Chapter Thirty-five
Jane and Marta took their seats at a table for four, set for dinner, in the recess beside the large fireplace in the hotel’s modest restaurant, and waited.
In the bar itself, Carrie’s nerves were clattering. Her fingers tapped restlessly on the granite counter top. It seemed hard now to think that she had found Tom Vallely irresistible the last time they’d met here.
The memory of Drew’s hand, curled protectively and lovingly around her own caused a hurt that was almost physical. She could hear his full-throated laugh and ached for the joy of his company.
‘Hi D.A. Delight.’
Carrie jumped. Tom had a nasty habit of appearing from nowhere.
‘Oh! Hi. Drink?’
He took off his leather jacket and fedora and hung them on a coatstand, then turned and kissed her on the lips. Carrie strained every muscle not to flinch away. She thought he was going to whisper some sleazy compliment, but instead he whispered, ‘Got the money, darling?’
‘Calm down, Tom,’ she said amicably, sounding more relaxed than she felt. ‘We’ll get to that. Dinner first. Then upstairs. The money’s in my room anyway.’
‘How about we go upstairs first?’ His hand was on her thigh.
She shook it off. ‘Now, now, if you’ve got that much of an appetite you can munch your way through three courses in anticipation.’
‘I’m only hungry for one thing, darling.’
‘Well, you’re going to have to get me in the mood over dinner, all the same. I’m ravenous.’
This was hard work, but she had to get him through to the dining room.
Tom sighed. ‘Okay. Let’s skip the drinks though. I’ll order some some champagne for the table. If there’s any left, we’ll take it up with us. Or get another bottle.’
Yes, because you think it’s on my bill, you bastard.
‘Fine.’
‘You’re looking particularly fetching tonight, Caroline darling. Is that a Mary Quant dress?’
It was Mary Quant. ‘Top Shop,’ Carrie said curtly.
‘You carry it well, then.’
‘Thanks. I’ve reserved a table. Let’s go through.’
Marta and Jane looked up at the sound of Carrie’s voice. Tom stopped abruptly, grabbed Carrie’s arm and swung her round to face him.
‘What’s up, Carrie? You’re plotting something.’
There was a nasty edge to his voice.
‘Plotting? My dear Tom, whatever makes you think that? A little reunion of friends, that’s all.’
He let go of her elbow and tried to turn to the door.
‘Oh, Tom,’ she said, sidestepping smartly to block his way and relieved to see the door blocked by the waiter coming in with champagne glasses and a bucket of ice, ‘what about the money?’
He turned back reluctantly.
‘This had better not be a set-up, Carrie darling, or—’
‘Or what, Tom? Just sit.’
‘How lovely to see you, Tom.’ Marta stood up to let Tom past her. She pointedly kissed his cheek while Carrie barred his retreat. They’d decided not to let him sit next to Jane. Despite her new-found confidence, she was still far too fragile to be any nearer to Tom than the other side of a dining table.
‘Marta. Looking beautiful, as always.’
You had to admire him, really, for the professionalism. A lesser bastard would have let the mask slip. Marta ushered him past her, into the depths of the recess, then sat down again, blocking his exit. There was to be no easy escape.
‘So how’s life on
Emergency Admissions
, Tom?’
‘Fantastic. A real blast, darling.’
‘Get on with the others, do you?’
‘Getting
on
is what I do best,’ he smirked.
‘Ha, ha.’
‘We ordered oysters for you, Tom,’ Jane said. ‘We know how you like a little lift.’
She giggled.
Tom stared at her.
‘What happened to you Janie darling?’ he asked curtly, surprise making him lose all his usual affectation. ‘What happened to the st-t-tutter?’
He exaggerated the word, cruelly mimicking Jane.
‘Finally came to my senses,
darling
.’ Jane laughed out loud at the sight of Tom’s astonished face. ‘And don’t think you’ll get any cash out of me, Tom, because that little scam has been thoroughly knocked on the head.’
Tom said nothing but his gaze flickered away from her, down at the table, then to Carrie. He was looking more than a little uncomfortable.
Marta was enjoying herself.
‘Have some champagne.’
She filled up his glass, splashing a little onto the tablecloth.
