‘Bye, Mummy,’ Daisy had said. And she had put down the receiver and stared into space rather disconsolately for a few minutes.
But now she felt cheered up. She lay luxuriously back in her bath and listened to the sound of a Beethoven piano concerto thundering through the cottage, feeling a pleasant anticipation steal over her. It would, she thought, be nice to go out to a restaurant and look down a menu and have some wine. What they would talk about, she wasn’t sure. But he was such a friendly man, it was bound to be OK. He’d been terribly nice to her at the swimming-pool. And then he’d dropped by one day, while she was practising, and had stayed for coffee, and they’d chatted about the village and her time in Italy and the awful accident. Then he’d phoned up and asked her out to dinner, and she’d said yes.
She turned on the hot tap with her toe, leaned back and felt warm water creeping slowly around her body. That was all very well, she thought reluctantly. But what did it all mean? Her mother’s voice echoed in her mind: ‘You don’t just go out to dinner with people for no reason at all.’
At first, at the swimming-pool, she’d thought he was just being amiable, like Frances Mold, or one of her father’s friends. And she had still thought that when he dropped round for coffee. But now – out to dinner? Didn’t that mean … a date? Was he serious? Would he expect to … to come back? To have sex with her? A pang of agitation shot through Daisy and she wriggled nervously in her bath water. But even as she pictured it, pictured him putting his arm round her, or kissing her – let alone anything further – it seemed such a ridiculous idea that she was sure that she must have got it all wrong; that she’d completely misconstrued him. And that would be the worst thing to do, she thought suddenly: to give him the wrong impression; to offend him by making the wrong assumption. If only she could be certain, she thought, reaching for a towel; if only she could be certain which was the wrong assumption. It didn’t really matter which of them it was, just as long as she didn’t pick the wrong one.
* * *
Alexis was feeling ridiculously nervous about dinner with Daisy. All day he had been half expecting her to cancel; when he got home to find no winking message on his answer-machine he felt almost caught out. He hurriedly showered, avoiding the sight of his leathery skin in the bathroom mirror; he decided not to shave again, but splashed on a discreet amount of aftershave. He dressed carefully in pale trousers, a pale blue shirt. No tie. A fashionable jacket made from crumpled beige linen.
He put everything on and looked at himself. A middle-aged man stared back at him. A memory of Daisy’s young, unblemished, eighteen-year-old skin flickered through his mind and, again, he felt the shock he’d experienced when it had occurred to him just how old he was when she was born. When she was born, for Christ’s sake. And here he was, dressed up in a young man’s clothes, actually contemplating taking her out to dinner. He must be crazy.
When he arrived at her cottage, piano music was coming from within. He rang the bell and stood back on the path, admiring the pretty orchard garden, listening as the sound of a thrush mingled with the sounds of the piano. After a while he rang again. The music continued. Eventually he lifted a cautious hand and pushed at the front door. As he did so, the music increased in volume. It was powerful stirring music that sounded familiar to Alexis, yet which he couldn’t identify. For a moment he just stood there in the tiny hall, listening, and looking at his ridiculous reflection in the glass of a carved walnut hall-stand, feeling his heart beat faster and faster. Then, forcing himself to move, he pushed at the sitting-room door.
Daisy looked up from her seat at the grand piano and abruptly stopped playing.
‘Oh!’ she gasped. ‘Sorry, I wasn’t listening out for the door.’
‘Don’t worry,’ said Alexis. He looked at the piano. ‘That sounded powerful stuff.’
‘Oh, yes,’ Daisy blushed. ‘It was Chopin,’ she said. There was a pause. ‘One of the Etudes,’ she added, biting her lip. She blushed again, looked at the book of music in front of her and closed it. Then she looked at Alexis expectantly.
Alexis looked back at her. She was dressed smartly, as though for a school function, in a sleeveless white T-shirt, dark-red flowing skirt and pale tights. Her hair flowed from a velvet band down to her waist in shining dark waves, and she smelt faintly of roses.
Daisy noticed Alexis looking at her and flushed.
‘I didn’t know how smart …’ she began hesitantly. ‘Do I look all right?’
Alexis stared back at her and nodded. He wanted to say she looked beautiful, but suddenly he felt unable to speak.
‘I haven’t really gone out much,’ said Daisy. ‘Since I’ve been living down here, I mean.’
