Swimming Pool Sunday

  ‘Yes,’ said Louise, ‘I suppose so.’ She took a sip of wine. Then she looked up and met Barnaby’s face. He looked so gloomy that she said, without thinking, ‘Actually, I’m dreading it.’

  ‘Dreading it?’ Louise gave a huge sigh.

  ‘I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I just don’t really feel like seeing people. I feel like hiding at home for the rest of my life.’

  ‘Maybe it’s just a reaction,’ said Barnaby uncertainly.

  ‘Maybe,’ said Louise. She took another sip of wine. ‘I just feel so tense all the time,’ she continued suddenly, ‘and depressed. As though I’ve got a big black cloud hanging over me. I just can’t be all happy and lively and sparkly, like …’ She broke off and shrugged. ‘I suppose it’s partly the case.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Barnaby slowly. ‘The case.’

  They looked at each other. Louise waited for Barnaby to say, ‘It’ll all be worth it for Katie.’ But he said nothing and took a sip of wine.

  ‘Sometimes I think …’ he began slowly. Louise stared at him.

  ‘What?’

  ‘I think …’ But before he could continue they were interrupted by the unmistakable, penetrating voice of Sylvia Seddon-Wilson.

  ‘Louise!’ she cried gaily. ‘I didn’t see you arrive. So thrilled you could make it!’

  They both looked up to see Sylvia bearing down on them. She was dressed in bright fuchsia pink and waving a book of tickets at them. ‘Have you gone in for the raffle?’

  ‘Not yet,’ said Barnaby, feeling in his pocket for some change.

  Sylvia looked at Louise.

  ‘No Cassian?’

  ‘No,’ said Louise, ‘he’s in London. Working on the writ.’ As she finished speaking, she was unable to prevent herself from glancing at Barnaby. He looked up and met her eyes.

  ‘Oh dear,’ said Sylvia, ‘what a shame. Still, Barnaby’s looking after you, is he?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Louise. ‘Barnaby’s looking after me.’

  As the audience assembled back in its seats for the second half of the concert, Alexis sat perfectly still, trying to breathe normally and relax the muscles of his legs. But every time it occurred to him that, within minutes, Daisy would walk out to the grand piano gleaming darkly in front of him and begin her performance, his knees shot up again and his stomach flipped over and he felt an urge to swivel his chair round so that he was facing the other way.

  To calm himself, he looked once again at the biography of Daisy in the programme, at the glamorous studio photograph and the long list of her awards and achievements. It was an impressive catalogue. She had won this prize and that prize; she had studied with this famous teacher and at that prestigious summer school. Alexis frowned. He could relate none of this to Daisy – a giggling girl who had never even seen the inside of a garlic clove.

  Suddenly there was the rippling sound of applause breaking out. Alexis looked up, his stomach clenched. There in front of him was Daisy, walking to the front of the orchestra with the conductor, smiling, bowing, taking her seat at the piano. The conductor went to his stand, ponderously opened his score, and looked around at the faces of the orchestra. He looked down at Daisy, who smiled back. She placed her hands on the keyboard, and Alexis closed his eyes; he couldn’t bear it.

  Dimly he heard the first haunting notes of the concerto, played by a solo horn. He clenched his fists and felt his whole body tremble with tension. And then, as though from a great distance, he heard the first rising chords of the piano. Chords which he had heard on Daisy’s piano, in isolation, many times, but until now, had never really made sense. Chords which Daisy had played to him in jeans, in her dressing-gown, in the morning and in the afternoon, and late at night. She’d mocked herself, telling him what a dreadful temptation it was to always start practising right at the beginning of a piece, assuring him he must know the start of the concerto off by heart by now.

  What she’d forgotten was that while she could see and hear in her mind the part of the orchestra: the strings, the brass, the woodwind, Alexis – who had no musical training; who had, he now told himself, no imagination at all – had always been unable to flesh out Daisy’s simple chords into the rich round orchestral sound that was now creeping through the abbey. He had never even begun to imagine this achingly beautiful, rising, flying music.

  The orchestra made way for a solo virtuosic passage, and Alexis opened his eyes; this was familiar to him. The sound of the solo piano rang out into the air of the abbey as Daisy’s fingers moved swiftly, expertly over the keys. Everybody was watching as she played: the audience, the orchestra, the conductor. Then, suddenly, the conductor turned back to his stand, brought down his arms, and with a pounding exuberance, brought the orchestra in. Alexis caught his breath. This music was half battle, half love affair, and Daisy was playing her part in each with a confident ease that he could never have imagined she possessed.

