Secrets (34 page)

Laura still looked concerned. ‘You just showed up here, didn't you – you didn't know a soul. You didn't even know Joe, did you – when you first arrived?’

‘No, you're right. I didn't.’

‘But you're saying there's nothing – you know – dodgy?’

‘Nothing dodgy,’ said Tess, hoping an avoidance of the whole truth couldn't be classed as a lie. ‘Well – perhaps you'll think about it anyway,’ she said. Her face had fallen flat and so had her voice. She pulled herself together and said goodbye before pushing the buggy and heading away.

Mary was in a chair by the window overlooking the front. She watched them go. She raised her hand but she wasn't noticed.

Laura did think about it. And she spoke to her boss about it before clocking off that evening.

‘She'll have references, will she, Laura?’

‘Oh yes – she worked in a posh London salon.’

‘Oh?’

‘In the West End. Oxford Street I think – same as Selfridges.’

‘Oh?’

‘But I'm telling you, I was at an evening she hosted and she's good – she's really good. I'll say it'll not be long before she's up and running here in Saltburn – a little salon perhaps.
Beauty by Tess
or the like. I think we should give her the go-ahead.’

‘And she'll bring her own stuff, will she?’

‘Yes – you should smell it. It's grand. All posh and organic and pure and all.’

‘And she doesn't want paying?’

‘No.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because Tess is nice – she's a good girl. She told me she wants to
do something
.’

‘Give a bit back, perhaps, to the Olds? A volunteer?’

Laura nodded.

‘Well, shall we see how the Olds take to her? A trial, like?’

‘Shall I check the references, then?’

‘If she passes muster with you, Laura, she's OK by me. You're a good judge of character, you are.’

Wolf was fine.

Em was dressed to the nines.

Tamsin was cordially thanked by card.

Lisa was regaled with the list of purchases and the discounts garnered.

And then Joe was phoned.

‘Hi, it's me.’

‘Hey you.’

‘Is it OK to phone – is it a good time?’

‘It's fine – I'm just finishing off for the day. It's been busy – but the progress is amazing. I've taken photos – I'll show you them. Tess?’

‘Yes?’

‘You OK?’

‘When?’

‘When what?’

‘The photos – when might I see them?’

‘Soon. Soon. You sound low. Tess? Sorry? I didn't quite catch that?’

‘I just said that I'm looking forward to seeing you again, that's all. Hullo – Joe?’

‘Yes?’

‘You still there?’

‘Yes.’

‘You OK?’

‘I'm looking forward to seeing you again too, Tess. I'm working on it.’

Chapter Thirty-one

Both Nathalie and Joe were well aware that it was the first time he'd used the premise of a headache. In fact, it was the first time that he'd turned down sex. Moreover, Nathalie hadn't even managed to perform much of an overture before Joe turned away from her in bed and said, Christ, I have a killer headache. She lay there thinking, the guy works too hard. He lay there thinking he'd like to be at home. The somewhat alarming proximity of another woman's nakedness caused him to avoid specific thoughts of Tess (though, after their phone call, he'd thought of her intently) to nurse a general homesickness instead. He'd been away for almost two weeks. He was needed in Brussels. They wanted him in the States – which could wait, but not for long. He couldn't quite leave France just yet. A couple of days’ time, perhaps. He might only manage a fleeting visit home – but he would gladly rejig all those pressing commitments to facilitate it.

Hours later, Nathalie moved in her sleep, her leg pressing up alongside Joe's. He remained still for a moment before inching away from the contact. The next morning, when he woke, he found her arm lolling across his stomach. He lay still for a while, then glanced over to her; she was sleeping. Gently, he picked up her wrist and moved her arm away from his body. With a stroppy fidget of her limbs, she placed it back. Whether she'd been asleep before, he was now unsure. What was certain was, though she said nothing and her eyes were closed, her hand was very much awake, travelling down his body to tickle her fingertips up and down the tumid shaft of his early-morning erection. Now she was awake and his eyes closed. She encircled his cock, first with her hand, then with her mouth before climbing aboard and sinking her hot wet sex straight down on him fast. He kept his eyes shut as they fucked and, as he came, he cried out to himself, Tess, Tess, Tess.

Nathalie thought Joe had kept his mouth shut because he was gentlemanly about his morning breath. Because Joe was a very good kisser. She always enjoyed the way he kissed her and she always judged herself on the voracity of his tongue, the persistence of his lips, the imaginative uses to which he could put his teeth.

He left the bed to shower.

