‘Mother!’ Davie threw open the door of the car and flung his arms about his mother as she stepped onto the pavement. ‘I was watching for you. Have you had a lovely time? We have. We’ve been on the river, and had tea at the Ritz, and we went to the zoo—’ He caught her hand, danced ahead of her up the path to the open front door. ‘Hello, Richard!’ He waved back to the smiling Richard who had climbed a little stiffly from the driving seat and was unstrapping the luggage from the carrier on the back of the car. ‘We went to the museum and saw the mummies – gruesome! – and I rowed Nan on the Serpentine—’ He stopped just short of the door, still holding her hand, and the tumble of words quieted. ‘Now you’re to close your eyes,’ he announced, his eyes bright with expectation.
Annie looked at him, startled and more than a little suspicious. ‘What? Why?’
He almost jumped in impatience. ‘You’ll see. In a minute. Just close your eyes. That’s right. Now, mind the step – no peeping – Nan!’ He raised his voice. ‘They’re here!’
Annie allowed herself to be led into the hall. Somewhere close by she heard her mother’s laughter.
‘There,’ Davie said. ‘You can open them now.’
Annie opened her eyes and looked around a little warily. Nothing, so far as she could tell, had changed. ‘What—?’ she began, then stopped as her mother stepped into the hall from the sitting room. She stared. ‘Mother!’
Davie giggled delightedly. ‘Doesn’t she look just swagger?’
Jane cocked her head a little and the short, fashionably cut bob of her hair swung about her face. ‘Do you like it?’
‘It’s lovely! Absolutely lovely! It makes you look ten years younger!’
‘That’s what Uncle Joshua said,’ Davie put in.
‘Uncle Joshua?’ Annie’s eyes went from one to the other.
‘You know, Richard’s friend. The one who was at the wedding. He came to the museum with us. And took us to tea at the Ritz. That was when he suggested that Nan should have her hair cut.’
‘He did not!’ Jane said, mildly acerbic.
‘Well, sort of, anyway.’ Davie was unapologetic.
Annie raised amused and mildly questioning brows and looked back at her mother. A very faint colour had risen in Jane’s cheeks.
‘He came on the Serpentine with us, too. He said I was a very good rower. Didn’t he, Nan? Up for a Blue, he said.’
‘Indeed he did.’ Jane’s voice was just a little too composed. Her daughter’s smile widened delightedly. ‘Would you like a cup of tea?’
‘Well, I’ll be…’ Richard had come into the hall, carrying the cases. His eyes on Jane, he put them down and straightened. ‘Jane! What have you done to yourself?’
‘I hardly did it myself, Richard. In fact I paid quite a handsome sum to have someone else do it. Don’t you like it?’
‘It’s fantastic. It makes you look—’
‘—ten years younger,’ Jane finished for him, a little tartly. ‘So everyone says. No one, however, has mentioned how old they thought I looked before.’
‘Apparently it was Joshua’s idea,’ Annie said, straight-faced, her eyes dancing as she glanced at her husband.
‘Joshua’s—?’ Richard stopped and his grin suddenly matched hers.
‘I don’t quite see what you both think is so funny?’ Jane enquired repressively, her small chin lifting.
Annie took off her hat, flung her arms about her mother and kissed her soundly.
‘We had a telephone call,’ Davie said proudly. ‘Nan answered it.’
‘Gosh. That was even braver than having your hair cut.’ Annie had forgotten about the new telephone. ‘Where is it?’
‘In the sitting room. On the sofa table. You can’t miss it. It stands out like a sore thumb. A gentleman called Charles Draper rang—’
Richard, who had been about to haul the big leather case up the stairs, stopped and turned. ‘Charlie? What did he want?’
‘He said he had the tickets that he’d spoken to you about. He said he’d ring back in a day or so.’
‘Thanks.’ He bent back to the suitcase.
Annie shook her head. ‘Leave that for a minute, darling. Come and have a cup of tea. You’ve been driving for hours.’
‘Lucky things,’ said Davie.
They sat around the kitchen table exchanging news. Glancing surreptitiously at Richard, Annie was sure that she was not the only one to note how many times Joshua Foster’s name came into the conversation.
