘You're not a soft bastard,' she said. ‘You
can
be a moody git – but I suppose perhaps it takes a stroppy cow to handle one of those.' She went over to Xander, took his face in her hands and kissed him while he held on to her, tight.

He looked at her. ‘You've gone all – pensive,' he said.

Stella took a moment. ‘Xander,' she started, cautiously. ‘Are you – were you?' She shrugged. ‘In love – with Verity? Is there unfinished business? Baggage? It's cool – it's fine. But I'd rather know.' She was fiddling with a piece of Lego.

Xander put his hand over hers to still it. ‘No,' he said. Then he laughed. ‘Perhaps when I was six or seven. But no – not in reality.'

‘It would be OK –' Stella started.

‘This might sound pompous,' Xander said. ‘But I suppose – like I think I've said to you – I feel responsible in some ways, for both Lydia and Verity. I sort of became the man of the house at Longbridge – for Lydia in lieu of Edward. For Verity as her rock. For Lydia again, when Verity went. For Lydia, as she's aged. And now, for all of them again. That's why I feel so strongly about the sale. Far more than Verity does. Possibly as much as Lydia does.'

Stella considered all that Xander was telling her. But actually, what she most wanted to contemplate was Verity herself. How Stella wished she'd known all this before she met her. Or perhaps it was good she hadn't – because she'd taken Verity simply as she'd found her, unprejudiced by anything known. Stella's overriding impression was that she'd been in the presence of someone extraordinary, someone who, at some point, had been kissed by a rainbow. Someone so integral to Longbridge Hall despite the fact that she had left so long ago. And then Stella thought, behind that banner Xander brandishes to Save Longbridge! Save the Village! Save the Aged Residents! is a whole other story – and it's
his
story.

‘Verity
is
special to me,' Xander said. ‘And Lydia is too. And most of all Longbridge is special to me. It's been the benevolent safe place in which all of this played out. Fundamental to my childhood – to my experiences, to shaping the person I became.' He paused. ‘See, told you it would sound pompous!'

‘Which is why, out of all of them, you so long for it not to be sold,' said Stella, putting her hand, now, over his.

All talked out.

They half watched a bit of a film on Channel 4; shoes off, Xander's feet on the coffee table, Stella curled on the sofa in a furl around him.

‘Can I still stay for the sleepover?'

Stella laughed. ‘I won't let you go.'

‘Good.'

‘Do you want to go to bed now?'

‘Do you?'

‘I don't understand what on earth is going on in this movie.'

‘Don't you? But it's just so, like, post-modern sub-noir.'

‘I think it's a pile of poo. Come on.' And Stella switched off the lights and led Xander back to her bedroom.

In her bathroom, he thought of his overnight stuff in the bag in the car. And then he saw the new toothbrush she'd left for him. He ran his finger over the bristles. What a gorgeous girl. What a night. What a day. He'd divested himself of so much and yet he felt far from empty, not remotely deflated. In fact, he felt replete, the same satisfying fullness of having eaten just the right amount of a perfect Sunday roast. He could love Stella. Perhaps he already did. He nodded at himself, welcoming the notion that he was potentially minutes away from a fine night's sleep in the arms of a beautiful woman. He was pleased she knew, pleased he'd found the courage to share. Pleased that Verity had met Stella and that Stella had met Verity. Pleased that Verity and Lydia had both coped without needing him there. That perhaps Verity had said her final goodbyes to Longbridge. That, actually, she'd made her peace with the place a long time ago.

When Stella and Xander's bodies folded into each other, however, it wasn't just emotions that were stirred. Making love for the second time was both gentler and somehow more adept. In the dark. Sensing what was wanted. Coming together. A physical and cerebral correspondence.

‘You're a sexy minx,' said Xander, afterwards.

‘Bet you say that to all the girls,' said Stella.

‘I haven't yet met
all
the girls,' said Xander. ‘Ow! Did you just
pinch
me?'

‘Yes,' said Stella. She paused. ‘Laura?'

‘Laura?'

‘She was your significant ex?'

‘Yep.' Xander stroked Stella's hair as he spoke. ‘We were together that all-important decade from our mid-twenties – when you think you can shape the world.' Stella trailed her fingertip over his lips. ‘The long and the short of it is that classic phrase – when we grew up, we wanted different things from life.'

‘Oh?'

