Poppy caught the coach to Bristol on Christmas Eve. She hadn’t told Dina she was coming down; she wasn’t staying long. This was purely a duty visit.
When she arrived, she felt even more of a stranger than she had imagined. Beryl Bridges was there, in a pale blue hand-knitted twinset, putting the finishing touches to plates of sandwiches and homemade cakes. There were doilies on the plates. The tea service was one Poppy hadn’t seen before. When Beryl reached for the teapot and said coyly, ‘Shall I be mother?’ Poppy felt a twinge of alarm. Beryl was nudging sixty; surely she hadn’t gone and got herself knocked up?
‘We’re getting married,’ Mervyn Dunbar announced when the tea had been poured. He no longer took sugar, Poppy noticed. Beryl was probably behind that too.
‘Oh… well, that’s good news.’ Poppy smiled at them both. ‘Congratulations.’
‘Next week,’ said Mervyn. ‘Down at the Register Office. Nothing fancy. No big party or anything.’
Of course not, Poppy thought. Wouldn’t want to break the habit of a lifetime.
‘Just a couple of my friends as witnesses,’ Beryl put in hurriedly. ‘And a spot of lunch afterwards.’
‘So don’t worry about having to trek down here from London all over again.’ Mervyn blinked. Poppy turning up like this out of the blue had unsettled him. He had his own life now and Beryl to share it with him. Knowing that Beryl would never sneak off behind his back with another man gave him indescribable peace of mind, whereas seeing Poppy again only served to remind him of all the misery and humiliation his first wife had put him through. ‘There’s no need,’ he went on brusquely. ‘We understand. It’s a long way.’
It certainly was, Poppy mused. Even longer when you weren’t wanted at the wedding.
‘Still, you’ve got your own life to lead, haven’t you?’ Beryl said brightly. ‘Up in the big city! Must be lots going on there, eh love?’
‘Oh, lots.’ Poppy nodded in agreement. She had no intention of telling them she had met her real father. She finished her tea and reached down to the raffia bag at her feet, pulling out Mervyn’s wrapped Christmas present. Luckily, gardening books were his passion so he was easy to buy for.
Lucky too, thought Poppy, that I’m pretty passionate about washing. She thanked Mervyn for her own present, which she knew was Yardley soap. It was wrapped in last year’s paper, which had been kept and recycled.
‘Actually,’ said Poppy, ‘I was going to ask a favor.’
Mervyn looked wary. ‘Oh, yes?’
‘You know that blue spirit bottle, the one on the shelf out in the hall. Was it my mother’s?’
Bits of old glass were of no interest to Mervyn Dunbar. He nodded.
‘She came home with it one day, before you were born. Bought it in Clifton. Waste of money, I told her.’ His eyes flickered. ‘Why? Valuable, is it?’
‘Not really,’ Poppy fibbed, because Bristol Blue glass of that age could fetch hundreds of pounds at auction. ‘It’s the same color as the curtains in my bedroom, that’s all. I wondered if I could have it.’
***
Claudia always enjoyed the idea of going along to her mother’s cocktail parties. Angie invited so many men you never knew who you might meet. It was only when she was there she started wishing she hadn’t come.
The trouble was, having spent ages looking forward to it, the event itself was bound to be a letdown. As in childbirth, Claudia conveniently forgot the bad bits—like the fact that her mother spent the whole time shamelessly hogging the limelight and always bagged the best men for herself.
‘You look gorgeous, like an ice cream,’ one of them told Claudia now. He was spectacularly drunk but so good-looking he could get away with it. ‘Can I lick your shoulder? Do you taste as good as you look?’
Claudia began to perk up. How lucky she’d chosen to wear the ivory satin dress and not the blue wool one, and how right she’d been to keep up those sessions on the sunbed. She preened a bit, then squirmed with pleasure as the man began to drop nibbling little kisses along her collarbone.
With a whoosh of Chanel Number 5, Angie materialized beside them like an unwanted genie out of a lamp.
Her smile was provocative.
‘Why bother with Wall’s economy-sized vanilla,’ she purred, ‘when you could be enjoying Häagen-Dazs?’
