The Back Road

9

As Fiona Atkinson walked down the wide staircase of her detached Edwardian home, she caught a glimpse of herself in the huge mirror by the door to the dining room. The brilliant blue of her dress with splashes of emerald green looked wonderful against her tan, and the hem of its handkerchief skirt rose from mid calf to mid thigh in places to give glimpses of her toned legs. Every inch of her body was honed to perfection, and her short blonde hair was gleaming. Marco had done a wonderful job with her highlights as usual. Her only concern was her shoes. She was sure that Ellie would expect them all to wander round the garden, and there was no way that these heels were leaving the safety of the house.

All eyes would definitely be on her, and that was just what she wanted. One pair especially, if he was there. She hadn’t wanted to ask, though. It wouldn’t do to seem too keen.

‘Right Charles, I’m ready,’ Fiona announced as she swept into the room in a cloud of Hermes’ 24 Faubourg perfume. ‘What do you think?’ she asked, posing with one hand on her hip.

Charles was standing by the window, looking out at their immaculately maintained garden with a glass of something colourless in his hand. She knew it wouldn’t be water. Dressed in a navy blue pinstriped suit and red tie that were entirely inappropriate to the occasion, Charles turned to look at her. His brown hair was slicked back from a wide forehead, and his dark bushy eyebrows almost met over a pair of small, brown eyes, giving him the air of somebody who was constantly perplexed.

He lifted his glass to his lips, and then lowered it and spoke in his usual measured tones.

‘Is that the Ferragamo you told me about?’

Fiona did a small twirl.

‘It is. Divine, isn’t it?’

Charles frowned.

‘Are you seriously wearing that? To go to Ellie and Max’s? A bit OTT, wouldn’t you say?’

‘Well, clearly I wouldn’t say or I wouldn’t be wearing it. What’s your problem?’

‘I would have thought that something a tad less ostentatious would be more appropriate, given the company we’ll be keeping.’

Fiona rolled her eyes.

‘Stop being such a snob, Charles. Ellie and Max are loaded now - they are among the wealthy, so no need to turn your nose up like that.’

He walked over to the drinks table and put his glass down.

‘Well, they might have money now, but who else will be there? Not people who would appreciate Ferragamo, I should imagine.’

Fiona could never admit to Charles that each designer dress, each piece of exquisite jewellery, was a symbol to her of how far she had come and how completely she had left her past behind.

‘It might surprise you to learn, Charles, that I don’t dress to suit anybody else. I dress to suit myself.’ She followed him across the room. ‘As far as other people invited tonight, Patrick will be there with his new woman, no doubt, and Ellie said there’d be a few others, but I’m not entirely sure who.’

Fiona glanced down to pluck a non-existent hair off her dress as she spoke, avoiding Charles’ eyes. Despite the distance between them, sometimes she was amazed at how well he could read her. He gave a soft snort of disgust.

‘Patrick and his new woman just about sum it up. He’s an idiot for leaving that rather splendid Georgia - what on earth possessed the man? What’s she like anyway, this new woman?’

‘I don’t know. I haven’t met her. She’s called Miriam but apparently prefers to be called Mimi.’

‘Oh God,’ muttered Charles.

‘Ellie says she’s like a wet blanket, and Pat’s as miserable as sin.’ Fiona glared at Charles. ‘Am I getting a drink tonight, or do I have to get my own?’

‘Sorry, darling. What would you like?’

Fiona shook her head in irritation.

‘I’ll have what I always have, Charles. You ask me that every weekend, and my answer for the past five years has always been the same. A vodka martini no olive, sliver of lemon peel. And did you sort out a taxi?’

Charles busied himself at the drinks table, measuring a precise amount of vodka into a crystal glass as he spoke.

‘Well, I sorted out a car. I booked Jessops and asked them to send a Mercedes. They’re picking us up early, as you requested - about fifteen minutes from now, and I’ve ordered them to collect us at eleven.’

‘You have not. Honestly, sometimes you’re unbelievable. Eleven? We can’t leave at eleven - how old are you really, Charles?’ And what do we have to get back to, anyway? She couldn’t help thinking.

Fiona took a sip of her drink. Whatever his faults, Charles certainly knew how to mix the perfect martini. Perhaps his ability to reproduce perfection time after time was down to his obsession with precision. He couldn’t bear to go anywhere without a plan - how long to get there in order to arrive at the optimum moment; how long for each course; what would be the perfect time to make a dignified exit. He would constantly be checking his watch to make sure things were working to his schedule. But there was no way that she was going to be the first to leave tonight. She was going to milk this evening for all that she could. She was going to be the star, and wanted every man’s eyes to be on her. Charles was not going to ruin it for her.

Fiona walked across to the mirror over the sideboard, and moved a wonderful display of summer flowers out of the way so that she could see herself better. She was pleased with what she saw.

‘Well, darling, you can leave at eleven if you like, but I will be staying. I’ll try not to wake you when I get in. I’ll call a taxi.’

Fiona contemplated the evening ahead. Perhaps tonight should be decision time. She had nearly relented the night before, but had decided the game could last a little longer. Maybe it was finally time to stop playing.

The gleam of anticipation in her eyes was reflected back at her, and even through the carefully applied makeup she could just make out a hint of a flush to her cheeks.

She sensed movement behind her, and saw Charles watching her in the mirror. She quickly glanced away.