‘It doesn’t sound as if you’ve missed us at all,’ she smiled at last, putting down her teacup.
‘Don’t be silly.’ Jane reached for it, filled it again. ‘Another, Richard?’
‘Please.’
Jane poured the tea, handed it across the table to him. ‘I gather the tickets your friend rang about are for Covent Garden?’
Richard, who had for the moment been lost in thought, nodded a little absently. ‘Bohème, I believe.’
‘How lovely. It’s one of your favourites, isn’t it, dear?’ Jane asked her daughter, laughing a little. ‘The first time I took her to see it, as I remember, she cried almost all the way through it,’ she confided to Richard. ‘I must say your friend sounded very nice.’
‘He was the one who was supposed to come to the wedding,’ Annie said, stirring her tea. ‘The psychiatrist.’ She smiled mischievously. ‘I must say that it sounds to me as if you might think it a stroke of luck that he couldn’t get there.’
Once again a faint, unusual but unmistakeable blush of colour tinged Jane’s cheeks.
Davie was dipping his ginger nut into his tea. Sidetracked, he glanced up at Richard. ‘Is he the one who’s going to cure Mother so that we can go to—?’ he asked unthinkingly, then stopped suddenly, biting his lip. The sodden ginger nut broke and dropped into the cup; he ducked his head and began fishing for it with his teaspoon.
‘Oh, for goodness’ sake, child! Here – give it to me – I’ll pour you a fresh one.’ Jane reached for his cup.
‘So that we can go to where?’ Annie asked quietly, her eyes not on Davie but on Richard.
‘Nowhere,’ Davie said, hastily and obviously untruthfully.
Annie raised her eyebrows and looked from her son to her husband, unspeaking.
‘It was just… a conversation that Davie and I had,’ Richard said carefully. Davie did not look at him.
‘A conversation. About what?’ Annie looked at her son. ‘Well?’
‘About going to Paris,’ he mumbled. ‘In the car.’
She stared at him. ‘Paris? In the car? Don’t be silly, Davie. You can’t drive to Paris in a car from here.’
The boy’s face lit up. ‘You can! You can! Richard’s done it, haven’t you, Richard? He told me about it. They put the car in a great big crate and use cranes to stow it in the hold, and then they land it on the other side and’ – he tried out a tentative smile on Richard – ‘and Bob’s your uncle,’ he finished. ‘Oh, please, Mother. It would be such fun. It would be like Major Forbes-Leith—’
‘Oh, heavens, spare me that,’ Jane said dryly, putting his fresh cup in front of him.
Annie was looking thoughtfully at Richard, who had the grace to look slightly abashed. ‘I’m sorry, darling,’ he said. ‘I did point out to Davie that your’ – he hesitated – ‘your problem made it highly unlikely that you’d agree—’
‘But you said your friend could make it better,’ Davie said stubbornly. The subject now broached, he was not going to give up so easily.
Richard shook his head. ‘I said he might be able to,’ he corrected the child. ‘And,’ his eyes were serious on Annie’s face, ‘you know – I’m not sure that I’m not having second thoughts.’
Annie did not speak for a moment but sat stirring her tea, watching the liquid swirl in the rose-patterned cup. Then she lifted her eyes to Richard’s. ‘Well, I’m not,’ she said firmly. ‘What harm can it do? You’ve said many times that Charles is a popular and respected practitioner. He may be able to help. I’ll never know if I don’t try.’
Davie was looking from one to the other with bated breath.
‘But – after what happened the other day—’
Jane frowned a little, looked at her daughter enquiringly.
Annie flushed and shook her head. ‘That was just stupid. I see it now.’
‘What happened the other day?’ Jane asked.
Annie’s colour deepened further. ‘I went to a fortune teller,’ she admitted sheepishly. ‘He… frightened me. That’s all.’
Practical Jane’s eyebrows almost shot up to her hairline. ‘Oh, Annie!’ The expressive words were a mixture of exasperation and disbelief.
‘I know, I know. That’s what I’m saying; the whole thing is absurd. And I’m going to do something about it.’ Easy to say, here in the warm, sunlit kitchen, the floor firm beneath her feet… She stood up briskly, carried her cup to the sink.
