SEVEN
Bob eased himself quietly from the bed, not wanting to disturb Ellamarie who was still sleeping, and padded across the room. He looked at his watch. Ten minutes to three, still plenty of time before he had to be at the station.
Outside he could hear the hustle and bustle of Christmas shoppers coming from the King’s Road. He slipped into his robe and went out to the kitchen to make some coffee.
There had been no rehearsals this afternoon. They would rehearse again on Monday, the day before Christmas Eve, when they would break until 29 December. It was going well, though he could wish that Maureen Woodley was responding a little better. Maybe he should give her some extra time, alone. But how could he find the time himself? His production of Don Giovanni was going back to the Colisseum in February, and the Old Vic was practically pleading with him to do Long Day’s Journey Into Night. And to add to it all, a film offer had come his way which he badly wanted to do. It had been almost two years since he had directed a film; he had won a BAFTA for Remember Sundays?
As he set two cups on the work surface he noticed a wallet of photographs which Ellamarie must have left on the table. Waiting for the kettle to boil he picked them up and started to flick through them. His face was smiling as he looked at them. They had taken them just over two years ago now, when they had gone to Scotland for a long weekend together. A honeymoon was what they had called it, and a honeymoon was indeed what it had been. He would never forget how they had made love for the first time, on the side of a mountain in the early evening sun. He could still see her now, her pale skin against the backdrop of green grass and wild flowers, reaching out her arms to him and whispering for him to make love to her. He swallowed the lump that had formed at the back of his throat as he remembered wondering at the time if it was possible to go on loving someone so much; it was, in fact he loved her even more now. And here was a picture of Mr and Mrs Duff who ran the small hotel they had stayed in. How Ellamarie had made them laugh. He felt sad as he went through the photographs, knowing that it was her uncertainty about their relationship that had made her steal back into the past. Then he laughed as he came across the miserably out of focus ones that she had taken of him on horseback, riding through a glen, and . . .
Oh Christ! How could he have forgotten? He had to get to Scheiders this afternoon to pick up Linda’s new riding boots. And where was the list she had given him for things she wanted him to pick up from Harrods? He must have left it at the theatre. Hell, that meant he’d have to go back there. And he’d left her present there too. Damn it! He looked at his watch again. He’d never have time to do it all, it would just have to wait until tomorrow. His mother would have to stay the night in the mews house with him here in London. He wouldn’t tell Ellamarie that, of course. He sighed. Life would be so much easier if he could just stay here in London, with Ellamarie. He was going to miss her over Christmas, but there was no use thinking about it, he had to go home and that was that.
The kettle switched itself off, and he spooned the instant coffee into two mugs.
“Out of milk, I’m afraid.” He jumped, and looked up to see Ellamarie watching him from the doorway.
“Then we’ll have black,” he said, but he didn’t tum back to the coffee, instead he continued to look at her. Her face was still flushed from sleep, her mane of hair in chaos about her shoulders. She hadn’t bothered to cover herself, and standing there in her pale nudity, he was entranced by her lack of self-consciousness.
She gave him a knowing smile and walked across to him, winding her arms about his neck. He ran his hands over her skin as he kissed her on the mouth, reacting to the sensation of her nudity against his robed body. She turned in his arms to present herself to him, and he could feel the desire rising in him once again. She murmured softly as he cupped her breasts in his hands and stooped to kiss them. As his mouth became more urgent, she gripped his shoulders, digging her fingers into his skin. Reluctantly, he moved away. Tomorrow he was returning to his wife, and he was afraid that in the throes of passion Ellamarie might mark him.
He kissed her lightly on the end of her nose. “You’re insatiable,” he whispered.
“I know,” she grinned, and slipped her hand inside his robe. Feeling her take him between her fingers and move gently back and forth, he leaned back, unable now to stem the rising tide. She was smiling, looking into his face and watching the changing expressions. He reached out for her, but she pushed his hands away, and opened his robe. He did nothing to stop her and allowed his robe to fail to the floor. She kissed his neck, his shoulders, and wound her fingers through the thatch of hair on his chest. His breathing became heavier as she stooped to follow her hands with her mouth.
