Love Your Life(93)

    “I started watching. But…” I trail off and slump slightly. I don’t particularly want to get into discussing Genevieve and her superfans.

“Another drink?” he asks, noticing my empty glass, and nods to the barman.

“Drowning our sorrows,” I say, and it’s meant to be a joke but comes out sounding more heartfelt than I meant.

“Indeed.” Ronald smiles, but he sounds pretty heartfelt, too, and his hand trembles slightly as he lifts his glass.

Underneath his courteous demeanor, this elderly man seems just a bit fragile. I can remember Elsa shutting him up repeatedly at lunch, then Matt telling me that in his family, talking “isn’t easy.”

And suddenly I feel a surge of impatience. What is it with these Warwicks? Things should be talked about. Things should be out in the fresh air, not locked up to fester.

“May I ask you something?” I say, turning to Ronald. “You started telling me a story, the first time we met. Something bad had happened to you. But we got interrupted before you could finish. Well, we’ve got plenty of time now. And I wondered—only if you felt like it—could you tell me the story now?”

To say that Ronald looks startled is an understatement.

“You don’t want to hear my troubles,” he says at once, his eyes swiveling away.

“I do,” I insist. “Really. We’re not doing anything else, are we? And at the house I felt as though you wanted to share with someone. Well, here I am. Ready to listen.”

    It takes him a good half hour, what with repetitions and explanations, but at last he gets the sorry story out. And it really is a sorry story. It’s a desperate story. It’s the kind of story that makes you want to punch someone, hard.

Some people scammed him by pretending to be his doctor’s surgery and requesting intimate photos of him, “for their records.” After some puzzlement, he provided them—not consulting any other members of the family but instead feeling proud that he’d managed to use an iPhone.

As he tells me how the scammers then demanded fifty thousand pounds, I feel an incandescent rage. These people are evil. Who would even think of doing something like that? The police had to be involved, and he had to show the photos to his own children, and I can understand why he was mortified. Is still mortified.

“It’s the embarrassment, you see.” He smiles, but his pale-blue eyes are glimmering. “Everyone tells me to move on. But I look at myself in the mirror every morning and I think, ‘You wretched old fool.’?”

“How long ago was it?” I ask.

“A year ago or so,” he replies, and I feel a pang. He’s been miserable like this for a year?

“Have you spoken to a counselor about it?”

“A counselor?” He looks astonished. “Oh no.”

“Have you talked to anyone about it? Like…John?”

“We don’t…” He stops, then begins again, his eyes fixed on the bar. “My son is ashamed that I could have been so foolish. Quite rightly.”

    “I’m sure he isn’t!” I say quickly, although I’m not sure at all. The embarrassment that was crackling around the lunch table at Matt’s house makes more sense now. His family clearly didn’t want Ronald downloading his story onto me. Maybe they thought it was inappropriate. I can hear Elsa’s clipped voice now: I hardly think…

But where was their compassion? Where is their compassion?

“Ronald, if you ever want to talk, call me,” I say impulsively. “I love talking. The more talking, the better. Shall I put my number into your phone?”

“That’s very kind of you,” says Ronald, watching as I input it. “You’re a thoughtful girl.”

“Not really,” I say, wondering whether to tell him that “girl” isn’t the correct word these days, then deciding against it. “I expect they’ve finished by now,” I add, glancing at my watch. “I should go and find Matt. Are you coming to this lunch?”

“In a while,” he says. “I might just sit here for a few more minutes.” I hand him his phone back and he pats it. “Thank you. And you are a thoughtful girl. Matthias will miss you when he’s in Japan.”

Japan? Again?

I continue smiling, but my stomach has clenched. I was right. This thing is out of control. Matt needs to shut it down without delay.

“If he goes,” I say casually.

“He’s moving there, isn’t he?” says Ronald, looking surprised. “They need him. I’ve heard all the plans.”

    “I think the plans are up in the air. I don’t think it’s definite.”

“Ah.” Ronald nods politely as though he doesn’t want to contradict me. “I see. Well, enjoy your lunch.”



* * *



—

The lunch is being held in an upstairs room. It’s light and bright, filled with flower arrangements and tables covered with white cloths. Every table has a small model of a Harriet’s House on it, and there are place cards with names on. A waitress is holding a tray of drinks, and as I enter I take a glass of wine, but I don’t sip it. I’m too busy looking around for Matt.

“Ava!” A bright voice greets me from behind and I wheel round to see Genevieve bearing down on me, her cheeks flushed and her eyes sparkling. She looks wired, which is no surprise. “I’m so sorry to put you on the spot like that!” She tosses her hair back. “Had to improvise! The show must go on!”