She got up, awkwardly pushing the piano-stool back, and knocking a pile of music onto the floor. Alexis made a move to pick it up.
‘Don’t worry,’ said Daisy quickly, ‘I’ll pick it up later.’ There was a tiny pause. ‘My-my jacket’s in the hall,’ she added.
‘Right,’ said Alexis, attempting a cheery tone, holding the door open for her. But his voice sounded strange to his own ears. What the hell was wrong with him? What kind of evening were they going to have, if he couldn’t string two words together?
In the dusky hall, Daisy turned suddenly and reached for a jacket hanging on the hall-stand. Alexis, taken by surprise, found himself stepping forward and colliding with her soft warm skin.
‘Sorry!’ he exclaimed.
‘Oh, that’s all right,’ said Daisy shyly. ‘I mean, I got in your way.’ Her voice fluttered gently through the air, and Alexis felt a dangerous feeling of desire begin to creep inexorably through him.
‘Let me help you with that,’ he said. He took the jacket from her and held it up, watching as her pale milky arms slid inside the sleeves. Then, suddenly, Daisy turned and looked at him with questioning eyes.
‘I wasn’t going to ask,’ she said, ‘but … are we …’ She broke off. ‘Is this …’ She coloured slightly. ‘It’s just, this is all a bit new to me, and I was just wondering …’ She tailed away, her cheeks suffused with an embarrassed colour.
Alexis gazed at her, almost paralysed with longing.
‘Well, you know … this is all a bit new to me, too,’ he managed to say. He relaxed a little. ‘This is all a bit new to me, too,’ he repeated, ‘so, let’s just play it by ear, shall we?’ He looked down at her and smiled. ‘It’s not really one thing or the other. I just thought it would be nice for us to have dinner together, that’s all.’
‘Oh,’ said Daisy doubtfully. ‘OK, then.’ And she allowed him to lead her gently out of the cottage into the scented evening air.
The restaurant Alexis had chosen was relatively new in Linningford. It was bright and bustly, with a pale polished wooden floor, mirrors on the walls, huge ferny plants between the tables and splashy water-colours on the walls. Daisy looked around with a delighted smile.
‘I like this place!’ she exclaimed, as they sat down. ‘It’s so pretty!’
A waiter came over and presented two enormous menus with a flourish.
‘Mademoiselle; monsieur,’ he murmured in deferential tones. Daisy beamed at Alexis, who gave the waiter a sharp look. Was the fellow insinuating anything? But the waiter looked blandly back at Alexis and murmured something about an aperitif. Alexis looked at Daisy’s glowing face.
‘Two glasses of champagne,’ he said quietly to the waiter. Then, ‘No, make that a bottle.’
When he had gone, they looked at each other. Daisy carefully unfolded her napkin and lay it across her lap. Alexis glanced around the restaurant, as though in search of a topic of conversation, but it was Daisy who spoke first.
‘I saw Mrs Kember yesterday,’ she said, ‘driving along. She didn’t see me,’ she added humbly. ‘I mean, I just saw her through her car window. But I thought … poor them.’ Her hands fluttered sympathetically.
‘Yes, poor old them,’ said Alexis, unable to keep a hostile note out of his voice. Daisy stared at him.
/> ‘What … why …’
‘Oh … I’m sorry,’ said Alexis, ‘I do feel for them. But it’s just—’ Daisy stared at him, eyes wide. He sighed. ‘I don’t suppose it’s any great secret.’ He looked at her. ‘The Kembers are planning to sue Hugh and Ursula on behalf of Katie.’
‘Sue them?’ Daisy looked at him, aghast. ‘What, because it was their swimming-pool?’
‘Yes,’ said Alexis, ‘and because Louise’s lawyer friend has convinced them, no doubt, that they can get lots of money out of Hugh and Ursula.’
‘And can … can they?’ Alexis shrugged.
‘Good question. Possibly, yes.’
‘But …’ Daisy hesitated. ‘I expect I’m very ignorant,’ she said cautiously. Alexis grinned encouragingly.
‘I shouldn’t think you are,’ he said.
‘But … don’t you have to do something wrong to be sued? I mean, they didn’t do anything wrong, did they?’ Alexis shrugged.