Then she dropped to her knees, kissing his belly, breathing against him. He looked down at her, meeting her eyes, and as she ran her tongue round her lips, he gripped the edge of the work surface, groaning aloud and closing his eyes, waiting for the warmth of her mouth to take him. Gently she began to kiss him, lingering kisses, with her mouth open, around the top of his thighs, across his belly, and around his testicles, taking them one at a time into her mouth, caressing them with her tongue until he thought he was going to explode.
Then with the tip of her tongue she began to trace the outline of his penis, kissing and biting gently along the stem. She lifted it away from his belly, and with her fingers lightly teasing, she held him in her hand, breathing softly onto him, letting him feel the moisture of her breath.
“Oh God, Ellamarie,” he groaned, pulling her towards him. “Please, please, now.”
As she lifted him towards her mouth, he knew he was only moments away from climaxing. He sobbed as almost violently she covered him, and sucked him, and squeezed him with her tongue. Her hands held him, her mouth held him, and he burst into her, pulling at her hair, pushing her face hard into his groin, gasping as she drew every last drop of juice from his body.
He tried to catch his breath, and clung on to the surface behind him, not trusting his legs to take his full weight. She got quickly to her feet and circled her arms about his neck. His eyes were closed, but he could feel her looking at him, and pulled her head onto his shoulder.
They stood like that for a long time. She listening to the beat of his heart as it finally became steadier, he brushing his fingers over her bare shoulders.
“I love you,” he whispered, when he had finally regained his breath. He tilted her face to look at him. “You’re something else, you know that, don’t you?”
She smiled. “Coffee?” she said, unravelling herself from his arms.
He nodded and went to stand behind her as she poured. “I’ve got a surprise for you,” he whispered in her ear, pulling her closer.
“You don’t mean . . .?” She turned to him with a seductive gleam in her eye.
He laughed. “No, not that. But if you don’t put some clothes on, it could well be,” and slapping her on the bottom, he went off into the lounge.
When she came in to join him she was wearing the pink satin robe he had bought for her birthday. He was relieved. Although his mother’s train was not due in until six o’clock, time was running out. He looked at his watch, and immediately wished he hadn’t. It was stupid of him, and something he tried never to do when he was with Ellamarie. She said nothing, but he didn’t miss the look that flitted across her face. She handed him his coffee, and curled up at the other end of the settee where she could look at him but still reach out and touch him.
“You said you had a surprise for me. Am I going to like it?”
“I think so,” he said, smiling and casting a sideways look at her. “I hope so.”
“Then tell me what it is.”
“See if you can guess.”
“Hell, I don’t know where to start. Give me a clue.”
“Well, let me see. I know. Out of all the things in the world, what would you most like to happen?”
She stared at him. Was he . . .?
He knew he had made a terrible mistake. He thought quickly, desperate to stop her from saying what was in her mind. “Yes, a film!” he declared. “I have been asked to direct The Famous Tragedy of the Queen of Cornwall. And I thought you might like to take the part of the Queen.”
She turned quickly to hide her disappointment, and picked up her coffee.
“Well, aren’t you pleased?” he asked, the levity of his voice sounding forced, even to him.
“Sure,” she said. “Sure I’m pleased.”
He turned away, furious at himself for the way in which he had broken the news to her. She saw his hand shake as he lifted his cup, and her heart went out to him. She knew that he was sorry, that he was mad at himself for leading her on, and he had only been trying to make her happy.
She lit up her face with a bright smile, and he only just managed to get his cup back onto the table before she threw herself across the settee and into his arms. She kissed him briefly on the mouth. “Did I ever tell you how crazy I am about you? Jeez, I can’t believe it. A movie! Me, in a movie! The Famous Tragedy,” and she started spinning round the room. “When did it happen?” she asked, stopping a moment to look at him. “Why didn’t you mention it before? When do we start shooting?”
He was laughing. “Oh, not for quite some time yet. You know what these things are like.”
“But Bob,” she cried, squeezing her hands together, “it’s just wonderful. Can you believe it? Me, a movie star. Hell, it’s what I’ve always wanted. Shakespeare and movies. Now I’ll have done both. Does it mean we will be going to France and Cornwall? Will you go on a field trip first? Can I come too?”
