Читать книгу Kathleen Tessaro 3-Book Collection: The Flirt, The Debutante, The Perfume Collector - Kathleen Tessaro, Kathleen Tessaro - Страница 22

Leticia pressed the buzzer of Leo’s flat and readjusted the shopping bags she was carrying. She’d lugged them all the way from Goodge Street in heels.

No reply. She rang again, looking around at the enviable location. Leo lived in a small Edwardian mansion block tucked away in a narrow alley across from Covent Garden Opera House. He’d had the tremendous luck and insight to buy it back in the late seventies when living in town was still a novel idea. Now the flats above and below his were gutted, turned into sleek, loft-style apartments, and prices had soared. His, however, was still firmly rooted in all the mod cons of 1982. She teased him that if he hung on to it long enough, perhaps the avocado bathroom suite might actually come back into fashion.

‘Yes?’

‘I’m here!’

The door clicked open and she struggled up the three flights of stairs. Leo was standing in the doorway wearing a red silk dressing gown worthy of Noel Coward; cigarette in one hand, coffee cup in the other.

‘At last!’ he grinned.

‘What do you mean at last!’ She walked past him into the kitchen, dumping the bags onto the table. ‘I trot all over town doing your grocery shopping and that’s all the thanks I get?’ She planted a kiss on his cheek, then frowned. ‘You’ve lost weight, old man. You can’t afford to lose weight. This cold is taking its toll on you, which isn’t surprising. How long have you had it? Almost a month?’ She began unpacking the food. ‘Let’s get you something to eat.’

‘Actually, I think I look rather well,’ he said, striking a pose. ‘I tried a pair of trousers on the other day I haven’t been able to wear since 1983. They looked fabulous! Perry Ellis grey flannel with pleats like you wouldn’t believe! Of course you won’t remember Perry Ellis; you’re too young.’ He sat down. ‘Did you get the fish fingers? And the pickles?’

‘Yes. Since when do you eat fish fingers? Or pickles?’ She opened the fridge. ‘Tell me straight, are you pregnant?’

He laughed. ‘Not this month. Juan likes them. He thinks they’re exotic. They don’t have fish fingers in Brazil. But the sweet things are all for me. Ahh! You genius!’ He pulled out a tub of Belgian chocolate ice cream. ‘Pass me a spoon, will you? It’s at the ideal level of softness!’

She searched the draining board and handed him a teaspoon.

He took a bite. ‘Heaven! There go those Perry Ellis trousers for another twenty years!’

‘Juan, eh?’ Leticia shook her head. ‘You do realize you’re seventy? Thirty-five-year-old male nurses are dangerous for your health. Or has no one told you?’

‘Stay near the young and a little rubs off. Are you staying for lunch?’

‘What are we having? Pickles and fish fingers?’

‘Well, I’m having ice cream. But we could ring Bartolli’s around the corner and pick up an order of minestrone if you like. Or spaghetti.’

Leticia filled the sugar bowl. ‘That’s OK. It’s a little late for lunch; it’s gone three. God, Leo, when was the last time this floor was washed? That’s not like you.’ She peeled off her coat, throwing it on top of the radiator. ‘Where do you keep a bucket and some bleach?’

‘Under the sink, O She of the Hardened Heart.’ He spooned in another mouthful of chocolate ice cream. ‘I adore Juan for his mind. Which reminds me, how is your young man?’

‘Hughie?’ Leticia filled the bucket with hot water and detergent. The smell of lemons filled the kitchen.

‘Yes, Hughie.’

She smiled. ‘Oh, he’s all right.’

‘You’re blushing!’

‘No, I’m not!’

‘Yes, you are! Bright red!’

She pressed her hands to her cheeks. ‘It’s the steam from the water!’

‘Steam, my arse!’ Leo waved his spoon triumphantly. ‘You like him!’

‘Do not!’

‘Do too, you great big nanna! All I have to do is mention the boy’s name and you turn into a beetroot!’ He began to cough, then to choke, clutching the side of the table.

Leticia thumped him on the back.

‘Pardon me!’ he gasped.

‘Serves you right! Now out!’ She ushered him into the living room, ice cream in hand. ‘Feet up, on sofa while I scrub this floor, understand? And if that cough isn’t better by tomorrow, I think we should call the doctor. You could have a chest infection.’

‘Bollocks! This isn’t the last act of La Traviata. You’re changing the subject and you know it!’

‘So what if I am?’ She piled cushions at one end for him to lie down on and turned on the television. ‘What do you want to watch?’ She flicked through the channels. ‘Richard and Judy? Through the Keyhole?’

‘Why are you so afraid to admit it?’

‘Because there’s nothing to admit. I have a system in place, Leo. Hughie’s lovely; he’s fresh, keen, delightful. But just like milk, men go off. Of course I like him; he’s charming. But what I don’t like is sour milk.’ She checked the date setting on her wristwatch. ‘I give him another two weeks, tops. Then I’m afraid he’s going to have to go.’

She winked at Leo.

But Leo wasn’t smiling back. ‘This isn’t a good look, darling.’