‘So – can we go to Paris?’ Davie asked, cautiously but with the ferocious single-mindedness of childhood.
‘We’ll see.’
‘But you see, Richard has to book the passage for the car – and get passports and tickets and things—’ Davie jumped as his mother swung round on him with her finger raised in warning.
‘Enough,’ she said.
Davie subsided. ‘Yes, Mother. Sorry,’ he said. But his eyes were still brightly eager.
His grandmother stood up. ‘Come along, young man. Leave your mother and Richard alone to get unpacked. Some help with the washing-up would be greatly appreciated.’
When the telephone that stood like an oddly shaped candlestick on the sofa table in the sitting room rang a couple of days later, Annie was alone in the house. As it happened she was actually sitting on the sofa when it rang; the suddenness of it made her all but jump from her skin.
She stared at the instrument in alarm, much as she might at a snapping dog.
It rang again, imperiously.
At last, very gingerly, she unhooked the receiver, surveyed it for a moment before putting it to her ear. ‘Hello?’ The word came out as a whisper. She cleared her throat. ‘Hello?’ she said again, this time much too loudly.
‘Mrs Ross? Mrs Richard Ross?’ The pleasant voice was deep and rich, almost melodic.
‘Yes.’
‘Charles Draper here. I’m a friend of your husband’s—’
‘Oh, yes. He’s told me about you. Did you want to speak to him? I’m afraid he isn’t here. But you’ll probably find him at the office. If you can get past the fearful Miss Brownel, that is.’ Ridiculously nervous as she was, she was quite proud of the small joke.
The man laughed. ‘No, no. I’m just as happy to speak to you.’ His chuckle, like his voice, was infectiously warm and attractive. ‘He’s spoken to you about the tickets for Covent Garden?’
‘Yes. I’m looking forward to it. My mother said they were for La Bohème? It happens to be one of my favourites.’
‘Good, good. They are for next Thursday. I do hope that’s convenient?’
‘Yes, I’m sure that will be all right. My mother’s staying until the weekend, so we can be free any evening.’
‘I thought perhaps dinner after the performance? Shall I arrange it?’
‘That would be very nice. Thank you.’
‘My wife and I are both very much looking forward to meeting you.’
‘And I you.’
It was more than the niceties of good manners. If the owner of the voice was even half as charmingly likeable as he sounded, it should, Annie reflected, be a thoroughly enjoyable and entertaining evening. She clicked the earpiece back into place with a faint feeling of pride at having won her first skirmish with the telephone, and also with a small sigh of contentment. Not for the first time she found herself astounded at the change in her life which had been wrought since her first meeting with Richard. A bare few months ago she had been contemplating with no great enthusiasm the prospect of a dull, respectable existence within an even more dull, respectable marriage. Now she had Richard, charming, unconventional Richard, who loved her, and the future positively glowed with enchantment and promise.
Annie stood, danced a few steps about the sunlit room, humming to herself softly, stopped in front of the mirror above the mantelpiece, smiling at her reflection. As she stood there she remembered those last, nervous moments in this room on the day she had married, and the thought brought her mother to mind. The smile widened. She had the strongest feeling that hers was not the only life which had changed direction after that fateful meeting in the Marianne North Gallery. In the last couple of days the urbane and articulate Joshua Foster had visited the house twice; Jane was at this very moment attending an art auction at Sotheby’s with him. ‘Purely out of interest,’ she had asserted, in answer to her daughter’s sly enquiries. ‘I’ve never been to one before. You know my philosophy: try anything once. You’ll never know what you like unless you try it.’ And that, Annie thought now, explained why Jane had taken the entire morning to get ready and borrowed Annie’s prettiest earrings to set off the haircut!
Laughing, she went out to the kitchen to prepare for the return of her hungry – or as he would undoubtedly put it, ‘starving’ – son from school.
‘Are you enjoying it, my dear?’ Charles Draper handed her a slender glass full of bubbling Champagne and spoke above the babble of voices around them.
‘Very much.’ Annie laughed a little self-consciously and dabbed at her eye with a gloved finger. ‘But I’m afraid you’ll have to forgive me: I shall be in floods of tears by the end. I always am. I only have to hear the music on the wireless and it makes me cry.’