‘Laura wanted to travel and run a beach bar in Cambodia and do a ski season in Banff and crew a catamaran over the seven seas.'

‘And you?'

‘I just wanted to live in Long Dansbury. And have a family.'

‘She didn't want that?' It seemed preposterous to Stella.

‘No.'

‘And you didn't want to see the world?'

‘Not really – I'd done a fair bit of travelling in my student days.'

‘You loved her?'

‘Very much. But ultimately we were in that clichéd trap of staying together because we were a long-term couple and it was easier than splitting up.'

‘But you did split up.'

‘Ultimately, we weren't peas in a pod. We were poles apart. All the idealism of our twenties – it was transient. It was just the stuff of late-night deep-and-meaningful conversations behind curtains of spliff and a backdrop of Pink Floyd. Ultimately we didn't believe in the same things – and we didn't want each other. It was habit.'

‘Do you see her?'

‘She lives in New York, these days.'

‘
New York
?'

‘With a banker husband and two kids.'

‘How bizarre! Does that hurt?'

‘Nope. Not any more.'

‘Blimey, Xander.'

‘Blimey Xander what, Stella?'

‘Been there, seen it, done it – you have.' He could feel Stella thinking. ‘Verity – Laura. I'm afraid I'm horribly dull in comparison.'

Xander laughed. He kissed her forehead.

‘I'll be the judge of that,' he said. Snuggled against her. Yawned. Yawned with the bliss and relief and comfort of discovering someone with whom he could be wide open, with whom he could also close off from the world. He yawned with the effort that had accompanied so much revelation. Yawned because he'd just made love to Stella and his body was wonderfully tired. Yawned because Stella's bedroom was all about soft darkness and cosiness and a lovely scent. Yawned because he was ready to surrender himself to sleep after a spectacularly big day in his life.

‘What a life you've had,' Stella said, kissing him affectionately on the cheek as she nestled her head against his shoulder. A man in her bed. This Xander man.

‘But I've never loved anyone enough to actually marry them,' he said, sleepily. ‘
Whereas you did
.'

Xander, however, was sound asleep by the time Stella thought, Christ, how on earth do I begin to tell you about Charlie?

‘Yes, but how did he
know
Verity was here – if he didn't answer her telephone call and she left no message!' Mrs Biggins wasn't asking Lydia a question, she was stating something blindingly obvious which had bypassed Lydia. Mrs Biggins was literally rubbing her hands with glee. Stop it, thought Lydia, your paws are red enough already. ‘Why come belting round on Saturday evening?'

‘To see her!' Silly woman.

‘But belting round?' Mrs Biggins cocked her head. ‘He can only just've heard she was at Longbridge. If he'd've known earlier, he'd've been more refined, more formal about it all. Instead of which, he's hammering on your door past supper-time!'

Privately, Lydia reasoned it all out. Mrs Biggins had a point.

‘Did you ask him?'

‘What?'

‘How he came to hear?'

‘No.' Lydia thought back to Saturday night. It was only Monday morning but the new week made Saturday suddenly feel very distant. That was no bad thing. She'd felt pretty wretched on Saturday – with her arm in a sling, with Verity gone. It had been enough to tell Xander that Verity wasn't here – to then idle away half an hour with light and informal chit-chat about how she was, though her visit had privately disconcerted both of them.

‘Interesting, though,' Mrs Biggins said, attempting to dust and then thinking she'd do it properly later. ‘Interesting to wonder about Xander's Saturday night.'

It was. Lydia admitted it to herself once her housekeeper had left the room with promises of mid-morning coffee. A daughter Lydia ceased to have any plans for, over whom she had no control – and a man she'd known since a boy in whom she was investing hopes and plans and whom, it seemed, was ticking them off for her one by one.

Which left Lydia thinking about Miss Hutton – whose purpose was twofold. Stella might be fulfilling the obligation she knew nothing of – but she appeared to be failing in her objective to sell the bloody place. Irritated, Lydia walked to the hallway and made a phone call to Elmfield Estates.

‘What
is
going on?'

‘Good morning, Lady Lydia.'

‘Miss Hutton – have you heard nothing?'

‘I left messages for the Tompkins and the consortium. I have a Japanese gentleman keen to view on Wednesday.'

‘Why don't I phone the Tompkins?'

‘Because that's my job.'

Lydia harrumphed.

‘And it's not the done thing.'

She harrumphed again.

‘And you hate the telephone,' Stella said.