‘Look, at the end of the day, there’s nothing to stress about. I only popped in to pick up a few documents that need checking over. You know? Those deeds we talked about the other day?’ James had eventually stopped smirking at Dina and confessed readily to Bella, the moment she’d dragged him away so they could talk alone. First she had reset the alarm and cancelled the police. Thank goodness the others had some sense of tact and had gone to check out the lunch menu in the catering truck.
Bella grabbed a hoodie of Molly’s from where it was abandoned over the banister rail. Big and comfortingly baggy on Molly, it fitted Bella fairly snugly. She and James went through the kitchen and out into the garden, where they sat on the bench to talk. Bella felt determinedly inhospitable, as if she were entertaining a stalker, and was not at all inclined to offer James a drink, even though he’d looked meaningfully at the kettle as they passed through the kitchen. Then she felt bad – he was, after all, the father of her beloved children – and she dashed back inside and quickly made him a cup of his favourite camomile tea.
‘Thanks. I didn’t want to disturb you, Bella, that’s all, that’s why I let myself in. And besides, I thought you weren’t here.’
‘Right. Isn’t that a bit contradictory? Where does “not disturbing” me come in, if you actually thought I was out? How many other times have you sneaked into the house when I’ve been off the premises?’ She had a vision of him skulking behind the privet next to the front gates and felt slightly ill at the thought of being spied on, even by someone she used to know so well. Had he been in her bedroom, apart from that time she’d been there? Surely she’d have sensed if someone had been in, especially as James was so heavy on the aftershave. He probably thought it had disinfecting properties.
‘I haven’t been in before. Honestly.’
‘Apart from sneaking up on me in my own bedroom,’ she reminded him.
‘I wasn’t sneaking. Just looking for you. You could even see it as a heads-up about locking doors.’
‘Oh, I did. Which is why the front door was locked just now. Did you wheedle a key out of Molly or Alex?’
‘I wouldn’t say “wheedle”,’ James protested feebly. ‘I simply asked Alex and he found one for me.’
‘That was pretty underhand, wasn’t it? You knew I didn’t want you to have one. And don’t pull the old “this is half my house” number. You don’t live here, James. I could probably get a restraining order, you know.’
‘Well that would be overreacting somewhat, don’t you think? Surely common sense can come to the party here, if we’re going to move the issue forward in this space?’ He’d got his pompous face on now. She could almost see his chest puffing out, like a bumptious pigeon. The reversion to jargon matched his stance perfectly.
Bella laughed. ‘You know, if I had a clue what you were talking about, there’s a chance I could agree with you. Look … give me back the key and go away, will you please James? If we’re going to have an “issue” over the house, then I really will need to consult someone about it. All the same, I won’t be obstructive. Just the house deeds, was it?’
‘House deeds, mortgage details, all that. I somehow lost track of it all and I wanted to take a look under the bonnet, so to speak …’ He sounded more hopeful than a few minutes ago, possibly thinking she was caving in.
‘Yes, I’ve got them and believe it or not, I even know where they are. You know, you could have just asked me – I’m perfectly willing to photocopy them all for you. But I’ve been thinking about this. Remember I’ve been paying the mortgage here for the past ten years, on my own. We only lived here together for three years before that after we left the rented place, and the deposit for this house was entirely from my grandfather’s legacy, if you recall. I have a feeling that if I owe you anything financially, it won’t be an awful lot. Sorry if that’s a bit of a blow, but it can’t be as big a one as being made to think you’re going to be instantly evicted and banished to live in a box, believe me.’
‘Aha! We shall see. And as I said before, it’s mostly you I’m thinking about. This place is going to be far too big for you when you’re on your own.’
Oh, and she would be on her own. She could see that looming worst-case scenario so clearly: a chill, lonely, lover-free future, punctuated by hectic, over-optimistic short-term forays with a series of men who were badly acquainted with truth. Grim. Another bloody mistake. How many times in her life was she going to have to go through the ‘never again’ disappointment with men? This is it, she decided, never again would mean just that. She really could do without people who only gave her half the story.
‘You don’t need to think about me, James, thanks all the same. If you didn’t spare me a thought when I was running myself ragged looking after two infants and trying to get my career going, then it’s a bit pointless, not to say unconvincing, trying to make up for it now, isn’t it?’