Katrina Draper drew on the cigarette she had fitted into a long ebony holder and cocked a thin, supercilious eyebrow. ‘Personally I find it all just a little hard to take,’ she said. ‘Isn’t consumption supposed to make you thin? Our little seamstress is a little – shall we say – too substantial for the part, don’t you think? And as for all this love-at-first-sight nonsense…’ She shrugged and let the sentence trail off.
Disappointingly Annie, who had taken to Charles Draper as immediately as she had thought she might, had just as quickly taken a dislike to his wife. Katrina Draper was tall, fashionably and elegantly slim, undoubtedly beautiful and, Annie thought, infuriatingly patronising.
Charles sent a cool look towards his wife, not the first that Annie had observed. She looked at Katrina curiously. ‘Don’t you believe in it? Love at first sight, I mean? Or at least something like it?’ she asked.
Katrina shrugged slim shoulders and shook her auburn head. ‘Of course not.’
Annie smiled at Richard. His eyes gleamed, suddenly bright and warm as he looked at her. ‘I do,’ she said firmly.
Katrina sighed ostentatiously.
The crowd around them was beginning to thin. Richard glanced at his watch. ‘The last act begins in five minutes,’ he said. ‘Drink up.’ He smiled at Annie in mischievous affection, produced from his pocket a large, pristine white handkerchief. ‘I think you’re very probably going to need this!’
She did. As later they shuffled out onto the pavement with the glittering, chattering crowds, she was still surreptitiously mopping at her eyes. Richard, his arm about her shoulders, laughed and pulled her to him, dropping a quick kiss on her hair. ‘Chump,’ he said gently. ‘You’re supposed to enjoy it, you know.’
‘I did!’ She was indignant. ‘I loved it!’ And then, sniffing, she joined in his laughter.
He was peering over the heads of the crowd. ‘Over there, look! Charlie’s managed to bag a cab.’
The restaurant, like the streets around it, was crowded with theatre- and opera-goers in evening dress. Jewels sparkled in the light of the chandeliers, rings glittered on slim, gloved fingers, animated conversation rose and fell around them. Yet despite the noise Annie’s head was still ringing with Puccini’s glorious music and with the sound of the voices that had so beautifully performed it.
‘You’re very quiet, my dear?’ Charles was smiling at her. He was a square-built, handsome man with dark curling hair and the brightest of blue eyes. There was a calm and benevolent warmth about him that was almost mesmerising.
She shook her head, laughing a little. ‘I’m afraid I’m still listening to Rudolfo.’
He put his head on one side, watching her intently. ‘You can still hear him?’
She nodded. ‘As if he were standing on that stage singing.’ She nodded towards the low platform where a small string ensemble was preparing to play.
‘That’s interesting.’
She cocked her head enquiringly. ‘It is?’
He smiled.
‘What are you two whispering about?’ Katrina asked, her eyes sharp.
‘We are discussing sensitivity, my dear,’ Charles said dryly. ‘Not a subject that I think would greatly interest you.’
‘Were we?’ Annie asked, surprised.
‘Indeed we were.’
Katrina was completely unabashed. ‘If it’s insensitive to like my stories to bear at least a little resemblance to reality, the characters to look at least a little as if they’re starving in a garret or dying of consumption – if that’s what they’re supposed to be doing – and to find it difficult to believe that the awful Mimi, having trailed around Paris like a pathetic puppy behind a man who’s deserted her, can sing her heart out flat on her back on her deathbed, then yes, you’re very probably right,’ she agreed blandly, fitting a fresh cigarette into the ebony holder.
Despite themselves, that brought them all to laughter. Pleased, Katrina leaned forward, smiling, for Richard to light her cigarette. ‘You have to admit that Musetta’s the only halfway decent character in the whole thing.’ She sat back, gently blew out a stream of smoke. ‘At least she knows what she wants and how to get it. You wouldn’t find her dying of consumption in a Paris attic, I know.’
Charles obviously decided it was time to change the subject. He looked across the table at Richard. ‘How is Paris?’ he asked.
