To the Moon and Back

Chapter 33




It had been a toss-up between Claridge’s and the Berkeley, but in the end Tony had gone with the Berkeley. Ellie had no idea he was even over here in the UK; as far as she was concerned, he was still in LA. Crazy, of course, to buy a London pied-à-terre then not use it, but with Ellie and Todd’s relationship still in its tentative early stages, he didn’t want to be in their way. And if it had progressed to the next level… well, then he really didn’t want to be in the way.

Those were the altruistic reasons, anyway. The third one, skewed rather more in his favor, was that if all went well on this visit over here, he wouldn’t want Ellie to be the one left feeling awkward.

This way they all had their privacy.

Right. What was the time? Could he go downstairs and wait now?

Should he put on more cologne or was he already wearing too much?

Would she be early? Would she be late? Was it possible to feel any more like a teenager than this?

Downstairs, ten minutes later, Tony’s breath caught in his throat as she walked into the lobby, exactly on time. Oh God, and even more beautiful than he remembered, despite the fact that she’d taken up practically permanent residence in his head. Now he committed every last detail to memory and opened his arms wide.

Martha, wearing a fitted lemon-yellow dress and matching shoes, held his face in her hands and said hesitantly, ‘This is wrong, it’s the wrongest thing I’ve ever done. Last time it wasn’t planned, but this is premeditated.’

Which sounded promising. Inwardly marveling that the sensation of her skin touching his skin could create a reaction of such intensity, Tony said, ‘It’s so good to see you again.’

Good was the understatement of the year. Seeing her made him feel properly alive. He squeezed her hands and saw the maelstrom of emotions in her amber eyes.

‘Oh, Tony.’ Martha’s voice was unsteady. ‘What have you done to me? I used to think I was a nice person. Honest and decent.’

‘You are. Hey, this isn’t such a big deal. All we’re doing is meeting for lunch.’

‘I know. Just lunch.’ She exhaled.

‘Two friends seeing each other again, catching up.’ This had been the agreement; obviously he was hoping for more. But if nothing else happened, that was OK. He wasn’t going to put any pressure on her. Seeing Martha again, gazing into her eyes, and hearing her voice was enough.

Nearly.

Oh, but we’re so much more than just two friends catching up.

‘I’ve already had to lie to Eunice. She wanted me to go along with her this afternoon to visit Henry. I told her I couldn’t, said I had to meet a client.’

‘Well, that isn’t a lie. It’s true. I am a client. I’m your biggest fan.’ He tried to lighten the atmosphere and dissipate her guilt. ‘Do you want me to buy another painting? I’ll buy another painting. I’ll buy as many as you like.’

And this time she did smile. ‘Oh, Tony. What are you doing to me?’

There were all sorts of answers to that, but he didn’t voice them. Instead he gave her hand a squeeze. ‘Come on, let’s go through to the restaurant. I’m buying you lunch.’

The next three hours flew by. They drank Prosecco—but not too much—ate wonderful food—Tony was barely aware of it—and talked nonstop. The connection was still there, stronger than ever. They had privacy, they could relax, he never wanted it to end. When the restaurant closed, they moved through to the Blue Bar and carried on, enclosed in their own private bubble of bliss. Upstairs he had a room with a bed in it, but they stayed where they were. It was OK. No pressure. He was over here for three days. Oh, would you look at those eyes. That perfect mouth. The way her dimples flashed every time she smiled. He loved every inch of her, every last glorious caramel curve. And to know that she’d been missing him as desperately as he had missed her… it gave him such hope. Somehow, somewhere, surely they could be together in a way that was miraculously guilt-free…

‘Are you listening to a word I’m saying?’ Martha leaned forward and tapped his arm.

‘Sorry. You’re making it hard to concentrate.’ He captured her fingers between his own, wondering if he’d be able to kiss her before she left. Would she let him? ‘What is it?’

