The Tightrope Walkers, page 10
She got into the cab in a daze of happiness, replete not only with wonderful Greek food but also with unstinted admiration. The drive back across the river seemed to take no time at all and she tipped the taxi-driver extravagantly, although Anthony had already paid him in advance.
Seeing a band of light under the kitchen door, Amanda went in, hoping to find her father. Only her mother was there, sitting reading a law journal with a cup of coffee in front of her. She looked up as Amanda came in, her face whiter than usual and more perturbed.
‘Andrew rang twice,’ she said abruptly. ‘He wanted you to ring back, but it’s a bit late to disturb poor Flixe now.’
‘Thanks,’ said Amanda casually, adding: ‘The Gillinghams took me out to dinner.’
‘How kind!’
‘You don’t sound as though you think so, but they were very kind to me – both of them. They took me to the White Tower and sent me home in a taxi. It was a lot more luxurious than Andrew’s Chelsea Kitchen supper.’
‘Oh. Good. Well, I’d better be off to bed now unless you’d like anything.’
‘No, no, I don’t think so. I’m not sleepy myself and so I may sit up a bit for Daddy. I didn’t see him yesterday at all. There isn’t a division tonight, is there?’
‘Not as far as I know. He oughtn’t to be too long.’
‘Good-night.’
‘Good-night, darling.’ Julia washed up her coffee cup and went to the door. With her hand on the knob she turned. ‘Are you all right?’
‘Why shouldn’t I be? I’ve had a marvellous time and the picture’s going to be stunning. D’you want to hear about it?’
The sound of a key in the lock heralded the arrival of David Wallington and the subject of Amanda’s portrait was dropped.
David was glad to see his wife and daughter talking in apparent amity for once and he smiled at them both. He was a tall man, very broad in the shoulder, but reasonably slim still. His hair was greying in distinguished wings at his temples, but it was still thick and smooth. Only his face showed his full age.
To Amanda he looked as he had always looked, but Julia often noticed sadly that his eyes were surrounded by deep lines and seemed guarded where once they had been full of trusting enthusiasm. His mouth still smiled but there was a sardonic twist to it that had not been there when they had married.
Julia, noticing that Amanda wanted her to go to bed so that she could have her father to herself, kissed David casually.
‘I’m off to bed. Don’t be too late, you two.’
David’s hand had automatically gone to Julia’s shoulder to hold her close to him, and he stroked her silvering head with his other hand as she spoke.
‘All right. I’ll come with you.’
‘Why not have a quick whisky while I bath?’ said Julia, sliding her eyes in Amanda’s direction.
‘Good idea,’ said David after a pause. ‘Leave the bath in for me, and I’ll follow you up.’
Julia turned to her daughter.
‘Good-night, darling,’ she said again.
‘Night,’ said Amanda over her shoulder as she reached for the bottles that were kept on a white tray beside the fridge. ‘Johnnie Walker or malt?’
‘Whatever’s nearest,’ he answered, exchanging a commiserating smile with Julia. When she had gone, he turned back to his daughter, who was holding out a heavy cut-glass tumbler. ‘You’re not very kind to her, are you?’
Amanda looked at him, her lips beginning to quiver. She felt very tired again as she shook her head.
‘She doesn’t want me to be,’ she said at last. ‘She’s not interested in what I feel like, and she’s never been exactly kind to me.’
‘She tries to be, Amanda, but you won’t let her.’
‘Well, she doesn’t try hard enough. She doesn’t understand anything and she’s always criticising me and stopping me doing what I want and…’
David’s face broke into a smile.
‘Come off it, Blackberry,’ he said, using the nickname he had bestowed on her in childhood and had rarely used since she left school. ‘No one has ever been able to stop you doing anything you want.’
Amanda just shook her head. It seemed to her that her entire life had been spent pushing against unfair restrictions and idiotic rules that had been designed to frustrate every genuine wish she had ever had.
‘Look at the way she bludgeoned me about university.’ Seeing her father’s mouth twist and remembering how much she had found to dislike in Norwich, Amanda hastily added, ‘And look at the things she says about my modelling jobs.’