She slipped out of her jacket and offered the man her own bare shoulder. ‘Go on, try me. And be honest, which would you prefer? A dollop of plain old vanilla or a little taste of heavenly Caramel Cone Explosion?’
‘Honestly darling, I don’t know why you have to be so touchy.’ Mindful of the perils of dehydration, Angie poured herself another glass of mineral water and yawned. ‘It was just a bit of fun. You’re lucky Carlo only nibbled your shoulder.’
Claudia had managed to contain herself until the party was over. By the time the last of the guests had drifted off into the frosty night, she’d had a good three hours in which to seethe.
‘I’m not talking about my shoulder being nibbled,’ Claudia howled. ‘Having my shoulder nibbled doesn’t shock me… what I can’t bear is the way you always have to barge your way in and start showing off.’
Angie began to laugh.
‘Oh dear, you mean the bit about economy blocks of ice cream? Sweetheart, you are so sensitive about your size! It was a joke, that’s all.’
‘You couldn’t bear to think that someone like Carlo might have been more interested in me than in you.’ Claudia glared at her accusingly. ‘You had to shimmy up and start diverting his attention.’
‘Fairly easily accomplished,’ Angie retaliated. ‘I mean, he hardly had to be pried off you, did he?’
‘Now you’re being spiteful.’
All the pent-up resentment of the past months was on the brink of spilling out. Having Angie back on the scene must have been more of a strain than she’d realized. Claudia gave her mother a measured look. ‘And you’re embarrassing yourself,’ she said coldly. ‘Has it ever occurred to you that some people might be watching the way you carry on and laughing at you behind your back? Not everyone thinks you’re completely irresistible, you know. You aren’t that perfect.’
Angie was no longer looking amused. If there was one thing she really couldn’t bear, it was the thought that she was being laughed at. It was only a cheap jibe of course—nobody was laughing—but the fact that Claudia could even make such a snide remark… well, it really pissed her off.
‘I didn’t say I was perfect,’ she bristled. ‘Or irresistible. Not that I can recall any complaints—’
‘For God’s sake, there you go again.’
‘Oh please, can I help it if men find me attractive?’
‘Not all men,’ Claudia repeated through gritted teeth. This evening’s episode had really bugged her. This time her mother wasn’t going to get away with it. ‘Not all men. Not Carlo, And,’ she added for good measure, ‘not Caspar either.’
Right. That was it. Mockingly Angie said, ‘Caspar? Oh, you mean the Caspar you’ve had such spectacular success with? Dear me, so what you’re saying is, if I were to make myself available to Caspar French, he wouldn’t be the teeniest bit interested. Is that it?’
‘That’s it.’ Claudia looked triumphant. Inwardly, she thought: If I have to bribe him with every last penny I own, Caspar is never going to sleep with you.
Angie uncurled herself and rose from the sofa. She crossed the room to where the Christmas tree stood. It was an impressive ten-footer smothered in Victorian lace and beeswax candles. A mountain of exquisitely wrapped gifts was piled around the base. Angie reached for a large flat rectangular package done up in tartan paper. She handed it to Claudia with a tight little smile.
‘Go on, open it.’
‘Why? It’s not mine.’ Claudia looked at the label, which bore her father’s name. Hugo was flying over from Los Angeles on Boxing Day.
‘Just open it.’
The crimson ribbons unraveled, the paper fell open and the layers of tissue paper seemed to peel back of their own accord. Claudia sat gazing down at the picture on her lap. Her mother, naked and golden, sleepy-eyed and smiling, gazed back up at her. As if the carved wooden headboard of the rumpled bed on which she lay wasn’t enough, there was the signature in the bottom right-hand corner to dispel any last lingering doubts.
‘What a talented boy he is.’ Smiling at the look on Claudia’s face, Angie heaved a pleasurable sigh. ‘And what fun we had! No wonder you’re so keen to get to know him better,’ she added in a taunting whisper. ‘He even exceeded my expectations! Darling, you simply must give Caspar a try. I do recommend him. You’re missing out on a treat.’