The Venetian House, page 43
‘I’m fed up with myself at the moment,’ she said. ‘So … transform me!’
‘No problem. We’ll get Rosa to shampoo you and then I’ll murder these layers,’ he said cheerfully. ‘You won’t know yourself – but I guarantee you’ll like what you see.’
And he was right. ‘Oh, thank you,’ she said, extremely pleased with what he’d done. ‘You’re a genius. I feel I can face the world again.’
‘My pleasure,’ said Lennie. ‘You’ve got wonderful hair.’
She had a nasty moment when she looked at the bill, however.
‘That was one of my brighter ideas,’ said Francine as they left the salon. ‘You look fantastic.’
‘Oh Francine, thank you. Isn’t it extraordinary what a haircut can do for morale? Now where?’
‘Now,’ said Francine, ‘for serious temptation, which I have every intention of giving in to. Let’s go to Midas down the Fulham Road. Kate Morley, who owns it, is married to a friend of my parents. She has these fantastic embroidered jackets and tops in the most heavenly materials, and silk trousers to die for.’
The temptation turned out to be very serious indeed – an Aladdin’s cave of colour where they went wild trying on exotic clothes in silks or velvet, many of them covered in glittering hand embroidery.
‘Just what I need – something dramatic to cover the bulge,’ said Francine, twirling in a long gold organza coat emblazoned with startling reds and oranges. ‘I shall definitely get this – and that black Nehru jacket with the embroidered cuffs was real neat on you. You have to have it, Victoria.’
‘I don’t think I’d get enough wear out of it. I’ve no idea what my social life is going to be from now on.’
‘Oh, come on – haven’t you just gotten an invitation to attend a glamorous private view? Get the green silk trousers and the camisole top that goes with them and the black jacket – you’d look stunning. Then you could wear the jacket open with plain black trousers and a white T-shirt to make it more casual and it would take you absolutely anywhere – out to dinner, formal or informal. Whatever – you’ll be sorted for anything. Do let Guy give you the jacket at least, I know he’d like to.’‘No, no, absolutely not.’ Victoria was adamant. ‘I’ll get it for myself if you really think it’s right.’ She was still in a defiantly reckless mood, pushing anxieties about her bank balance to the far corner of her mind, cocking a mental snook at Peter Mason and Meriel.
Francine could see she was longing to be persuaded. ‘I don’t just think it’s right, I know it,’ she said firmly, and bought herself a skirt on an elasticated waistband, which would accommodate the bulge to perfection, and then chose a couple of wildly expensive tasselled silk scarves for them both. ‘If you won’t let Guy buy you a present you must indulge me,’ she insisted. ‘It’s bad for me to be thwarted right now!’
‘You’re very generous, Francine,’ said Victoria, touched, and meaning it in more ways than one.
‘What’s the point of having money if you don’t have fun with it? It’s great to have you keep me company.’
They staggered out of the shop laden with enormous glossy carriers, feeling very pleased with themselves, and headed for the baby department at Peter Jones where they had an equally happy time looking at cots and prams and tiny nighties.
When they got back to number forty The Boltons, Tessie, the Filipino housekeeper who had worked for Guy for years and had given Victoria a great welcome earlier that morning, said there had been several telephone messages for Victoria.
‘Mrs Winston senior – she rang. She say she longing to see you. They be with you eight this evening. She say you should stay with her and not go to your old house next week. Then Mr Mason’s secretary rang – he see you tomorrow like you suggest, and like to give you lunch also. Oh, and a Mr Hammond rang. Can you ring him, and I written down the number,’ and she handed Victoria a piece of paper.
‘You didn’t tell me Toula and Anthony were coming. How lovely.’
‘It was meant to be a surprise,’ said Francine, getting them each a Diet Coke out of the fridge. ‘Of course, Toula wanted to be here to greet you and we had great difficulty putting them off till this evening. Guy told a white lie about the time of your flight because we wanted you all to ourselves last night – you know how Toula always takes over wherever she is. We wouldn’t have got a look in. You’re much in demand, Mrs Cunningham! Is Patrick Hammond the man who’s doing the book on Vrahos – Hugh Marston’s nephew?’
