Windfallen, Page 36

  But Daniel had been reading the paper. "Is she all right?" he asked, relaxing when Daisy nodded. "I didn't . . . I didn't like to interfere."

  "She just works herself into a bit of a state," she said, reaching for her glass of wine and sitting down heavily opposite him. "She needs to blow herself out a bit before she can fall asleep again."

  "I've missed so much. I feel like I'm so far behind you in terms of knowing what she wants."

  "It's not nuclear science," said Daisy.

  "Might as well be," he said. "But I'll learn, Daise."

  She'd gone to bed shortly afterward. As she left the room, she'd had to fight the unexpected urge to kiss him on the cheek.

  "JULIA?"

  "Hello, darling. How are tricks? How's my lovely babycakes?"

  "Daniel's back."

  There was a short silence.

  "Julia?"

  "I see. When did this little miracle take place, then?"

  "Two days ago. He just turned up on the doorstep."

  "And you let him in?"

  "I was hardly going to tell him to catch the train home. It was nearly ten o'clock at night."

  Her sister's grunt told Daisy quite what she would have done. "I hope you didn't--"

  "There are eight suites here, Julia."

  "Well, that's something, I suppose. Hold on." Daisy heard a hand placed over the receiver, followed by a muffled cry. "Don? Can you turn the potatoes down for me, darling? I'm on the telephone."

  "Listen, I won't keep you. I just wanted to let you know, I guess--"

  "Back for good?"

  "What? Daniel? I don't know. He hasn't said."

  "Of course not. How silly to expect him to tell you what his plans are."

  "It's not like that, Ju. We . . . we haven't really talked about it yet. We haven't really talked about anything."

  "That's convenient for him."

  "It's not necessarily up to him."

  "When are you going to stop defending him, Daisy?"

  "I'm not. I'm really not. I guess I just want to see what . . . to see what it's like us all being around each other. Whether it even works anymore. Then we'll have the serious discussions."

  "And has he offered you any money?"

  "What?"

  "Well, for his keep. Because he doesn't have anywhere to live, now, does he?"

  "He's not--"

  "He's living in a luxury hotel. In a suite. Rent free."

  "Oh Julia, give him some credit . . ."

  "No, Daisy. I'm not prepared to give him any credit whatsoever. Why should I give him any credit after what he's put you through? You and his own child? He's a waste of skin as far as I'm concerned."

  Daisy snorted, unable to help herself.

  "Don't just let him walk in and take over again, Daisy. You've been doing fine without him, remember? You've got to keep that thought in your head. You came out the other side."

  Did I? Daisy thought afterward. She'd been less helpless, certainly. She'd managed to mold Ellie into a routine of hers, rather than the other way around. She'd rediscovered something of herself, something better, she occasionally thought, than Old Daisy. In renovating Arcadia, she had achieved something momentous and unexpected--by herself. But she'd been lonely. She was not really a girl to whom living alone came naturally.

  "You've changed," Daniel said. He'd said it quite unexpectedly, watching her at work. How? she'd asked, warily. As far as Daniel had been concerned, all her changes had so far been for the worse. "You're not as fragile as you were. Not as vulnerable. You seem better able to cope with everything."

  Daisy had glanced outside, to where Lottie was blowing on a foil windmill, making Ellie shriek with delight.

  "I'm a mother," she said.

  ON THE FOURTH DAY CAROL THE PR WOMAN ARRIVED, exclaiming about the beauty of the house, taking Polaroid photographs of every room, setting Daisy's teeth on edge and sending Lottie's eyebrows into orbit. "Jones told me about your idea. Very good idea. Very good," she said conspiratorially. "It'll make a great feature for one of the glossies. I have Interiors in mind. Or maybe Homes & Gardens, bless you." Daisy's irritation that Jones had confided in this woman had been mollified by the idea that her talents might be recognized in print.

  "Until then, however, we must keep schtum." She pulled a finger across her lip theatrically. "Novelty is everything, after all." She thought she might break a personal rule, she said, and hold a theme party: a 1950s day out at the seaside. They could be wonderfully vulgar and have donkeys and ices and silly postcards. She hadn't seemed to hear Daisy when she pointed out that it wasn't a 1950s house.