He nodded.
“Oh God, I can’t believe it,” she shrieked. “For how long? It means I’ll have you all to myself.”
“Funny, I was thinking I was going to have you all to myself.”
“I can’t wait! Is there a script I can read yet?”
“There will be, right after Christmas I hope.”
“How is it?”
“It’s going to be good. Very good, in fact. There are a couple of things that I want to discuss with the writer, though. But I think it should be ready for you to see at the beginning of the New Year.”
“Oh Bob!” she said. “Just wait till I tell Jenneen, she’ll be so thrilled for me. And Ashley. And Kate.”
“And me.” He pulled her back into his arms.
“And you,” she sighed. “Oh, I love you so much, do you know that? I love you so much I could die.”
She curled up in his arms, and he stroked her hair. Inwardly he gave a sigh of relief that the awkward moment had passed.
She was happy. It was what she wanted, to be with him, always working with him. And although her hopes had soared for a moment earlier, she knew in her heart that one day it would happen, and they would be together.
“What time do you have to leave?” she said, turning his watch round.
“In about half an hour. I have to go back to the theatre first, to pick up some things.”
“Oh?” She looked surprised. “I thought you’d brought everything with you?”
“No. I’ve just remembered, I’ve left some things there that I need to pick up.”
“The script,” she said, grinning up at him.
He laughed. “No,” and almost immediately wished he had said yes.
“Then what?” She didn’t know why she was pushing it. It wasn’t important that he had to go back to the theatre. But there was something in his manner, something that told her he didn’t want her to know what he was going back for.
“Nothing important.” He shifted position.
“If it’s nothing important, then why are you going back for it?” she said, hating herself, and wishing she could stop interrogating him.
“Because I have to.”
“Then what is it?”
He sighed. “All right,” he said, “it’s a Christmas present.”
She sat up. Her heart was beginning to pound. “It’s for her isn’t it?”
“Yes,” he said, and tried to take her hand.
She pulled away. Why couldn’t he have lied to her? Jesus, hadn’t she tried everything she could these last weeks to stop from thinking too much about Christmas? About him spending it with his wife. About her being alone. Her folks unable to fly out, or not wanting to fly out, and her unable to go back home.
“Ellamarie,” he said, his voice was soft and pleading.
She didn’t answer.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have told you.”
“No,” she said, shaking her head. “No, it’s me. I’m being silly. Of course you’ve bought a gift for your wife. It wouldn’t be right if you hadn’t. I’m just being silly.”
“I would rather be here, with you,” he said, knowing it to be only half true.
“Would you?”
He nodded.
She was silent for a while, and Bob remained still, waiting for her to speak. When she did, she said what he had been dreading she would say.
“Earlier,” she said, not looking at him, “earlier, when you said, you know, that you had a surprise for me?”
He tensed, and ran his fingers across his eyes.
“Do you know what I thought you were going to say?”
“Yes.”
She turned to look at him. “I thought you were going to say that you were leaving your wife.”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
“Of all the things in the whole world, that is what would make me the happiest,” she said. “That we could be together, always.”
He took her hands in his, and looked into her face. “We will be. Soon, we will be.”
“But when? Oh Bob, I know I shouldn’t ask, but don’t you know what it’s like for me? Thinking of you with her. Talking to her, eating with her, sleeping with her.”
“Just be patient, darling. We will be together, I promise.”
“When will you tell her?”
“I don’t know. Soon.” He was beginning to feel trapped, but could see no way out.
“You’ve said yourself, she doesn’t need you. It’s the horses she loves. They’re her life. She never comes up to town, never comes to see any of your plays. She has cut herself off from you. Surely she can’t expect you to be happy, living like that.”
“She doesn’t see it like you do.”
“Then just how does she see it? From where I’m sitting she doesn’t see it at all. She’s selfish. Bob. She doesn’t think about you, or care about you. You’ve told me, time over time, that that side of your marriage has been dead for years. Surely she’d be happy if you gave her the house and the stables. She would have what she wants, and you could come to live here, with me. We could be together. Isn’t that what you want?”
