Carla. Joe.
Maybe that’s why I made such a supreme effort to be back early myself. ‘No more tonight,’ I told the eager young intern who was still poring over the papers I had given him. ‘We all need a break at times.’
‘But it’s only 7 p.m.!’
He might as well have said 4 p.m. Late nights aren’t just expected of you when you’re a lawyer; they’re one of many sandbags between you and the door marked ‘Exit’. In other words, long hours show you’re committed. They help protect you from the constant threat of being pushed out. Law can be a cut-throat business.
‘That smells good,’ I say to Ed. Why is it that you often end up complimenting someone you’re afraid of hurting? My husband produces the dish with a flourish, then places it carefully on the table. On the wall opposite, a picture of Tom looks down on us. He is serious. Like Daniel, he rarely smiles.
‘So what is it that you need to talk about? Something so urgent that we couldn’t afford to share our time with the girl who has made our money?’
‘She made your money. Not mine. I make my own.’
‘But don’t you see?’ Ed’s eyes are shining. ‘Carla has come back. If she allows me to paint her again, it will kick-start my career. The publicity will be great.’
Haven’t I already thought of that? Yet something doesn’t feel quite right. ‘Maybe,’ I begin. And then the phone rings.
‘You’d better get it,’ says Ed, tucking in. ‘It will be work again. Always is.’
Reluctantly I pick up the phone.
‘Darling?’
My heart freezes. I tried to ring Mum earlier, as I do every day. A quick call to see if everything is all right. A guilt call because my mother is dealing with a situation that I’m no good at. But there wasn’t any reply. Then work took over and I forgot. Yes, I know.
‘What’s happened?’
My mother’s voice is tight. ‘It’s Tom. He’s in trouble.’
What we want and what we need in life are two very different things.
But it takes death to put those two contenders into perspective.
Right now, there’s only one thing I really want.
To live.
32
Carla
October was almost halfway through already. She had waited for weeks now for Lily to call. Carla had begun to feel foolish and not a little annoyed. This was just like the letters. Clearly Lily and Ed were the kind of people who said one thing and did another. They had no intention of ‘thanking her’ as promised. They just wanted her to go away! Frankly, she expected this of Lily. But it was Ed with the kind eyes who had disappointed her.
If they thought this was over, though, they were mistaken. She would, Carla told herself as she stared at her law books in her cold hostel room (she’d got used to the cockroaches now), give them two more weeks and then turn up at the gallery again.
Just as disappointing was the email reply from Tony Gordon’s clerk.
Mr Gordon is not available at present. Your message will be passed on to him at the earliest possible opportunity.
In other words, he didn’t want to see her.
‘Go round to his house,’ Mamma had pleaded when Carla had told her in a rushed phone call. But Mamma couldn’t remember the name of the street, apart from the fact that it was ‘somewhere in a place called Islington’. Even Google hadn’t come up with his address.
Determined not to be beaten, she spent some hours walking round Islington one Saturday, hoping that something would trigger off a childhood memory from that terrible Christmas when Mamma had been hysterical because Larry couldn’t be with them. But all she could remember was a tall building with big windows. There were so many of them that it was like looking for a needle in a haystack, as the English said.
There was nothing for it but to plough her energies into her demanding studies. Everyone at college was so clever. Yet she had an advantage. She knew that. There was only one other Italian girl there, and she lacked the natural assets that Carla had. Beauty as well as brains. Everyone (the boys, that was) wanted to help her. She was asked out for coffee and dinner so many times she couldn’t count them.
Each time she turned down the invitation with a smile and the excuse that she needed to work instead. However, she would say with a slight turn of the head, it would be very kind if they could just explain something about the last assignment.
Then, one evening, when her hands were stiff with cold in her little room, the mobile rang.
Lily!
‘I’m sorry it’s taken so long to get in touch.’ The voice was uncertain. ‘The truth is that since we saw you, we’ve had some … some problems.’
There was a short silence during which Carla felt that Lily had more to say but was holding back. ‘You are not ill?’ she asked quickly.
‘No.’ There was a short laugh. ‘Not me.’
Carla felt a quickening of fear. ‘Not Ed?’
‘No. Not him either.’
That was good. Of the two, Carla definitely preferred Ed, with his appreciative eyes. Lily, Carla told herself, was not to be trusted. It was true that she had once idolized the woman who had taught her how to make Victoria sponges and looked after her when Mamma was ‘working’. But look how she had stepped in between Larry and Mamma. Then there was her job. Carla allowed herself a half-smile as she recalled how she’d thought Lily had committed murder herself because she’d seen the word on her files. But even so, it took a certain kind of person to defend someone who was accused of snuffing out someone else’s life. Carla shuddered. Criminal law wasn’t for her. Employment law, said her tutors, was the way forward. She had a knack for it, apparently.
Meanwhile, Lily was still wittering on about her son.
‘Tom … well, Tom got into trouble at school. But it’s all sorted now.’
‘That is good.’ Carla knew she should sound more interested, but the truth was that she wasn’t that fussed. Some of her friends back in Italy had had babies now, and maybe, one day, it would be something she’d like. But right now there were other more important matters on her mind.
‘I had to take some time off work,’ Lily continued. ‘But I am back now in London. Ed and I wondered if you would like to come over next week for supper.’
Ed and Lily’s home was beautiful, even though there was an empty crisp packet fluttering around on the pavement outside. Before walking up the steps, Carla stood and stared at the gracious, tall house with white bricks and late geraniums flowering on a balcony above. A rustle in the hedge running along the front of the house startled her. Just a bird. Calm down, she told herself. You’re only nervous because you’re finally here.
Tentatively she raised the silver knocker on the glossy black door, tucking the flowers she had brought under her arm in order to do so. When Ed opened it (‘Come in! Come in!’) she marvelled at the black and white tiles in the hall. Every room was like a page in a magazine. White everywhere. White and glass. Glass coffee tables. White walls. White counters in the kitchen.
They must have a great deal of money to afford all this. Yet it was almost as if Lily had banished colour.
‘Roses!’ Ed buried his face in the bunch which she’d bought, at half price, from a street flower seller about to shut up for the night. ‘What a wonderful smell. And such an amazing pink, like blushing cheeks. Now why don’t you sit here. Lily will be down in a minute.’
If it was her, Carla told herself, taking a seat at the glass table in the kitchen, she would put a rustic pine bench there and a scarlet rug there …
‘Welcome,’ said Lily, suddenly appearing through the door.
Carla airkissed her hostess’s cheeks, taking in her cream trousers and the stylish beige pumps on her feet. If only she had the money to dress like that instead of buying second-hand or relying on Mamma’s sewing skills! ‘Thank you for having me.’