“She’ll need more than just us.”
They shuffled forward, the queue diminished by several faint-hearted patrons abandoning their positions, rather than any real progress at the tills. Iris tutted and moved her handbag from one shoulder to the other. “Really, you would have thought the elderly ought not to have to stand around like this. That someone might let them— Oh, thank you so much. Yes, thank you. That’s very kind. Come on,” she commanded, striding forward, “Thank you, yes. Thanks. Now’s the time to say if we’re seeing this or not. Quick. Marine life, or we could give up and call it a night. Perhaps we should call it a night.”
“We’re almost there.”
“I know, but I think I’m too depressed for fish. There are not one but three obstetric practitioners in Gwen’s immediate family circle; I cannot understand how this was allowed to happen. How was it not put right, having happened? It’s derangement. It’s a tragedy. How am I expected to care about whales?” She had become grandly theatrical, which was a bad sign. But they had reached the front of the line, and the moment had come to decide.
“I know. I do—we can give it a miss if you’d like.”
“I’m very tired,” said Iris, which was true, but an uncharacteristic admission of fallibility. She stepped aside, back into the cheery mezzanine of the shopping center. Philip followed her, apologizing to a number of other patrons who had ceded their places to them.
They rode the escalators in silence. Then Iris said, hotly, as if he had contradicted her, “It’s a travesty. Gwen doesn’t deserve—she’s an innocent. She’s an innocent and she has no idea, absolutely not the faintest idea, what’s about to happen to her life. She thinks she’ll have a dolly and all this gratifying attention she’s commanded will go on and on, and instead her life is going to be torn limb from limb by ravening—I was going to offer anyway but if she nips it in the bud, then I’ve told Julia I’ll put her through art school. Tuition, accommodation, extra for blackmail, whatever it takes.” She stepped off at the bottom of the escalator and with an irritable gesture offered Philip a hand to disembark, which was accepted without comment. “Are you walking or am I driving you?”
“You’re driving me if you wouldn’t mind. Of course it’s a very generous idea, if they’d like it.”
“They’re a bunch of ostriches, and I’m including the so-called adults in this situation. Mass inertia. Needless. Needless. And if she really goes through with this entirely dishonorable kamikaze maneuver, I’m going to hire and subvention a nanny myself.” Iris began to hunt in her handbag for her car keys and Philip felt suddenly relieved to be going home. The whales could wait. He was weary, and Iris was in a dangerous temper.
“Do you remember that Italian au pair?” he asked, hoping to draw her back from the brink. It was sometimes possible to soften her, with care. “May I hold your umbrella? You’ll have a hand free. She was a nice girl. It was very helpful having someone.”
“Gioia. She was a bloody idiot,” said Iris, shortly. She had located the keys and set off at a clip into the dark parking lot. Philip strained to keep up, his knees singing in protest as he marched stiffly behind her, the umbrella angled forward to shield Iris from the drizzle. A moment later she drew to an abrupt halt.
“Where is the bloody car?”
“Over there, I think. She was only homesick, wasn’t she? Daniel liked her, which was what mattered. She was good with him.”
“She left me high and dry, five minutes before I was due to join you in Paris for the weekend. Can you hold that thing a little higher; it’s starting again. She was a selfish little girl. Ah, I see it there, thank goodness for the beeper thing. Giles had to bring Daniel out on his way to Bargemon.”
“Giles had to—what?” Philip slowed. He struggled to recall a summer, a weekend many years ago, a story from their canon of cherished stories. We were happy: here is Exhibit A. He lowered the umbrella, which was hurting his wrist. “She brought him to us in Paris on her way to Naples. Gioia.”
“She was meant to, yes.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Oh, darling, it just didn’t line up.” Iris glanced at him, impatient or possibly wary. She seized the umbrella and held it rigidly upright in both hands. “There was a coach that left from London and she was absolutely adamant about making her parents’ wedding anniversary or some nonsense. It all ended on bad terms because she was a fool and I was cross and then I was absolutely in a fix. I couldn’t leave the boy to travel by himself on the ferry.”
“Well, of course not but— I don’t entirely understand. You left him with Giles, is that what you’re saying? When you came to Paris?”
Iris had begun to walk again but Philip didn’t move, and she was forced to turn around to address him. She had begun to look indignant. “Yes, Philip, there’s no need to sound so outraged; that’s what I did. On balance it was expedient. You and I had had that awful row before you left and then you’d written a sweet letter about the two days you’d planned for us and I didn’t think I ought to let you down. It’s raining; can we talk about this in the car? Well, come and stand under this bloody umbrella then. Oh, really. Things were feeling a little unsteady. And it wasn’t even a change of anyone’s plans at all in the end; Giles just drove a slightly longer route to Bargemon; he was coming to France anyway. I couldn’t exactly leave Daniel with the au pair when there was no au pair to leave him with. Look, I didn’t want to cancel, and Giles offered to help me out of a fix and that was that. Why do you look so cross? He took his charge very seriously, I assure you; they had a wonderful time. Daniel told me all about it.”
Philip rubbed his eyes, slowly, and did not look up. “You lied to me.”
Iris could think of no appropriate answer, for she and Giles had both lied to Philip a hundred times over the years, mostly about sex at parties or on assignments or for weekends in the Cotswolds, or late nights at work. She had always assumed Philip had taken for granted these many small deceptions. Calculating now, she realized that this revelation dated her affair with Giles long before it might otherwise have been suspected. Certainly years before the official record.
“You and Giles lied to me,” Philip repeated.
“It was only— This is madness, you and Giles were great friends later on. Please get under the thing.”
“You made my son lie to me.”
“Well, darling, there were other little white lies flying around in those days.” She halted, suddenly uncertain. This was dangerously close to heresy in the sealed, private world they’d spun; she was in high winds, and playing precariously near to the cliff edge. The enchantment had kept them safe for almost five decades, a flexible, devoted love and companionship, enfolded in a cloak of tacit understanding. She fell silent. The rules were the rules.