Part 28 (1/2)
Miranda was carving the chicken when David came in. He had a strange look on his face, as if someone had put a hand in his stomach and twisted his gut. ”Are you all right?” Miranda asked.
”I'm fine. Just need a gla.s.s of wine. It's been a bad week.” Miranda handed him his gla.s.s.
”Was Gus asleep?”
David grinned and took a swig. ”No, the little monkey was just pretending. Clever boy.”
”Like his father,” said Blythe. ”Clever, I mean.”
David didn't react. ”Here, let me help you with that,” he said to Miranda. She handed over the knife and fork in surprise. ”This looks delicious,” he exclaimed.
”It's from the farmers' market. Should taste good.”
”Let's have a try.” He tore a piece off and popped it in his mouth. The color returned to his cheeks. ”It'll do,” he quipped, feeling better. ”So, Blythe, how are things with you?”
”Rattling on. Same as usual. Should soon be a wrap, then I can move on. Find someone else, start again. G.o.d, I don't feel up to it.”
”You won't feel up to it for a while,” said Miranda. ”Just take it a day at a time. Besides, Rafael needs you. He's been in the thick of it. The last thing he needs is a strange man coming on the scene. He's your man for the moment.”
”I agree. Anyhow, I don't think marriage is for me.”
”Don't rule it out. You're young and attractive. There's someone out there who'll convince you to change your mind,” said Miranda.
”Perhaps,” she said, giving a little sniff.
”Right, Blythe, come and help yourself,” said David. He handed her a plate, then walked up to his wife, put his arm around her waist and planted a kiss on her temple. Miranda looked up at him. Perhaps their marriage wasn't on the rocks after all, she thought, noticing a warmth in his eyes she hadn't seen in a long time. The mystery engraving at Theo Fennell was probably a horrible misunderstanding. Must not have been David at all. They just needed to spend more time together. Get to know one another again. He worked hard to give them the life they enjoyed. She had been unfair to doubt him. ”And how are you, darling?” he asked her.
”Well, the garden is looking stunning. I'd love to show it to you tomorrow. We've planted loads of vegetables. The children have invited friends home for tea. We wouldn't have imagined that happening six months ago, would we?” In her enthusiasm she was about to tell him she had started writing a novel. However, something made her hold back. Her novel was linked to Ava Lightly's sc.r.a.pbook and her own, secret fantasies about Jean-Paul. She might try to publish it under a pseudonym. ”Everything's good,” she concluded.
David tucked into his chicken, drank half a bottle of wine and finally began to relax. It was extremely unsettling having Blythe in his house. Recently, he had begun to feel displaced in his own home. The sight of his wife and children in the vegetable garden with Jean-Paul had given him a painful jolt. They had looked like any ordinary happy family, laughing and playing in the suns.h.i.+ne. Miranda had treated him as if he were of little importance. She didn't smile at him the way she smiled at Jean-Paul. He had noticed the way her eyes lit up when he looked at her. The way they seemed to communicate silently like two people who shared secrets. He regretted his affair with Blythe. It had meant nothing. Just a bit of fun. But now he felt Gus and Storm drifting away from him like bright helium balloons in a big blue sky, too far away to reach. They had settled into Hartington with their mother. They all had a place there among the trees and flowers, but there didn't seem to be a place for him.
He chatted to Blythe as any friend would, hoping to give nothing away. It had been reckless of her to accept the invitation. He'd get through the weekend without raising suspicion, then he'd tell her it was over. He had tried to let her down gently, seeing less of her, not taking her calls. But she was strong and persistent and he had made the error of weakening at the sight of her in suspenders and fur coat. She had to be told straight. Their affair had to stop. He watched her in the candlelight, her features distorted by the shadows that fell across her face, and realized that he had made a ma.s.sive error of judgment. She wasn't the type of woman to let go easily. In fact, if he didn't handle it right, she could create a lot of trouble.
After dinner they remained at the table discussing Blythe's divorce. There was nothing more gratifying for her than talking about herself, sweeping everyone into her drama. The more she drank, the less attractive she became. By contrast, Miranda looked serene, if a little detached.
Later, in bed, Miranda turned over onto her side, facing away from him. Her breathing was so quiet he could barely hear her. ”Miranda,” he whispered. ”Are you still awake?”
”Yes,” she whispered back.
”Come here.”
”I'm tired,” she replied without moving. She didn't feel like making love. He put an arm around her waist and edged close behind her.
”I want to spend time with the children tomorrow,” he said.
”Good,” she mumbled sleepily.
”What would they like to do?”
”Pirates.”
”That's not my game,” he retorted sharply.
”Then do something different. Take them up to the castle. I've never taken them there.”
”Would they like that?”
”I'm sure they would if you make it fun.” David thought about it a moment. He wanted to confess that he had forgotten how to make things fun.
”I'll do my best,” he said with an awkward chuckle.
”You're making me hot,” she said, not unkindly. He moved back to his side of the bed. The sheets were cold.
”What's happening to us?” he said suddenly. ”We used to laugh all the time. We used to share everything. Now we exist in the same world but apart. Is it my fault?”
Miranda turned over to face him. She could see his distraught face through the darkness. ”I don't feel very close to you anymore, David.”
”You mean you're in love with someone else?”
”Of course not,” she replied, then laughed. ”I love the children and the gardens and this house. I want you to be a part of it. Gus and Storm want their father to play with them, but they never see you. I don't want to complain. You're up there all week working your backside off for us. It would be ungrateful to complain.”
”I want to make it right between us. I want to go back to the way we were.” He reached out his hand and placed it on her hip. ”I love you, Miranda. There's no one in the world like you. The trouble is I get so caught up in work, travelling up and down from London, that I forget to tell you I love you. I don't want to be cold or distant. I feel you drifting away. I don't want to lose you.”
She ran her fingers down his face. ”You're not going to lose me, darling. But we have to work at this.”
”Then let's work at it. My family is more important to me than work. I'd quit my job in a heartbeat if I felt it was driving a wedge between us.”
”You don't have to go that far. Just watch less golf on weekends. Gus and Storm are such fun. They just want you to spend time with them. They want to feel valued.”
”You're so right. I wish Blythe wasn't here, then we could be alone together.” He drew her into his arms and kissed her forehead. I wish I had never fooled around with her, he thought to himself. I'll tell her it's over and put the whole stupid mess behind me.
Blythe lay in bed unable to sleep. The room spun. She stuck her foot out and planted it firmly on the floor to steady herself. It wasn't much help. She seethed in fury. David hadn't paid her any attention. He had kissed his wife in front of her-what an insult!-and not even given her a secret smile or knowing look. He hadn't slipped her a note, arranging to meet in the pool house at four in the morning or in one of the spare rooms of the house. He had acted as if she were like any other guest. There was no fun in playing it so safe. So much for Miranda's floundering marriage. They looked as smugly content as any happily married couple could look.
As the room slowed down she resolved to get him on his own the following day. She'd drag him into a bush if she had to.
Henrietta sat in Troy's sitting room curled up on the sofa with a digestive biscuit and a mug of hot milk. ”You know, Miranda's going to take me up to London for a makeover,” she informed him. ”We're going to the personal shopping place at Selfridges.”
”Lucky you!” he breathed enviously. ”You might even get Pandora.”
”She mentioned her.”
”Oh, she's famous! Gorgeous, blond, as bubbly as a magnum of Moet and Chandon.”
”How on earth do you know that?”
”I make it my business to know important things.” He laughed. ”Grazia magazine or InStyle, I can't remember which one, but they gave her a whole feature. She takes care of the rich and famous. She'll turn Cinderetta into a real princess at the ball.”