‘OK, OK. Sorry. Look, I’ll leave the document-sourcing with you and we’ll touch base again soon.’ James got up and stretched, his shirt pulling tight across his corpulent middle. Bella suddenly felt rather sorry for him. He used to be very fit, very active when younger. He’d played in a Sunday football team and been quite careful with his health (which was where the over-concern with hygiene had begun). Now he looked as if he’d given up on keeping himself in good physical condition, and was undeniably heart-attack shape. Washing his hands and sponging down every surface he came into contact with wasn’t going to save him from that.
She was about to say something about taking care of himself, wishing him well, but he cut in first. ‘I really don’t like that purple monstrosity you’ve got in there.’ James pointed to the sofa. Bella felt a pang of sadness, thinking back to the so-lovely day when she and Saul had chosen it at the prop store. ‘The sofa isn’t staying long,’ she told him. ‘Just till all this lot go. Which will be very soon, I hope.’
She meant it. Depression washed over her as, looking into the kitchen from the garden, it suddenly felt like a completely false room and nothing to do with her. Just another empty film set. She could almost wish her manky broken pink tiles were back again. And her creaky old cupboard doors with their dated ironware. The coral wall would have to be repainted – if Saul was just another lying and devious bastard, then she didn’t want any reminders hanging about to taunt her that she’d been taken for a mug by a man. Again. Would she ever learn? Was Saul really another Rick? When had he been intending to come up with the missing information that he was, or had been, married to Daisy?
Over dinner, when she’d told him about the Rick-in-New York episode, even though she’d turned it into very much a funny story, she’d made it pretty clear that the one thing she valued and desired in a relationship was absolute honesty. And here they were: Daisy was Fliss’s mother. Daisy was Saul’s ex-wife. If she was actually ex. If this was the case, then why was there any problem about saying so? She felt weary at the thought of having to prise some deep truth out of him. In spite of her accepting that most information about a new partner tended to come out gradually over time, this was one major omission he’d made here. OK, it was early in the relationship and everyone was entitled to privacy about their past … but this particular bombshell was right here in the present, right here on her premises. Best to quit now – might as well get used to that worst-case future she’d briefly foreseen a few minutes before.
‘And look, James, you were asking about Dina the other day. She’s over by the catering truck. Why don’t you go and have a word with her?’
Well, someone else might as well be lucky in love, even if she couldn’t, she thought. Bella walked him out of the door. ‘Just a tip: Dina likes horror films but on DVD on her own sofa, not at the cinema.’
‘Quite right too.’ James looked as eager as a puppy whose owner was teaching it to play fetch. ‘Cinemas are full of filthy fools eating and slurping and spreading their germs … I’ll just go and say hello to her, see how she is.’
‘Good luck!’ Bella genuinely wished him well, pocketing the door key he’d handed over. He was looking very happy now, like a small boy diverted from a tantrum by the promise of a treat.
‘OK, now I’ve got you on your own!’ No sooner had James strode off in pursuit of Dina than Jules seemed to pop out from behind the hibiscus.
‘So? Are you going to tell me any more? Where did you go after the dinner? Did he leap on you suddenly or did you seduce him subtly till he couldn’t resist or …’
‘Ooh Jules! You made me jump!’ In truth Bella had thought for a millisecond it was Saul, back and keen to pounce when she was apart from the others. The internal butterflies kicked off again.
‘Are you going to tell me, or was it so magically wonderful in a disgracefully private way that you can’t say a single word about it in case the spell evaporates?’
Bella thought for a moment. Really, she didn’t want to say anything at all to anyone, but if she didn’t, Jules would be hurt and puzzled and would look at her in a Concerned Way all afternoon. She couldn’t face that. It would be bad enough facing Saul later, let alone coping with someone else doing too much wondering.
‘OK, look come through to the garden; I’ll give you the bones of it before the others come back.’
‘Ha ha! Bones! Did he jump on yours?’ Jules was nothing if not upfront.
