Part 13 (1/2)

Chapter Twenty-Three.

Normally one of the more attentive students in the cla.s.s, Gemma was having trouble concentrating on that afternoon's philosophy lesson on Descartes' rationalism.

It was two weeks since Suzie's revelation, but Gemma still couldn't believe her sister had made such a mess of things. How could she have got herself pregnant? How dumb she had been! But even as she asked herself the question, Gemma knew the answer. Hadn't she and Marcel taken a similar risk in Paris? Each time she thought of that occasion - when they'd realised he'd run out of condoms - she shuddered. They'd been upstairs in his bedroom and suddenly so desperate for each other that they were prepared to do it while Veronique had been in the bathroom next door. She'd told him it would be okay, so long as he came out at the crucial moment. It had only happened the once - all the other times they'd been careful - but of course, once was all it took. How crazy could she have been? Well, one thing was for sure, she'd never make that mistake again. No way. And to make doubly sure there was no danger of her feelings for Marcel getting the better of her, she'd replied to his letter saying there was too much going on for him to visit. 'It would be better to put your trip off until next year,' she'd written. She was slightly ashamed of herself that she'd taken this step, because it looked like she didn't trust herself to be in the same room as him without wanting s.e.x. Maybe the sensible thing to do was to go on the pill and have done with it.

Next to her, Yasmin was sitting bolt upright. Her friend's attention was fixed firmly on what Mr Sheridan was saying. She was one of the most focused people Gemma knew and she couldn't imagine Yasmin being stupid enough to have unprotected s.e.x. For one thing her parents and brother would kill her. For another, Yasmin didn't want anything to get in the way of the career she had in mind. She wanted to go to Oxford and then be a fund manager in London. Gemma knew that Mr and Mrs Patel were disappointed by this; they wanted their daughter to go into the family mobile-phone business. Gemma wished she was as focused as her friend. She didn't have a clue what she wanted to do. Some days she wondered why she was even considering university. Mum sometimes said that she was too much like her father and lacked the grit and determination for which the Stone family was famous. But Gemma thought her father was more determined than Mum made him out to be. To have done what he did - jack in a good job at his time of life, and with a young family - took a lot of guts.

But the million-dollar question was what Mum would say about Suzie's pregnancy, other than going mental and screaming the full nine yards about safe s.e.x and what a right Horlicks Suzie had made of her life. She'd probably ask what Suzie had thought she'd been doing having s.e.x in the first place.

But tonight was the night. Suzie had told Gemma and Dad that she was going to break the news to Mum during a family dinner, which Suzie would cook and to which Dad was invited. This meant one thing and one thing only: they were in for an evening of pure over-the-top melodrama.

Maxine was suspicious; she knew in her bones that something was going on. She called through to the en suite bathroom where Steve was brus.h.i.+ng his teeth. 'The last time Suzie went to this much trouble and cooked for us it was my fortieth birthday. I haven't missed an important date on the calendar, have I?'

Steve joined her in the bedroom and stood behind her as she finished applying a fresh coat of mascara to her daytime make-up. He'd changed out of his suit and was casually dressed in a pair of Ralph Lauren chinos and a pale green Tommy Hilfiger s.h.i.+rt. He was twelve years older than her but still looked good. He knew how to dress and how to keep the weight off - he went to the gym three times a week and played tennis as often as the weather permitted. 'I think you should just relax and enjoy yourself,' he said. 'Maybe this is Suzie's way of apologising for what her father did to my car. Take it as an olive branch.'

He kissed her neck and placed his hands around her waist, something Maxine wished he wouldn't do. She always felt as though he was sizing her up, checking to see if she'd put on any weight. And dammit, she had. Ever since Paris, when they'd overindulged, her clothes had felt too tight. There was nothing else for it; she'd have to go on a diet, and soon. Joining a gym was out of the question. She simply didn't have the time. h.e.l.l, she didn't even have time to go out and buy any new outfits. When did she last spend a leisurely hour or two browsing round her favourite shoe shops? Or have lunch with friends? Her life was so hectic. But then it always had been. She wouldn't have it any other way.

Work was crazier than ever at the moment; the saleroom had never been busier. She blamed that David d.i.c.kinson and his programme Bargain Hunt. Not that anyone with any real sense would think there was a correlation between what went on in that programme and the real world of buying and selling. Still, sales were up and the punters, victims of first-time auction fever, kept on coming. It was their lookout, not hers. She liked to think that Dad would have been proud of her, that he would have approved of how she'd carried on the business, making it even more successful than he had. And if everything went to plan, she'd soon be acquiring a second saleroom; one in Stafford. The deal was agreed in principle, and now it was down to the paperwork between the lawyers and accountants. It was a shame her father wasn't around to see what she'd achieved. He'd worked so hard himself, and she would have liked him to know that she really had been cut from the same cloth as him. It gave her a warm glow of satisfaction knowing that her ambition easily matched his.

