One Day in May - Catherine Alliott [124]
He smiled up at Biba as she refilled his glass. Together with Daisy and Seffy she was circling with the wine, although Daisy, I noticed, had ignored Luca, who’d held out his glass as she approached. He blushed as she passed him by, her head high. Biba spotted and quickly dashed to fill it. Luca was deemed too old to serve and old enough to eat with us, at the head, I noticed, opposite Hugh, albeit fifteen feet away.
‘I won’t, thanks, Seffy, Biba’s already been round.’ This, from Hal, over his shoulder to my son, with a smile. Then they shared a bit of banter about Seffy knowing how old soaks like us knocked it back, and maybe he should hover with the bottle?
‘You’ve met Seffy?’ I said, surprised, as my son moved on.
‘Oh. Yes.’ Hal looked momentarily flustered. Caught out, even. ‘We… met when I popped up here once, to see Hugh. Had a chat.’
‘With Seffy?’
‘Yes.’
‘Oh, right. What about?’
He paused. It was our first awkward moment.
‘Oh, you know… life’s rich pageant, that sort of thing.’ He cleared his throat and made a pretence of asking his neighbour for the cream. I wondered if he was embarrassed about having sought Seffy out. About wanting to meet him because he was mine. Perhaps. I was flattered.
‘He’s a lovely boy. A credit to you.’
I met his eyes. Smiled. ‘Thank you.’
‘You’ve done very well, Hattie.’
My heart kicked in at this. What did he mean?
‘Thank you,’ I said mechanically again, but his eyes were still on me, and suddenly I didn’t want to talk about me and Seffy any more, or how well I’d done.
‘You haven’t mentioned Céline,’ I blurted, and he instantly glanced away. A cheap trick, but it worked.
‘Céline and I…’ He swallowed. Gazed at his plate.
I put a hand on his arm. ‘I’m sorry. That was unfair of me. I already know. You’ve split up.’
‘You know?’ He looked back quickly.
‘Biba said Letty told her.’
We glanced down the table. Letty was hunched forward, trying to spear a profiterole: frowning with the rapt squinty-eyed concentration of an inebriate.
‘News travels fast,’ he remarked. ‘It was only a few days ago.’
‘But it’s over?’
‘Oh, yes. For good, this time. I can’t go on kidding myself, Hattie. I should marry her, of course: she ticks all the boxes. Always has done. She’s beautiful, smart, clever, kind… but there’s a problem.’
‘Oh?’ I knew what it was.
He looked at me. ‘I don’t love her.’
Nevertheless I caught my breath. His eyes were unashamedly soft; vulnerable even. Yet despite their transparency, despite the fact he was the one showing his hand, it seemed to me I was also revealed.
‘Right,’ I managed. ‘Tricky then.’ I played with the stem of my glass.
‘Not really. Only fair to do the right thing. I couldn’t subject her to a married life of being enormously liked, could I?’
‘I… suppose not.’
For some reason a snapshot of the life I’d envisaged for Céline sprang to mind. The one where she was strolling down by the river, in that idyllic garden in France, a toddler on one hand, another on her swollen tummy. Except it wasn’t Céline in the Cath Kidston frock. It was me. Hadn’t Biba said he’d always been in love with someone else? And how many serious girlfriends had he had time for when he’d been with Céline for so many years?
‘Hattie, look…’ he said quietly. ‘I know this isn’t the time or the place, and there are millions of people around us, but there’s something you need to know…’ He paused, glanced about to make sure we weren’t being overheard.
I lunged for my wine. Yes? What did I need to know? Although I already knew what it was, but would love to hear it. Would love to hear those words. Which no one, not counting immediate family, had actually ever said to me. How sad was that? His eyes came back to mine and I felt every sinew tighten, every pulse quicken. I was poised to catch every