‘Jules! So subtle, not! Hey, it’s lunchtime; do you fancy a sandwich in here rather than out in the truck with the others?’ Bella opened the fridge. ‘I’ve got a load of chicken and some salad stuff, though what about Molly … she’s out there …’ Bella thought about how Molly had been feeling earlier. So that would be two in the house that evening having man-misery. She only hoped her mother was having better luck out with hers (wherever they were … did all older people gad about as much as Shirley and her new beloved did?) or it would be all-round tears and a takeaway later. Not a jolly prospect.
‘Don’t worry about Molly; last seen flirting with that nice boy who plays with the big fluffy sound thingy.’
Bella’s heart upped its pace. ‘Are they all back? Is …’ her voice faded out. She couldn’t quite say his name. Ridiculous – whatever she was speculating about in terms of the Saul-and-Daisy scenario, she had to work with both of them this afternoon. And tomorrow and the next day. Of course, she could just see him alone later and ask him to explain. But if she did, she wouldn’t know if he’d ever intended to come out with the truth. This was a case of setting a test for him, and she didn’t like herself very much for it.
‘No, no one else is here. It’s all clear for you to tell me all,’ Jules said.
Bella and Jules assembled a couple of doorstep-sized chicken salad sandwiches, deliciously spread with cranberry sauce but no butter, ‘as a gesture towards the diet’, Jules claimed, and splodged with mayonnaise as a bonus, then took them outside to the garden with generous glasses of Sauvignon Blanc.
‘Not enough to make us pissed,’ Jules assured Bella as they settled at the terrace table, ‘but enough to loosen us up and make us sparkle on camera later. I hope. OK, now I’m sitting comfortably, you can begin.’
‘We went out for dinner at Mon Plaisir,’ Bella told her, ‘That’s … er … about it really.’ It sounded a flat, dull event when put like that. Thinking of how it had really been gave Bella a delicious reminiscent tingle, followed by a surge of sadness.
‘Oh come on! I didn’t forgo Mandy’s crispy bacon and avocado salad just to hear you say you had a Quite Nice time, thank you, and with no details!’ Jules studied her intently. ‘I’ve seen the way you two look at each other. There’s definitely a buzz between you. Or was. Did it all go horribly wrong? It didn’t look that way this morning. You had that glow-of-shame. I was so envious.’
Bella felt ridiculously close to tears. This wasn’t allowed or Simone would have to redo all the so-natural make-up, right back to basics.
‘No.’ She sighed and pushed the second half of her sandwich away, suddenly without any appetite. ‘No, it all went horribly right. It was fantastic, brilliant. But – maybe I’m just not cut out for being good at relationships. There’s always some great big furry fly in the ointment. Sorry, Jules, I can’t really talk about it right now. I know that sounds a bit up-myself-ish but I promise I’ll explain some time after all this stupid Fashion Victims palaver is over. It’s just a bit too close to home with this going on. I can’t wait to be back to normal, if I’m honest. And,’ she laughed rather shakily, ‘I don’t care what Daisy says, I don’t want to wear the skirt on my rail that’s got a waist like a gathered-up paper bag! I had one of those years ago, a suede Maxfield Parrish one which I thought was gorgeous, but it made me look like a big tree trunk with a frill round its middle.’ She felt she was waffling, anything to distract Jules from talking about Saul.
‘You should tell Daisy about the old skirt – she’ll be desperate to know if you’ve still got it. She’d go, “Oh but darling, how perfectly vintage.”’
‘Perfectly vintage if you want to look like that elephant in a ballet skirt. Babar, wasn’t it? I used to read those books to Alex and then later Molly.’
That was all back in the days of James. James had been a good and rather sweet father, till he decided that cleanliness might be the closest thing to godliness but was also next to impossible for a household with small, messy humans and an ordinary, imperfect, mortal woman in it. Bella felt sad for the swift passing of time, the even swifter passing of love. She felt rather silly, too. After last night, she’d really thought she and Saul had something special going. Now she could see it was just plain old geed-up lust with little depth to it. That, she thought as she cleared the remains of the sandwich away into the bin and finished the last of her wine, that would teach her to hear one tiny, insubstantial bit of information and blithely assume there was no more to the story.
‘Oh it’s hard to beat Breakfast at Tiffany’s, even if the film is a bit tame compared with the book. In the book she was definitely a tart and he was a kept man. In the film it’s only lightly implied.’