‘I see you later, Joe.’

‘
Allons
,’ he replied.

‘You seen much of Joe, then?’ Laura asked conversationally over her shoulder as she led Tess through the hallway to the morning room.

‘Not for a fortnight.’

‘Busy, is he?’

‘Very. He's still abroad. But we speak – daily if we can.’

A sly grin filled Laura's pause. Then she put her work face back. ‘He phoned here a couple of days ago – Mary hadn't a clue who he was. He always seems more relieved when she's like that than when she's, you know,
together
.’

‘Oh?’

‘Odd that – it's usually the other way round with families of our residents.’

Tess would have liked more time to mull this over, more time to speak to Laura even though during such conversations they both trod a diplomatic and formal two-step around the subject. But Laura was already holding open the door to the morning room and saying, now, ladies, what a treat we have for you today.

Tess looked around the room. She was unsure how many of the residents were actually looking at her. There were five ladies and she noted Mary was one of them, as was Mrs Tiley. The other three she knew she'd probably smiled at previously though her awkwardness would have prevented her from looking at them more intently then. She turned to Laura and spoke in a low voice.

‘Should I –?’

Laura smiled at her and clapped her hands in a merry rhythm. ‘Good afternoon, ladies. You may remember Tess when she's popped in before – well, you probably remember Em better. Isn't she a doll? Hasn't she grown?’ The ladies cooed and clucked and Tess remembered one of them by the way she held out her hands to Em, rubbing her fingers together as if to entice a cat. Em toddled over to her and allowed her curls to be stroked.

‘Ladies,’ said Laura again, ‘our Tess here is a very skilled beautician.’ She savoured the word as if it brought with it the pleasures of the trade itself. ‘She's going to come to you, one by one, and offer you a manicure – or you can request whatever you like. You know – for your hooves and paws.’ Chuckles wove through the room in a happy ripple. Laura turned to Tess, sotto voce. ‘Start wherever – I'll be on hand. I'll keep an eye on Em – though it's good you brought her. I don't trust this lot not to get all uppity and queue-jump each other's facials.’ Laura observed Tess casting shy glances to the five residents. ‘Why not start with Mrs Tiley,’ she suggested. ‘After all, she was your – inspiration – wasn't she? She's part of the reason you're here today.’

‘That does feel lovely, dear.’

Tess liked to work with minimal conversation – she always had. That wasn't to say she wasn't talked at. A towel (one of Joe's fluffiest) was across her knees and a pair of hands in her own hands rested lightly in her lap. She had been engrossed in Mrs Tiley's hands, sensing the tendons and bones, thin but still strong beneath the fragile surface which carried the age spots and veins and a crackle of skin over knuckles and joints, like the map of a long life.

‘It's not Palmers Cocoa Butter, I'm afraid,’ said Tess.

‘Well, it's lovely stuff, dear.’

‘Thank you.’

‘Mrs Tiley, I'm going to shape your nails today – buff them too – but I shan't varnish them. Can you wait till next visit? I'm going to rub in a little almond oil. They're very dry, your nails – they need a nice conditioning before we put polish on.’

‘Whatever you suggest, dear – it's not like I've anything fancy in my diary.’

‘Would you like me to leave the almond oil with you, Mrs Tiley? For you to use yourself?’

‘No, dear – don't do that. I don't want to do it myself – I want you to come back again, you see.’

Tess looked around and saw Em and Laura explaining to a frail old lady whose neck seemed unable to support her head, the intricacies of the plastic
Teletubbies
musical wind-up portable TV that was one of Em's most treasured possessions though it cost 10p at the tabletop sale. Even from the tragic angle at which this lady's face was restricted, Tess could deduce a smile. Laura caught her eye and backoned her over.

‘This is Mrs Ellsworth, Tess – we call you Mrs Ell, don't we, Mrs Ell?’

The lady appeared unable to move her head much at all, not even to nod, but Tess found if she dipped hers to a similar angle, they could establish eye contact. And, once she'd sat down on her stool and put her towel across her lap, she could actually look up into Mrs Ell's face and converse quite naturally.

‘Would you like a manicure, Mrs Ell?’

‘A manicure you say? What a treat.’ But her hands remained curled around a handkerchief held close to her chest. Gently and slowly, Tess reached for her hands, unfurling them and bringing them onto her lap. She was stunned. Mrs Ell's fingernails were beautiful and needed no improvement. She told her so.

‘I like to keep myself nice,’ Mrs Ell said.

‘Would you like me to paint them? I have these polishes.’