‘She’s just concerned that you shouldn’t waste your time on something that can’t last when you might be building up a real career.’
‘It’s not that at all,’ said Amanda coldly. ‘She thinks it’s degrading and vulgar to show oneself off in magazine photographs – and she’s jealous of the way people admire me.’
‘Don’t say things like that. You know they’re not true, but they hurt all the same – and they hurt you, too. All either of us want is for you to find a job that will last and satisfy you for as long as you need it. Standing in front of a camera isn’t going to do either of those.’
Amanda shrugged and poured herself a large single malt whisky. She looked over her shoulder, as though challenging David to criticise, but he merely smiled.
‘I’ve never expected it to do that. All I want from it is enough money to show my sainted mother that I can earn infinitely more than any junior lawyer, doctor or whatever it is she wants me to be before I’ve even left university.’ She drank some whisky and suppressed a shudder. ‘And I have done. I’ve probably got enough to buy myself a house. Perhaps I should do that. At least it might impress her.’
‘Do you want to do that?’ David’s voice was gentle. Amanda looked at him, slightly surprised, and then looked away.
‘Yes,’ she said and then looked as nearly frightened as he had ever seen her. ‘Don’t tell her.’
They both listened to the sound of Julia’s bathwater running out of the taps in the bathroom above.
‘Why not?’ When his daughter said nothing, David tried again. ‘Why can’t you let her know how much you care what she thinks?’
‘Because she hates me,’ said Amanda, turning away.
David stood up at once and went to stand beside her, his hands on her shoulders. She let her head lean back a little to rest against him. He began to stroke her hair.
‘She doesn’t, you know. Quite the reverse. She cares dreadfully and it makes her unhappy when you’re so aggressive.’
‘You don’t understand. She may tell you that, but it’s only because she knows you mind about me and she wants your approval. But she loathes me.’ She closed her eyes and returned to her chair. ‘I’ve never understood why, but I suppose it doesn’t matter.’
David followed her and knelt in front of her. Putting his hands on her shoulders again he said urgently: ‘It matters a lot. This is too important to get wrong again, Amanda. Your mother doesn’t hate you. She loves you just as much as I do. Talk to her honestly for once, darling girl, and be quiet enough to listen to her properly and you’ll find out.’
Amanda, who had been gazing at him with love, sat up straighter, her face returning to sullen obstructiveness. She sighed.
‘If I do exactly what she wants, you mean. I want her to love me for me,’ she added passionately, ‘not for being the perfect reflection of her or the answer to all her unsatisfied yearnings or whatever it is she wants. I’m me.’
David let his head droop until his forehead rested on Amanda’s knees. He felt tired and, as always, ripped to shreds by the way Julia and Amanda fought each other. He stood up.
‘Try, darling, if you can,’ he said rather helplessly and went up to his wife.
Julia was drying herself as he came into the room. Wrapping herself in the big white towel, she sat on the edge of the bath and took the pins out of her hair as he undressed and got into the bath. Sitting beside him, with her steam-dampened hair falling down her back, she listened as he talked about his day in Parliament. Neither of them felt strong enough to discuss their daughter then.
After a while Julia heard his voice slowing and smiled to see his eyelids drooping over his eyes. Dabbling her left hand in the bathwater, she realised it was quite cold and leaned forwards to take out the plug. David woke with a start and she held out her hands, smiling widely.
‘Come to bed, David. You’re all in.’
‘Thank God for you, Jules,’ he said, levering his long body out of the water and wrapping it in the warm towel she had fetched for him. ‘Do I ever tell you how much it means to share this Vale of Tears with you?’
Amanda, passing the door on her way to bed, heard what he said and frowned. Not wanting to hear her mother’s answer she went on up the stairs.
Julia rubbed his back dry.
‘Is it so sad?’ she asked, stroking the back of his dark head. He twisted his head so that he could look at her and leaned back to kiss her stroking hand.