“Yes,” he said, twisting her hair round his fingers, “yes, that is what I want. And I know what you’re saying makes sense. But it’s not easy to just cut off more than eleven years of your life.”
“Well, can’t you start by telling her that you have found someone else? You don’t have to say that you are leaving. Give her some time to get used to the idea. And then, after a while, when she knows that you are serious, that you really are in love with someone else, she’ll let you go. She can’t want to make you stay if she knows you’re not happy. You’re not happy there, are you. Bob? It is me you want, isn’t it?”
“Oh my darling, of course it’s you that I want.”
“Then tell her, Bob. Tell her, please.”
“I’ll try.”
“No. Say you’ll do it. Please say that you will tell her.”
He was looking past her, his mind racing. What could he say? What could he do? He felt her hand on his cheek and she pulled his face round so that she could see into his eyes.
She looked like a child gazing at him, her eyes round and pleading. How could he deny her? He smiled and nodded. “OK,” he said, “if the opportunity arises, I’ll tell her,” and he felt sick inside.
She threw her arms round him. “Oh, I love you,” she cried. “You will never regret it. I promise, you will never regret it.”
“I know,” he said, but there was no warmth in his voice.
The drone of voices, accompanied by telephones and thundering typewriters, reached them through the closed door of Bill Pruitt’s office. Everyone was talking about it. Jenneen Grey had not turned up for the shoot on Thursday morning. Ambitious Jenneen Grey, who lived for her work, had simply just not shown up.
Shaking his head, Bill closed his eyes and sighed. Anyone else would have lost their temper by now. Would have been shouting and raving, even threatening, but not him. He had been the editor of this programme since its conception seven years ago, and it had always been a happy ship. He did not believe in the heavy-hand tactics of some of his colleagues. If there was a problem, then he wanted to know about it, and in his own paternal sort of way he would sort it. Having Jenneen Grey on board had never been easy. He was aware of the resentment of the others, particularly Stephen Sommers and Geoff Pentland, two reporters who believed that the kind of reporting done by Jenneen Grey should be left to a man. This series of interviews was practically the first thing that Jenneen had handled that could fit into a “woman’s category”, as they put it. At last Bill had thought that Steve and Geoff were beginning to settle down and accept her. But now she had blown it. Bill knew what they were saying out there. That Jenneen Grey thought this lightweight stuff was beneath her, that she was too grand to take on something as mundane and straightforward as these agent/client interviews, and had decided to make a stand by refusing to turn up at the location. He had heard Geoff’s remark earlier about PMT, and being at home and having babies. Bill loathed that kind of sexist attitude, but on this occasion he had not risen to it. He had to speak to Jenneen first.
But it had got him nowhere. How could he defend her if she wouldn’t even tell him where she had been yesterday morning?
He sighed again and turned away from the window. Jenneen was sitting by his desk, her head lowered, and her fingers pulling at a handkerchief in her lap. “Jenn,” he said. He saw her tense so he walked over to stand beside her. “Look at me, Jenn.” She lifted her head and he saw that her eyes were red and swollen from all the crying she had done in the past twenty-four hours. “If you won’t tell me where you were, then at least tell me something that I can tell Maurice Fellowes. Jesus Christ, make something up if you have to, but don’t keep saying you’re sorry. It might be good enough for me, but it won’t hold with Maurice.”
Jenneen shook her head. “I can’t. Bill. I just can’t.”
“Then tell me the truth. If you like I’ll promise it won’t go any further, and then I’ll make something up to tell Maurice. How’s that?”
Jenneen bowed her head again. How could she tell him? How could she ever tell anyone? In sane moments even she could not believe in “Mrs Green”. She shuddered inwardly, sick with herself. It was the same feeling she had had the morning she had woken up in that seedy little hotel room in Brighton, and found the two boys, limbs intertwined with hers, asleep in the bed. She gagged as she felt the waves of self-loathing come over her again. But her own self-loathing had been nothing to what she had felt towards the boys.
“Can’t you just make something up anyway?” she asked, glancing up at Bill, hardly able to meet his eyes for more than a second. And the look of pleading – and was it pain? – he saw in her eyes forced him to agree.