  As the concerto thundered along, he watched her face, mesmerized. She was almost playing a game with the orchestra, smiling as their themes coincided, frowning as the music became more urgent and impassioned. His gaze ran slowly over the rest of her. Everything was elegantly in its place: her blue dress flowed faultlessly down to the ground; her hair shone glossily in the lights; her milky white arms looked suddenly strong and sure and invulnerable. This Daisy was someone he hardly recognized.

  He sat still, gazing ahead, as the first movement gave way to the second; as the music grew urgent and desperate, as the crashing chords of Daisy’s part echoed triumphantly around the abbey. Between the movements no-one moved. Everyone was, like him, staring agog at Daisy.

  And then, as the third movement began, and the slow pearly piano melody began to rise slowly into the air, Alexis leaned back and closed his eyes. Into his mind came a memory of Daisy as he’d first seen her: tall, slender and gawky, tiptoeing her way through the Delaneys’ garden, dipping her toe into the water, starting and blushing and biting her lip. He could barely reconcile that shy creature with the girl – the woman – performing in front of him now.

  He frowned and shook his head slightly, as though to work it out. Then, as the music rose higher and higher, he suddenly realized that this was the first time he’d ever seen Daisy in a context apart from his own; in an environment other than that of the two of them, together in his house, or her house, or the village. They had spent the summer wrapped in one another’s arms, ignoring everyone else, creating their own world. And in that world, he had built up a picture of Daisy in which she was isolated from the rest of her life – her parents, her friends, her life as a musician, all the other things which mattered to her.

  Now, slowly, it came to him that his isolated summer-image of Daisy was as incomplete without the rest of her life as were the rising piano chords without the accompanying orchestra. She was not simply his beautiful, shy, stuttering girl. She was a pianist, a performer, a shining glittering talent.

  She was, he suddenly thought, beyond him.

  He leaned back in his seat and let the music soar over his head, and told himself several times how proud and amazed and happy he was; how thrilled he was to see Daisy looking so strong and confident; how pleased he was that finally he was hearing her perform. But underneath all the happy phrases, lurking in a distant corner of his heart which he rarely looked at, Alexis could feel, in spite of himself, the beginnings of a strange sad foreboding.

  When Sylvia had finally left them, Louise looked at Barnaby.

  ‘Perhaps,’ she began, then stopped awkwardly.

  ‘What?’ Bamaby’s eyes met hers.

  ‘Perhaps, some time, we could have a talk. About things. Just the two of us.’ Louise bit her lip. ‘You know, about Katie and everything. Without anyone else there …’ She tailed off, feeling foolish. But Barnaby nodded.

  I’d like that,’ he said, and put his drink down on a stone bird-bath. ‘What about now?’

  ‘Now?’ said Louise. ‘But what about the barbecue?’ Barnaby shrugged.

&n
bsp; ‘I’m stuffed,’ he said, ‘I’ve already eaten about six chicken drumsticks.’ Louise laughed.

  ‘That wasn’t what I meant,’ she said. ‘I meant, you know, talking to people and everything. It seems a shame leaving so early …’ A thought suddenly struck her. ‘What about your lovely new shirt?’

  ‘It’ll be just as lovely’, said Barnaby, ‘sitting over a glass of wine with you.’ He took her drink out of her hand and put it down, next to his. ‘C’mon, Lou, let’s go.’

  Chapter Nineteen

  As the concerto galloped towards its conclusion and Daisy’s final chords thundered into the air, Alexis sank back into his seat, feeling suddenly drained. There was an infinitesimal pause as the sound echoed round the abbey, then, all around him, the applause began; loud, steady, serious applause, that erupted into a roar as Daisy rose, beaming, to her feet.

  Alexis gazed at her, at her glowing cheeks, and sparkling eyes, and at the gleam of gold around her neck. She bowed, once, twice, then allowed the conductor to lead her off. The applause continued as loud as ever.