‘Yes, that’s the chap.’ Victoria took the Coke, thankful Guy wasn’t there. ‘Thanks, Francine – lovely – just what I needed. I suppose I’d better ring him.’
‘Make any plans you like,’ said Francine. ‘Guy’s away tomorrow and the next day, but I’m here all week so come and go as it suits you. Help yourself to the phone.’
‘Thanks, but I can use my mobile.’ Victoria didn’t particularly want to ring Patrick in front of Francine, but neither did she want to give the impression that there was anything private about the call. She dialled the number Tessie had written down.
‘Yes? Patrick Hammond here.’ The voice sounded brisk –slightly intimidating.
‘Hello, Patrick,’ she said, trying to sound equally matter-of-fact, but feeling anything but, inside. ‘It’s Victoria. I believe you rang me.’
‘Victoria! How lovely to hear you.’ His voice changed completely. There could be no doubting his pleasure. ‘When am I going to see you?’
‘What were you suggesting?’ she asked, her heart singing.
‘I’m suggesting you let me take you out to dinner. When might you be free?’
‘Um … would tomorrow be too soon?’ she asked, longing to see him and thinking that it would be much easier to meet Patrick when Guy wasn’t around to make assumptions or put her through an inquisition.
‘Tomorrow would be wonderful. I thought it would be good to meet before you come to Hugh’s do on Friday. There’s a little local restaurant where I often go when I’m in London. It’s not specially glamorous but it has very good food.’
‘That sounds perfect. Tell me where to come and what time you’d like me to turn up?’
‘Wouldn’t you like me to pick you up?’
‘It might be easier if I met you there because I’m not sure where I’ll be coming from,’ said Victoria who didn’t want Patrick turning up at Guy and Francine’s.
‘Right, why don’t you come here first for a drink – say about eight – and we can walk round to Merlin’s when we’re ready. It’s only just round the corner from here.’
‘That sounds fine. See you tomorrow then.’
After he had rung off, she realised that she still hadn’t discovered if his wife would be with him. Somehow she didn’t think so, but this was something that needed clearing up. She had sensed a reserve when Rachel’s name had been mentioned in Corfu that had made her curious, yet nothing had been said that gave her any real clue as to whether there were problems in the marriage. Would Rachel Hammond be at Hugh Marston’s private view? Victoria told herself that she would like to meet her.
She said to Francine, ‘I’ve fixed for tomorrow evening with the Hammonds, if that’s OK, but can I come back here first to recover from my session with Peter Mason?’
‘Of course you can. I’ll give you a key. I shall be waiting to revive you with tea and sympathy and expect you to tell me all the latest gems of “Masonese”. Since you first told me about that I’ve actually met Peter – not to mention Clutterbuck – with Guy, and had hard work to keep a straight face. Now let’s have something to eat.’
Francine might become a real friend, thought Victoria with surprise, so why didn’t I even like her when she was just part of Guy’s groupies? And then she thought, of course, because Richard was always so disparaging about her – so bitchy really. Unlike Guy, Richard had usually been kind about people, but whenever they met Francine he’d always done a character assassination job on her afterwards. Victoria supposed he must have been insanely jealous – and I was jealous of her too, honesty forced her to admit to herself. Somehow this jealousy seemed to have fallen away but whether this was due to her present anger with Guy, the loss of Richard or to Francine herself she didn’t know.
That evening she had a wonderful reunion with Toula and Anthony. As usual Toula arrived like a whirlwind, all flailing arms and trailing scarves. Victoria was overjoyed to see them both. She thought Toula’s attitude to Francine had mellowed since she’d last seen them together, doubtless due to the prospect of a first grandchild but she guessed that Anthony must have had a go at Toula about not interfering about the baby. To those who knew her well, it was obvious that she was making efforts to ration her pearls of advice on every aspect of childrearing, though Victoria thought this might not be too obvious to anyone not familiar with her normal output. Francine seemed to be bearing up well, however, and caught Victoria’s eye once or twice when Toula started to hold forth on the layette she thought essential. Naturally she didn’t consider any of the purchases Francine and Victoria had made for the baby that morning were at all practical, but Francine just laughed and seemed unfazed. ‘I guess you and I can go shop together any time, Toula,’ she said easily. ‘I’m always up for that – but we don’t get the chance of doing things with Victoria too often.’