‘I was telling you about my trip to Blockbuster the other week. Henry likes to watch the old Dad’s Army TV shows but he managed to sit on his DVDs so I’d gone along to get him some more. I was just standing by the counter when I heard you saying, “What are you doing here?” Well, I jumped a mile. I couldn’t believe it, I thought you were right behind me. I nearly had a heart attack on the spot!’ She fanned her face at the memory. ‘So then of course I turned around and there you were, up on the TV screen in that film you did last year. I felt like such an idiot… oh, hang on, that’s mine.’ Reaching for her bag, she pulled out the ringing phone and grimaced. ‘Oh Lord, it’s Eunice.’

‘Leave it.’ Tony already knew she wouldn’t.

‘I can’t. Won’t be a second.’ She jumped up and made her way out of the Blue Bar, away from the noise. Tony watched her go. From a distance he saw her answer the phone, then freeze. Oh great, what was it? Please don’t let Eunice be putting pressure on her, playing the guilt card. Martha’s hand had flown to her mouth now. Something was wrong. Of all the afternoons, why did it have to happen on this one?

‘Henry’s lost.’ She was back, searching agitatedly for her purse. ‘He’s gone missing on Hampstead Heath. They can’t find him… anything could happen to him… I’m sorry, I have to go.’

How could he let her go alone? Outside the Berkeley, the doorman flagged down a black cab and together Tony and Martha jumped in. Ensconced inside the hotel, they hadn’t even realized it had begun to rain. Now as they made their way to Hampstead, the taxi’s windscreen wipers struggled to cope. Thunder was rumbling, the sky had darkened to slate gray, and lightning crackled overhead.

‘There’s no point in you coming with me.’ Martha’s face was taut with anxiety. ‘You can’t look for him. Eunice mustn’t see you.’

‘I can keep out of her way.’ He wanted to hug and reassure her, but it wasn’t the time. ‘How did it happen anyway?’

‘Henry’s always loved the heath. Sometimes we take him there for a walk. Eunice took him today. It was still sunny when they got there. They sat down on a bench and she dozed off.’

‘Dozed off ?’

‘She’s exhausted. You can’t blame her; she never stops. Anyway, it was only for a couple of minutes. But when she woke up, Henry was gone. No sign of him anywhere. And then it started to rain. Oh God, this is my punishment for not going with them. I came to see you instead and now he’s lost.’

‘Stop it, don’t panic, nothing’s going to happen to him.’ Tony was firm. ‘Trust me, he’ll be found.’

But when they eventually reached Hampstead, Henry was still missing. The taxi driver stopped at the bottom of Millfield Lane, close to the Highgate ponds. Martha, on the phone with Eunice, ascertained that she was up by the most northerly of the ponds.

‘I’ll head on up there. She’s distraught. There are park rangers out looking for him.’ She opened the door of the cab and was drenched within seconds. ‘Please, Eunice mustn’t see you. Leave this to me. You go home.’

‘OK, I’ll do that. Call me as soon as you can.’ Any kind of kiss would be hideously inappropriate now. Tony let her go. The moment she was out of sight, he paid the driver and jumped out of the taxi. Where Martha had turned right, he checked that no glimpses of her lemon-yellow dress were visible through the trees and turned left.

The rain was hammering down like gunfire. There wasn’t anyone else about and the branches of the trees were being wrenched this way and that, whipped into a frenzy by ferocious gusts of wind. Martha had told him that Henry had gone missing on Parliament Hill, but his favorite section of the heath was where the ponds lay. Getting wetter by the second, Tony headed towards them. His shoes, unaccustomed to the terrain, slipped and slid as he made his way through mud and stones and wild undergrowth. Right, here he was at the water’s edge. Still no one else in sight, and the pond was less than enticing, gray and cold-looking, the surface whipped up and pitted with rain. Even the ducks had done the sensible thing and taken shelter. Grasses, long and rough, clung to his trouser legs like seaweed. The next moment he stopped dead in his tracks as something dark bobbed up in the water in the center of the pond. But it wasn’t a head; it was a discarded carrier bag. Panic over. God, his heart was thudding now. It could have been Henry. Trudging on, Tony blinked water from his eyes and kept searching. At one stage, in the far distance, he saw a tiny figure up on the hill and heard a voice, barely audible, yelling Henry’s name.

