What’s been hardest to get used to is eating out so much. When we’re in rehearsals, it’s not worth negotiating the busy streets to get home for a quick lunch before getting back to work. So, its local cafés and takeaways. Because I’m determined to hold on to my new eating habits, on days off, I cook. It’s not the same, though, when cooking for one, is it? I tend to eat straight out of the pot half the time.
The other adjustment is living in a house that’s not my own. I keep looking at floorboards and bathroom fixtures and thinking how much better Blue Catch was. How we’d decorated it the way we liked. The bathrooms which overlook the hill, the shower in my room which I designed to suit my need for extra towel hangers.
It’s even harder to stop myself improving things, putting up shelves, or buying furniture. The place doesn’t even have a balcony, let alone a garden or a garden swing.
Chapter Forty-seven
Lessa
September
“More pizza?” Clive inserts something like a cake slice under the thin crust and carries a portion to my plate. “Are you sure you won’t have any, not even one glass?” He holds up the bottle of ice-cold Chardonnay.
“Anything I drink, Malinara will end up drinking on her next feed.”
“In that case,” He smiles as he dishes himself another slice. “Be glad the baby enjoys burrata, truffles and walnut pizza?”
Gourmet Italian used to be my favourite food, and I used to love that it could be delivered to my door still piping hot. In fact, this new restaurant delivered everything at the right temperature, the pizza hot, the starter warm, the salad cool, and the wine perfectly chilled. In London, if you pay, you can have anything you want, any time you want it. On La Canette, we only got things when they were in season. Usually, from one of the farms half an hour’s walk away. It’s early September, so the pear tree in the garden would be heavy with fruit. I hope Doris can pick them and take them home.
My new flat is on the fifteenth floor of a development overlooking the Thames. The dining room has a great view of lots of other expensive flats. My vertical blinds have to be angled to stop anyone seeing Clive when he’s here.
We’ve been taking things very slow. He’s come over a few times for short visits, but he keeps sending me flowers because I said I missed the flowers on La Canette. My L-shaped sitting-dining room is full of orchids, calla lilies, cordyline, and other expensive exotic arrangements, all of them imported.
Tonight, he’s staying for dinner for the first time.
We’ve been eating slowly and talking about the Prime Minister who is struggling to maintain his popularity.
“In my opinion, he’s trying too hard. Belligerently saying he has it all under control when he clearly doesn’t. He should be more honest. You know, George Du Montfort has a very good approach to leadership; he asks for help.”
I remember George’s face on the day of his baby’s christening and the hundreds of people gathered outside the church to congratulate him. “Everyone still quotes his investiture speech in which he said, ‘don’t think of me as a governor but as a partner, I put my hand in yours and together we can do this.’” I try to explain to Clive. “It’s the humility that wins him more trust.”
Clive puts his knife and fork on the plate and pushes it away. “I’m not crazy about the guy. He kept me waiting for ten minutes, not even telling me he knew you. I don’t call that humble, he just left me in his office and went off to do something.”
“He went off to callme.” I am stung to defend George. “He asked my permission to tell you I was on the island. You should be happy he was so careful of my security.”
“If I’d been some Joe Journalist from theDaily Scandal.” Clive scoffs. “But I told him who I was. He knew I was the father of your baby. He should have assumed you’d want to see me.”
It’s another point in George’s favour. That he didn’t just assume. I’m touched he respected me enough to ask first.
Clive reaches over and covers my hand with his. “Enough about all that.” He stands up, still holding my hand and tugs me to stand. He moves in closer. “I’ve missed you so much, Alice.”
His breath is hot on my face. I can smell the expensive wine, the truffle oil, and his signature aftershave.
He leans in to kiss me, then pulls back when I stiffen. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s a bit soon.”
“Soon?” His brow furrows. “After dinner, you mean?”
I don’t mean that, but I can hardly tell him my heart is still grieving someone else. “Clive, it’s been so long and too much has happened. I need time to catch up.”
He pulls back instantly. It’s one of the things I always appreciated about Clive, he has never pushed. “Okay. I understand. We’ll wait.”
He goes to the home pod by the sofa. “Hey, Siri, play something romantic.”
No. Malinara is asleep in the next room. I quickly say, “Siri, stop.”
Siri takes no notice of me, probably because she only answers to Clive. She plays some Ed Sheeran, too loud.