Toula was spiky about Evanthi’s rediscovered love. She had greatly admired her austere father, and the idea that her mother might have been hankering for someone else all through the marriage offended her. ‘I’ve never heard anything so ridiculous – I think it’s all a lot of moonlight,’ she said scornfully, and Anthony gave Victoria a surreptitious wink. ‘What a nerve for this man to come hanging round after my mother again after all these years!’ Toula’s eyes flashed. ‘I think my grandmother was absolutely right to send him packing in the first place – he was probably a goldminer. Anyway, he sounds most unreliable and if I ever meet him I shall tell him so. I never got on with Nafsica when I was a child but my opinion of her has definitely gone up.’
Victoria, who had been on the point of suggesting she and Anthony might like to come to Hugh Marston’s private view with her, thought better of the idea.
Before Anthony and Toula left, Anthony took Victoria on one side. ‘Would you like me to come with you to see Peter Mason tomorrow?’ he asked. ‘He’s a pompous ass and a bit of a bully too but he wouldn’t try to force you into any decisions if I was with you.’ It was tempting to accept, but Victoria felt that if she was going to run her own and Jake’s lives with any degree of success then she needed to be able to cope with the Peter Masons of the world.
‘You’re a darling,’ she said, ‘but no thank you. I must learn to stick up for myself, for Jake’s sake.’
Anthony nodded approvingly. ‘Good for you,’ he said, thinking that something positive had happened to Victoria since he’d last seen her. He thought he detected signs that the Sleeping Beauty was waking up. ‘Just remember I’m there if you need me. I’ll be at the gallery all day so ring my mobile and I’ll leap on my white charger and come galloping to your rescue.’
Toula promised to meet Victoria at Toddingham station on Monday morning and drive her over to Baybury. ‘Violet has been busy getting the house ready for you – but I shall still make up a bed for you with us too, so you needn’t decide now whether you’ll sleep at Manor Farm or not,’ she said, with an uncharacteristic display of tact.
The following day Victoria arrived at the offices of Mason, Whitaker & Ziegler and was pleased to discover how much less intimidated she felt than the last time she’d been there. She could hardly believe it was only four months ago. It felt like a lifetime. Francine insisted on lending her a crisp linen suit from Bloomingdale’s, which she could no longer get into herself, and together with the new haircut Victoria felt she looked both expensive and efficient – and hoped this false impression would send a ‘don’t mess with me’ message to Peter Mason. When Guy said goodbye before going off to interview the owners of a famous garden in Provence he had raised his eyebrows in semi-mocking appreciation.
‘Well, well, little cousin! What a vision! You look as if you’re off to negotiate an important takeover.’
‘I am …’ said Victoria ‘… of my own life.’
‘Well, please don’t change too much, Vicky,’ he said. ‘I wouldn’t like to lose you.’
‘I think you should have thought of that a long time ago,’ she answered, and was conscious that she’d shaken him.
Francine, witnessing the little scene, felt an unexpected surge of sympathy for her husband. She knew he deserved his comeuppance and that he had hitherto sailed through life doing what he pleased without taking heed of the possible effects of his self-indulgence – but suddenly a lot of consequences seemed to be winging back like boomerangs.
Peter Mason kept her waiting for the statutory twenty minutes and then swept in full of apologies. ‘So sorry to have kept you – pressure of business, I’m afraid. Life doesn’t get easier.’ She imagined him standing in his office, a large man balancing on the balls of his disconcertingly small feet, watch in hand, whiling away the appropriate amount of time dependent on the standing of each client, before he deemed it suitable to appear. Whereas he was obviously surprised at her change of image, she thought that apart from the fact that he appeared to have added yet another chin to the collection that rolled smoothly down towards his collar like sand-dunes, he seemed depressingly as she remembered – sleek, prosperous and very well satisfied with himself.