‘Isn’t it?’ She pretended to concentrate on the television. ‘What’s this? Reruns of ER?’

He sat down, took her free hand. ‘It wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t anybody’s fault. You know that, don’t you?’

‘Let’s not go there.’

‘He was ill. That’s all. Just terribly, terribly ill.’

She pulled her hand away. ‘Enough. We’re not going to discuss this again, understand?’

He shook his head. ‘It breaks my heart to see you like this.’

‘Like what? My God, Leo! I’m fine! Look at me! Running my own business, successful, cute young lover! I’ve got a life most women would kill for! Now, do you want to watch these sexy doctors, yes or no?’

He sighed, settling back onto the sofa. ‘Absolutely not! The costumes – so dreadful! All those white lab coats!’

‘Couldn’t agree more. Oh, look! A showing of The Red Shoes on Channel Four. That looks like your scene.’

‘Perfect.’ He squinted at the television. ‘God, I can’t see a thing! Is that a car or a chorus girl?’

She passed him the remote. ‘Where are your glasses?’

‘In the bedroom. Do you mind, angel? I don’t like Juan to see me wearing them.’

Leticia found his glasses on his bedside table, next to a row of unfamiliar prescription medicine bottles. She came back into the living room and handed them to him. ‘I see you’ve already been to the doctor. What did he say?’

‘Thank you, darling. Sorry, what was that?’

‘The doctor. Have you seen him already?’

‘Oh, yes. Juan made me go. Complete waste of time.’

‘What did he say?’

‘Bed rest, liquids, the usual malarkey.’

‘I see. Well, then, you’d better rest. And I’ll make you a cup of tea. After all, I need you back at the shop as soon as possible. That romance novelist wants a Barbie-pink Empire-line nightdress with purple trim.’

Leo winced. ‘How revolting!’

‘And she’s a size twenty and only about four feet tall!’

‘Fantastic! I can’t wait to see what you come up with. Something with a bit of give, I hope.’

‘Me? I’m counting on you!’

He smiled up at her. ‘And I’m counting on you. I do love you. Do you know that?’

‘I know.’ She bent down and kissed his forehead. ‘And me you.’

Leticia went back into the kitchen.

Leaning against the kitchen counter, she looked out of the window at the beautiful façade of the Opera House across the street.

The last time she’d been there was with him; The Marriage of Figaro, her favourite opera. All that wonderful music; all the couples neatly paired at the end.

It was a warm summer’s evening; they’d sat in the stalls at great expense.

He’d been distant, distracted that night. He’d lost so much weight, though he still looked handsome in his white blazer, navy shirt.

She winced.

It was the details that devastated. The ice cream they’d shared at the interval; the wooden fan he’d bought her at the shop. He’d made such an effort. She thought it might signal a new beginning for them.

She couldn’t have known that he was marking time, even then, sitting in the dark theatre, holding her hand; that he was just counting the days until the end.

Taking a dry mug from the draining board, she filled the kettle up, put in a fresh tea bag.

Real life goes on. Hearts are broken every second of every day. But real life marches on, regardless.

She’d survived. She thought she wouldn’t. There had been days, weeks where she’d thought she’d go insane with grief and loss; the sheer senselessness of it all.

But she hadn’t.

She’d limped until she could walk, walked until she could run and then run as hard and fast as she could ever since.

‘And now I’m new and improved,’ she reminded herself, pouring the boiled water into the mug, pressing the tea bag up against the side with a spoon.

The person who wasn’t new and improved was Leo.

He was getting old. She tried to ignore it but lately every time she saw him, he seemed a little more fragile than the last time. And it frightened her. Glasses frightened her, medicine bottles frightened her, a dirty kitchen floor frightened her. And there was nothing she could do about it which frightened her most of all.

What was that sound?

She looked down.

Her hands were shaking; the teaspoon rattling against the side of the mug.

Tossing the spoon into the sink, she pressed her palms together. ‘Stop it!’ she said out loud. ‘Just stop!’

‘What?’ Leo called from the other room. ‘Did you want me?’

Leticia took a deep breath. ‘No. It’s nothing,’ she called back.

It’s nothing, she repeated in her head. It’s over. All over now.

Leo was right, this wasn’t La Traviata. All she had to do was brew the tea, wash the floor, make the fat woman her nightdress.

Then she stopped.

What about Hughie? Was Leo right? Was she allowing herself to care about some boy who would no doubt leave her too? That was the last thing she needed. She couldn’t risk falling apart over some kid.

She took the tea in to Leo, put it gently down on the table next to him.

He smiled up at her.

She smiled back.

I can’t lose him, she thought, suddenly terrified. Please, God, not him.

‘You OK?’ he asked.

‘Fine,’ she nodded. ‘Just fine.’

Heading back into the kitchen, she stacked the chairs on top of the table and took off her shoes. Then she rolled up the sleeves of her impeccable white silk blouse, took the bucket of scalding water and got down on her hands and knees.

Leticia scrubbed.

She scrubbed until the floor was spotless, until her hands were red and sore, until her shoulders ached.

And then she scrubbed harder, until her mind went numb.