‘Oops. Mustn’t waste it. But hey, then again, why not? We’re in a celebratory mood, aren’t we, girls?’
‘I don’t know what you mean,’ Tom mumbled.
Carrie leaned forward. ‘Let me spell it out for you, Tom. You won’t, I’m sorry to say, be getting a nice large cheque from me. And you won’t be getting a big fat payoff from Jane either, because both of us have had a little heart-to-heart with our men, and we’ve told them everything. We have no more secrets, from them or from each other. There’s nothing else you can blackmail us about. And by the way, I have unsubscribed from Bed Buddies, so that’s an end to that.’
She took a gulp of champagne.
‘Oh – and Marta has some good news as well – don’t you, Marta?’
Marta smiled and leaned down to pick up her handbag.
‘I do. In fact, I’m very pleased about this. You see, Tom, I thought I had lost a brooch of mine. A very special brooch that belonged to my great-grandmother. I couldn’t understand where it had gone, because I kept it quite safe. In my underwear drawer, to be precise. So I wasn’t best pleased when I discovered that someone had been rifling through my knickers.’
A look of alarm had spread across Tom’s face.
‘I can’t think what you’re talking abou—’ he blustered.
Marta interrupted him. ‘Oh I think you know very well. You see, you left something behind at my cottage.’
She drew the notebook from out of her handbag. Tom, seeing what she held, gave a yelp and snatched at the book. Marta, quicker, held it out of his reach.
‘I was puzzled, you see. I had to be sure who the notebook belonged to. So I took a little look inside.’ She opened it up. ‘There’s quite a lot of interesting jottings in here. This one, for example. “Auditions for Richard Curtis film next week.
Bugger
AC.” That would be Angela Cutler, I’m guessing? Your agent? Little tiff perhaps? Maybe she didn’t think you were quite up to the role?’
Tom snorted, but Marta was relentless.
‘Then there’s this one, just next to it: “Had to shag AC tonight; business before pleasure”.’
Tom turned puce.
‘Hmm, not terribly flattering. I wonder what she would think of that?’
‘You don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘No? It’s really terribly interesting. Snippets of gossip. Scribblings with your opinions of people. What seems like a star system next to names. Could that be anything to do with how you rate them in bed, I wonder?’
Jane, almost helpless with laughter, took the book from Marta.
‘Not very sensible, Tom, keeping a notebook like this, is it?’ she asked brightly. ‘I guess you see this as your kiss-and-tell book, do you? Some overblown idea of another way to make money at some point? For when you get famous? Blackmail, or publish and be damned?’ She said the words mockingly. ‘Or maybe you simply can’t resist keeping some sort of record of your conquests? Tamara-Jane Halliday 06017 321 ... Would that be
the
Tamara-Jane Halliday? The celebrity model, married to our world-famous heavyweight boxing champion? Hmmm, I wonder what Ricky Halliday would think of this little entry? Only two stars out of five, too.’
‘Give it here!’
Keeping it well out of reach, Carrie took the book. Short of making a major scene, it was impossible for Tom to snatch it.
‘Here’s another note. “Ann Playfair = sharp writer/hardbitten old bitch.” Oh, and a phone number too, though I’m guessing she is not one of your conquests, because that would be the Ann Playfair who suggested you audition for the role, would it?’
‘Give it to me. You’ve no right—’
‘The little drawing is quite good,’ Carrie went on, studying it. ‘A bit lewd, I would say. Could she really get in that position with a donkey—’
‘Carrie, for pity’s sake—’
Jane gave him a withering glance. ‘Pity? What do you know about pity, Tom Vallely? Here, Carrie, give me one of those bits of paper.’ She unfolded one. ‘Seems to be a ticket for a pawnshop. “One gent’s signet ring, gold.” And the date. Gent’s signet ring, Tom? I wonder who that belongs to?’
‘Here, give me—’
‘And this one.’ Marta unfolded another. ‘This one’s really interesting. “Eighteenth-century brooch, eighteen-carat gold, set with pearls, rubies and sapphires.” ’ She looked up at him. ‘Strange. The date is early September this year. When you were staying with me, in fact. And it does sound remarkably like my brooch.’ She folded the paper up again. ‘Do you know, I think the police might be interested in this.’