Mrs Ell gave a little laugh and a sigh. ‘That colour there – we used to call that Wild Cherry in my day and it was my favourite shade.’

Tess looked under the bottle. It was called Bloodsucker these days. She didn't think Mrs Ell need be party to this information. ‘Would you like Wild Cherry today?’

‘Shall I tell you why I liked it so?’ She was whispering. Tess looked up and gave her a covert nod. ‘Because my name is Cherry. Well, it's Cheryl. But when I was a young thing, they all called me Cherry. Not here, though – here they call me Mrs Ell, which I don't mind. Because I'm eighty-four, love – I'm almost eighty-five years old and it's the right age to be called Mrs Ell, or Mrs Ellsworth, because I'm a grand old dame now, aren't I? And it's a bit of respect for Mr Ell who passed on five years gone. But today, between you and me, I'd very much like a little Wild Cherry if you please because I'll let you into a little secret – but it's a secret, mind, and not for sharing – I'd snare the boys with my Wild Cherry nails.’ Mrs Ell broke off to check Tess was all ears – and from the unbroken eye contact she could tell that she was. ‘I'd paint my nails in that shade and go off to the dances in Marske and Redcar and here in Saltburn too when the Zetland was a fine hotel, the finest. It's flats now, you know. Well, they'd woo me, they would, and they'd say what beautiful hands I had. And I'd say “Wild Cherry” and they'd say, what a name, what a name for a nice young lady to have. And I'd laugh and we'd dance – we'd dance the night away.’

They waited in silence for the base coat to dry.

‘Happy days,’ Tess ventured as she rolled the nail-varnish bottle between her palms.

‘They were wonderful!’ Mrs Ell declared.

‘Mrs Ell, would you like to try my foot spa – while your nails dry?’

Mrs Greene chose In-the-Pink for her nails and she and Mrs Tiley started a chorus of ‘Pink, pink, to make the boys wink’. It didn't matter to them that Laura and Tess caught each other's eyes as if to say they hadn't a clue what they were singing about. Em liked it and did her wiggle dance, which made the song last longer. Mrs Greene had a go with the foot spa too when Mrs Ell's nails were dry.

‘She rubs your feet,’ Mrs Ell said to Mrs Greene though Tess was right there. ‘She rubs your feet after the machine's finished with them. And with her fancy creams too. Lucky old toes.’

Mrs Hansard seemed reluctant for a manicure and she shirked away from the notion of the foot spa. In my day, she said, people put electrical things in water to kill themselves. But she didn't want not to have Tess; Tess just needed to work out what she could offer.

‘My shins, love, they're very dry. They can be very sore, you know.’ She rucked her skirt up a little and, even through thick beige stockings, Tess could see what she meant.

‘I have a wonderful balm, Mrs Hansard,’ Tess said. ‘It's very mild but very nourishing. Here – would you like to have a smell? Do you like that?’

‘It's lovely dear, very nice.’ She let the folds of her skirt drop back down, smoothed the material at her lap and clasped her hands loosely together.

‘It's OK, Mrs Hansard. We don't have to do your shins, if you don't feel comfortable.’

‘It's not that, dear. It's – something else.’ She leant in to Tess, her breath sweet–sour, a little like tea that has stood for too long. ‘I hate them.’

Tess sat back on her stool from the force of animosity in Mrs Hansard's steely voice. But Mrs Hansard was still leaning.

‘My whiskers,’ she hissed at Tess, ‘I
hate
them.’ With a surreptitious look left and right, the lady then lifted her chin a little and turned her face this way and that.

Tess was cautious not to downplay them, nor make too much of them either.

‘Mrs Hansard,’ she said quietly, ‘my tweezer skills are unsurpassed. I'm just as good with whiskers as I am with eyebrows. Would you like me to – see to them?’

She soaked a flannel in warm water and laid it lightly over the lady's chin. This she repeated four more times. Then, she chose There There lotion (with tea tree in it, to soothe, she explained), poured a little onto cotton wool and swept it over Mrs Hansard's face. Swift and businesslike, Tess set to work with the tweezers and, after Mrs Hansard had inspected the results in the mirror, she then gave Tess the go-ahead to treat her shins.

Tess hadn't meant to save Mary until last but that was the order that had transpired. Mary didn't seem to recognize Tess, though she'd been in deep conversation with Em. Tess thought, therefore, that she ought to call her Mrs Saunders.

‘What would you like?’ she asked her. ‘A mini facial and your nails done?’

‘My hair,’ said Mary.