‘Or possibly a case of politely implied,’ Dennis suggested. ‘The Americans are a bit prissy about that sort of thing. Not quite done, openly embracing an immoral woman as a heroine.’
‘A flawed one, though; in many ways Holly Golightly is hard to like.’ Shirley felt utter contentment as she and Dennis emerged into the rush-hour crowds and sunlight from the Prince Charles cinema near Leicester Square. ‘All the same, it’s one of those films that’s such a perfect old friend. Like The Great Escape at Christmas; you have to watch it even though you’ve seen it a good dozen times before and probably know most of the lines, just to make sure it’s still there.’
‘And next week they’ve got Some Like It Hot. I know we could see all these on DVD but I think there’s something special and a bit naughty about sliding off to the cinema in the afternoon,’ Dennis said. ‘At one time it would have been an unthinkable indulgence, wasting daytime in frivolous entertainment, especially a sunny afternoon, cooped up in a cinema in the dark. Now, we have all the leisure time we want and can do what we like. And at concession rates! We’re supposed to do this!’
Dennis was holding Shirley’s hand, guiding her through the five o’clock crush and making her feel thoroughly cherished. It was a long time since she’d felt like this with anyone. And the cinema had reminded her of her own teen years; plush, small and with such snuggly double seats.
‘Where shall we go now?’ she asked as they walked down Wardour Street. ‘Do you fancy tea at Patisserie Valerie?’
‘I’ve got something else in mind,’ he told her, hailing a taxi. ‘Just a little item that I need to pick up somewhere not too far away. It’s for you, actually. I think you’ll like it. At least, I hope so – is there a woman born who doesn’t like a spot of luxury shopping?’
He must have thought this through, Shirley realized as she climbed into the back of the cab, because their mystery destination was a secret written on a piece of paper and passed between the driver and Dennis. The driver was smiling, his eyes twinkling at Shirley by way of the mirror as he pulled out into the traffic and headed towards Regent Street, then turned off into the small back roads.
‘I won’t ask where we’re going,’ she said to Dennis, ‘because I can see you’re enjoying the mystery. Are you sure I’m going to like it? Luxury shopping sounds fun but if it involves something completely mad like … oh like a parrot from the Harrods pet department, then I have to tell you now, I don’t like birds very much.’
‘Oh no! That’s it then!’ Dennis laughed. ‘If I’d known you wouldn’t want to share our life with a big sweary cockatoo I’d never have asked you to marry me! No, I promise it’s not a parrot. And we’re here.’
Shirley looked out of the cab window: Tiffany’s. Of course it was. First the film, now the real thing. How perfectly sweet of Dennis! ‘We should have our noses to the window and be having pastries and coffee!’ she laughed. ‘Except of course our generation does not eat on the street!’
‘Certainly not,’ Dennis agreed. ‘Though I’ve been known to indulge in an ice cream on Brighton seafront.’
‘Oh, I think that’s allowed,’ she conceded. ‘In fact it borders on compulsory.’
Shirley had never been inside Tiffany’s Bond Street shop. One Christmas she had bought silver Elsa Peretti earrings for Bella from the Tiffany concession in Harrods – the same Christmas that Bella had co-incidentally bought Shirley her broad silver bangle. However, she had never had reason to visit the big flagship store and for a woman who was well used to quite upmarket shopping, she was surprised to find she felt mildly intimidated as the doorman opened the door and she and Dennis stepped inside.
The display counters in front of her glimmered with diamonds. Shirley hung back a bit, unsure. She wasn’t unsure about marrying Dennis, not in the slightest, but was ambivalent about the formal engagement-ring thing and hadn’t anticipated that they’d be doing that particular ritual. Her late husband had given her his mother’s sapphire and pearl ring when they’d got engaged, purely because it was apparently a family tradition to hand this ring down through the generations. It had never really fitted and she’d thought it rather old-fashioned but had kept it carefully in its little velvet box, feeling she was keeping it safe for her mother-in-law, should she ever feel the need to pawn it or even just to look at it. She never had. Perhaps she hadn’t much liked it either.
‘Oh good grief. All those diamonds! I really don’t like diamonds!’ It felt like a heretic thing to blurt out, here in this temple of jewels. She hoped none of the assistants had heard – she really didn’t mean to insult their stock.
