My Husband's Wife(77)

‘Take this too.’ My husband is pressing a twenty-pound note into her hand. ‘Get a taxi from the Tube station.’

‘Ed,’ I say, trying to stay calm. ‘Can you be back early tonight? There’s something we need to discuss.’

He pauses, his eye catching mine. Something we need to discuss. Something we need to talk about. Every time we have used that phrase in our life, it’s been to do with something big. Our marriage. The pregnancy test. Tom’s diagnosis. And now how much we should pay Carla.

‘Sure,’ he says uncertainly. ‘I’ll be there if you are.’ He laughs. ‘My wife’s really important now, you know. Practically lives in the office, she does. Keeps a duvet there.’

He hasn’t been sarcastic like this for ages. I don’t have a spare bed in the office, but I do often get back late. How can you not when you’re a partner?

‘There’s something else we haven’t told Carla,’ I add.

Ed frowns. ‘There is?’

That’s the other thing about being an artist. You can block yourself out. Hide.

‘We have a child. A boy.’ I falter as I often do when telling strangers I have a son. ‘He’s called Tom.’

‘Really?’ Carla’s eyes soften. ‘I can’t wait to meet him.’





30


Carla


Perhaps it was best that they hadn’t received her letters. It could, Carla told herself, make things easier, provided she played her cards right.

Now, as she made her way back to the hostel, all Carla could think about was the admiration in Ed’s face and the lovely warmth that flowed through her body because of it. The sight of crisp autumn leaves and the cold, early evening air that caught in her throat reminded Carla of the time she had first met Lily and Ed. In her childish eyes, they had seemed so grown up! Yet Lily had probably not been much older than she was now.

How her once-friend had changed! Carla had always remembered her as being very tall and plump. Her only asset had been that beautiful long blonde hair. ‘I would like to teach that English woman how to dress,’ Mamma was always saying. ‘You do not need money for style. It is a question of putting together the right things and then wearing them with pride.’

Well, someone, somewhere, must have taught Lily because she had style now. Carla had hardly recognized her when she had appeared in the gallery. She was much thinner and was wearing a beautifully cut jacket that resembled a Max Mara. The blonde bob looked even better in person than it had done in the picture. By framing Lily’s face, it accentuated her cheekbones. The older woman had become almost beautiful.

Ed may have changed too, but he still had that aura of kindness and that manner of speaking as if he knew exactly what you meant. You were also aware when talking to him that he was taking in your nose, your ears, your bone structure. It was what a real artist did. And how flattering that it was her portrait that had been bought by this unknown buyer!

Meanwhile, she had her first day in front of her. Law school! Carla’s heart quickened. She wanted to be good at this. She really did.

‘We will be in touch,’ Lily had promised, ‘to arrange dinner at our place.’

Perhaps by then she would have heard back from Larry.

‘Do not worry, Mamma,’ she told herself, nodding a thank you at the good-looking young man who had invited her to go through the main doors first. ‘I will make sure that justice is done.’





31


Lily


Ed is true to his word. He is not only back early from the gallery for our ‘little chat’, but he has also cooked supper. Our signature dish, we call it. Salmon en croute. It was the first meal we ate after my pregnancy test: the beginning of our new life together after its false start.

How long can you pretend for? How long will it be before someone comes from the past to bring it all back?

Carla. Joe.

Maybe that’s why I made such a supreme effort to be back early myself. ‘No more tonight,’ I told the eager young intern who was still poring over the papers I had given him. ‘We all need a break at times.’

‘But it’s only 7 p.m.!’

He might as well have said 4 p.m. Late nights aren’t just expected of you when you’re a lawyer; they’re one of many sandbags between you and the door marked ‘Exit’. In other words, long hours show you’re committed. They help protect you from the constant threat of being pushed out. Law can be a cut-throat business.

‘That smells good,’ I say to Ed. Why is it that you often end up complimenting someone you’re afraid of hurting? My husband produces the dish with a flourish, then places it carefully on the table. On the wall opposite, a picture of Tom looks down on us. He is serious. Like Daniel, he rarely smiles.

‘So what is it that you need to talk about? Something so urgent that we couldn’t afford to share our time with the girl who has made our money?’

‘She made your money. Not mine. I make my own.’

‘But don’t you see?’ Ed’s eyes are shining. ‘Carla has come back. If she allows me to paint her again, it will kick-start my career. The publicity will be great.’

Haven’t I already thought of that? Yet something doesn’t feel quite right. ‘Maybe,’ I begin. And then the phone rings.