‘Good heavens, no! But there are aspects that make one understand whoever it was who christened it that. For myself – with you – it’s hardly ever a matter for tears.’
‘Good.’
‘And what about you, my only love?’
The question had been frivolously put, but Julia knew that her husband really minded what her answer might be. After a moment’s thought, she said slowly and quite seriously: ‘When I’ve had a fight with Amanda or lost an important case it’s pretty dreadful, but the rest of the time I’d say I was a happy woman.’
‘I’m glad of that,’ said David and took her to bed.
Chapter Seven
‘I’ve been reading more about mermaids,’ said Comfort as Amanda settled into her pose on the studio sofa for her second sitting.
‘Oh?’
‘Yes, and I’ve discovered some excellent antidotes to Hans Andersen’s self-sacrificing version.’
‘That sounds promising.’ Amanda wriggled her shoulders to set them more comfortably against the sofa arm. ‘What are they?’
‘Most mermaids seem to have spent their time teasing and tantalising sailors into following them, sidling above the waves with only their female selves showing, and then as soon as they had seduced the men away from safety they would reveal their fishy tails and leave the poor lustful fools to drown in frustration.’
‘You sound almost as though you approve,’ said Amanda, her eyes gleaming as she tried to see past Comfort’s calm face to what she was actually thinking. ‘It sounds unnecessarily cruel.’
‘Open your eyes properly. Good. I think I do approve – don’t you? And is self-protection really cruelty? It’s hard to keep power over a man once you’ve let him seduce you. Mermaids seem to me to have the best of all possible worlds: enjoyment of their own incredible sexiness as they give themselves to the waves, endless courtship – which you’ll discover is always the best bit of any affair – and total power.’
‘But no soul,’ said Amanda, laughing as she remembered odd pieces of mermaid lore from her childhood. ‘Don’t forget that it was as much for lack of a soul as for love that Hans Andersen’s followed her mortal.’
‘Pshaw! Who wants a soul?’
‘Well, if not a soul, then what about immortality, Comfort?’ Amanda enjoyed the momentary flash in the painter’s slate-grey eyes. ‘Don’t all artists want that?’
‘Perhaps,’ said Comfort, obviously surprised by Amanda’s teasing. ‘Oh, blast!’ she added as the telephone started to ring. ‘I’d better answer that. It must be important. Almost no one has my number here. Rest for a while.’
She picked up the receiver, said her name and then waited in silence, her face growing increasingly worried. At last she said: ‘Yes, of course I’ll come. Hold on and try not to worry too much.’ She put down the receiver and turned back to Amanda. ‘I’m going to have to leave you.’
‘I hope it’s not too serious,’ said Amanda, feeling almost as deprived as the drowning sailors. The intensity of her disappointment seemed disproportionate until she realised that it was not the entertaining afternoon with Comfort that she minded missing but the possibility of another dinner with Anthony. Trying to look untroubled, she pulled off the aquamarine silk and reached for her collapsed bra straps. ‘I’ll get out of your way.’
‘I hope so too,’ said Comfort, sounding rather vague. ‘A friend of mine has had the most frightful shock and I must go to her.’ She blinked twice and frowned. ‘Look here, I think Anthony’s in this afternoon. I’ll take you down to him and he can look after you for me.’
Amanda suppressed a sigh of relief and tried to hide her pleasure in a formal protest.
‘Please don’t worry him. He’s sure to be busy and I’m quite capable of looking after myself.’
‘Don’t be silly. I know you are, but it’s a bit much to drag you all the way here, undress you, drench your hair, and then drop you flat. Come on and get dressed.’
Amanda obeyed, smiling to herself, and together they walked down two flights of stairs. Comfort opened one of the panelled doors on the square landing.
‘Anthony, I’ve got to flash off and see to Clemency. There’s an emergency. But I’ve got poor Amanda here; could you give her tea or something and see she gets home all right?’
Amanda could hear the sound of a chair being pushed back and Anthony’s slightly husky voice saying: ‘It’ll be a pleasure. I hope poor Clem will be all right. Will you give her my love?’
