Alice Alone, page 13
But now he had the distinct impression that the intense two hours in Dovertons had, in some strange way, been meant to happen. Or at least the coincidence of Alice leaving him alone, Denise sitting within hearing range, but out of sight, together with the subject of the girls’ conversation, was all so startling that his usual scepticism failed him. Instead, he felt humbled by the experience, as if it had taught him something terribly important. By the time he looked up to hail a passing cab, he was already halfway towards realising what this was.
22
BAD TIMING
It had taken a couple more weeks for Peter to come to a full understanding of what this gruelling twenty-sixth anniversary lunch meant to him. Weeks during which he consciously tried to fathom what both he and the rest of the world were feeling. Glenda, his dragon-like secretary, nearly fainted at being given a bunch of flowers and asked if she felt he had been working her too hard; Denise found that she was invited to have drinks less often, but that he seemed more anxious than ever to help her with her work; and his colleagues muttered to each other that old Peter had gone a bit soft. Only Alice failed to register any difference in her husband – and that was because she was so wrapped up in hanging onto her secret parallel life that she hardly noticed his existence.
And it was only Alice whom Peter felt he could get no closer to understanding. He made a huge effort to hurry up with the book, which he knew had been taking up far too much of his time. Although for him the subject of company law held fascinating avenues for exploration, he was very aware that to Alice, it meant nothing at all. She might be pleased – and a little proud – when the thing finally appeared in print, but in the meantime, it had been a highly time-consuming process in which she could not have felt remotely involved. So now, between his stints in the study, he made the first genuine attempts in years to get through to her. The only conclusion he was able to draw was that she was depressed, and unwilling, after more than two decades of reserve, to tell him why.
In fact, during these two weeks, Alice was not especially depressed – at least no more than usual. Everything with Edward was still fine. But, as a guard against revealing any hint of her ‘other’ life, she had taken to operating at home in a safe, machine-like way, hiding her anxieties as she did all that she was supposed to do – all that she had always done. So nothing was different on the surface. But since it was all for form’s sake alone, her performance increasingly lacked true animation and it was this that the new, doubly sensitive Peter was detecting but failing to interpret.
Denise’s short account of how she felt about Peter Hatton in Dovertons had in many ways felt like a declaration of faith – in his character, his motives and his marriage. At least this was how it touched Peter most. If this young girl, for whom he had a genuine affection, believed in this good person, then it somehow made it more possible for that good person to exist. It was as if he had been presented with a clear choice as to what type of human he wished to be: a pitiable, scheming old devil or an ageing, but kind and happily married man. Horror that he had come so close to being the former automatically pushed him towards the latter. One result of this – apart from a new generosity of spirit – was that he began to think honestly about his marriage, about Alice, and about their isolation from each other. And for the first time, it began to bother him. Perhaps the realisation that he was getting older made him more anxious to find happiness in what he had. Whatever it was, trying to understand Alice soon became more than just another aspect of his renewed feelings of benevolence towards the world. It became a real challenge, like a second courtship. And in the process, he had found himself falling in love with her all over again.
If, however, there was a guardian angel watching over the life of Peter Hatton, it could not have got the timing of his emotional conversion more wrong. Not only had Alice been sliding steadily further away just as Peter was starting to scrabble after her; but on the night that he opted to declare his affections, she was fresh from the misery of Edward’s bolt-from-the-blue suggestion that they take a ‘break’; fear of losing her lover for good was besieging her heart. A mood less receptive for receiving Peter’s news would have been impossible to conceive.
The stumbling way in which he explained his feelings left no doubt as to his sincerity. When it dawned on Alice that her husband was saying exactly the opposite to what she had been expecting, her first instinct was to stop him. But interrupting would have necessitated saying something herself and her mind had gone numb. She had not the faintest idea how to react. She focused instead on a vase, just to the right of Peter’s head, and tried to hide how astonished and awkward she felt.
Peter felt awkward too, almost as if he were taking his clothes off in front of her for the first time. It was something he wanted to do, but which made him painfully self-conscious.
