A Desirable Residence Part 13

Liz had already arrived at the hotel, and Marcus found her comfortably ensconced in front of the television, sipping a gin and tonic from the mini-bar. A tiny flash of irritation went through him. Of course, he was the one with money; he could hardly expect her to start paying the bills for these rooms. But the reticence which she had once touchingly displayed when it came to the mini-bar and phone and all the other extras had soon melted away. She was learning fast, he thought grimly. Then he chided himself. Was he begrudging his lover one simple gin and tonic?

'h.e.l.lo there,' he said cheerfully, not quite having to force the smile to his lips. Liz got up and came towards him.

'Hi.' Her lips met his warmly and he felt himself relaxing. 'Drink?' She waved in the direction of the mini-bar with the gracious air of a hostess.

'I think I'll have a whisky.'

Liz picked up the remote control and turned off the television.

'Marcus,' she said seriously, 'I'm afraid we're in a bit of trouble.'

'What?' Marcus whipped round, open bottle in hand. He looked at Liz's face and his heart plummeted. What was it now? Hadn't he had enough trouble already? Several alarming scenarios appeared simultaneously in his mind. She was pregnant. Her husband had found out. Oh f.u.c.k. What was it? A vision of Leo's corpulent face appeared inexplicably in his mind. It couldn't be anything to do with him him, could it? Was Albert's appearance outside no coincidence? Were the police waiting in the lobby? s.h.i.t. s.h.i.t! He glanced warily at the door. 'What do you mean?' he almost whispered.

'We got a letter from Brown's this morning.'

'What?' Marcus gazed at her in incomprehension for a few seconds. Then his brow cleared. 'You mean "we" as in you and your husband?' he said.

'Yes.' Liz flushed. 'Sorry. I should have made that clear.' Marcus cracked a couple of ice cubes into his drink from the tiny plastic ice tray and came over. He took a huge slug of whisky. A comfortable sensation of warmth and relief spread through his body. But there still lingered a feeling of alarm.

'Cheers,' he said. He wandered over to the window and looked outside. 'It's a nice day,' he said in almost accusatory tones. 'Good weather for the parade.'

'Yes, I suppose so.' Liz didn't want to think about the parade. 'Anyway, Marcus-'

'Come here.' His voice was peremptory, almost brutal. Liz flinched, but went over obediently to face him, first putting her drink down on the television set.

She said nothing when he started roughly unb.u.t.toning her cardigan, without kissing her first. And she gave only a single, surprised cry when he pushed her down on the bed, pulling up her skirt, undoing his trousers and thrusting hastily into her without once meeting her eye.

Afterwards, he left her lying half-clothed on the bed, while he went to make himself another whisky. Liz eyed him warily. He was in a funny mood, and common sense told her to keep her mouth closed. But she couldn't. She had to get this mortgage thing sorted out.

'Marcus,' she began again. She sat up and reached for her cardigan. It was chilly in the room, and, with the windows swathed discreetly in pale netting, rather gloomy. She suddenly craved a warm, crackling fire and a pot of hot, strong tea. But instead she padded over to the silent television and picked up her half-drunk gin. 'Marcus, about this letter.'

'What letter?'

'The one we got from Brown's. It's about our mortgage.'

'Oh yes?' His tone was discouraging, but Liz pressed on.

'There's a new manager. She wants to see us. She wants to know why we were allowed two mortgages. What are we going to say?' Marcus shrugged. He was feeling unhelpful.

'I really don't know,' he said shortly. He drained his gla.s.s and opened a packet of peanuts.

'But, Marcus!'

'But what?' He looked up impatiently. Liz stared at him, feeling a strange wariness. This was unfamiliar ground.

'It was you that sorted it all out for us in the first place,' she pointed out, in cautious, mollifying tones. 'If you hadn't phoned your friend, if you hadn't pulled strings, they wouldn't have let us keep the two mortgages. They would have made us sell the house. The house in Russell Street,' she added, hoping this would trigger fond memories of their meeting.

Marcus picked up his drink and went into the bathroom. He turned on the taps of the bath and began discarding his clothes.

'Marcus!' Liz followed him to the door of the bathroom, not quite daring to go in.