But work was no excuse for letting herself go. She knew she wasn't overweight, not really, but at her age she couldn't afford to carry too many excess pounds. Will used to say she had the best curves this side of a Stradivarius violin, but Steve didn't like the 'comely wench' look, as he referred to any woman bigger than a size twelve. Just as well he'd never seen her when she was pregnant with the girls. She'd been enormous then. Will used to pretend he couldn't get his arms around her, but then he'd kiss her, and suddenly his hands and arms would be all over her and they'd end up in bed. For a lot of couples, pregnancy puts a stop to s.e.x, but it didn't for them. In those days, she and Will couldn't get enough of each other.

What a lifetime ago that was. And how pig-headedly, how selfishly and how recklessly Will had thrown it all away. If she lived to be a hundred, she didn't think she would ever forgive him for what he did to her and the girls. She cringed at the embarra.s.sing memories of trying to pretend to her friends and work a.s.sociates that all was well at home, that her husband was merely taking time out to consider an exciting career change. She would sooner have died than let anyone know that he was at home drinking endless cups of coffee and watching hour after hour of mind-rotting daytime telly while she was out grafting from dawn till dusk.

Realising that Steve's hands were still on her waist and that he was saying something, she came back to the present with a jolt. 'Sorry, darling, what was that?'

'I was just asking if you remembered how tough the chicken was that Suzie cooked for you on your fortieth. She must only have been fourteen. It makes you wonder where the time goes, doesn't it?'

Maxine snapped the lid back onto the tube of mascara, and refusing to let the past spoil the evening or her mood, she said, 'I prefer to think about the future and what that has in store for us. Come on, let's go downstairs and see how the chef's faring.'

'Absolutely not. Suzie said we're under strict instructions to wait in the sitting room with Gemma until we're summoned to the dining room.'

The doorbell chimed. 'That'll be Will,' she said. 'I wonder if he knows what this evening's all about. I certainly don't buy your olive-branch theory.'

Will had promised Suzie that he'd be on his best behaviour. 'Don't worry,' he'd told her when she'd said what she was planning. 'I won't crack a single joke in poor taste.'

As they sat round the late nineteenth-century French mahogany dining table and rested their b.u.ms on a set of Victorian rosewood parlour chairs (all genuine, no fakes or repro here), with everything glowing lusciously in the tinkling light cast from a rococo-style ormolu chandelier above their heads, Will's light-heartedness was all a front. Beneath the gossamer-thin surface of apparent joviality, he was a bundle of nerves. He knew Maxine would have him strung up by his privates before the night was through. G.o.d, he wished Suzie had told Maxine before him. 'That's what comes from being Mr Approachable,' Marty had told him. 'And thank your lucky stars that Suzie does trust and love you. Not many fathers would get such treatment. So stop whingeing and buckle down.'

'Cheers, Marty, you're a real pal,' he'd said. 'Just promise me this: as my solicitor you have to make sure my wishes are adhered to at my funeral. R.E.M.'s 'I've Been High' has to be played when you help carry in the coffin. Okay?'

'Stop being such a coward. So what if Maxine does have a go at you for being first to know? That's more a reflection of her character, not yours.'

'Being first to know isn't the problem. It's the fact that I knew and didn't tell her. I'm going to be shredded.'

Nina Simone singing 'My Baby Just Cares For Me' smooched her way into the dining room from the CD player in the sitting room - the entire ground floor of the house was rigged up to Steve's state-of-the-art system - and for a welcome moment of distraction, Will listened to the lyrics about Nina's baby not caring for shows or clothes, or cars and races or high-tone places. Ding, dong! Irony alert, he thought. Maxine and PC Plod were obsessed with the superficial frippery money could buy.

Registering that an ominous silence had fallen on them, and terrified Suzie might feel now was the time to explain why they were all here, Will said, 'So, Steve, how's tricks? People still wanting to have their houses wired up like Fort Knox?'

'More or less. Did Maxine tell you I'm in the middle of negotiating for an American company in the Midwest? It'll be quite a deal if we can pull it off.'

'No she didn't.' Will glanced across the table to Maxine. He'd heard on the grapevine that she was expanding Stone's and buying a saleroom in Staffords.h.i.+re, but Steve's plans were news to him. Just how much money did they need? 'Perhaps she was sparing my feelings,' he said carefully. 'Me being such a pauper.'