Comfort assured him she would, brushed Amanda’s damp cheek with one hand, leaving her tingling with surprise, and ran on downstairs. Anthony came to the door.
‘Hello,’ he said seriously.
‘Hello.’ Amanda smiled and watched his face relax. His eyes looked much darker grey than she remembered and his whole face even more distinguished.
‘Will you come in?’ he asked, standing back.
‘If you really want me.’
There was a short silence that seemed heavy with meaning. Amanda looked back at Anthony, startled and half intending to qualify what she had said. He put a hand on her shoulder.
‘I really want you,’ he said deliberately.
She laughed, a high, silly laugh that made her feel a fool, but he slid his hand down her arm to her elbow and urged her into his room.
‘I was just thinking how nice it would be to have some tea, but it seemed an unconscionable indulgence to do it on my own. You’re heaven sent’
At that Amanda laughed properly, feeling better, and walked into the room. She had imagined that it would be full of microscopes and anatomical drawings or even a wax model of a flayed corpse like one she had seen in a hospital museum. Instead she discovered a gracious, if masculine, drawing room decorated with dark green marbled paper and heavy gold-brocade curtains. There were old glazed bookcases filled with books, comfortable chairs, bowls of flowers and sunny paintings of water-filled landscapes. A real fire burned in the brass grate.
‘Come and sit by the fire,’ Anthony suggested, ‘and dry those mermaid locks of yours. I never meant Comfort actually to plunge your head in cold water for her painting.’
‘Oh, I don’t mind it at all, but I never meant to disturb your work. Comfort seemed to think I needed looking after, but truly I don’t.’
‘It’s not my work you’re disturbing.’ His voice had grown serious again. She did not look at him, although she could feel him standing very close to her. After a moment he pulled a chair nearer the fire. ‘Sit down.’
Amanda obediently sat and felt the soft down cushions billowing up around her. For a moment she thought that she also felt his hand on her head, but a second later could not be certain. She bent nearer the fire and sat combing her fingers through her wet hair.
‘You really are like a mermaid, aren’t you?’
She turned suddenly and looked at him, thinking of all the things she and Comfort had told each other.
‘Not altogether.’
Anthony looked surprised. Rejecting various possible explanations of her cryptic answer, Amanda added lightly: ‘They’re fish from the waist down and very clammy.’
‘And you’re not?’ Anthony’s voice was not light at all.
‘No,’ she said, slipping her feet out of her shoes and wiggling her toes at him.
Instead of laughing as she had expected, he seemed to breathe more deeply and quickly turned away from her.
‘I’m not really working today,’ he said almost as though he were talking at random; ‘just writing notes for a paper I’m to give on neurotransmitters in the brain late in July. There’s plenty of time yet. I hope you won’t be too uncomfortable. Do you want a hairdryer? I think there is one somewhere.’
‘It’ll soon dry by the fire if I go on combing it.’
‘All right. I’d better go and make you some tea. I won’t be long.’
Despite his final comment, he seemed to be gone for ages and Amanda sat, her drying hair fluffing about her face, wondering whether she had imagined all the unspoken things he seemed to be telling her. For a while she even wondered whether she had annoyed him so much that he had seized the opportunity to have some peace without her.
Feeling restless and not quite herself, wanting him back and yet not wanting to discover that all the attraction she thought she had seen in him had been imaginary, she got up to walk about his room and examine his books. There were very few medical ones and those there were seemed not just out of date but positively antique. Instead of the expected textbooks there were a great many novels, biographies and, most surprising of all, a shelf of seventeeth-century poets.
She was standing beside the shelves, turning the pages of a volume of Donne’s work, when Anthony returned with a large, heavy-looking tray, which he carried to the sofa table.
‘I see you’ve found my secret vice,’ he said cheerfully as he put it down. Whether she had imagined some kind of disturbance in him or not, it had gone by then and he was completely in control of himself.
‘Vice?’ Amanda made herself sound intrigued.
‘I started collecting them some time ago and they’ve run away with a frightening amount of money since. They’re first editions.’