‘I must say you’re looking remarkably well, Victoria,’ he said, squeezing her forearms as though to test her potential for tossing cabers. ‘Remarkably well. Much better than I expected.’ He sounded almost affronted. ‘And how is that young man of yours? I presume you’ve brought him home with you?’
‘Actually I’ve left Jake in Corfu with my grandmother. It seemed a pity to disrupt him when he’s settled so well at school there.’ Victoria thought it was better to bring up the subject of Jake’s schooling straight away.
‘Hmm, hmm.’ Peter Mason pursed his lips and turned the corners of his mouth down in a disapproving little moue. ‘Bill will be disappointed. I gather you are going down to see him next Tuesday. Jake’s education is, of course, one of the things on our agenda for discussion today,’ he said. ‘Let’s go along to a boardroom and get the business talk out of the way – and then perhaps I can give you lunch afterwards.’
During the next hour he painted what seemed to Victoria a discouraging picture of her future. Richard had had losses on the stock exchange about which she had known nothing. She gathered that Jake’s education could be paid for out of the family trust – provided, of course, that Peter Mason and her father-in-law as co-trustees approved the choice of school. ‘Which I’m sure we shall,’ said Peter smoothly, eyeing her over the top of his spectacles.
Victoria said nothing. There seemed no point into getting into an argument at this stage before she’d even been back to Baybury.
‘Now as to your house – by which I am, of course, referring to Manor Farm,’ continued Peter – as though, thought Victoria, she might not remember where she’d been living for the past eight years – ‘that’s a trifle more problematical.’ He took his spectacles off and polished them carefully. ‘I doubt if you would have sufficient income – unless you have assets undisclosed to me – to go on living there as things stand at this moment in time. But I’m happy to say there are one or two other interesting alternatives which Bill has come up with, and you wouldn’t want to stay at Manor Farm now anyway.’
‘What makes you think that?’ asked Victoria.
Peter looked disconcerted. ‘Oh, um, well … associations with the past for one thing. Fresh starts and all that.’ He gave his glasses an extra rub and then held them up to the light for greater scrutiny as though he might suddenly see something unexpected through them. ‘And, ah … then the size of the house is another consideration, of course. You don’t want to rattle about.’
‘It’s not that big,’ objected Victoria, determined to make Peter come clean about whatever he had in mind for both her and the house.
‘Not for a family, no, I’ll grant you that – it’s an ideal family-sized house, but I think … that is, Bill thinks … that perhaps … under the, ah … circumstances …’ He let the sentence trail away.
‘What you really mean,’ said Victoria, ‘is that Meriel wants Manor Farm as a second home and has already fixed it with Bill. She always has wanted it. It caused a bit of friction in the family when Bill let Richard have it, but for once he stood up to her.’
There was an uneasy pause. It struck Victoria that the mention of Richard’s name made Peter uncomfortable, but he made a quick recovery. ‘I’m glad you’ve brought up the idea of Meriel having it because that is a possibility, as it happens.’ Peter Mason was at his blandest. ‘Bill thinks it would be very suitable for them. It’s reasonably near Stafford Hawkins’ constituency, Meriel would be able to keep an eye on her father – important for both of them – and, of course, the Hawkinses could well afford it. Stafford’s a warm man, you know. I have a lot of time for him.’
Victoria remembered Richard telling her that when Meriel had got engaged to Stafford, he had not been considered good enough for her. It had comforted her when the Cunningham clan had equally disapproved of her own engagement – though for very different reasons. Guy had joked that Stafford had been looked down on for being nouveau riche and Victoria for being nouveau pauvre – and foreign to boot. Now Stafford had made even more money and was an influential MP – but I’ve remained a disappointment, she thought.
‘Are you saying I definitely couldn’t afford it – even if I wanted to?’ she asked.
Peter put his fingers, which reminded Victoria of uncooked sausages, carefully together and then interlocked them as though he were about to play ‘Here’s the church and here’s the steeple’ with a very small child. She thought he needed to have his heavy signet ring made a size larger; it bit into the flesh of his little finger.