Maxine cleared her throat. 'If you're a pauper, Will, you have only yourself to blame. Anyway, the truth is that I was waiting to tell you when it was official.'

'I doff my cap to your thoughtfulness, your ladys.h.i.+p.'

'It's only a small company,' Steve said as though imagining he could ever smooth the waters, 'just to give us a foothold in a wider market.'

'Hey, you kick a.s.s and go as global as you like. The poor will always be here to remind you of what you left behind.'

'Dad!'

d.a.m.n! He'd broken his promise. 'Sorry, Suzie,' he murmured, giving her the briefest of apologetic smiles. He didn't dare risk looking at her properly. If he did then he'd really feel the pathetic loser he turned into when he was around Maxine for too long. When the heat was off him, and Maxine had eased back on the dirty looks and Steve was changing the CD, Will took a moment to s.n.a.t.c.h a sideways glance at Suzie again. All things considered, she didn't look too bad. There was no obvious sign that she was pregnant, although to the discerning eye, maybe the loose-fitting top she was wearing was a bit of a giveaway. Unlike Gemma, whose midriff was permanently on display no matter what the weather, Suzie's was well covered up.

Will and Gemma were still in the dark about what she was going to do regarding the baby. Gemma reckoned that Suzie would keep the baby and a small, indefinable part of him hoped that she would. Unbelievably, the idea of being a grandfather had grown on him. Simplistically, the child he had helped to create, the child who carried his genes, now carried another extension of himself. Wasn't this the whole point of the human existence? The continuation of the species.

He suspected Maxine wouldn't see it quite this way. Moreover, he fully expected her to find a way to blame his defective genes for bringing this on Suzie and, more importantly, on the Stones' good name.

They were halfway through their desserts when Suzie announced that she had something to say. His heart thudded and he put down his spoon and fork. This was it, then.

Suzie took a deep breath. All day as she'd chopped, sliced, mixed and marinated, she'd rehea.r.s.ed what she was going to say. She said it now: 'Mum, you'd better pour yourself another gla.s.s of wine; you're going to need it. I'm pregnant.'

Her mother didn't reach for her gla.s.s, as Suzie had thought she would, but her jaw did go slack. 'Oh, my G.o.d!' she muttered. Then more loudly: 'I don't believe it. How? I mean, how could you be so b.l.o.o.d.y stupid?' And louder still: 'You stupid, stupid girl!'

This was exactly the response Suzie had expected, but even so the sharpness of her mother's tone made her feel like a naughty child. Swallowing back the lump of fear that had been lodged in her throat all evening, she sensed her father sitting up straighter in his seat. 'Maxine,' he said firmly, 'just once in your life will you show a little compa.s.sion?'

'Wishy-washy compa.s.sion isn't what's called for right now,' Maxine fired at him, her eyes blazing, her shoulders squared. 'Cool-headed detachment is what's needed. That's what will get this sorted out.'

Oh, G.o.d, thought Suzie, this was just what she wanted to avoid. Then why had she planned to tell her mother this way? Because, coward that she was, she'd wanted to hide behind as many people as she could. Especially her father. Her mother's eyes were on her again. 'How pregnant are you?' she demanded.

'Four and a half months ... nineteen weeks to be precise.'

Maxine paused to take this in. 'Okay,' she said, 'that still gives us time to deal with this mess. It needn't be the disaster it sounds. Presumably the father isn't going to make any trouble and insist on his rights or some such c.r.a.p.'

Suzie winced. She didn't like hearing the baby referred to as a mess. She was about to say something, but Dad beat her to it: 'Maxine, do you think you could sound just a little more like a mother and not the hard-bitten chairman of the board trying to - '

He got no further. Maxine rounded on him. 'The day you have something sensible to say, Will, I'll be in touch. For now, I suggest you leave the matter to me.'

'What about Suzie? Doesn't she figure in this?' piped up Gemma.

Maxine turned her attention to Gemma. 'Well, of course she does.' She hesitated. Switching her gaze to Will and then back again to Gemma, she said in a more measured voice, 'Hang on, you two don't look or sound at all shocked by what Suzie's told us. Why's that?'

A cras.h.i.+ng silence roared around the table. Gemma and Will both stared at Suzie, and knowing it was down to her, she said, 'Mum, I know you're trying your best to cope with this, but - '

'They already knew, didn't they?' Maxine interrupted her. For a second, she looked genuinely hurt. And oddly vulnerable. Something Suzie would never have thought possible. But it was only a flicker of emotion, then once more her mother was on the attack and Suzie was bracing herself. 'When did you tell them?'