‘I never stopped caring for you, you know,’ he went on. ‘It was just that for a while I seemed to forget that I did – care for you, that is. The children always took up so much of your time and, well… we rather got out of the habit of talking, didn’t we? And it’s hard just to slip back into it again. But I suppose, with Robin gone, I’ve been noticing it more and recognising that I’ve actually been feeling lonely – which can’t be a good thing for a married chap,’ he added, trying to provoke a reaction from the dazed stare that Alice seemed to have fixed somewhere around his right ear lobe. She didn’t say anything, so he went on: ‘Alice, my dear, I suppose the truth is, we’ve never been very good at talking. It hasn’t seemed to matter before. But lately it’s struck me that, however much of a terrible jumble it is, we’ve only got this life and we ought to be able to enjoy it – together.’ Aware of speaking clumsily, he ploughed on nevertheless, making only one compromise with honesty: he gave no hint of a reference to Denise, or the experience which had proved to be the catalyst for bringing his attitudes and emotions into line. He was feeling brave, but not that brave.
‘I suppose, in a way, what I’m trying to say is that we should give it another go. Hell, Alice, we’ve got another thirty odd years in us yet!’ he said, with a laugh of genuine incredulity at this possibility. ‘What do you say, old thing, eh?’ He came and sat next to her on the sofa and took her hand. He noticed that the palm was damp. ‘I know you’ve not been very happy recently; that it’s been hellish for you with an empty house and me locked up in my study all evening. But you’ve been marvellous, do you know that? You just got on with things, made that new friend from the hairdressers, and battled on, without even a word against me.’ Tears came to Alice’s eyes.
‘Don’t be sad, my darling heart, don’t be sad,’ he said, stroking her hair. Alice then started to cry properly, moved by Peter’s compassion for her and her own despair.
If only Peter’s little crisis with Denise could have taken place months before. Alice’s loneliness immediately after Robin’s departure had been so acute that she would have welcomed almost any affection – as indeed she had done in the fleeting embrace of the elusive Horatio. But now it was all too late. It was Edward whom she wanted to hold her hand and stroke her head, not Peter. A fact which made her cry all the more.
But she could not shelter behind the tears for ever. As they started drying up, she began to hiccough and Peter rushed off to fetch her a glass of water, giving her a moment’s grace to collect her thoughts.
‘Thank you,’ she whispered when he returned, ‘but I think they’ve gone already.’ She managed a weak smile.
‘There’s so much to look forward to, you know, Alice.’ She looked at him, almost in hope. ‘There’s Christmas, for a start. The children – won’t it be wonderful to see them again? I sometimes think I’ve forgotten what the rascals look like.’ He put his arm round her and pulled her back to sit beside him on the sofa. Not having sat so intimately for years, it felt very strange. To Alice, the strangeness meant discomfort. Whereas to Peter, it was thrilling. Musing how simple life was if you made it so, he felt more confident and happier by the second.
‘And then after Christmas we’ll go away. A long break in the sun somewhere. The office owes me months of holiday – and it’s about time we treated ourselves. A second honeymoon – how about that?’
Alice knew she had to say something. But everything he said filled her with dread. The idea of all the children – which would once have set her heart soaring – terrified her. They were part of a life and a person that no longer existed. She could not imagine what she would say to them, or how she could kiss them hello, even. As for the suggestion of a second honeymoon, it was almost laughable in view of her real desire to get away with Edward for just such a holiday.
‘Peter, I don’t know what to say,’ she admitted. ‘All this feels so… well… strange, that I’m a little confused, to be honest.’
‘Alice, I just want you to be happy… for us to be happy. It’s never too late to start, it can’t be.’ He tightened the grip of his arm around her shoulders. He was not altogether surprised that she should appear so shell-shocked by what he’d been saying. He, too, felt shell-shocked – with delight at the new world of possibilities that he now saw opening before them.
