One Day in May - Catherine Alliott [93]
Odd, life, wasn’t it, I thought as I went slowly up the steps to the terrace. He’d clearly sought me out, tracked me down. Yet now – unsurprisingly, since I’d turned into a woman who lectured on dog shit and hormone replacement therapy, smashed up his home and bled all over his floor – he couldn’t wait to get away.
As I went inside, feeling a little bit worse for wear, I raised my bandaged hand wearily to Monique and the clutch of antique dealers propping up the bar. Despite Porcelain Pierre’s entreaty for me to join them, I declined, although it was undoubtedly where I belonged. With Madame Alain and the other singles. I’d slot in seamlessly as they drank the night away.
Instead, I climbed the stairs to bed, glimpsing my face in the long landing mirror: tight-lipped, preoccupied now. It occurred to me I’d blown it. Blown what? What was there to blow? Something unformed, about having unwittingly laid some ghost of Hal’s to rest, sprang confusingly to mind. Something about how he could now, unencumbered by any wistful niggling doubts, get on with the serious business of marrying his beautiful young fiancée. But as I say, it was a hazy and ultimately rather arrogant thought, I decided. Giving myself a little shake, I put the key in the door and let myself into my single room to go to bed.
18
Maggie rang the following morning, as I was getting dressed. At least, I’d got to the underwear stage, but since today was a holiday – no fairs until the one further south in Fréjus next week – I was taking a leisurely attitude to the business of starting the day.
‘So how’s it going?’ she demanded, but then Maggie did rather demand.
‘Fine. I did pretty well yesterday, actually.’ I snuggled back under the duvet, smugly aware that I had a few coups under my belt. ‘Two lovely balloon-backed chairs for 42 Westgate Terrace, an entire set of Regency dining chairs for Lisson Grove, which completely match their Georgian table so she’s going to be thrilled, and some fab mirrors for Laura. Oh – plus, an enormous armoire for their playroom, which I thought could house all the old board games that are strewn around. I thought we could make that room much more of a cool teenage sitting room? Like a den? There’s also a really nice coffee table made from old tea chests, which I couldn’t resist. You’re going to be thrilled.’
‘Good, good.’ She sounded far from thrilled. Distant and tense, in fact.
I frowned into the phone. ‘Maggie? Are you all right?’
‘Bloody awful, as it happens. Henry and I…’ At which point she burst into tears.
‘Maggie?’ I sat bolt upright, clutching the duvet. Maggie didn’t do tears. Not like me, who filled up if I was told it looked like rain: her upper lip was so stiff it was in danger of petrifying.
Eventually there was a fair amount of throat-clearing and snuffling and then: ‘Split up,’ she croaked. ‘It’s over.’
‘Oh.’
I was shocked, but not too shocked. Maggie and Henry had a precarious, and obviously clandestine relationship, which was doomed to failure. On the other hand, it had lasted nine years.
‘Oh, Maggie, I’m so sorry.’
There was a pause as she got herself together. Then: ‘Probably for the best,’ she managed gruffly. ‘I mean, as you always say, where’s it going, apart from his way?’
‘Still incredibly painful,’ I sympathized softly. And I didn’t want to take the blame for anything. ‘What happened? What did he say?’
She sighed. Took a deep breath. ‘He didn’t. I did.’
‘You finished it?’
‘Not quite. But I gave him an ultimatum.’
‘Ah.’ Something she’d been threatening to do for years, but had never quite got round to.
‘After I came off the phone to you the other day, I felt so wretched. A trip we’d been planning for weeks… my best friend, my business, my livelihood… and I just drop it. Drop everything. I wasn’t proud of myself, I can tell you.’
I didn’t say anything.
‘So when he came round that evening, arms full of flowers, champagne, huge beaming smile, I just couldn’t raise my game.