The following evening, she rang her mother.
‘How did the show go, Mum?’
‘Very well indeed thank you, darling.’
Isabel made no reference to Mel’s absence, but Mel could tell from her clipped tones that she was hurt.
‘I’m really sorry. I was stuck on a train. I didn’t want to walk in an hour late. I’d love to hear about it. Shall I come over at the weekend?’
There was a pause.
‘I may be a little busy.’
Mel was stunned. Her mother could be peevish, martyred, even unwelcoming. But it was many years since she had been busy. Before she could respond, Isabel continued, ‘I met such a charming couple at the show. The young woman’s coming over to help with the costumes on Saturday and then we’re going out to lunch. Sunday’s Bridge Club as you well know.’
Mel had forgotten. Bridge Club met once a month. Usually it was a relief. An activity to keep her mother, if not happy, at least occupied. But today the news unsettled her. Isabel was still talking.
‘And you’re quite right about the cleaner. I took a fresh look at the place after the show and rang the agency this morning. They’re sending someone over.’
At seventy-eight, Isabel was embarking on a new life. Mel knew she should be pleased. Instead she felt confused, even bereft. The ground felt a little less stable.
She called Georgie.
‘Mel, sweetie. What you up to? We never see you these days. It’s all rush-rush in chambers.’
‘That’s what I was thinking. It’d be great to get together. How are you fixed at the weekend?’
‘Oh, shame. You should have rung earlier. We’ve got stuff on. But come for supper next Saturday. Farouk and I promised ourselves a night alone. Just us.’
‘I’d be gate crashing.’
‘Of course not. You’re family. You don’t count.’
‘I’ll take that as a compliment. Thanks, Georgie.’
The ground was firm again. It was always a pleasure to spend an evening with Georgie and his partner, Farouk. That left tonight. And tomorrow. There were other friends, people she could ring. But you needed confidence to call people at the last minute to see if they were free on a Saturday night. And she didn’t need any more rejections.
She tried several novels but couldn’t concentrate beyond a single paragraph. Eventually she picked up a new book on Family Law reform which she’d been meaning to read for some time. It was dry, consisting mostly of suggestions for a new procedural framework. Yet tonight, its very dryness appealed, reminding her of one of the reasons she had taken up law. It provided a structure by which you could manage unruly emotions. People had the mistaken notion that law was difficult. It was so much easier than the emotions themselves.
Chapter Twenty-nine
Natasha
It was Sunday and she was ready for her second outing with Isabel.
‘You’ve really taken to the old dear,’ Luke laughed.
‘Please don’t call her “old dear”. It’s patronising. She’s a friend.’
Friend was not a word she often used. She wasn’t sure she had any. But she and Isabel were good together. Isabel liked to have an admirer. And it was easy to be a fan.
‘Or the mother you never had.’
‘Cut the psychobabble, Luke. We just get on. We’ve a lot in common. Anyway, you’re off to footie. I’m due at hers at ten. We’re going to lunch at a museum. I’m hoping she’ll let me wear one of the costumes. I’m a perfect fit for Darcy Black. Even the shoes.’
‘Don’t overdo it, darling.’
She wasn’t sure what he meant.
‘For fucksake, I’m not the seventy-eight-year-old.’
Had he noticed that she was more tired than normal? That she had eaten half her usual breakfast? Of course. Luke noticed everything. Though he had not seen what she saw in the Ladies’ toilet yesterday. The clear blue ring.
‘Just saying. Take care.’
He wore his anxious look. As if he feared something terrible might happen to her. She smiled at his concern, brushing her hand up his arm as she leant to kiss him goodbye, jumping quickly away towards the door before he could stop her leaving. If he had seen what she had seen in the toilet he would have looked even more anxious. Might even have suggested joining them. But she would not let him suffocate her. No, she would not have this baby.
When she arrived at the Dulwich house Isabel was in her dressing gown.
‘Oh, am I too early?’
‘Not at all. I thought we might choose our outfits together. Come in. I’m making coffee.’
The water was boiling. Isabel spooned fresh coffee into mugs, apparently forgetting you didn’t just pour hot water on the grounds. Natasha thanked her and they carried their gritty drinks upstairs into the spare room where the cupboard doors were open to reveal a tightly packed rail of dresses and suits. They dated back to the Eighties and Nineties and last weekend she and Isabel had sorted them all according to function or occasion.
‘Pick one,’ said Isabel.
‘You mean…?’
‘Choose one you’d like to wear today. If you’re happy with it you can take it home. With the right shoes of course. You’ll find Schiaparelli, Prada, Gucci, most of them only worn once.’
Natasha chose a brilliant green suit with a floppy Thatcher bow. There was a hint of power dressing in the discreetly padded shoulders and nipped in waist and it was perfect with black and gold platform shoes. She twisted her hair high into neat bun like a ballet dancer and gazed into the mirror at the stylish stranger. The stranger’s carefully made-up lips returned her gentle smile. What would Luke think?
‘The designers used to give me everything. Apparently I boosted sales. Of course, I’m not the woman I was. One shrinks you know. None of this is any use to me now.’ Isabel looked wistful, pulling herself upright as if to dismiss a painful thought. ‘I could get a tailor to take in the seams, but it would feel all wrong. Like destroying a beautiful artwork. Mel says I should get rid of it all. Dump it at a charity shop.’
‘That would be a pity.’
Natasha calculated. She might get £100 or more for any one of these on eBay. And there were plenty of them.
‘Maybe I could help you sell them? After the exhibition of course. Come on, let’s find something for you.’
They moved into Isabel’s room and rifled through the jumble of garments in her own cupboards. Natasha pulled out a black silk shift. It was simple and elegant. The only problem was that the lack of colour drained all life from Isabel’s complexion.
‘Make-up!’ declared Natasha, settling Isabel in a chair in front of the mirror. She used her own pallet to add subtlety to Isabel’s foundation, lipstick, rouge and mascara, standing back to admire her efforts. There was something missing. Apparently reading her mind, Isabel pointed to the two inlaid wood and gilt boxes on the table in front of them. Natasha opened them both and picked out a flamboyant diamond brooch that transformed Isabel’s outfit from ordinary to exceptional.
‘Now you,’ said Isabel.
‘Me?’
‘Pick something for yourself.’
‘From your boxes?’ Natasha endeavoured to sound more surprised than keen.