Still waiting for Ronnie, a brisk wind sweeping across the great court that led down to the River Cam, Venetia scolded herself again for the assumption she had made about him. She, of all people, should know better than to pigeon-hole anyone too hastily. The more time she spent in Ronnie’s company, the more she liked him. She saw herself in the role of friend, a friend to whom he could talk quite openly because she was outside of his normal circle of friends, acquaintances or business associates.
When she’d driven him to Addenbrooke’s for his appointment to see the consultant he had been as fidgety as a child in the passenger seat next to her, and from the tiredness etched on his face, he’d looked like he’d passed a sleepless night. She had suggested she accompany him inside, but he’d pursed his lips and shaken his head. ‘No need,’ he’d said gruffly, ‘I’d sooner face my fate alone.’
At his pessimism she’d given his arm a reassuring squeeze, hoping to transmit support and encouragement through the sleeve of his coat. She’d then watched him walk away, shoulders hunched, his hands pushed deep into his pockets. Wishing he had allowed her to go with him, if only to hang around a waiting room while he saw the consultant, she had reluctantly driven away. To fill the time, she’d driven the short distance to Wandlebury Country Park where she’d taken Bon-Bon for a walk.
When she returned to the hospital, after receiving a text from Ronnie that the ‘quack’ had now finished with him, she could see at once the change in his bearing; the twinkle had come back into his eye, and he was smiling broadly and clutching a small paper bag.
‘Cancer be damned, it’s nothing but a stupid stomach ulcer, and it’ll take more than that to finish off this old fella!’ he’d joked with cheerful bravado. ‘Let’s go and celebrate,’ he’d then said.
‘Will your stomach cope?’ she’d asked with a frown.
‘Sure it will, mind over matter now that I know what’s wrong. Plus, I’m fully loaded with medication which the consultant has prescribed for me.’ He’d waved the paper bag in front of her.
That had been earlier this week and as if imbued with a new sense of gung-ho energy, Ronnie had been busy sorting out his affairs in Majorca. He hadn’t elaborated on what he was discussing with the lawyers whenever Venetia spoke to him, and she hadn’t pursued it.
‘There you are,’ she said when Ronnie finally appeared through the doorway of the college chapel.
‘Sorry about that,’ he said, ‘I got chatting with a couple of Americans. How about dinner? Shall we risk it at The Ivy, seeing as it’s a short hop away?’
‘What’s the attraction of Choral Evensong for you?’ Venetia asked when they had ordered their meal, and a waitress had brought them their drinks – a Diet Coke for Ronnie and a Bloody Mary for her.
His eyes crinkled as he smiled. ‘Are we back to you thinking that I don’t seem the sort?’
‘If I’m honest, yes.’
‘Well, to satisfy your curiosity, it’s always had an appeal for me, ever since I sang in the school choir as a boy treble. Yeah, I know, it’s hard to imagine me as an angelic choirboy, isn’t it?’
She smiled. ‘Where was that?’
‘Home was in Middlesex, but I went to a very minor public school in Derbyshire. It was pretty bleak, your typical institution where you either swam or sank, and for me, not being particularly sporty or academic, the one thing I did seem good at was singing in the choir. But then my voice broke, and it was never the same again and I became more interested in earning money. And girls. Of course.’
‘Both of which you excelled at I don’t doubt,’ she said with a raised eyebrow.
‘I couldn’t possibly comment,’ he replied with a laugh.
‘Did you never go back to singing again?’
‘Only in the shower or in the car on my own. But enough about me, tell me some more about your time at Hope Hall when it was a children’s home.’
She had only recently shared with him that she had grown up at the Hall but hadn’t gone into too much detail with him, merely satisfying his initial show of interest and then changing the subject.
‘I’m not sure there’s much more to tell you,’ she said, just as a waitress brought them their food – they each had chosen the turbot with shrimps and a dish of fries to share.
When the girl had gone, Ronnie said, ‘Was it a happy time for you? I ask the question out of genuine curiosity, given that we were both institutionalised at a young age, so in some ways I would imagine we had similar experiences.’
‘It was a happy time,’ she answered, ‘but then you have to understand, it was the only life I knew, I knew no other way of being. It was harder for children who came to Hope Hall when they’d previously experienced what you might call a proper home environment.’
‘We never miss what we never know, so goes the old adage,’ Ronnie commented thoughtfully.
‘Exactly. I was definitely one of the lucky ones.’
‘But weren’t you interested about your origins, your mother who abandoned you and whoever your father was?’
‘I’m often asked that,’ she said, ‘and my answer is always the same, that I just accepted my life for what it was.’
‘Because you were happy?’
‘Yes. If the woman who gave birth to me hadn’t wanted me, then I didn’t want or need her. That was how I felt. Which youprobably think was harsh of me, even judgemental, but I was a child, and children always see things very simplistically.’