  "Is Jones coming up again? Before the opening?" Daisy said tentatively as she saw Carol back into her lowslung car, privately marveling at any fifty-something woman who still fancied herself in a Japanese two-seater.

  "He was going to try to get up this afternoon, to meet us," Carol said, punching her mobile phone for messages. "But you know what he's like, bless him." She rolled her eyes skyward, a gesture Daisy was starting to recognize as familiar among Jones's female colleagues. "So lovely to meet you, Daisy. And I'm so thrilled that we're going to be working together. It's going to be such a wonderful party."

  "Yes," Daisy said. "See you soon, then."

  Other people had begun to invade. There was a solemn young photographer, who said he did all Jones's brochures and drove the builders mad banning them from rooms and using their power cables for his arc lights. There was the chef, from Jones's London club, who came to check out the kitchens and ate three packets of peanuts for his lunch. There was a random planning officer, who turned up unannounced and left without seemingly checking a thing. And there was Mr. Bernard, who also turned up unexpectedly that evening, to see if Hal wanted to come for a drink. He had knocked on the front door and waited, even though it was open and everyone else walked in and out without breaking stride.

  "Lottie's not here, Mr. Bernard," Daisy said when she eventually spotted him. "She's taken Ellie into town. Do you want to come in?"

  "I know that, dear. And I didn't want to disturb you," he said. "I just wondered if my son-in-law was around."

  "He's out back," she said. "Come on through."

  "If I'm not disturbing anyone. That's very kind."

  He looked a little uncomfortable even walking through the house, his gaze largely fixed in front of him, as if he didn't want to appear to be nosy. "Going well, is it?" was all he would say, and he nodded, pleased, when Daisy affirmed that it was.

  "Looks like you're doing a lovely job. Not that I'd know much about it."

  "Thank you," said Daisy. "I'm glad there are a few people who think so."

  "You don't want to take any notice of Sylvia Rowan," he confided as she brought him through to the terrace. "That family always had a bit of a thing about Lottie. It's probably about her, all this unpleasantness, more than anything else. Grudges do tend to get held a long while out here."

  He patted her on the arm and walked off toward Hal, who was washing out his brushes. Daisy watched him go, remembering the evening when Lottie had told her about Camille's birth. Joe, slightly stooped and wearing his tie and collar even in high summer, was a rather unlikely knight in shining armor. Several minutes later, as Daisy hung and rehung a selection of old photographs in the hall, he reappeared in the doorway.

  "He's a bit busy tonight. Another time perhaps," he said. "Mustn't hold up the schedule, after all." He didn't look disappointed; he looked as if his face had become accustomed to many years of disappointment and merely accepted it.

  "He doesn't have to work late, if you've got something planned," said Daisy.

  "Nothing planned. To be honest, Lottie wanted me to have a word with him."

  Daisy frowned.

  "Oh, nothing to worry about, nothing to worry about," he said, walking toward his car, one hand raised by his head. "It's just this winding up of his business. I think he's taken it very hard. Just wanted to make sure he was all right, you know. Anyway, best be
on my way. See you, Daisy."

  She nodded, waved him off down the drive.

  SHE WENT TO CAMILLE'S IN THE END. SHE TOLD DANIEL she had an appointment, which was partially true, that he would have to baby-sit, which made Lottie blanch, and walked the short distance to Camille's house, realizing as she strolled through Merham's sunlit streets, weaving her way around exhausted parents and small children wobbling on unstable bicycles, that, apart from her trip to London, she had barely left the house and its grounds for weeks. Daniel had not looked as frightened as she'd thought he would; he'd looked rather pleased, as if being allowed to baby-sit his own child were a privilege, bestowed as one might a badge of honor for good behavior. She would give him till 9:00 P.M. until she called; she fully expected him to be begging her to return by then.

  Camille and Hal's house was large and semidetached, with generous windows and a 1930s porch, through which Daisy could just make out the joyfully barking figure of Rollo. She heard, then saw Camille coming surprisingly swiftly down the hall.

  "It's Daisy," she called, to spare Camille the indignity of having to ask.