‘Define “wrong”. Is it wrong to invite people to swim in your pool without providing a life guard?’ Daisy stared at him.
‘But that’s silly,’ she said. ‘If it’s someone’s house …’ Alexis shrugged again.
‘If you invite people to your house, you have a duty towards them.’ He sighed. ‘That’s the law.’
There was a pause. Daisy gazed at Alexis, a bewildered look on her face.
‘It’s really difficult,’ she said. ‘It was so awful, the accident, and I feel really sorry for the little girl, and it … it would be really good if she could get some money.’ She stopped. ‘But going to court seems so horrible. And I thought they were friends.’
‘They were,’ said Alexis, almost to himself. ‘Not for much longer.’ He glanced at Daisy. She was staring sombrely down at the tablecloth. ‘What are we talking about!’ he exclaimed. ‘Let’s not think about such depressing things.’ He looked up and his expression changed. ‘Look, just in time!’
The waiter had arrived with the champagne. As he popped it open, a cautious smile reappeared on Daisy’s face. She looked at Alexis and blushed.
‘Champagne,’ she said, looking at her bubbling glass. ‘Gosh—’
‘You don’t have to have it if you don’t want it,’ said Alexis seriously. ‘I should have asked you first. But don’t worry, we can order something else. Waiter …’
Daisy gasped.
‘No, I didn’t mean … honestly …’ She broke off as she saw Alexis’s face.
‘You’re teasing me,’ she said in surprise.
‘Yes,’ said Alexis. ‘Do you mind?’
‘No,’ said Daisy slowly. She looked at Alexis, at his brown face and his clever eyes and his crinkly smile, and she smiled back. ‘No, I don’t … I don’t mind at all.’
* * *
Later on, when they had finished eating, Alexis slid his palm across the table and picked up Daisy’s hand.
‘Look at those pianist’s fingers,’ he said admiringly. ‘I bet you’ve got more muscle in those than I’ve got in …’
‘Your little finger,’ suggested Daisy, whose cheeks had become rather pink from the champagne. ‘Oh no. That doesn’t work.’ She looked disparagingly at the hand still on the table. ‘The trouble with playing the piano’, she said, ‘is you never get to have long nails. Mine are horrible, and I bite them.’
‘They’re beautiful,’ said Alexis. He looked at her. ‘You’re beautiful.’ Daisy blushed.
‘It’s been a lovely dinner,’ she said in a rather flustered voice. ‘I’ve really enjoyed it.’
‘Good,’ said Alexis.
He looked at her carefully for a second, then casually relaxed his grip on her hand. An infinitesimal beat of silence passed. Daisy didn’t move her hand away. Alexis stared downwards and counted to five. An unspeakable excitement was growing inside him. Slowly he raised his head and looked straight at her. A fiery red had covered her cheeks; her eyes were lowered; her thick dark lashes were casting shadows on her face. Gradually, scarcely daring to breathe, he closed his hand over hers again.
While Alexis ordered the bill and paid it, neither of them spoke very much. Outside in the street it was dark; a warm indigo-blue summer darkness, punctuated by glowing shop signs, and snatches of low laughter, and glimpses of brightly coloured dresses under yellow street lamps. They walked silently to the car. Daisy found that she had begun to shiver. The leather seats of Alexis’s car seemed cold and unforgiving as she got in; her legs were trembling and she could think of nothing to say.
‘I must hear you play properly some time,’ said Alexis conversationally, as he switched on the engine.
‘Oh, yes,’ said Daisy. ‘Well … I’m doing a concert in Linningford at the beginning of September.’
‘Splendid!’ said Alexis. ‘What is it?’
‘A piano concerto,’ said Daisy shyly, ‘with the Linningford Symphony Orchestra.’
‘Really?’ said Alexis. ‘I am impressed.’ He glanced sideways at Daisy. ‘That must be very exciting,’ he said.
‘Yes, it is,’ said Daisy. She could feel her voice trembling and clasped her hands nervously. What was going to happen when they got out of the car? she thought frantically. Was Alexis going to want to come in? Was he going to kiss her? Was he going to want to …
‘Which piano concerto?’ Alexis asked, suddenly breaking the silence. Daisy gave a little jump.
‘Oh!’ she gasped. ‘Er … Brahms. The second.’
