One Day in May - Catherine Alliott [156]
Still, I felt a bit of a fraud dressed up like a trophy wife, viewing houses my wildest dreams wouldn’t stretch to: there was something not quite real about it, as if I were looking through a wall of glass.
Personally I would have thought his Holland Park house, which I was now very familiar with, having spent quite a few nights there, would have fitted the bill. These past few mornings I’d woken up flushed and incredulous in his sexy wooden sleigh bed, marvelled at the huge modern canvas on the opposite wall and thought it entirely sumptuous and spacious. But as Hal said, it had history. I must admit, I did feel faintly guilty as I padded around the interior-designed drawing room – the work of one Helmut Bing, a towering German decorator – in Hal’s white towelling robe, wondering what on earth Céline would think as I tried to get to grips with the terrifying gadgets in her double-O-seven kitchen. Cappuccino makers that took off like rockets, toasters that took your eye out, but could I locate a humble kettle? Then there was the shower, so forceful I buckled at the knees and was nearly beaten to the granite floor, accustomed as I was to squeezing a few parched drops from my own eccentric plumbing. So yes, Hal was right. History dictated we move on. But also, he’d pointed out, it was a question of layout. We were looking for a family house now, not only for Hal, me and Seffy, but for Cassie and Letty too.
‘And of course you’ve got the separate basement flat, which Mr Forbes stipulated,’ Torquil was saying. ‘Another eight hundred square feet.’
‘Yes. Yes, that’s perfect.’
Or would be if Letty agreed, which Hal sincerely hoped she would, so that Cassie could spend more time with us, absorb family life. Letty too, if she wanted. All of which would be lovely for the children.
Was I nervous about that? About Letty being amongst us? I crossed to the marble fireplace. Ran a finger over its smooth creamy surround. No, not now, strangely enough. I had been, hugely. But now I knew Cassie had been to see her mother at the Priory, had told her about Seffy’s parentage. To which the response had been weary indifference.
‘Oh yes, I always suspected he was Dom’s.’
‘You did?’ Cassie had said, astonished.
‘Yes. I saw them kissing in your father’s office, darling. Seffy would be exactly the right age to be conceived around then. She said she’d adopted him in Croatia and that was very good of her. I’ve always liked her for that. She could have blown my world apart, but she didn’t. I thought she might later, when Dom died, but she kept her counsel. It’s right that Seffy knows now. A few years too late, if you ask me, but she probably lost her nerve. We all do that. God knows, I’ve lost more than nerve. And she’s had a tough time, Hattie. Give her my love.’
I’d listened to this with eyes and mouth open as Cassie repeated it verbatim. She knew? Or – at least had always suspected? I remembered how sweet and eager she’d been when Maggie and I had first encountered her in the village. Appreciative, perhaps? One person – the only person – who understood what I’d done? I felt relief. And something unclench and lay down within me. One by one the scrunched-up bits of history were unfurling and smoothing out: there… and there…
It occurred to me Hal had never suspected, and he too knew about the kiss. But men were less imaginative in so many ways. No doubt he couldn’t believe I’d be so devious. But Letty could. Only she wouldn’t call it devious. She’d call it resourceful. No, I had no qualms about Letty living below us. But she, apparently, did.
‘I like my house,’ she’d said stubbornly to Cassie.
‘I know, Mum, and this way we wouldn’t have to sell it. Hal’s offering us the flat in London rent free. We could still keep The Pink House and go there at weekends.’
‘We’ll see.’ Letty had waved a weary hand. ‘We’ll see. I have to go to my therapy class soon, darling, spill my tortured beans. No doubt make some hideous raffia mats,