  "Perfect timing," said Camille. "I've just opened a bottle of wine. Have you come for the full head?"

  "Sorry?"

  "The massage." She closed the door carefully behind Daisy and began to make her way back up the hall, her left hand gently trailing the wall.

  "Oh. If you like," said Daisy, who'd really just come for the company.

  It was a better-decorated house than she'd expected. Then, she wasn't entirely sure, in retrospect, what she had expected. Not the lightness and airiness of the house. Not pictures on the wall perhaps. Definitely not the hundreds of framed photographs dotted around on surfaces, most in ornate antique silver frames. There was Hal and Camille on a Jet Ski, hiking somewhere mountainous, Katie on a pony, all three of them dressed up for some gathering. On the mantelpiece there was a large one of Hal and Camille on their wedding day. The way he was looking at her, that mixture of pride and tenderness on Hal's youthful face, made Daisy's heart clench.

  "Lovely pictures," she said, conscious of her silence.

  "The little watercolor is of me. Mum did it, believe it or not, when I was a baby. Shame she doesn't paint anymore. I think it would do her good to have a hobby."

  "It's lovely. And the photographs."

  "Are you looking at our wedding pic?" Camille seemed to know from the direction of her voice where Daisy was. She moved fluidly toward the mantelpiece and carefully picked the picture up in its frame.

  "That's my favorite," she said fondly. "It was a really good day."

  Daisy couldn't help herself.

  "How do you know?" she said. "What's in the picture, I mean?"

  Camille placed the picture back on the mantelpiece, checking that its base was well back from the edge.

  "Katie mainly. She loves pictures. Tells me what's in every one. I could probably talk you through most of our albums as well." She paused, a half smile on her lips. "Don't worry. I'm not going to. Come through to the kitchen. I've got my old treatment chair in there. Katie likes to sit in it."

  She hardly knew Camille, not really knew, in the way that friends knew each other's histories, each other's likes and dislikes, a shared emotional shorthand. If anything, Camille was slightly too reserved for Daisy's comfort; Daisy felt easier around people who laid themselves out in front of her, who spilled out their emotions, like Daniel. But there was something about Camille that seemed to put Daisy at ease. She didn't feel competitive, in the way she often secretly did with other attractive women. And it wasn't because of Camille's lack of sight. There was just something accepting about her, something calm. Some kind of intrinsic goodness that managed not to be nauseating or make Daisy feel inadequate for the lack of her own.

  Or perhaps it was just the head massage, the gentle, alternating pressures of thumb and finger around her head and neck loosening her thoughts along with her physical tensions. Here she didn't have to think about Daniel. Here she didn't have to think at all.

  "You're very good at this," said Daisy dreamily. "I think I could fall asleep."

  "You wouldn't be the first." Camille paused to take a sip of her wine. "I had to stop doing it for the men, though. Sometimes it had a different sort of effect."

  "Oh. Ah. Not a reputation you want as a masseuse."

  "They think because you can't see, you can't tell. But you can, you know. Just from the breathing." She put her hand to her chest and imitated the increased rapidity of desire.

  "Really? Oh, my God. What did you do?"

  "Called Rollo out from under the table. A big smelly old dog usually did the trick."

  They laughed companionably.

  "Your dad was up at the house this evening."

  "Dad? Why?"

  "He invited Hal out for a drink." Daisy paused, suddenly aware of Camille's stilled hands. "I think Hal wanted to keep going on the mural. He . . . he's terribly conscientious."

  "Dad invited Hal out for a drink?"

  "That's what he said. Oh, God, have I put my foot in it?"

  "No, don't worry." There was a new steeliness in Camille's voice. "It's not Dad. That's Mum, interfering again."

  The pleasurable haze of the past minutes evaporated rapidly.

  "It might have been just a drink," Daisy ventured.

  "No, Daisy, with Mum it's never just a drink. Mum wants to know what's wrong with Hal, why he's taking the whole business thing so badly."

  "Oh."

  "She was on his case to wind the business up, and now she's on his case again, because he's not handling it as positively as she thinks he should be."

  "I'm sure she means well," said Daisy, weakly.