‘Oh!’ Dennis laughed. ‘Just as well I didn’t go ahead and buy one and plonk it in a cake or something then, isn’t it? Or … Are you having second thoughts? I do hope not.’
‘Not about marrying you; of course I’m not. But engagement rings – I’ve never been that keen on those. I don’t see the point of them, really.’
‘Yes, I completely agree with you! That’s why we’re not buying one!’ He chuckled and pressed the lift-call button.
‘Oh!’ She felt flustered now, sure she’d made a horribly embarrassing mistake. ‘Of course, sorry! I’m being disgracefully presumptuous. Maybe you’ve come to buy yourself some cufflinks.’
‘And maybe I haven’t,’ he told her, pushing her gently into the lift. He pressed the button for the top floor: Repairs and Engravings.
How little they really knew each other, she thought. And how little it mattered. At last she could trust that the all-important thing was how they felt about each other. They were fully formed, as evolved in their lives as they were going to be, and could absolutely accept each other as they were. Dennis was someone she loved being with and who loved being with her. As Molly would no doubt say, ‘End of’.
Shirley waited by the lift while Dennis went to talk to the assistant. Out of the window, across the street, was the Salvatore Ferragamo store. It was, from ground level, just a plain, rather dull building, gilded here and there with the kind of ordinary olive-wreath design that decorated so many London shops. But from up here, not far from roof level, she had a perfect view of a stunningly ornate plaque depicting Caspar, Melchior and Balthazar. She studied it, feeling privileged to be getting this sight of it that no one below could see.
‘I should probably give you this when we’re in bed, or in a restaurant or something.’ Dennis reappeared, clutching a small box. ‘But I can’t wait. I’m just dying to know if you like it. I’m now thinking maybe I was being presumptuous – I’m afraid I skipped straight to the wedding ring. Do you think that’s something to do with not wanting to waste time?’
It was, if you could think of it that way, an unassuming little ring. Platinum. Plain platinum with one simple rose sapphire set into the metal.
‘Dennis, I love it. It’s absolutely perfect.’
‘Here, let me put it on.’ He slipped the ring on to her wedding finger. ‘It’s not unlucky, is it? I mean you have to see if it fits …’
‘Oh it fits, all right! How did you know the size?’
‘Ah – when we went to the Byzantine exhibition, you slipped a ring on your finger in the gift shop and it fitted, but you said you didn’t like it that much and put it back in the display … so I nabbed it and secretly bought it.’
‘Devious!’ Shirley looked at the ring in the window’s light. ‘The stone, it’s pink but it’s a sunset pink. The rays of the sun just as they’re going.’ One of them would almost certainly die, she suddenly thought, die in the next five, ten years, if they were lucky enough to have that long. She felt a stab of future pain; this really was a sunset romance. If only young people, and she was thinking more of Bella than Molly here, if only they realized how fast the time goes. Please make the best of love that you can, don’t waste time holding out for something ‘more’ perfect; she sent a silent prayer up for her daughter.
‘And – I’m so glad you like it, because I can’t return it. It’s engraved,’ Dennis told her. ‘Have a look.’
Shirley removed the ring and peered at the inscription.
‘It’s to commemorate that day we first really knew,’ he said. ‘It just says “Barcelona”, and the date.’
Fliss and Nick had strung four brightly coloured washing lines up in the garden. The day had a hot, dull haze to it and the plum tree was looking as weary as the humans were feeling, dropping overripe fruit on the lawn down by the back wall. The cat lay stretched out in the shade of the camellia, fast asleep. Bella could see his pale tummy rising and falling evenly as he breathed. Every now and then his feet twitched, then his mouth and whiskers flicked as if he were trying to miaow in his dreams. If cats had dreams, she thought, watching Keith snoozing, oblivious to the activity around him. Perhaps he fantasized about the next mouse – the big one that kept getting away – or catching something bigger, more of a trophy than a mere pigeon, his current favourites.