“I think you’d better go home for the rest of the day,” he said. “Whatever has happened, it seems to have left you in some sort of shock, you look drained. Do you think you’ll be all right for the studio tomorrow?”
She nodded.
“Have you done your links?”
“They’re on my desk,” she answered.
“Give them to Christine so she can get them to autocue, and then go home. I’ll ring you later to see how you are.”
She stood up to leave.
“Jenneen,” he said as she reached the door. She turned back. “Nothing can be that bad.”
Her eyes were cold, and her smile edged with bitterness. “It can,” she whispered. “Oh yes, it can.”
Strolling through Harrods was one of Kate’s favourite pastimes. She often went, even when there was nothing particular she wanted to buy. It was exciting pushing through the crowds, wondering who she might be rubbing shoulders with. She was supposed to be buying Christmas presents this afternoon, but like every other year, she was buying as much for herself as she was for everyone else – probably more. She was quite laden down, what with the things she’d had to get for Mrs Adams who lived upstairs as well, and her arms were aching. That alone should have been good enough reason to leave. Her father didn’t like her shopping at Harrods so near to Christmas. It had been on the news again only last night that the IRA were planning another Christmas bomb package. Last year they had hit Harrods.
But Kate could not resist it. If she couldn’t buy her Christmas presents in Harrods, then where else was she going to get them?
She had no reason to go to the fourth floor, other than it was Christmas and she just simply had to go to the fourth floor. As she stepped out of the lift she could already hear the tinkling of Christmas carols and the excited laughter of children coming from the Kingdom of Toys. She wondered if she would see Santa, and almost laughed out loud at the absurdity of her own excitement. Suddenly a little boy, unable to contain himself a moment longer, broke free of his mother and pushed past her, almost knocking her over.
“Ben!” his mother shouted after him. “I’m so sorry,” she said, turning to Kate, and helping to pick up her bags.
“Please don’t apologise. I’d be doing the same if I were his age.”
“Mummy! Mummy!” yelled the errant Ben, who could not be seen, only heard. “Come and see this! I want one!”
“Oh dear,” said the woman, “I knew it was a mistake to come here.”
“Good luck,” Kate laughed, and watched the woman weave her way towards the shouting voice.
Kate knew where she was heading, and after winding and pushing her way through what could only be described as an infant obstacle course, she found herself among the dolls’ houses, the dolls, and all the pretty dresses and accessories to dress them up in. It was like being in Fairyland, and her eyes sparkled like those of a five-year-old. She laughed as she played with them. Some talked, some walked, most cried, a few wet themselves, one danced, and some did nothing at all except look pretty. She wished she could buy them all. She was completely oblivious to the odd looks that people were giving her.
She was giggling to herself at a doll who was telling her it was hungry when she noticed two blue eyes peering up at her from round the side of the counter, watching her with interest. They were the prettiest blue eyes she had ever seen, framed by wisps of white hair and round pink cheeks. She was a dream child, a tiny cherub. Kate looked back at her and smiled. The blue eyes opened a fraction wider.
“Hello,” said Kate.
The little girl planted her thumb in her mouth.
“Does that taste nice?”
The child continued to stare.
“My name is Kate. Will you tell me yours?”
The little girl shook her head.
“Oh, I see. It’s a secret is it?”
The little girl nodded.
“Then you mustn’t tell me. Not if it’s a secret.”
The little girl took her other hand out of her coat pocket and reached out to touch the doll that Kate was holding. Kate bent down and handed it to her. “Do you like this one?”
Another nod.
“Would you like to hold her?”
The little face brightened, and taking the thumb from her mouth, the child wrapped her tiny, fat arms round the doll.
“I wonder if she speaks?” said Kate.
“No.” The little girl’s voice was no more than a whisper.
“I think she does,” said Kate.
The little girl shook her head.
“She’s still just a baby, is she?”
“Mmm.”
“Will she be able to speak when she’s as old as you?”
“Yes.”
“And how old are you?”
“Four. How old are you?”
“Me? I’m thirty.”
“My mummy is older than you,” the girl announced with pride, suddenly talkative.