‘Give it here. That’s my property.’
Tom lunged for the book again. This time, Marta let him get it. He pocketed it swiftly, gathering up the pieces of paper they had unfolded and stowing them away with great haste, as though the air might cause them to self-destruct.
‘You’re welcome.’ Carrie smiled.
There was a short silence. Tom looked at them uneasily.
Carrie lifted her glass, sipped again at the champagne.
‘You don’t think we didn’t take a copy of every page in that journal, do you? It’s all recorded, every single entry, all on camera and on video, and—’ she leaned forward earnestly, ‘—if you think we have given you back the
original
pawn tickets, you’re very naive indeed.’
Jane, still giggling, sobered up.
‘We’ve had enough, Tom. Enough of your nasty little habits and your weasel mind. And we’re quite sure that there are a lot of women out there who are rather tired of you too. You no longer have any hold over us, but we
do
have a hold on you. So here’s our threat: if we
ever
hear of you getting up to your little tricks again, the video we made is going straight onto YouTube.’
‘And I want my brooch back, Tom. If I have the slightest problem in getting it, I’ll be going to the police,’ Marta added. ‘You see, it’s heavily insured and properly photographed. There will be absolutely no problem in proving it’s mine.’
Tom began to splutter.
Marta leant over and stared at him.
‘Don’t you dare say anything. Just don’t you dare. You don’t deserve this, Tom. We should be turning you in. But in spite of all the hurt you have caused, we’re not malicious. We’ve decided, the three of us, that we are going to treat you a whole lot better than you have treated us. Tomorrow morning, we are going to go to the pawn shop. I will give you the original ticket and you will go inside, pay any outstanding interest and redeem the brooch. We will all be waiting outside, where you will hand me it. Understood?’
Tom sat speechless and open-mouthed, all bluster and bravado gone.
‘Because if you don’t, you can be absolutely certain that my first call will be to the police, I promise you that. Got me?’
There was a small space of time, during which Tom appeared to be calculating the odds. Was there any way he could wriggle out of this? At length he nodded reluctantly.
‘Good.’ The three friends rose to their feet.
Jane said, ‘Bye Tom. Enjoy the oysters and the champagne. We told Tim and Stella Morrison that you are settling tonight’s bill.’
‘Bye Tom,’ said Carrie. ‘By the way, I added a comment about Star Turn on Bed Buddies before I unsubscribed. I’m afraid it is rather personal. My own “Star” rating system, if you like.’
‘Bye Tom. Oh – I’ve got a present for you.’ Marta fumbled in her handbag and brought out a pair of lace-edged scarlet knickers. ‘Seeing as you like looking at other people’s knickers, I thought you’d like these.’
Quickly, she turned and slipped them onto his head. As they headed for the door, they heard a murmur of amusement bubbling up in the room.
‘Brilliant,’ Jane said at the door. ‘Fantastic.’
‘Well done, girls,’ Marta punched the air triumphantly.
Carrie spotted the fedora, hanging on the coatstand where he had left it. ‘Here’s looking at you, babe,’ she called across the room, slipping the hat onto her head and tipping the brim to Tom.
He had snatched the knickers off his head and was sitting, looking bewildered, clutching them in his fist. Was it her imagination, wondered Carrie, or were his fine looks fading?
They skipped out of the main door. At the foot of the steps, a stone lion guarded the way. Carrie tossed the hat onto its head and watched as it slipped rakishly across one leonine eye.
‘If he’s lucky, he might find it there,’ she said.
‘If not, he could always try the pawn shop,’ Jane giggled.
Marta reached out her hands and took Jane’s in one, Carrie’s in the other.
‘Friends?’ she asked, smiling at them.
‘Forever,’ they chorused.
Chapter Thirty-six
‘Jake’s coming back this weekend. And he’s promised to be with me for the birth.’
It was mid-December and Marta, now almost five months into her pregnancy, smiled at her friends. They were sitting in Henderson’s vegetarian restaurant in Hanover Street, sheltering from the cold. Jane pulled off her kingfisher beanie and tossed it into her shopping bag. Carrie unbuttoned her Max Mara overcoat and draped it on the back of her chair. Marta, her long legs cased in Ugg boots and black jeans, was wearing a sheepskin bomber jacket, buttoned under her growing stomach. She undid it.