Ten minutes later it happened. Did he hear a noise or was it sheer chance that he turned and looked to one side and saw a bare foot sticking out of the undergrowth ten yards away? Back came the fear, because what else did that mean he was about to find? Stumbling across the uneven ground, Tony saw the leg attached to the foot, clad in sodden brown trousers. Then a long thin body, long arms, the head… yes, it was definitely him…

‘Hello?’ Tony approached with caution. Henry was half-sitting, half-lying beneath a tree with his eyes closed and his mouth slightly open. He looked like a carved wooden statue, abandoned in the rain.

Then the eyes opened and Henry was looking at him. ‘I’m wet.’

Alive, then. Not dead.

‘Henry? Are you OK?’

‘Yes, thank you. I’m wet.’

‘I can see that. What happened to your shoes?’

Henry gazed in bemusement at his bony bare feet. ‘I don’t know. I’m sorry. I’m quite wet.’

‘Are you able to stand?’

‘I’m quite hungry. Is it time for breakfast?’

Henry’s voice was gentle, bewildered, educated. Obediently, he held out his hands and allowed Tony to help him to his feet. His clothes were as sodden as if he’d been in the pond. Maybe he had.

‘Been for a swim?’ said Tony.

Henry blinked slowly. ‘I’m wet.’

They stood and gazed at each other for several seconds in the rain. Then Tony watched as Henry searched in his trouser pockets and produced a gray sock. He proceeded to put it on his left hand like a glove. This was Martha’s husband; he had been an accountant. God, Alzheimer’s was a brutal, disgusting disease. It crossed Tony’s mind that there was no one in sight. No one even knew he was here. If he were a character in a film, he might be tempted to lead Henry to the water’s edge and push him in. It was deep here. He wouldn’t be able to climb out. He could be gone, removed, eradicated…

But this wasn’t a film. And he may have done some things in his life that he was less than proud of, but he wasn’t a murderer.

Tony smiled slightly and reached for his mobile.

‘I’d love a cup of tea,’ said Henry, brushing water from his springy gray-white hair.

‘We’ll get you one.’ His finger hovered over the phone. ‘Henry, who’s Martha?’

He saw a flicker of recognition in the silver-rimmed brown eyes. ‘Martha? I think she lives next door, doesn’t she?’

Tony said gently, ‘Martha’s your wife.’

‘Ah yes. Yes, that’s right.’ Henry looked at the sock on his hand. ‘A cup of tea and a biscuit.’

‘Do you love Martha?’ Did this make him a truly despicable person? ‘Henry, do you love her? Your wife?’

‘Oh yes. Where are my shoes? I love her very much.’ He was nodding earnestly now. ‘And a ham sandwich. That would be nice. I’m quite hungry, you know.’

Tony made the call. ‘I’ve got him, he’s fine.’

‘Oh thank God!’ Martha let out a sob of relief. ‘Where are you?’

He told her, adding, ‘Don’t say anything to Eunice, just get yourself straight down here.’

It took Martha less than five minutes to reach them. The rain had begun to ease off slightly, but they were all so soaked through now it no longer mattered.

‘Hello!’ Henry’s face lit up at the sight of her heading through the undergrowth towards them.

‘What’s her name?’ said Tony.

‘Oh my goodness, I do know it. Let me think… she’s my beautiful wife.’

‘Oh, Henry, we were so worried about you. We didn’t know where you were.’ Martha clutched his hands, one of them still encased in the gray knitted sock. ‘Where are your shoes?’

‘Harrods, I think. Or Sainsbury’s. I’m wet.’

‘I know, darling. It doesn’t matter, we’re going to get you home now.’ She looked at Tony and said, ‘Thank you so much. You have to go. But thank you.’

As Tony turned to leave, Martha was already calling Eunice to tell her that everything was OK, Henry was safe.

Henry, carefully examining the sock on his hand, said to no one in particular, ‘Or roast chicken would be nice.’