  Alexis noticed Daisy’s mother, in between claps, consulting her watch. She said something to her husband, who nodded and said something back. And then both their heads turned to the front once more, as Daisy reappeared in front of the orchestra. A lady in a black dress appeared from nowhere and presented Daisy with a huge bouquet of flowers, and the man sitting next to Alexis gave a throaty cheer. When she heard the sound, Daisy’s head swivelled towards Alexis and she gave him an embarrassed smile.

  Immediately Daisy’s mother turned and scanned the crowd suspiciously. Alexis looked down and studiously gazed at his hands; his old, wrinkled, untalented hands. The sight of them filled him with a sudden depression.

  Eventually the applause died away. Daisy walked off for the last time and the orchestra began to stand up and leave. Around Alexis, people began gathering their things together, waving to friends, suggesting a quick drink. Alexis sat perfectly still. He could see Daisy’s parents heading towards the side of the abbey, obviously in search of Daisy. The natural thing would have been to get up, introduce himself, and join them, but the thought of greeting Daisy’s parents, explaining who he was, watching their concealed expressions of shock and dismay … Alexis shuddered.

  It seemed to him now that he and Daisy had spent the summer living in a bubble. A sheltered guarded world, cut off from public scrutiny, cut off from the rest of their lives, in which the only things which had mattered had been themselves. And now the bubble was about to burst.

  ‘Alexis!’ He looked up. It was Frances Mold again. She was flushed, and there was a huge smile on her face. ‘Oh, Alexis! Wasn’t she fantastic!’

  ‘Wonderful!’ said Alexis warmly. ‘It was a brilliant performance.’

  ‘Terribly moving, I thought,’ said Frances, wrinkling her brow expressively. ‘That slow movement. And such assured playing for someone so young. I mean, she’s still just a child, really! She’s amazing!’

  ‘Amazing,’ said Alexis quietly. His face felt numb.

  ‘The thing is,’ said Frances sorrowfully, ‘I’ve got to dash, I’m afraid. I promised Sylvia I’d go to her silly barbecue. Tell Daisy I thought it was wonderful and I’ll phone her in the morning, will you?’

  ‘Of course,’ said Alexis. ‘She’ll be thrilled that you came.’

  ‘The whole village should have come,’ retorted Frances. ‘They’re such Philistines, preferring a barbecue to this! I think we’re the only ones here, aren’t we?’

  ‘I think so,’ said Alexis. ‘The Delaneys were going to come, but what with Hugh coming out of hospital today …’

  ‘Yes,’ said Frances, ‘I suppose so. Anyway, I must go. Tell Daisy well done, won’t you? Bye.’ And she strode off back down the aisle, clopping in her sensible sandals on the ancient worn-down stones.

  Alexis watched her go, and told himself firmly that now he had to go and see Daisy; he had a message to give her; it would be unforgivable not to deliver it. Slowly, creakily, he rose from his seat and shuffled past the row of empty chairs into the aisle. And then, even more slowly, he began to make his way, like a condemned man, towards the side of the abbey, towards Daisy and her family.

  As he neared the vestry, he heard the sound of animated voices. He paused outside the door.

  ‘I’ve no idea where she gets it from,’ a woman’s voice was saying. ‘Not me, certainly.’ She laughed gaily.

  ‘Well, it was really quite a staggering performance,’ said a man’s voice. ‘I bet the Academy can’t wait to get its hands on you.’

  ‘Well, I don’t really know about that.’ Daisy’s gentle voice floated hesitantly through the door of the vestry, and Alexis felt a gnawing yearning pain in his chest. That was his Daisy.

  He put his eye to the crack of the vestry door. In front of him, standing in an admiring circle round Daisy, were her parents, the conductor, the lady who had given her flowers, and another woman whom Alexis didn’t recognize. Over in the corner, leafing abstractly through an old copy of Church Times, was Daisy’s brother.

  ‘Anyway,’ Daisy’s mother was saying, ‘unfortunately we have to go back to London tonight.’ Daisy looked up.

  ‘I thought we were all going out to supper?’ she said. ‘With Alexis.’ She frowned. ‘I must find Alexis.’

  ‘Yes,’ said her father, ‘where is this famous Alexis? We’d like to meet him.’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Daisy. ‘I expect he’s waiting somewhere.’ The conductor grinned.

  ‘Boyfriend?’ he asked in perky tones.

  ‘Sort of,’ said Daisy shyly.