‘Has he talked again about coming back after this contract is up?’
‘He’s not committing himself,’ Marta admitted as she sat down on the wooden chair. ‘But I still think he’ll come round after the baby’s born.’
‘It’s good that you’re still talking to each other,’ Carrie said, though she did wonder whether Marta – ever the optimist – was deluding herself.
‘Still no word from Drew?’ Jane asked sympathetically.
Carrie sighed. ‘He’s left messages a dozen times, Jane, but I can’t talk to him, knowing I can’t have him. Maybe in time, the pain will go away, but the idea of “just being friends” is completely unthinkable. I’ve had to excuse myself from the McGraw contract at work, of course, and everyone’s been wondering why.’
‘Any word of the partnership?’
‘Oh yes.’ Carrie sounded half-hearted. ‘Talk about irony. Henry Frew did hint that the McGraw business might swing the scales in my favour. I may even know before Christmas.’
‘That’s fantastic!’
‘Maybe. On the other hand, withdrawing from handling his business might set the whole thing back again.’
Carrie’s eyes, usually so bright and alert, seemed dull. Normally crackling with energy, her movements were listless. She stirred her tea round and round, round and round, watching the whirlpool she was creating, but she didn’t drink any.
‘You know, I keep thinking that perhaps I shouldn’t have told him after all. Perhaps I could have somehow got through it without having to say anything.’
‘You’re forgetting two things,’ Marta chimed in. ‘First – you wouldn’t have been able to live with yourself for long and second – there was the small matter of Tom Vallely.’
‘Ah yes, Tom. Hey, did you know there are rumours in the gossip sheets about him falling out with all and sundry at
EA
?’
‘And Ricky Halliday did lash out at him at that night club,’ Jane giggled. ‘He must’ve found something out about Tamara-Jane. He was lucky just to get away with a black eye.’
‘It wasn’t you, was it?’
‘Wasn’t me what?’
‘Who dropped a hint to the guy.’
‘No! As if I would!’ Jane pondered for a minute. ‘Though actually, if I’d thought about it—’
Marta said, ‘One of the actresses playing a nurse did a piece in
Heat
last week. She says he’s arrogant, self-regarding and a ruthless womaniser.’
‘We could have told them that. Anyway, at least you got your brooch back.’
Marta groaned. ‘Don’t remind me. Please. That’s over now.’ She looked thoughtful. ‘You know, if things go well with Jake this weekend, maybe it will be a case of “all’s well that ends well”.’
‘Meaning?’
‘Meaning, if it hadn’t been for Tom, things might have drifted on with Jake without me ever realising how bad they were. I’ve learned a whole lot of lessons and I intend to make sure he knows it.’
Jane admitted, ‘I was mad at you, Marta, for bringing Tom back into my life. But if you hadn’t done that, I would still be burning up with my secret – you know ... the baby ...’ Jane still found it hard to talk about it. ‘I wouldn’t have told Neal and it would still be eating me up.’ She stirred her hot chocolate and took a sip. ‘It hasn’t been easy, but we’re much closer now.’
‘All the same, if it hadn’t been for Tom, I might still be with Drew,’ Carrie added regretfully.
‘Yes.’ Jane looked thoughtful. ‘You know, it strikes me that Project Retribution is not yet complete.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I’m not sure.’ She finished her glass of wine. ‘Leave it with me. Shall we go? I’d better get home to Neal. He’s been holding the fort for ages.’
They climbed the steep steps from the basement outside Henderson’s. The weather, if anything, was worse. There had been a fall of snow while they’d been inside and the pavements were sugared with white. The temperature had plummeted and between the pockets of sugar, dark slabs gleamed ominously under the street lights.
‘Careful now, these pavements are slippery,’ Carrie warned, just as a small boy came running full speed down the hill and launched himself into a long slide.
‘Watch out, Marta!’ Jane shouted.
Marta reached out a hand to grab the iron railing at the top of the steps, but it was too late. The boy cannoned into her and sent her flying. She crashed down on the pavement.
‘Kevin, come here!’ The boy’s mother, hot on her errant son’s heels, scolded him. ‘You all right, hen?’ she asked.