'What do you want?' he snapped suddenly. 'What am I supposed to do?'

'Well, you could phone Brown's again,' said Liz tremulously. 'Speak to the person you spoke to before.'

'He's retired,' said Marcus shortly. 'I don't know anyone else there.'

'Oh.' Liz paused. 'So what can we do?'

'I don't know, all right? I'm not f.u.c.king G.o.d! Solve your problems yourself.' He turned away and began to undo his cuff links.

Liz gazed mutely at his back, feeling a shocked panic swelling inside her. She'd been so sure Marcus would sort everything out; so confident in his powers. Above all, she'd really believed he would want to help her. But instead he seemed angry with her. For a moment she wasn't quite sure what to do. She stood at the door, clutching the door frame, wondering in a dazed sort of way whether he'd had enough; whether, in a moment he'd tell her to go. As if she was some sort of call-girl.

A wave of intense misery ran through her, and she began to shake. Suddenly she hated him; hated herself; hated the whole horrible, sordid situation. She thought of Jonathan on his blameless, well-meaning parade; of his leaflets and his duck mask and his trusting smile; and a fat tear began to run down her face. More tears fell, splashing onto her hand, and suddenly she gave a huge sob.

Marcus whipped round.

'Oh Liz,' he said. His voice didn't sound steady. 'I'm sorry. It's not your fault.' At the sound of his voice suddenly sympathetic, Liz's tears increased. Marcus came over, still half in his shirt, and put his arms round her.

'I'm sorry, sweetheart,' he murmured. He gently kissed her forehead.

'It's all right,' snuffled Liz. 'I shouldn't have asked.'

'Yes you should,' said Marcus wearily. 'It wasn't that. It was ... Other things.' He looked at her. 'All this lying is getting to me.'

'I'm not sure afternoon meetings really suit us,' volunteered Liz. 'I feel really bad about being here.'

'So do I,' said Marcus. 'Perhaps we should make an appearance at the ECO parade.'

'Together,' giggled Liz. 'That really would look suspicious.' She stopped abruptly. Perhaps that was a stupid thing to say. But Marcus's face was still relaxed. He pushed her away slightly and looked into her eyes.

'I'll do what I can at Brown's,' he said seriously. 'No promises ...'

'I know,' said Liz humbly. 'Thank you.' She looked over his shoulder. 'Your bath is full.' Marcus reached over and turned the taps off. The room seemed suddenly very silent.

'I can't promise anything about Brown's,' he said. 'But I can promise you one thing.'

'What?'

'That before either of us gets into that bath, I'm going to make up for the way I behaved earlier on.'

'No, really, it doesn't matter ...' Liz blushed. But Marcus bent slowly towards her, and began to kiss her with a gentle determination.

'If we're both going to feel bad about being here,' he said softly against her skin, his hand descending between her legs and pushing them firmly apart, 'it's only fair if we both have a turn at feeling good as well.'

Marching into Silchester that afternoon, Alice felt absolutely wonderful. She had arrived at twelve Russell Street to find everyone outside, drinking steaming coffee in the wintry sun. Piers and Ginny were sitting on the ledge of the open french windows; Duncan was standing on the gra.s.s, declaiming melodramatically from a script.

'What do you think, Alice?' he said, looking up as she came round the side of the house. 'Could I get a part in Summer Street Summer Street? I think I'll be ...' he glanced at the page '... I'll be Muriel the grandmother. She's got some tremendous lines. Listen to this, "Oh, Rupert, when will you ever take life seriously?" ' He clasped his hands and looked skywards. Alice giggled.

'Shut up, Duncan,' Piers said lazily. 'Chuck it here.'

'It's the script for Piers's audition,' explained Ginny, as they went inside to get the coffee pot and a mug for Alice. 'It arrived this morning.' She grinned at Alice and, as they entered the kitchen, gave the excited skip she had not permitted herself in front of Piers.

'Wow!' exclaimed Alice, with gratifying awe. 'Is it a real script? Like on the telly?'

'Yes,' said Ginny, beaming. 'Just the same.'

'That's so cool!' said Alice. 'I wish I had one.'

'I know,' said Ginny. 'I'm going to keep it afterwards, and leave it around on the coffee table. Whatever happens.'