‘I don’t know it, I’m afraid,’ said Alexis easily. ‘I’m not very well up on Brahms.’
‘Oh, it’s really beautiful,’ said Daisy earnestly. There was a pause. Then the car stopped and she looked up, startled, at Alexis. ‘Why are we stopping?’ she said faintly.
‘Because we’re here.’ Alexis turned and smiled at her. ‘Look, there’s your cottage.’
‘Oh, yes.’ Daisy’s voice was no more than a husky whisper and she was quivering with nerves. Alexis gazed at her. Her lips were trembling; her dark eyes darted about. He felt as though he had trapped a baby deer inside his car.
Abruptly, he opened his door. Before Daisy could think to move, he was round the other side of the car and gallantly opening the passenger door for her, bowing in a flowery manner that made her giggle, in spite of herself.
‘Well, good night,’ he said in friendly tones. ‘Thank you very much for coming.’
‘Well, thank you,’ said Daisy, feeling her heart pounding painfully in her chest. She looked at Alexis, just visible in the darkness. He took a step forward and she began to breathe a little more quickly.
‘It was … good fun,’ he said.
‘Yes, it was,’ managed Daisy.
There was a silence. Then, slowly, gradually, Alexis bent his head towards her. He kissed her softly once on the cheek. Then, before she could say anything, before she could even breathe, he was tilting his head slightly, moving a hand up to support the back of her head, and bringing his lips down onto hers. Daisy closed her eyes, and felt his warm lips, and his mouth gently opening hers, and a cool breeze blowing through her hair, and couldn’t think of anything else. When he lifted his head, she stared back, slightly dazed, and numb to the nerves leaping in her stomach. I would, she suddenly found herself thinking, if he wanted to … I would say yes. A quivering anticipation began to build inside her, but already he was moving away, towards the car.
‘I’ve got to go, I’m afraid,’ he said regretfully. He gave her a little smile. ‘Have you got your key?’
‘Y-yes,’ said Daisy confusedly.
‘I’ll wait until you’re safely in,’ Alexis said. He opened his door. ‘How about’, he added casually, ‘meeting up again sometime?’
‘Yes,’ said Daisy. Her words seemed to be struggling to come out. ‘Th-that would be nice.’
‘I could come round for coffee tomorrow,’ said Alexis. ‘Unless you’re busy practising?’ Daisy swallowed.
‘No,’ she said slowly, ‘I’m not busy.’
‘Good,’ said Alexis. ‘See
you tomorrow.’
‘See you then,’ said Daisy.
She crossed the road, walked down the path, waved shyly at Alexis, then opened the door of the cottage and disappeared. Alexis sat quite still for a few seconds, then started the engine of his car, put his foot down, and drove off into the darkness.
Chapter Ten
The news that the Kembers were going to sue the Delaneys over Katie’s accident spread quickly through the village amidst a welter of contrary reports and confused opinion. No-one seemed to be quite sure what the details were, or to have more than a vague third-hand account. Eventually, frustrated by hearing a number of conflicting accounts of the story, Sylvia Seddon-Wilson decided to organize a fund-raising coffee-morning in aid of Katie’s appeal. She invited all the ladies of the village, including Louise, Ursula and Meredith.
‘They won’t come, of course,’ she said confidently, as she sat at breakfast, licking envelopes. James, her husband, looked politely up from The Financial Times.
‘Who won’t?’
‘Well, Louise won’t, for a start. She’ll be far too busy.’ James’s brow wrinkled.
‘Which one’s Louise?’ Sylvia sighed impatiently.
‘You know, James. I told you. The mother of the little girl who had the accident.’
‘Oh, yes.’ James frowned. ‘Bloody awful business. How’s she doing?’ he added. ‘The little girl?’ Sylvia paused, mid-lick.
‘Apparently, she’s woken up from her coma. But …’ she fixed James with an impressive look ‘… she’s been brain damaged. And the latest is that they’re taking the Delaneys to court. Suing them. Can you believe it?’
‘Jesus Christ.’ James shuddered and took a sip of coffee. He looked at Sylvia as though expecting more, but she was licking envelopes again, so he turned his gaze back to the paper. But his attention wandered, and after a few seconds he put the paper down.
‘So – how bad is it?’
‘What?’ Sylvia’s eyebrows rose enquiringly.