‘Mum?’ said Carl the moment they’d gone. ‘This is stupid. I’m perfectly all right.’
I sat down again on the bed. ‘Yes, you are, thank God. But you’ve had a nasty little accident, and you have to do what the doctor says. You’re only missing one day’s skiing after all.’
‘Two. There’s today as well.’
‘You know perfectly well what I mean.’
Carl sulked.
‘What’s up?’ said Luc, coming in. He perched himself on the other side of the bed. ‘Your father tells me you’refine.’
‘Iamfine,’ Carl said petulantly. ‘That’s the whole point. But they won’t let me ski tomorrow.’
Luc gave a low whistle. ‘That’s rough, I know how you feel. I’ve had the same thing happen to me.’
‘Oh, do you ski then, Mr Mandeville?’
‘Call me Luc. No, this was playing rugby. I was selected for a first team match – for the first time ever, in fact – and the day before I twisted my ankle jumping over a suitcase.’
‘Jumping over asuitcase?’ Carl’s eyes opened wide in astonishment. ‘Why were you jumping over a suitcase?’
Luc raised his eyes to heaven. ‘Oh, don’t ask.’ He was talking to Carl exactly as he would to a man of his own age. ‘Like so many things in life, it seemed a good idea at the time.’
Carl laughed. ‘I know just what you mean. I was having a silly snowball fight.’
‘There you go,’ Luc agreed solemnly. ‘But it means you’re stymied. However, the doctor’s just said you can dressed now if you want.’ He indicated Carl’s blue gown. ‘I bet you feel a berk in that.’
‘Too right I do. Thanks, Mr Mandeville – I mean, Luc.’
Luc stood up. ‘I’d better go and put some more money in the parking meter. It eats euros. You wouldn’t believe it, would you?’ he said to Carl. ‘Forget being injured, these days hospitals are only interested in ripping you off for parking your car. They must be coining it. Back in a bit.’
Carl watched him go before turning to me. ‘He seems an okay guy, Mum. Are you going out with him?’
‘Certainly not!’ I cried as if the idea was positively outlandish. ‘I’m working for him. I told you – he’s my boss.’
‘That’s never stopped you going out with a guy in the past.’
‘Carl,please!’ Getting to my feet, I looked properly round the room for the first time. It was very swish, more like a good-quality hotel than a hospital, with a television fixed to the wall, an en-suite bathroom, a couple of rather good abstract paintings on the walls and a very stylish, Bauhaus-type armchair with a footstool. Private, of course. No NHS here in Milan, but then, being a teeny bit of a hypochondriac, Giancarlo was health-insured up to his teeth – and doubtless them as well – and told me he had done the same for Carl.
‘Where are your clothes, love? Let’s get you dressed and then you can sit in that swish chair and feel more yourself.’
‘They’re in that cupboard over there,’ he said, pointing but adding rather hurriedly, ‘except, it’s okay, Mum. I can manage. In fact, you can go if you like. I’ll be all right, really I will.’
I opened the cupboard and withdrew a pair of black-and-white salopettes and a bright-yellow top. With moon boots on the floor of the cupboard and a matching puffer jacket on another coat hanger, they were all printed with the name Marc Jacobs in big letters and looked very chic and expensive. I could imagine Carl felt a million dollars in them.
‘Why?’ I said. ‘Are you trying to get rid of me or something?’ Putting the top on the bed, I shook out thesalopettes by their braces, whereupon something fell on the floor with a clunk. I picked it up and looked at my son.
‘Carl, what is this?’
‘A Swiss Army knife,’ he muttered, avoiding my eye.
‘Yes, I can see that.’
‘Beautiful, isn’t it?’ Carl said desperately.
Actually, it was in a way. Solid and heavy in my hand and silky smooth to the touch, the shiny white enamel casing bore the red cross of the Swiss flag crisply emblazoned on one end. Pity such an impressively crafted object could be lethal.
‘What I meant was, what is a knife doing in your trouser pocket?’