'But Piers will get the part,' said Alice, with a surprised conviction. Ginny turned round. Her eyes were sparkling.

'I know he will,' she said. She hugged herself. 'I know he will. I can't wait.'

They had gone back into the garden, warmed by a shared enthusiasm, to find Piers standing up and Duncan throwing his coffee dregs into the flower-bed.

'Christmas shopping!' he announced. 'Come on, Alice, I bet you haven't got my present yet, have you?' He gave her a penetrating stare and she giggled and blushed.

'Not yet,' protested Ginny. 'I've got things to do first.'

'Well, hurry up!' said Duncan. He clapped his hands. 'We can't sit around all day drinking coffee, you know!'

Eventually they managed to leave the house, Ginny still complaining loudly at Duncan. But Alice could tell Ginny wasn't really cross with him. She seemed too happy to be cross. Everybody seemed happy. And Alice felt especially happy. She was sandwiched cosily between Piers and Duncan, and, as they all strode energetically along towards the town centre, she felt as though it was their steps which were moving her along; as though she wasn't having to make any effort at walking herself. She felt cushioned from the cold air, cushioned from the rest of the world, with these tall male figures either side of her. Or at least, she amended in her mind, one tall figure and one stocky figure. She knew Duncan didn't mind being called stocky. In fact he quite liked it; he'd once been called 'stocky and appealing' in a review in The Scotsman The Scotsman.

But Duncan wasn't the point. It was Piers. It was the fact that she was walking along the road, right next to Piers. She was so close to him that she could feel his jacket through her sleeve, and smell his aftershave, and when they turned the corner a squirm of delight went through her as he put a guiding hand on her arm.

As they turned into Market Square, though, her heart gave a squirm of a different sort. Piling into the square, at the far corner, were the leaders of a bright, noisy, jolly crowd which, she knew, was the ECO parade. She couldn't see her father, but he would be there somewhere. Dressed in some c.r.a.ppy bird mask, handing out leaflets, being all worthy. She would die if they met him.

She looked distractedly around the square, trying to think of some reason for them to leave. But it was difficult. All the main shops were around the square, as well as Duncan's favourite coffee shop. She could see him eyeing it already. And at any moment now, he would notice the parade. She couldn't bear it.

'Which shops are we going to?' she began, in an unnaturally high voice. But it was too late.

'Look!' Duncan's voice rang out above hers. 'Look over there! Who are all those people?' Everyone followed his gaze. Alice scanned the crowd nervously for her father's slight figure.

'Let's go and have a look,' said Ginny. 'It looks like a demonstration.'

'In Silchester?' said Duncan, in mock-surprise. 'My dear!' He looked up at Piers, whose expression was distantly blank, and gave him a nudge with his elbow. 'Wake up, love,' he said. 'Stop thinking about Summer Street Summer Street.'

'I'm not,' said Piers irritably. 'I wish everyone would stop going on about it.' He directed a frown at Ginny and she went pink.

'Come on,' she said hastily. 'Let's go over and see what's going on.'

As they neared the other side of the square, a short plump woman accosted them. She was dressed in sensible black trousers and a grey anorak, but her reddened, wrinkled face was framed by the yellow beak of a bird's head, clumsily made from papier mache. She thrust a leaflet at Duncan, and he gave a little cat-like skip backwards in real or perhaps simulated alarm. Ginny glanced over Alice's head at Piers, and her lips began to quiver. Alice heard Piers give a m.u.f.fled snort of laughter, and she looked away in mortification. The woman was Mrs Parsons, who used to babysit Alice. It would be so embarra.s.sing if she said anything to her. But at the moment, her attention was with Duncan.

'I'd like you to take this leaflet, young man,' she said. She tried to put a leaflet in his hand, and he firmly put his hands behind his back.

'I'm sorry,' he said politely, 'but I'm allergic to leaflets.' He peered at the leaflet. 'And I'm terribly environmentally unfriendly. Let it all go to pieces, that's what I say.' He beamed at her. 'So it's probably not worth wasting your precious paper on me.'

'Duncan!' exclaimed Ginny. 'He doesn't mean ...' But the woman was glaring at Duncan.

