Читать книгу Bordeaux Housewives - Daisy Waugh - Страница 13

Alone in the room, Daffy stares at the hotel telephone as if it were a ticking bomb. Emma, of course, never replied to Daffy’s rambling message, and Daffy never quite dared to call again. Emma Rankin has about as much intention of giving them dinner tonight as – as Timothy has of ever allowing her to have another child. Which is another story. An open wound for Daffy, lonely all her life, torn from her only son, and who has always wanted nothing more than to have a large family of her own.

She takes a mini bottle of whisky from the bedroom fridge and drinks, without a glass. A small rebellion. She’s never done it before. She knocks the whole thing back in one and immediately delves inside her bag for some chewing gum to cover the smell. She feels a warm, reassuring burn as the whisky goes down to her flat, empty stomach, then she grasps the receiver and dials Emma’s number.

Daffy listens to it ringing, imagines the sound in Emma’s château, slicing through her expensive peace. She imagines Emma, barefoot on her beautiful terrace, floating across her vast drawing room to answer. Panic overwhelms her. She hangs up.

Starts again. Dials. Imagines the telephone in Emma’s château, and imagines Emma, barefoot on that beautiful terrace, floating…She hangs up.

The third time she dials and keeps the telephone away from her ear until it’s too late to panic. She hears Emma’s soft, clipped, upper-class voice at the other end, slightly irritable after two false alarms, and now this – no voice on the other end.

‘Hello? Hello? Who is that?’

‘Oooh, Emma! Hi!’ squeaks Daffy.

‘Hello? Are you all right? Who is that?’

‘Sorry – Emma. Sorry. It’s me. I mean it’s Daffy. Fielding. Daffy Fielding. I don’t know if you remember…’

Emma frowns. Daffy Fielding. Daffy Fielding. Who the hell – ‘Oh, gosh. Hi,’ she drawls, reaching for a cigarette. ‘You left a message, didn’t you? So lovely. I meant to call you. Especially when I heard the good news. Congratulations! How’s it all going? Are you coming back very soon?’

‘The – er. I – er. It’s Daffy. Duff Fielding. You probably don’t remember but I came and saw you a couple of months ago…’

Emma slowly exhales her cigarette. ‘I remember it terribly well…Sweetie, are you OK?’

‘I’m fine. But I left a message…’

‘Yes, I know you did! Such a sweet message. I meant to call and everything, only the dog died and it was all so ghastly.’

‘Gosh. Look. I’m ever so sorry. About the dog. But the thing is – never mind all that. I left a message.’

‘Darling, are you sure you’re OK? You sound un peu distraite.’

‘What?’ Daffy snaps suddenly. ‘Actually I’m not OK. No!’ Silence, while she struggles for internal order. Fails. Wails: ‘You didn’t – Why didn’t you LISTEN to my message?’

‘Well but of course I did, darling!’ Emma laughs, slightly taken aback. ‘I was so happy to hear from you. In fact,’ she adds affably, ‘I was just this minute wondering what was keeping you away.’

‘Keeping me away?’

‘So…Anyway. How are you? Are you coming back to see us soon?’

‘Yes, of course we are,’ Daffy almost screams. ‘We’re here right now!…We’re staying at the Relais des Champs.’

‘Oh! Is it dreadful?’ Emma asks sympathetically. ‘I’ve heard mixed reports.’

‘Yes. I mean no. I mean it’s fine. I don’t care –’

‘In any case, félicitations, darling, on your exciting new acquisition.’

‘My exciting new what? Oh God. Please don’t talk French at me, Emma. I mean Lady Emma. I mean…Not now. I can’t – Anyway, the thing is –’

Emma has her husband David staying with her for the weekend. It occurs to her suddenly that this may be a good opportunity to dilute his company for a couple of hours. ‘I say,’ she interrupts. ‘You’re probably already doing something far more exciting. But if you’ve nothing better to do, why don’t you both come over for dinner tonight?’

‘…Dinner? DINNER? What did you say?’

‘You’ve probably got something much more glamorous –’

‘NO! No we haven’t. Yes please. That would be – Are you sure?’

‘I’m afraid I’ve got David with me,’ Emma continues blithely, with a little confiding laugh. ‘But that’s all right. Didn’t you say your husband was a banker? They can bore each other about money all night and we needn’t pay the slightest attention to them.’

‘They can bore each other to death, for all I care,’ croaks Daffy wildly – and immediately blames the whisky. She’s never made a joke against Tim before. Never said a word against her husband in ten years. Never. She feels a rush, suddenly, of the purest freedom, and it occurs to her that perhaps, just perhaps, it could be a taste of a life to come.