Martin beats Ronnie to an answer. ‘I would call it The Sound of Silence.’
‘That’s a great title, Martin. Why would you call it that?’
‘Because there are no dogs, no tractors, no cars. It’s very quiet there.’
‘What would you call it, Eddy?’ I try.
And, without a beat of hesitation, Eddy says, ‘I would call it Regrets.’
‘Why would you call it Regrets, Eddy?’ I glance excitedly at Michael, who gives me a short, pleased nod.
‘Because she’s yearning for something she’s let go.’
My spirits are capering around like a bird. ‘I agree, Eddy. She’s incredibly torn, isn’t she?’
‘Yes, she’s torn, and I don’t want her to be,’ Eddy says. ‘I want her to choose.’
‘What do you want her to choose?’ I ask, but he doesn’t answer.
‘I don’t like it.’ Martin is covering his eyes with his hands. ‘She’s on the outside looking in at something she wants. She’s in exile.’
Michael speaks quietly in my ear. ‘Heck, since we’ve moved on from talking about ugly people, it’s all taking a very negative turn.’
‘Well, I think you guys are all barking up the wrong tree,’ Ronnie pipes up. ‘I think the painting is very hopeful.’
‘Why’s it hopeful, Ronnie?’ Michael asks.
‘Because she looks like she’s going to get to where she wants to go.’
When I get back to my office, I ring Evelyn. She answers the phone, slightly breathless.
‘Oh my gosh! What’s wrong?’ I fill with alarm.
‘Nothing!’ she says, and I can hear the sound of a smile in her voice. ‘I wasn’t feeling myself this morning. I thought it best that Michael go alone . . . But I’m fine now. I’ve just been dragging some boxes out of storage. It’s winded me. Phew!’
I try to picture her in her world, in her flat she bought – the one Michael called swanky. ‘Well, you should take care. Can’t you get someone to do that for you? Michael?’
‘My manservant, you mean? I am sure he would love that.’
I laugh. I tell her about the development in the gallery with Eddy. ‘He called the painting Regrets. He said Christina is yearning for something she’s let go . . . I thought the regrets word was interesting. I don’t think anyone could really look at that painting and conclude that Christina has regrets. I’ve never even heard that interpretation before. So I wonder if this is a sign that Christina is triggering something on a deeper level for Eddy. Something, maybe, about you?’
The line goes quiet at first. Then she says, ‘I doubt it somehow. We are probably just trying too hard to look for something.’
I don’t really know Evelyn, but I do know that she’s not normally this pessimistic. ‘I realise it’s possible we’re hoping for something that might never happen. But it felt encouraging to me. I sensed he was bringing something of himself to the moment – that he wasn’t just talking about a girl on the grass with a house in the background.’
‘That’s very sweet,’ Evelyn says. ‘And perhaps you are right. Someone once told me that there’s no harm in believing something that makes you happy, so maybe I will believe that. Thanks to you.’
She still doesn’t sound convinced, though.
After a beat she says, ‘Anyway, how are you?’
‘Me? Oh!’ I don’t know why the question takes me aback. ‘I’m okay, I suppose.’ Even I can hear the fallen note of my voice.
‘If there’s anything you would like to tell me, you always can,’ she says.
‘I’ve never been great at talking about myself.’
‘Neither have I. But look how well I manage it!’
I chuckle. ‘I loved your story, Evelyn. Or at least the part you’ve told me so far . . . You took me to your house, your garden. I saw your romance with Eddy as clearly as if it had been my own. But I’m not good with words the way you are. It’s harder for me to express myself . . .’
‘Well, it’s easier to talk about things that happened a very long time ago. You have distance in your favour.’
‘Does time heal?’ I am not sure where the question comes from. ‘Don’t they always say time heals all wounds? I just wonder if I’ve at least got that to look forward to.’
The line goes silent again, except for the small, soft rushes of her breathing. I sense this question has distressed her. ‘I don’t think it does. Not really. It just makes the pain less uppermost.’
‘I appreciate your honesty,’ I tell her. But I don’t like it. It terrifies me. Will all conversations I have with anyone, from this point on, somehow circle back to Justin? Will I really carry this around for the rest of my life – not an open wound but a permanent scar?
I suddenly remember that first day in the gallery. When she talked about wrong choices and consequences. ‘Well, to cite another cliché, don’t they say regret what you didn’t do, not what you did?’
‘Hmm . . . I particularly don’t like that one.’
I feel like saying, What if you’d never known a person could love you like he loved you? Then you would be exactly like me.
‘Are you able to tell me what happened next? After you told him you weren’t going to let him leave his wife for you – I’m curious to know where this goes.’
She is silent again, and I can tell she is lost to the pull of the memory. ‘You don’t have to,’ I add. ‘Not if it’s going to be upsetting.’
‘I was torn,’ she says. ‘Eddy was right. Alice, I was wavering so very badly. I’d told him we both must get on with our lives, but I had absolutely no idea how I was going to walk away.’ Her breathing softly rushes again. ‘There was only one thing to do. I realised I had to see them – his family. They had to become real to me, because in my moments when I was vacillating, they were becoming bleary, and I was being able to convince myself . . .’