‘Don’t worry, my darling,’ he murmured, kissing the top of her head. ‘We won’t rush things. It’s bound to take a little while to get to know each other again after all this time. You can just relax and stop worrying. Everything’s going to be all right. I know it.’
I wish it were, thought Alice, I only wish it were.
23
CHRISTMAS SHOPPING
During the last couple of weeks before Christmas, Peter treated Alice as if she was convalescing from a serious illness. Since their frank talk – for so Peter regarded it – she seemed, if anything, more unhappy and certainly more fragile. It was part of his natural arrogance that he put this down to being some sort of ‘delayed reaction’ to several months of misery. It never entered his mind either that she would not want his love, or that she could not love him. So he showered her with bunches of flowers, surprise presents, and dinners at expensive restaurants. He even cooked her supper one evening – a rather grey-looking scrambled egg – which was served with much aplomb, and a bottle of white wine, on their laps in the sitting room. Of course, Alice was grateful – and sometimes touched – by all these attentions. But gratitude is no substitute for love. It also made her feel guilty in a way that she never had during the times when they got on with their own lives and ignored each other. Before, loving Edward had been a justly deserved treat in an otherwise empty and unloved existence. Now it wasn’t so easily excused.
One advantage of Peter’s new-found enthusiasm for family life was that he more or less took over the preparations for Christmas, thus relieving Alice of the burden for which she hardly had the heart. Instead of spending his weekends behind the study door, he now happily volunteered to go hunting for a Christmas tree, to put up the decorations and – most remarkable of all – to buy presents for the children. The food – all the mince pies, the cake, and truffles that Alice had made so far in advance every other year – they bought together from Harrods on the last Saturday before Christmas. In the food halls, Peter was like a child in a toyshop. He was mesmerised by the extravagant displays and the rich array of expensive goodies. They went in planning to buy just a couple of things. They came out – in spite of the crowds, which made Alice feel so faint that she kept diving for exit doors like a swimmer coming up for air – carrying bags bulging with extra treats: port, Stilton, exotic dried fruits, a bumper tin of Quality Street, smoked salmon, caviar, and three bottles of champagne. Alice, wondering if any of the staff recognised the lady who had so often bought a ‘picnic’ lunch on Tuesdays, felt more lonely than ever.
The only omission in the run-up to Christmas was the Christmas cards. Peter automatically presumed Alice had done them weeks ago and she did not dare to disillusion him. It did not seem to affect the stack wedged into their letterbox each morning. I suppose that will happen next year, she thought, but without managing to feel very worried about it.
When they came back from Harrods, they were struggling with all the bags at the front door when the phone started ringing. Alice, fired with the sudden premonition that it was Edward, dropped her shopping, grabbed the keys from Peter’s fumbling hands, and was inside in seconds. As she picked up the receiver, it went dead.
‘With that sort of speed, you deserved to get there,’ he said good-humouredly.
‘I just had the sense that it was important, I don’t know why,’ she said, feeling ridiculously disappointed. At that second, the ringing began again. Although she started towards it, Peter was nearer and got there first. Alice immediately busied herself with the kettle, wondering what Edward would say when he heard Peter’s voice.
‘Turn that blooming tap off can you, Alice, I can’t hear a thing… hello… hello? Yes, yes… can you hear me?’ He put his hand over the receiver. ‘It sounds long distance. It must be Simon.’ Alice’s heart had the audacity to sink. But she went to Peter’s side to try and hear the conversation.
‘Hello? Simon? Yes, it’s Dad. How are you? What? Yes… terrible line… yes, we’re fine… got your postcard, what time are you arriving?’ A long silence followed, while Peter listened to his son and Alice strained, unsuccessfully, to catch what was being said.
‘Oh,’ Peter said at last, ‘I see. Well, that sounds terrific. No, no of course not… and after that? I see, yes, how wonderful… and what’s she called? Ah, yes, fantastic… well, yes, naturally, your mother will be disappointed… I mean, we both will, but… what? Later in the year? Good, good, we’ll look forward to that… yes, very expensive. No, don’t worry, she’ll understand. Have a happy Christmas, my boy… yes, we will. Bye now…’
‘So Simon’s not coming home after all,’ said Alice, with more bitterness than she really felt.
