Whiteout - Ken Follett [45]
In the new extension was a master bedroom suite with a dressing room and a bathroom. The king-size bed was made and the rooms were tidy. Toni felt both excited and uncomfortable to be in Stanley’s bedroom. Yet another picture of Marta stood on the bedside table, this one a color photograph taken in her fifties. Her hair was a witchy gray and her face was thin, no doubt by reason of the cancer that had killed her. It was an unflattering photo. Toni thought how much Stanley must still love her, to cherish even this unhappy memento.
She did not know what to expect next. Would he make a move, with his wife watching from the bedside table and his children downstairs? She felt it was not his style. He might be thinking of it, but he would not jump a woman so suddenly. He would feel that etiquette demanded he woo her in the normal way. To hell with dinner and a movie, she wanted to say; just grab me, for God’s sake. But she kept silent, and after showing her the marble bathroom, he led the way back downstairs.
The tour was a privilege, of course, and should have drawn her closer to Stanley; but in fact she felt excluded, as if she had looked in through a window at a family sitting at table, absorbed in one another and self-sufficient. She felt a sense of anticlimax.
In the hall, the big poodle nudged Stanley with her nose. “Nellie wants to go outside,” he said. He looked out of the little window beside the door. “The snow has stopped—shall we get a breath of air?”
“Sure.”
Toni put on her parka and Stanley picked up an old blue anorak. They stepped outside to find the world painted white. Toni’s Porsche Boxster stood beside Stanley’s Ferrari F50 and two other cars, each topped with snow, like iced cakes. The dog headed for the cliff, evidently taking a habitual route. Stanley and Toni followed. Toni realized that the dog bore a distinct resemblance to the late Marta, with her curly black hair.
Their feet displaced the powdery snow to reveal tough seaside grass beneath. They crossed a long lawn. A few stunted trees grew at angles, blown slantwise by the tireless wind. They met two of the children coming back from the cliff: the older boy with the attractive grin and the sulky girl with the pierced navel. Toni remembered their names: Craig and Sophie. When Stanley had introduced everyone, in the kitchen, she had memorized every detail eagerly. Craig was working hard to charm Sophie, Toni could see, but the girl walked along with her arms crossed, looking at the ground. Toni envied the simplicity of the choices they faced. They were young and single, at the beginning of adulthood, with nothing to do but embrace the adventure of life. She wanted to tell Sophie not to play hard to get. Take love while you can, she thought; it may not always come to you so easily.
“What are your Christmas plans?” Stanley asked.
“About as different from yours as could be. I’m going to a health spa with some friends, all singles or childless couples, for a grown-up Christmas. No turkey, no crackers, no stockings, no Santa. Just gentle pampering and adult conversation.”
“It sounds wonderful. I thought you usually had your mother.”
“I have done for the past few years. But this Christmas my sister Bella is taking her—somewhat to my surprise.”
“Surprise?”
Toni made a wry face. “Bella has three children, and she feels that excuses her from other responsibilities. I’m not sure that’s fair, but I love my sister, so I accept it.”
“Do you want to have children, one day?”
She caught her breath. It was a deeply intimate question. She wondered what answer he would prefer to hear. She did not know, so she told the truth. “Maybe. It was the one thing my sister always wanted. The desire for babies dominated her life. I’m not like that. I envy you your family—they obviously love