  ‘You should have told us,’ said the conductor, winking at her. ‘We would have got him to present the flowers to you, wouldn’t we, Maureen?’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ exclaimed the lady in the black dress. ‘That would have been really romantic! To have a handsome young man, instead of an old crone like me!’

  ‘Nonsense!’ said the conductor gallantly. ‘You did the job beautifully.’

  Alexis moved away from the vestry door, leaned weakly back against the stone wall and closed his eyes. The gnawing pain in his chest grew stronger. What he wanted to do was rush into the vestry, take Daisy in his arms, cover her with kisses, and ignoring everyone else, tell her how proud he was of her, how beautiful she was and how much he loved her. But when he imagined pushing the vestry door open and seeing all those faces turning enquiringly towards him, a paralysing dread came upon him. He took a deep breath and stared up into the lofty roof of the abbey, willing himself courage, trying to summon up some confidence.

  And then, suddenly, he heard Daisy’s voice, raised in distress.

  ‘But you can’t go yet,’ she was saying. ‘You haven’t met Alexis.’

  ‘Well, darling, that’s hardly our fault, is it? If he’s gone home …’ Daisy’s mother’s voice was crisp and efficient, and made Alexis wince just to hear it.

  ‘He hasn’t! He wouldn’t just go home like that.’

  ‘Well, then, where is he?’

  ‘I don’t know where he is.’

  Daisy sounded desolate, and Alexis had a sudden vision of her standing, like a forgotten child, with a drooping lip and her flowers dragging sadly on the floor. He simply couldn’t bear it. With a sudden burst of passion, he strode forward and pushed open the vestry door.

  ‘Hello,’ he said in a slightly trembling voice. ‘I’m sorry I took so long, my darling.’ He smiled tenderly at Daisy, then held out his hand to her mother. ‘How do you do,’ he said, forcing himself to meet her gaze. ‘You may have heard about me. I’m Alexis Faraday.’

  Louise and Barnaby were sitting in the garden of Larch Tree Cottage. Louise had poured out two glasses of wine and Barnaby had unfolded a couple of garden chairs. He now sat on one of them, cradling his drink in his huge hand, leaning forward and frowning. Louise clenched her own glass and said nothing. They had walked back here from Sylvia’s party almost in silence, and all the while there had grown inside her a
strange, almost heady tension.

  Now the tension was even stronger. She didn’t dare to speak; inside her was an unarticulated obscure conviction that this moment was an important one; that to speak might ruin it – and her chances – for ever. Her chances of what? She didn’t know. Neither did she know why this moment should be so important, nor why her heart started beating painfully every time Barnaby raised his head as though to speak. She felt as though she didn’t know anything any more.

  ‘I’ve been thinking,’ said Barnaby abruptly, in a gruff earnest voice.

  Louise jumped and stared down at her drink. Please, she found herself thinking. Please. And suddenly she realized what was wrong with her. I know what I want him to say, she thought, trying to keep her breathing steady. And I’m terrified that he won’t say it, and if he doesn’t say it, then neither can I.

  ‘About the case,’ continued Barnaby. ‘You’ll probably think I’m crazy,’ he added. Louise’s heart gave another little leap, and she gazed at him, holding her breath, half willing him to continue, half dreading what his words might be.

  ‘But you know,’ he said, ‘sometimes I start to have my doubts.’ He paused. Louise exhaled slowly. ‘Serious doubts,’ he added, gazing at her intently, trying to judge her reaction. Louise stared back at him, not daring to move a muscle of her face, not daring to risk throwing him off course before he’d even begun. ‘I know I’ve always said it’ll be worth it in the end,’ he said in a defensive apologetic voice. ‘But now … I’m not sure.’ He frowned deeply. ‘Hugh’s heart attack really put things into perspective for me.’

  ‘Wh-what are you saying, exactly?’ said Louise. Her voice was trembling, and she took a deep shuddering breath. Barnaby leaned back in his chair.

  ‘Last night’, he said slowly, ‘I was getting really depressed. I sat there, thinking about Hugh, who’s in hospital, and Katie, who’s out of hospital and doing fine, and the case, and all that money, and everything seemed all wrong, but there didn’t seem to be any way out. I was going round and round in circles and feeling more and more miserable.’ He paused and took a slug of wine. ‘And then’, he said, ‘it suddenly occurred to me. We’re choosing to go to court, we don’t have to. No-one’s forcing us. And …’He paused and looked uncertainly at Louise.