‘Now, don’t take it too hard. He sent all his love and explained exactly why.’
‘Money, I suppose.’ She wondered if she really was very disappointed, or whether it was just a useful excuse to let out some of her anger. These days Peter’s unremitting kindness did not give her the chance. Most of the time it was hard to know what she really felt about anything.
‘Far from it. It sounds as though he’s doing better than ever. They’re threatening to make him a partner or something, so he doesn’t want to blow his chances by taking too much time off. They’re very busy apparently.’
‘And Christmas? Is he going to spend that in the office too?’ She plonked the teapot down on the table and clattered around with cups and saucers.
‘That’s the other thing. There’s some girl he’s going to spend Christmas with – with her family, he said. She’s called Brooke,’ he laughed. ‘God, you can’t get more American than that!’
‘You really don’t seem to mind, Peter, do you?’
‘Don’t be ridiculous, of course I mind,’ he replied, ruffled at such a suggestion. ‘But the boy sounded well and happy and I’m delighted he’s got himself a girlfriend – it must be pretty serious for him to bother to mention her. And, oh yes, he also said that they would probably get over here in the spring – so that’s not long to wait, is it now?’
‘They?’
‘Yes, “they” – Simon and this Brooke girl. Really, Alice, anyone would think you were jealous or something,’ he teased. ‘I must say, I’m rather intrigued. Perhaps it will be wedding bells in Chicago. How would you fancy that, my dear? Flying over to the States for our son’s wedding? Now that would be exciting, wouldn’t it?’ He slurped his tea.
His high spirits are going to kill me, she thought.
‘What an idea, honestly, Peter. Anyway, perhaps we won’t like her and then it wouldn’t be quite so jolly.’
Peter marvelled for the hundredth time how Alice, once so positive, now leapt to see the dark side of everything. It didn’t annoy him; it just made him sad for her.
‘I think we can trust our son’s judgement,’ he said gently. ‘Is there a drop of tea left in that pot or have you wolfed the lot?’
24
A FAMILY CHRISTMAS
With its usual grinding inevitability, Christmas came. Robin and Kate arrived on Christmas Eve and that evening, Peter opened the first bottle of champagne.
Alice found it very unnerving to see her daughters again. Guilt at Peter’s kindness was now mingled with the sense that she had somehow betrayed her children as well. Robin didn’t help matters by saying, after a feast of smoked salmon, caviar, and champagne: ‘Mum, I’ve been dreaming about your homemade truffles…’ Peter and Kate burst out laughing. ‘No, seriously, Kate,’ she grinned, ‘for the last few nights I’ve been counting truffles in my sleep. Oh, go on. Can’t we break the habit of a lifetime and have some tonight? If I have to wait until after lunch tomorrow, I think I shall die – and I certainly won’t sleep.’
‘Robin, you are utterly ridiculous,’ said Kate. ‘And I simply can’t understand why you’re not the size of an elephant. You’ve already eaten more than the rest of us put together. If I had a truffle, I think I should pop.’ She felt the waistband of her skirt cutting uncomfortably into her stomach and secretly undid a button. Kate, while far from large, was plump. With her father’s moon face she managed – no matter what she wore – to have the round look of a bossy schoolmistress. Glancing from one daughter to the other, Alice thought how strange it was that she should feel so detached from the two of them. Once she would have known how many breaths they took in a minute, when they last burped, and what made them smile. Now I don’t know anything, she thought, and they know nothing about me. It was not a pleasant sensation either, to realise that she did not much like the matronly look of her eldest, nor the messy, arty appearance of her youngest, whose numerous chains and bangles round her wrists and neck meant that when she moved, she sounded like a badly tuned doorbell. She now jangled off to the kitchen in search of truffles.