‘Still pretty wonderful the last time I saw her.’ Richard, who had picked up the menu to study it, glanced up smiling. ‘And my own particular garret is’ – he gestured with his hand and his wedding ring gleamed – ‘marginally more comfortable than the one we just watched poor Mimi die in.’
Katrina leaned forward, her elbow on the table, her delicate chin resting upon curled knuckles. Her long black gloves made the skin of her upper arms and shoulders look almost translucently pale. ‘Somehow,’ she said thoughtfully, ‘I can’t see you living in a garret.’ The words were soft, the tone suddenly and unmistakeably coquettish.
Her husband sent her a look like daggers. ‘He doesn’t,’ he said shortly. ‘As you say, that’s hardly Richard’s style. Now – shall we order? I do highly recommend the smoked salmon – they have it sent down from Scotland daily, you know. Splendid stuff. Quite the best I’ve tasted in London.’
The taxi eased into the stream of traffic that crawled along the Victoria Embankment; lights gleamed upon the dark waters of the river. Annie, snuggled against Richard, her head on his shoulder, sighed happily. ‘Wasn’t the opera lovely?’
‘It certainly was.’
‘The music of Bohème always has to stand entirely on its own, doesn’t it? I mean – there are no fancy costumes or spectacular backgrounds like most operas have. It may be set in Paris but there isn’t much sign of that really, is there?’
He shook his head.
She was quiet for a moment. ‘Richard?’
‘Hmm?’ His hand lifted to her hair, stroking it gently.
‘What is your Paris apartment like?’
He thought for a moment, then laughed a little. ‘Much like the Hampstead one, I suppose.’
‘Except it has shutters?’ she asked after a moment.
‘Yes.’
‘Long ones?’
‘Yes.’
She turned her head to look up into his face. ‘And a balcony?’
She saw him smile in the flickering light. ‘Yes. And a balcony.’
‘With geraniums?’
‘Yes. With geraniums. The only thing Madame Colbert does unstintingly and without complaining is water the geraniums. How did you know?’
‘I just guessed.’ She snuggled her head back onto his shoulder, closed her eyes. ‘And Madame Colbert is your concierge,’ she added after a moment. ‘Is she as much a dragon as Miss Brownel? They usually are, as I remember.’
He laughed. ‘She’s worse. As you say, blood kin to Miss Brownel – but twice her age and harbouring three times as much malice. Rumour has it she eats small children for breakfast.’
Eyes still shut, Annie smiled reminiscently. ‘Paris concierges!’ she murmured. ‘We had one just like that.’
His arm tightened around her, and they fell to silence for a moment. It was Richard who broke it. ‘What did you think of Charles?’ he asked quietly.
She stirred, opened her eyes. ‘I liked him,’ she said slowly. ‘I really did. But—’ She stopped.
‘Yes, I’m sorry. Katrina is a bit difficult to take, isn’t she? I should have warned you.’
Annie yawned. ‘I must admit I didn’t like her very much,’ she said. ‘And she did have an awful lot to drink. Does she always flirt like that?’
He laughed a little. ‘I wouldn’t exactly call it flirting.’
‘I would. She couldn’t keep her eyes off you.’ There was amusement rather than rancour in the words.
He grinned.
‘Anyway – I don’t have to like her, it’s Charles that I’ll be seeing.’ She shifted her head again to look up at him. ‘I got the distinct feeling that he was – well – watching me. Not nastily, but… attentively.’
‘You don’t miss much, do you? You’re right. He was.’ Richard hesitated. ‘Apparently there are certain types of people who are more likely to benefit from treatment by hypnosis than others. He was explaining it to me. He was very interested to hear that you occasionally sleepwalk. And had guessed that Bohème would make you cry.’ He fell silent.
‘Go on,’ she said, interested.
He said nothing for a moment.
‘Richard? Go on – what did he think, having met me?’
‘He said… we had a word, while you and Katrina were in the powder room. He thinks you’re an all but perfect subject. He—he really thinks he can help you. But – Annie – seriously, I’m still not sure—’
‘Good!’ She interrupted him, snuggled her head onto his shoulder, closing her eyes. ‘Good. Maybe we will get to Paris after all.’