Marta, shaken, rolled onto her knees and picked herself up.
‘I’m fine. Don’t be cross with him, please. He was just having fun.’
Jane, rushing to help, asked, ‘You really all right, Marta?’
‘I think so.’ She was shaking.
Carrie waved frantically at a passing cab. ‘Taxi! You’re going home. No more late-night shopping, no doing the housework when you get back, you hear? Go straight to bed and get your feet up. Do you want me to come with you?’
‘No, thanks Carrie, I’ll be fine. I’m okay, you can stop fussing.’ Marta assured them. ‘But I will head home, if you don’t mind.’ She opened the taxi door. ‘Bye, darlings.’
‘I hope she
is
all right,’ Jane said as the cab drew away.
‘So do I. Let’s meet soon? Love to Neal.’
‘Will do, Bye.’
The cramps didn’t start till the early hours of the morning. At first, Marta woke with mild discomfort and put it down to indigestion. As the pains increased and became intermittent, but rhythmical, she began to fret; and when, around four, she discovered she was bleeding, she panicked and called Carrie.
‘Marta?’ Carrie mumbled sleepily. ‘What’s the time? Four thirty?’ She said sharply, ‘What is it? What’s wrong?’
‘I’m bleeding,’ Marta said, her voice high and breathless with panic. ‘And I’m having contractions.’
Carrie took immediate control. ‘Stay right there. Don’t move. I’ll be with you in twenty minutes.’
She made it in fifteen. ‘Hospital. No arguments.’
Marta didn’t argue. She was white and shaking and looked very frightened.
‘I’ll need to get a bag, just in case.’
‘You sit there. Tell me what you need.’
Carrie packed efficiently and quickly and they were at the Royal Infirmary twenty minutes later.
Marta was aware that she was curled in a tight ball, yet it felt as though she was scaling a cliff – a sheer black cliff with no edge and no base. Her fingertips ached with the effort of hanging on, her legs screamed with the agony of retaining a grip on the fragile footholds. She longed to get to the top, yet when she got there she knew that there would be something terrible waiting for her. If she didn’t get there, she would surely die, but if she did, she might be thrown back into the black abyss. There was no escape from the dilemma.
The cliff blurred and dissolved. Now she was in the garden, looking at her roses. This was more pleasant. But wait – one rose had withered. Marta, spiralling slowly towards the place where the subconscious mind met with wakefulness, could see the petals, pale, pale pink like a baby’s skin, yet brown round the edges.
Dead.
Like her baby.
She must get Jake to dig it out. The bush is getting old.
There is no Jake.
The petals are brown.
The rose has withered. You have to cut the dead heads off.
Marta’s stomach ached with emptiness. Her eyelids fluttered as the pale winter sun edged low across the horizon and fell across her face.
My baby is dead.
As she floated nearer to consciousness, the thought turned itself into a bright, sharp thing. Someone was speaking. Who was it? The voice was familiar. The speaker stopped and a strange, other-earthly moan filled the silence. That sounded familiar too, in a curious way. Her mouth was dry. She closed it and the mewling stopped. Could it have been her?
‘She’s waking up.’
She recognised Jane’s voice.
‘Here, Marta. Drink this sweetie.’
Carrie?
‘Where—?’ Her eyes were open now. The sunlight hurt. Everything hurt..
My baby is dead.
She squeezed her eyes shut, as though closing them might make reality disappear.
‘You’re at home, Marta. We’re here. Jane and I. Look, I’ve brought you some tea. Sit up love. Drink. It’ll do you good.’
‘You sound like my gran,’ Marta smiled weakly. ‘I bet you’ve even put sugar in it.’ She rolled herself into a sitting position.
‘A spoonful,’ Carrie admitted.
Marta could see the relief in Carrie’s eyes. Marta’s sounding more human, they were thinking, thank God.
It had been three days since Carrie had brought her back from the hospital. Three days of unspeakable heartache. She had lost the baby. All these years of trying, then the miracle. But now there was no baby.
‘What did Jake say,’ she asked, ‘when you told him?’
She’d been sipping the tea, but as she lifted her head she caught the look that flashed between Jane and Carrie.
