Mel stared at Natasha who was suddenly as ugly as she was beautiful, hard and cold in her skimpy dress with her manicured fingernails and perfectly streaked hair. She wanted to put her hands around that slender neck and squeeze. Then, with equal intensity, she wanted a cigarette. But she had given up smoking sixteen years ago.
‘I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.’ She heard her mother’s voice in her own, arch, dismissive, false. But it was not a complete lie. She had no memory of any such conversation.
‘You must have forgotten. We were at one of the inside tables. You asked where I’d done my law degree and I told you I’d been to North Bank. Then you asked if I knew him. You obviously wanted to talk about him.’
‘You’re mistaken.’
Could she have said something? She’d probably had a few glasses of wine that evening. Her memory might be hazy.
‘I mean I know what it’s like when you’re keen on somebody. You just want to talk about them all the time.’
‘I can’t believe I ever spoke to you about Paul.’
Natasha smirked. ‘You told me you were shagging him.’
It was as if someone had whacked Mel’s chest from the inside with a mallet. She leapt up and grabbed her bag.
‘Impossible. I would never use that word.’
Her heart was thumping. Thoughts swirled. Why had she come? She should have gone straight to her mother’s. And why had Jacob run off? What if something bad had happened to him? But that was ridiculous. Why should something bad happen to him in a London park on a Sunday afternoon? It was not as if he was in a gang. Or was he? She was spiralling. She took a deep breath and looked back at Natasha whose expression was simultaneously sympathetic and opaque.
‘Oh, Mel, you look upset. Listen, it’s cool. I don’t remember what expression you used – bonking, making out, getting laid, having an affair. I’m not going to judge you. Your bloke pissed off. Why shouldn’t you have fun too? It’s your business.’
‘Please keep your voice down, Natasha.’ The sudden assumption of intimacy was unbearable, like having your flesh rubbed down a cheese grater.
Mel’s words had no effect. Natasha, usually so controlled and calm, was energised. ‘I won’t mention it to anyone. I mean, you’ve done nothing wrong. Not really. You’re not the married one.’
The word ‘married’ bounced off the walls of the pavilion. Only the consciousness of spectators and some deep-seated habit of good conduct prevented Mel throwing the other woman off her chair onto the wooden deck. Her chest was thrumming. She stood, waiting for the sensation to pass. A small cloud drifted across the afternoon sun and was reflected in the mirror beside them. Voices were hushed, people staring.
‘Please, sit down, Mel.’
Something in the cool clarity of the instruction cut through Mel’s agitation and she sat. The drama was over, the audience members returned to their tea, cake and families, drifting back into conversation. Natasha cut a slice of cake and offered it. Mel shook her head. She couldn’t speak. The nice family was packing up to go. Through the fog of her rage against Natasha, she felt a stab of loss at the realisation she would never see them again.
Natasha reached her hand across the table as if to apologise. But what she said was far from an apology. ‘Listen, how about you write me a nice reference and…’ She paused.
‘And what?’
‘And I don’t say a word.’
At that moment the sun caught the side of Natasha’s face and her eyes shone, twin diamonds of light against the startling green of her irises. Her hand was still stretched towards Mel’s which was gripping the edge of the table. And for the first time it crossed Mel’s mind that her pupil might not just be a troublemaker, not just unfeeling, but a little mad. Mel pulled her hand away as if that madness might be contagious. ‘Don’t touch me.’
‘Cross my heart and hope to die,’ said Natasha.
‘Are you serious?’
‘And if you take me to meet your mum, I’ll be your friend forever.’
Natasha was smiling now as if she really believed her words might have influence. Mel jumped up. It was time to be 100 per cent clear.
‘Listen, Natasha. I wouldn’t let you anywhere near my mother. Or my son for that matter. Oh, I was prepared to hear you out when I came to meet you. I know you had read at least one of my emails, but I was ready to believe you came across it by accident. I could forgive that. But no. It’s obvious it was no accident. You had a purpose. You deliberately read my correspondence. You saw your opportunity for meddling and now you want to use your knowledge. And you think I would take you to meet my mother? You’re out of your mind. There’s no way I would let you near anyone I care about. What’s wrong with you?’
And, without waiting for an answer, she stood up and strode away across the grass.
Chapter Twenty-four
Natasha
Natasha aimed an imaginary automatic rifle at Mel’s back and let off a volley of bullets. But Mel kept walking. In less than a minute Natasha had leapt up and followed.
The gallery was closing, visitors bunched around the main gate, setting off for buses and cars. Mel disappeared into the throng and Natasha was forced to elbow through to locate her. She pushed past the inevitable complainers.
‘Watch out!’
‘Where are your manners, young lady?’
‘In a rush are we?’
‘I’m so sorry,’ she explained, ‘I need to get to the hospital urgently. My mother’s had a bad accident.’
They stood back.
On the main road she looked both ways, spotting Mel about fifty yards ahead, recognisable from her steady gait, broad shoulders and solid hips, advancing down the pavement past the parked cars in the direction of the village.
Natasha’s phone was ringing. She pulled it out of her bag, saw Luke’s name and put it back. Not now. She didn’t want to lose Mel who appeared to be slowing down, practically sauntering, as if her original rapid pace had nothing to do with seeing Isabel and everything to do with getting away from Natasha.
There were no parked cars and few trees on this side of the road and Natasha continued to walk behind her. At one point, Mel stopped and Natasha leapt over a low wall in front of a large white building by the side of the road. But after a pause to check her phone, Mel set off again, waiting until traffic had stopped at a zebra before crossing the road and moving on in the same direction along the other side. Natasha remained hidden behind the wall until Mel had turned left at a roundabout. Then she ran out and down to the corner.
Peeking around the corner she saw Mel carrying on down the next residential street and turning off into a quieter side road. Making her way to the corner, Natasha next spotted Mel walking along a row of almost identical semi-detached houses, mostly painted white with neatly pointed brickwork. Any one of these would be worth a fortune.
Natasha’s phone was ringing again. Luke would have to wait. She wanted to know where Isabel lived. With careful planning she might find a way to get in there and meet her. At that moment Mel stopped, looked in her bag and took something out, swinging slowly around in Natasha’s direction. Without hesitating, Natasha walked purposefully into the front garden of the nearest house. She would be instantly recognisable to Mel in her bright green dress, but a quick glance back indicated that Mel was staring at her phone, oblivious to all else.