  "I know she means well. But she can never just leave me and Hal to sort things out ourselves." She sighed, a practiced expression of exasperation.

  "Only child?"

  "Yup. Which doesn't help. I think Dad would have liked more, but I think Mum had quite a rough time with me, and it put her off."

  "Ouch," said Daisy, thinking of her own epidural. "Sorry if I've said the wrong thing. I guess I shouldn't have said anything."

  "Oh, don't worry, Daisy. It's not the first time. No doubt it won't be the last. Comes of living so close to one's parents, I suppose. Perhaps Hal and I should have moved away when we first got married, but we didn't, and then with Katie and everything . . . I needed the help."

  "I know that feeling. I don't know what I would have done without your mum."

  Camille's hands had started moving again, a gentle, repetitive pressure.

  "You're quite tense, aren't you?" she said. "I suppose it's no surprise with the hotel opening so close and everything. I don't know how you've done it."

  "I haven't yet."

  "Is it easier? With Ellie's father here?"

  It was subtly done. Daisy toyed with the idea that Lottie had sent Camille to inquire about her relationship, too.

  "Not really, if I'm honest. I'm sure Lottie told you, he left us when Ellie was a few months old. I haven't really got used to him being back yet."

  "So you're back together?"

  "I don't know. He's here, I guess."

  "You don't sound very convinced."

  "I suppose I'm not. I don't know what to feel, really."

  She was grateful that Camille didn't try to offer any solution, any course of action. Julia could never hear a problem without feeling obliged to fix it, and she was usually mildly offended at Daisy's failure to take her recommendations to heart.

  "If Hal ever did anything really bad to you--if he ever just walked out, for example--would you be able to take him back? With open arms?"

  There was a lengthy pause. Camille's hands stopped and rested, palms down, on Daisy's forehead.

  "Hal never does anything wrong," she said dryly. "But I suppose, if it came down to it, with a child involved, I guess it depends on the greatest degree of happiness. If you're all going to be that much happier by being together, even though it's
difficult, then it's probably worth fighting for."

  Daisy felt Camille's hands move, as if she were shifting her weight.

  "I don't know. When you're young, you tell yourself you won't put up with anything, don't you? That if your marriage isn't passionate enough or if he doesn't live up to expectations, that you'll just go. You'll just leave and find someone else. And then you get older and the thought, the thought of starting again . . . the sheer awfulness of it all . . . well, I guess I'd put up with quite a lot before I pulled it all apart. The family, I mean. Maybe you just get used to compromise." She seemed to be speaking to herself.

  She paused again. And when she spoke this time, Daisy heard a different timbre to her voice. "That said, if it's impossible to make someone happy, whatever you do, I suppose that in the end you just have to admit defeat."

  LOTTIE PLACED HER BAG ON THE CHAIR IN THE HALL, noting with irritation that Joe's coat was hanging up on the peg.

  "I thought you were going out for a drink," she called, hearing the radio in the living room.

  Joe emerged and kissed his wife on the cheek. "He didn't want to come."

  "Why? He can't spend all his time working on that painting."

  Joe took hold of Lottie's coat by the shoulders as she slid out of it. "Can't make him come, love. You can lead a horse to water and all that."

  "Yes. Well. Something's up with him. He's been funny for days. And that boyfriend of Daisy's has been hanging around all day, lounging about as if he owns the place."

  Joe held the living room door open for his wife. She could see he still fought the urge to place his arm over her shoulders. She had finally told him several months ago that it had always made her feel uncomfortable.

  "He is the child's father, love."

  "Well, it's a bit late for him to start realizing that now."

  "That's for Daisy to decide. Let's leave that for a moment, shall we?"

  Lottie glanced at him sharply. Her husband looked down, then up at her.

  "This house stuff . . . I . . . I don't like it, Lottie. It's stirring everything up again. Getting you all agitated."

  "No it's not."

  "You pitching yourself against Sylvia Rowan. When you've spent the last God knows how long steering well clear of the lot of them."

  "I didn't ask her to start causing trouble."

  "And all that business with the mural. It's not that I mind, love. You know that. I've never said anything against you heading down there. But you've not been yourself these last couple of weeks. I don't like to see you getting yourself in a state."