“Is she?”
“Yes. My mummy is twenty-six.”
Kate laughed. “Oh, very old. Have you got any brothers and sisters?”
“A brother.”
“And how old is he?”
“Six.”
“Is he nice?”
“Sometimes. But mostly he’s horrible! He hits my dolls.”
“That isn’t very nice, is it?”
“But I knock his soldiers over, and he gets cross with me, and shouts.”
Kate had to fight with herself to keep from hugging the little girl. “I had a brother once,” she said. “He was just the same. Boys can be awful sometimes, can’t they? Tell you what, would you like to look at some more dolls?”
The little girl nodded, and so together, lost in a land of make-believe, they went from one doll to another, pulling strings, combing hair, laughing and giggling, and having a perfectly wonderful time. The child wouldn’t be parted from the doll that Kate had first given her, so they were set upon trying to find a sister for it, no brothers allowed, when suddenly they were brought tumbling back to reality.
“Elizabeth! What are you doing?”
Elizabeth spun round, and Kate, on her knees, looked up to see a woman staring down at her, her face red and her eyes brimming with relief.
“Hello,” said Kate, standing up. “I’m sorry, I know children shouldn’t speak to strangers, but she’s so pretty I couldn’t help speaking to her. I meant no harm.”
The woman smiled. “It’s all right. It’s just that I thought I’d lost her. Should have known that she would find her way back here, though.”
“Mummy, can I have this dolly for Christmas?” Elizabeth held the doll up for her mother to see.
“No, Lizzie. You’ve got quite enough already.”
“Oh please, Mummy. I promise I’ll be a good girl.”
“That’s a promise I’ve yet to see kept.”
Kate laughed. “She looks far too angelic to be naughty.”
“That’s what everyone thinks,” said the woman. “You should see her at home.”
“Please, Mummy,” Elizabeth begged.
“I said no. Now let go so that I can put it back.”
Kate looked down at Elizabeth’s face and saw that she was about to cry. “If it’s all right with you,” she said to the woman, “I’d like to buy it for her.” It was out before she could stop herself, and she was almost as surprised by her offer as the woman appeared to be.
“Oh no, no. You couldn’t possibly.”
“No, please, I’d like to.”
“But it’s far too expensive.”
“Not really. And I’d like to.”
Elizabeth was looking up, listening to the exchange going on far above her head. “Please, Mummy.”
“But you don’t even know us,” said the woman, unable to think of any other objection.
“I know, but . . . Please, it would make me very happy.”
An assistant appeared, and Kate seized the opportunity. “Could you wrap this doll please,” she said. “I’d like to buy it.”
The woman beside her seemed unsure of what to do. She waited until the doll was handed back, nicely wrapped in a pink box, then made to offer Kate the money.
“No, please don’t,” said Kate, and she looked down at Elizabeth and smiled.
“Really, I don’t know what to say,” said the woman. “It’s so kind of you. Say thank you to the lady, Elizabeth,” she added as Kate handed the parcel to the little girl.
“Thank you,” said Elizabeth, smiling all over her face.
“You’re very welcome,” said Kate, and suddenly Elizabeth dropped the parcel and threw her arms round Kate’s knees.
Kate stooped to hug the tiny figure. “You really are a very special little girl.”
“I must say, you are extremely honoured,” said Elizabeth’s mother, smiling. “Even I don’t get that sort of treatment. At least, not often.”
Kate let the little girl go, picked up the parcel and handed it to her. “I really must be going now.”
Elizabeth’s mother looked at her watch. “Would you like some coffee?” she asked.
“No thanks,” said Kate, picking up her bags. “I’m late already. But thank you for the offer.” She was already walking away.
“And thank you for the doll,” the woman called after her.
Kate ran down the stairs and out into the cold air, trying to blink back the tears. Holding the child in her arms had made her acutely aware of the emptiness in her life, the loneliness that she tried to pretend wasn’t there. She longed to have a child of her own, but she had no idea that the longing could be so overpowering. She told herself that it was Christmas, and people always get over-emotional at Christmas.
But the feel of the tiny body, so fragile, and so trusting in her arms, was to haunt her for some time to come.