Bella felt hot in the custard-coloured cashmere sweater that Daisy was making her wear. Beautiful as it was – and it certainly suited her – it was definitely one for a far more wintry day, plus it had silly puffy mid-length sleeves and was tight around her arm just below the elbow. The silky caramel tulip skirt was too big and for the sake of the shot had been held together at the back with tiny bulldog clips. Pins would have marked the fabric. ‘Don’t sit down, whatever you do,’ Daisy ordered. ‘The skirt will crease across the front and you’ll have latitude marks over your thighs. Not attractive.’ All very well, Bella considered, feeling lucky she didn’t want to go to the loo: she’d have had to take a helper and the whole lot would have had to come off. She leaned against the door frame, hoping that was allowed, and shifted her weight from foot to uncomfortable foot. Five-inch-heeled shoes that each had four lots of buckles to be fastened were ‘not practical’, as Dina had daringly put it, when Daisy had said that this was a ‘perfect everyday look’. Jules backed up Dina. ‘Exactly; imagine you’re a mum trying to get your kids off to school. Are you really going to have time to do up eight buckles on your own shoes when you’ve just battled to get your four-year-old to put hers on the right feet and fastened?’
‘But you don’t have a four-year-old, do you?’ Daisy looked blank.
‘But the viewers might have!’ Dina snapped back. Revolution brewing again, just as with Esmé the colour expert, Bella thought, wishing she felt more enthusiastic.
‘The shoes are well cool,’ Molly said. ‘I’d love them.’
‘You see?’ Daisy counted this as an all-out win and strode off to talk to Saul.
Bella kept her distance, but watched how the two of them interacted. There was nothing to suggest any intimacy, past or present, nothing beyond a professionally easy manner of working. They seemed to be very much in tune about how this programme should go – that was what their job demanded, though. That must have all been worked out way back at the pre-production stage. But then Saul and Daisy laughed together about something and Daisy gave Saul a brief hug before coming back to join the others. Saul caught Bella looking at him and gave her the kind of smile he’d had in bed the night before, after sex. She smiled back, turned away and went into the house, where Daisy told her to stand up straight and not slouch about and crease the skirt. Thanks, Daisy, she thought.
Apart from the choices they were each now wearing to start the afternoon’s session, the clothes that each of them had selected from the wardrobe wagon were on hangers, strung out on the brightly coloured washing lines.
‘It reminds me of my old mum’s back garden on a Monday,’ Daisy murmured, looking a bit faraway. She gazed at the clothes for a moment, then snapped back into the present and strode out across the lawn to alter the arrangement of clothes on the line that contained Molly’s selection.
‘Are you all right?’ Saul was suddenly by Bella’s side. ‘I’ve been dying to talk to you, touch you,’ he whispered. ‘It’s agony trying to keep this professional-distance thing going.’
Bella moved a step away from him, partly to stop herself wrapping her arms round him and nestling against his body. Just physical, she told herself. It’s just lust; get over it.
‘I’m OK,’ she said, wishing she felt as cool as she sounded. ‘This is just something to be got through. Only a couple of days, then it’s over.’
‘And then we can …’ She felt his hand stroke her back, slide under her top on to her bare skin.
‘No, wait …’ She pulled away further.
‘Sorry!’ he laughed. ‘I know, I know. I mustn’t touch the clothes in case we completely muck up the whole look and Daisy puts us in detention.’
Bella felt herself freeze a bit at his casual mention of Daisy. So easy. So normal. So – some time, possibly even now – married to her.
‘And we don’t want to confuse the issue either,’ he went on, as if nothing could possibly be wrong. ‘Pleasure and business and all that. Can I see you tonight, though? Stay on after they’ve all gone and maybe take you out for a drink or something? That pub by the river?’
‘Look … I just …’ Oh hell, this was difficult. ‘Thing is, I really need to spend some time with Molly later. She’s had a boyfriend disaster. And maybe … maybe we’ve gone a bit fast into this?’
Saul frowned, looked intently at her. His eyes were full of disappointment and she felt terrible. But couldn’t he see that her eyes might be expressing the same? Why couldn’t he read her need for honesty?
‘OK – I get it,’ he told her. ‘What’s that saying? “If it seems too good to be true, then it probably is.” You want a bit of distance, space. I can give it to you, really I can. I’m ridiculously in love with you – I really want you to know that, but you can have anything you want. Just … ouch.’
He moved away from her and turned to the crew. ‘Right you lot, five minutes! Places, everyone!’