Richard turned his head away to look out of the window. He said nothing. His face was sombre in the darkness.
‘Liverpool Street Station, love?’ The taxi driver picked up Jane’s case, dropped it, picked it up again.
‘Yes, please.’ Jane winced and looked after the man’s retreating back in some irritation. ‘That’s bad news.’
‘What is?’ Annie handed her mother her gloves.
‘He called me “love”. That probably means he’ll want to chat all the way to Liverpool Street. It’s a sure sign.’ Jane kissed her daughter’s cheek warmly. ‘Now – you will let me know how it goes, won’t you? Tell you what – I’ll telephone you. From the pay telephone in the post office. On Tuesday afternoon. You can tell me all about it. I must say this telephone business could turn into quite good fun.’
‘You’d better take the Hampstead number too, then. I’m not altogether sure where we’ll be.’ Annie laughed a little. ‘Having two homes is all very well, but it can get a bit confusing. Hold on a minute, I’ll get it for you.’ She disappeared into the sitting room, came back with a slip of paper. ‘There.’
Jane took the paper and tucked it into her handbag. ‘Will Richard be going with you?’
Annie shook her head. ‘No. Charles wants to see me alone. He says that having someone else there would be distracting.’
Jane hesitated for a moment, a faint crease furrowing her brow. ‘Annie, darling… I haven’t said this before – but are you absolutely sure about this? You do hear of such charlatans. To be honest I can’t deny that I’m… a little uneasy about it.’
‘I’m absolutely sure.’ The words were firm. ‘I’ve quite made up my mind. You of all people know how much Davie wants to make this wretched trip. He’s talked of hardly anything else since he let it slip the other day. And I know it isn’t fair for me to hold him back. It’s never been fair that I haven’t been able to take him back to the city where he was born. Up until now he’s been as good as gold about it. But since he’s met Richard, and talked about it, things have changed. You mustn’t worry, Mother. I’m sure everything will be perfectly all right. Neither Richard nor Charles would do anything that would harm me. I’ve met Charles; you haven’t. I trust him implicitly.’
Jane sighed, put a sympathetic hand on her arm. ‘And – if it doesn’t work?’ she asked. ‘From what I gather there’s no guarantee that it will. What then? Would you let them go without you?’
Annie hesitated. ‘I don’t know. I hope it won’t come to that. But’ – she pulled a small, wry face – ‘but yes, I think I would. You know Davie. Once he gets his teeth into something he rarely lets go. And yes, I know, it’s I who have spoiled him. I just don’t think I’d be able to bring myself to disappoint him so.’
‘Jane—’ She looked up. Richard was standing above them on the stairs. Smiling, he ran quickly down to her side and hugged her. ‘Goodbye. Have a good trip. Come back soon.’
Jane beamed. ‘I will.’
‘I’ll bring them down to see you soon, I promise.’ He smiled slyly. ‘Perhaps Joshua would care for a spin to the country?’
Jane pulled on her gloves, avoiding their eyes. ‘Actually, he’s already suggested it.’
Annie kept a straight face. ‘You mean that he might like to come with us to see you?’ she asked innocently.
Her mother pulled a decidedly impolite and unmotherly face at her. ‘You know very well that isn’t what I mean,’ she said. ‘I’m sure he’d be delighted to come with you if you invite him. But he’s coming next weekend anyway. He fancies a weekend away from the city.’
Richard laughed delightedly. ‘He fancies a weekend with you, you mean, Mother-in-law,’ he said.
‘Richard, please!’ Jane was pained. ‘Don’t call me that. It smacks of bad music-hall jokes.’
‘Anything less like a music-hall joke than you I can’t imagine.’ Richard kissed her. ‘Off you go, the meter’s ticking. We’ll see you soon.’
They watched her down the path, waved off the taxi, closed the door.
Annie turned to go into the kitchen.
Richard put out a detaining hand. ‘And just where do you think you’re going, Mrs Ross?’
‘I was going to start supper.’
He shook his head. ‘Davie isn’t due home until four. You’ve plenty of time to start supper.’ Gently he drew her towards the stairs. ‘It just so happens that I’ve got a much more imaginative idea…’