The Peacock Emporium(13)

It might be easier, now that it was clear her mother understood. And if her longing for her parents became too much, she could always invite them up to London, persuade her father to make a weekend of it. She could show them the antiques market behind Lisson Grove, take them to the zoo, hail a taxi to the Viennese tea rooms in St John’s Wood and feed them frothy coffee and spiced pastries. By then she might not think about Douglas at all.

Her coat was taking an age. Beside her, she noticed, two men were smoking, deep in conversation, their own tickets held loosely in their hands.

“Still, you’ve got to admit, he’s done all right for himself. I mean, if you’re going to get marched down the aisle by anyone . . .”

She didn’t even flinch now. Vivi pretended to be absorbed by a carved engraving on the wall, wondering again how much longer it would be before this outward stillness was echoed internally.



* * *



—

Almost twenty minutes later, while Vivi was still waiting for her coat, her mother stood in front of her, in her good wool boucle suit, her clutch bag held in front of her like a shield. “I know it hasn’t been easy,” she was saying, “but I just don’t think you should run away today. Come home with me and Daddy.”

“I have told you—”

“Don’t let them keep you away from your home. The car’s gone. And they’ll be away for at least two weeks.”

“It’s really not that, Mummy.”

“I’m saying no more, Vivi. I just couldn’t let you leave without talking to you properly. Just don’t keep staying away. I don’t like to think of you alone in London. You’re still so young. And, besides, we miss you, Daddy and I.“

Vivi was staring, unseeing, at her empty hand in front of her.

Her mother continued.

“Daddy really wants to see you. He wants you to help us choose a dog. He’s finally agreed to having one, you see, but he thinks it would be nice for the two of you to do it together.” Her mother’s expression was hopeful, as if childish pleasures could still cancel out adult pain. “A spaniel, perhaps? I know you’ve always liked spaniels.”

“Is it green?”

“Sorry?”

The attendant tried to hide her exasperation under a smile. “Is your coat the green one? Big buttons?”

She was pointing to a row behind her. Vivi glimpsed the familiar bottle color. “Yes,” she whispered.

Mrs. Newton’s eyes were dark with sympathy. She smelled of Vivi’s childhood, and Vivi fought an urge to hurl herself into her mother’s arms and allow herself to be comforted.

“I know how much you felt for Douglas. But Douglas . . . well, he’s found his—his path in life, and you just have to get on with things. Put it behind you.”

Vivi’s voice was unnaturally stiff. “I have put it behind me, Mother.”

“I hate to see you like this. So sad . . . and . . . well, I just want you to know . . . even if you don’t want to talk to me . . . and I know girls don’t always want to confide in their mothers . . . that I do understand.” She reached out and stroked Vivi’s hair, smoothing it away from her face, an unthinking maternal gesture.

No, Mummy, you don’t understand, Vivi thought, her hands still trembling, her face still whitened by what she had heard. Because this pain did not stem from the origins her mother assumed. That pain had been almost easy. For some kind of equanimity had been possible while she could at least comfort herself with the thought that he’d be happy. Because that was it, loving someone, wasn’t it? The knowledge that, if nothing else, you wanted them to be happy.

While her mother might have had some comprehension of her pain, her longing, her sense of grief at losing him, she would not have understood the conversation Vivi had just been forced to overhear. Or why Vivi knew already, with a pain that was searing her core, that she would never repeat it to anyone.

“Still, you’ve got to admit, he’s done all right for himself,” the man had said. “I mean, if you’re going to get marched down the aisle by anyone . . .”

“True. But . . .”

“But what?”

“Let’s face it, he’s going to need to keep an eye out, isn’t he?”

“What?”

“Come on . . . Girl’s a little tart.”

Vivi had stood very still. The man’s voice had lowered to a murmur, as if he had turned away to speak. “Tony Warrington saw her on Tuesday. A drink for ‘old times,’ she told him. They used to walk out together, back when he lived in Windsor. Except her idea of old times was a bit too closely related to good times, if you know what I mean.”

“You’re kidding me.”

“Not a week before the wedding. Tony said he hadn’t even wanted to. Bad form and all that. But she was all over him like a rash.”

Vivi’s ears had started to ring. She put out a hand to steady herself.

“Bloody hell.”

“Exactly. But keep it to yourself, old boy. No point ruining the day. Still . . . you’ve got to feel rather sorry for poor old Fairley-Hulme.”





4


Douglas leaned back in his chair, sucked ruminatively at the end of his ballpoint pen, and gazed at the densely covered pages of plans in front of him. It had taken him several weeks, working long into the evening, but he was pretty sure he’d got them right.