'You should be ashamed of yourself!' she trumpeted. 'The environment is only on loan to us. We've got a duty to look after it. What would you say to your children if the rainforests disappeared?' She fixed him with a triumphant stare. Duncan appeared to give the matter some thought.

'I'd say, "There used to be rainforests," ' he said eventually. The woman glared at him angrily. Alice turned away, trying to hide her face behind her scarf.

'Let me have a leaflet,' put in Ginny, in mollifying tones. 'Thank you very much. Duncan!' she hissed angrily as the woman stomped off. 'That was awful!'

'I know,' said Duncan, wrinkling his brow, 'I shouldn't be like that ... but I mean, honestly honestly! Just look at them! They look like extras from The Muppet Show The Muppet Show.' Ginny looked at the milling, jostling crowd in bird costumes and masks and, in spite of herself, gave a little giggle.

'They're well-meaning people,' she said sternly. 'I bet you've never given up your Sat.u.r.day in aid of a good cause.'

'I don't call dressing up a good cause,' retorted Duncan. 'I call it work. And anyone who dresses up without being paid for it has got to be a sad, hopeless character. I bet all these people dress up in medieval clothes when they're not being birds,' he continued, looking around at the crowd. 'They go off to some gloomy old castle, and spend the weekend curtseying and saying Begad and thinking they're being cultured.'

Alice listened with an unbearable mixture of embarra.s.sment and indignation. What Duncan was saying sounded all witty and clever, and made her want to laugh. But it wasn't true about her father. He didn't really like the dressing up, he'd always said that. And he'd never ever dressed up in medieval clothes. She stood perfectly still, feeling her cheeks burning, hoping desperately he wouldn't come along; hoping that Duncan would soon get bored with the parade and drag them all off for coffee like he usually did. But he was still watching it avidly.

And then it happened.

'h.e.l.lo, Alice!' Whipping round to the right, Alice felt her heart plunge downwards in a fiery trail of mortification. Her father was standing in front of her, wearing a duck mask on top of his head, smiling benevolently at her and holding out one of his leaflets. 'Have your friends all got one of these?' he said, and smiled at Duncan. Alice felt paralysed with embarra.s.sment. She didn't know what to say; she couldn't risk speaking in case she giggled, or even worse, burst into tears.

Ginny glanced at Alice's scarlet face, and came to her rescue.

'h.e.l.lo,' she said brightly, extending a leather-gloved hand. 'You must be Mr Chambers. I'm Ginny Prentice, your tenant. And this is my husband, Piers. And this is our friend, Duncan.'

'h.e.l.lo, Mr Chambers,' said Piers. His voice resonated confidently round the square and he gave Jonathan a practised, charming smile.

'h.e.l.lo,' said Duncan, in a strangely subdued voice.

'h.e.l.lo, all of you,' said Jonathan heartily. 'Do call me Jonathan.' He glanced at Alice and she turned her head away, deliberately avoiding his eye. His smile faded, and there was a short, awkward pause. 'Well, I'll let you get on with your shopping,' he said eventually. 'I hope the parade isn't too much of a nuisance to you.'

'Not at all,' said Ginny warmly. 'We were just admiring it.'

'Oh good,' said Jonathan, a pleased surprise in his voice. Again he glanced at Alice, and her fixed stare hardened. Go away Go away, she thought. Just go away and leave me alone Just go away and leave me alone.

'I like your mask,' said Duncan suddenly, in chastened tones.

'Do you?' Jonathan pulled it down over his face. 'Actually,' he said, his voice m.u.f.fled, 'I'm not too keen on costumes. But, you know, you have to go along with these things.' He pulled the mask up again and beamed at Duncan. 'If it attracts attention, then it's worth doing, I suppose.'

'Absolutely,' said Duncan earnestly.

Ginny glanced round. Piers's attention was elsewhere and Alice was still staring tautly at a far corner of the square. 'Well,' she said, smiling at Jonathan, 'we must be getting on.'

'Yes, well,' Jonathan rubbed his hands together, 'I must be going, too.' He looked at his watch. 'Time for some mulled wine.'

'Mulled wine!' said Ginny. 'Lovely!'