‘No-one’s told him,’ she observed flatly.
‘Marta, love, we’ve been so concerned about you, we didn’t think—’
‘Christ, Marta, I’m sorry—’
Marta’s gaze travelled to the clock on the far wall. Three thirty.
‘What day is it?’ she asked.
‘Saturday.’
There was a moment’s silence.
‘Saturday. Oh shit,’ Carrie said.
‘Do you think—?’ Jane started, but the sweet chime of the doorbell cut her short.
Jake picked up the glass ornament, its severed tail in his left hand, the heavy bird in his right. A gleam of sunlight caught the broken edge of its body and sent a sparkling cascade of light up and down the far wall. The red glass inside the bird looked like a fractured heart.
Marta stared at it dully. A few months ago she had spiritedly rejected the crass symbolism of the accident. I’ll mend my broken friendships, she had vowed, I’ll fight to save my marriage.
Where was that spirit now?
‘What happened?’ he asked, waving the broken glass.
The light bounced off the edge again and this time dazzled her. She held up a hand to shield herself from its reproachful glare.
‘I’m so sorry, Jake. I meant to tell you. It was an accident.’
‘Why didn’t you chuck it?’
‘I couldn’t do that!’
‘Why not? What’s the point of keeping it? You can’t mend a thing like this, you’d see the crack.’
The symbolism swamped her.
‘I know you loved that bird,’ she said mournfully.
‘Loved it?’ he said, turning round and replacing it on the mantelpiece. ‘I loathed the damn thing.’
‘Really? It was your grandmother’s.’
‘I loved
her
. But the bird was a really naff bit of 1960s design. I only kept it ’cos she used to look for it when she came – what’s wrong?’
Marta realised she was staring at him, eyes wide, mouth agape. She said slowly, ‘You loved her ... but you hated the bird.’
‘Yeah.’ He sounded puzzled. ‘So?’
‘There was no connection between the broken bird and your love for your grandmother.’
‘Of course not. What are you talking about, Marta?’
Marta started to laugh. The noise erupted from deep within her, bubbling up in a small giggle, then turning to an unstoppable wave. It proved contagious. Jake’s mouth twitched, the corners turned up into a smile, and he joined in, puzzled but infected by her mirth.
‘What? What is it?’ Jake kept asking, before lapsing back into chortles of amusement.
At length they subsided.
‘Now can you tell me?’
‘It’s not really funny,’ Marta said, which set them both off once more. When it finally struck her that her laughter was more hysterical than healthy, she stopped abruptly, blew her nose and wiped her eyes, and explained. ‘I got hung up on it as a metaphor. Remember Tom Vallely’s play?
The Glass Ornament
? It was about broken friendships and not being able to mend them.’
‘But that’s bollocks.’
‘Up to a point. I did finally realise that I could do something about my friendship with Carrie and Jane – and I have done. But ridiculously, I still felt – probably because it was
your
ornament – that I’d been responsible for breaking our marriage. The symbol became reality. Then when you said that, you know, about your grandmother ... I began to wonder whether—’
Marta broke off awkwardly and bit her lips fretfully.
‘When I lost the baby, Jake—’ she said in a low voice. ‘—how can I say this so that you understand? I would never blackmail you, I hope you believe that, but all the same, I couldn’t stop hoping that you would come back to me when your child was born. And now it’s gone.’
Jake crossed the room and sank down onto the sofa beside her. He took her hands in his.
‘Listen to me. I’m so sorry about the baby. I’m gutted. Truly. But you have to know that I never saw the baby as a pawn in our relationship.’
Marta had thought her heart could not possibly be any more painful than it had been, but now she discovered that she was wrong. Grief overwhelmed her. She could hardly hear Jake’s words.
‘Like I said before, I don’t believe children can mend broken relationships. If I do come back, it will be because of
you
.’
She was twisting her hands, concentrating on not wailing with anguish.
‘I’m loving London, Marta, that’s the thing. I’m enjoying working again, doing what I’m good at, filling my head with good stuff, using my experience and my skills. I’m not great at living on my own, but I’m not keen on getting back into a relationship where I can’t be an equal decision maker.’
Marta hardly dared breathe. ‘What does Jenny think of that?’