The Unwelcome Guest Page 17

  She narrows her eyes. ‘I’ve just told you that I don’t want to live anywhere in the world. I want to live here.’

  I sigh inside. ‘Well then, we’re going to have to look at schemes to create artificial losses to whitewash the profits you bring into the country. I don’t particularly like them but let me look at it and get back to you. If you become my client, I would have a proposal for you within one week, even if I have to work day and night. I told you I provide a 24/7 service.’

  ‘Well, hang fire for now. I want to sleep on it over the weekend.’

  Our food arrives. I don’t feel like eating the limp salad. It’s Friday night. I wanted her to commit. I poke at my food and resent being left in limbo. I just want to go home and watch TV with Miles.

  110

  Caprice

  My son is in my boudoir walking towards me with a cup of tea, and a plate containing a Kit-Kat and some lemon drizzle cake. So handsome. Such a credit to me. Only a fine-looking woman could have given birth to an Adonis like him. He places the tea and carbohydrate on my bedside table.

  ‘Thank you, dear.’

  ‘Are you OK, Mum? You’ve been so tired lately. You’re not eating very much. I’ve brought you a few treats to fatten you up.’

  I smile at his concern. His kindness. So empathetic.

  I shake my head. ‘I’m fine. It’s nothing to worry about. It’s my age. I’m sixty-eight. Pushing towards seventy. An age where people need more rest.’

  ‘So nothing’s upsetting you? Worrying you?’

  I take a deep breath. ‘There is the small matter of my relationship with Saffron.’

  Miles stiffens as if I have poked him with a cattle prod. Shoulders wide. Back straight.

  He frowns. ‘But you haven’t been arguing lately, have you? If you have, I haven’t caught you at it.’

  ‘We’re hardly talking. We’re not communicating properly.’

  He sits on the edge of my bed and takes my hand in his. ‘What do you think we can do about it?’ he asks.

  ‘She’s underconfident. Not secure enough in her relationship with you. That is why she takes it out on me. And on the children. She needs to go and see a psychiatrist.’

  He raises his eyebrows. ‘A psychiatrist?’

  ‘Yes. I mean she’s not coping, is she? Why do you think Social Care paid us a visit?’

  ‘Because … because …’ he splutters, ‘because someone vindictive wanted to cause us trouble.’

  ‘Maybe this person was concerned rather than vindictive. You should always think of things from both sides, Miles.’ I give him my best smile.

  111

  Miles

  ‘Mother, I’m a philosopher. I don’t just think of things from both sides. I think of them from every angle. That is my speciality. But what I think right now is that you are living on a different planet to me.’ I pause and lean towards her. ‘Are you seriously implying that Saffron isn’t capable of looking after our children properly?’

  My breath is quickening. My stomach tightening. Saffron, maybe you are right. Maybe Mother did contact Social Care to cause trouble between us. ‘How do you expect to get on with my wife when you have such a low opinion of her?’

  ‘I don’t have a low opinion of her. She’s a brilliant woman. I’m saying this because I’m concerned.’

  ‘Thank you for your concern,’ I reply, voice clipped.

  I nod my head cordially at my mother and leave. I find you in the kitchen, Saffron, making fudge brownies.

  ‘I’ve been talking to Mother,’ I say as I put my arm around your shoulders. Your body stiffens. ‘She thinks you are underconfident in your relationship with me. And that is why you are antagonistic towards her.’

  112

  Saffron

  ‘Antagonistic towards your mother?’ I say, wide-eyed and astonished, as I adjust the ingredients of the special fudge brownie mix I am baking for her tonight. ‘Miles, I can’t think what she means. We’ve been getting on splendidly recently.’

  113

  Saffron

  Into the office after a tiring weekend at home. Busy with Ben and Harry. Taking them rollerblading in the park. Worrying the whole time in case they fall and hurt themselves and Social Care visit again. You, Caprice, moaning to Miles about how difficult I am. Telling him I need to see a psychiatrist. I think it is you who needs help. But then even psychiatrists can’t do much with evil psychopaths. So, basically, I’ve come into the office for a rest.

  I boot up my computer and clamp my earphones to my head. I turn up the classical music. Brahms. A bit of Brahms always helps me to relax. I close my eyes and imagine I am dancing to the music. Spinning and pirouetting on points across fields. Leaping over hedgerows. Racing through beautiful countryside. Someone taps me on the shoulder. I open my eyes. Ted is standing in front of me, perspiring in his heavy wool suit. I switch off my earphones and pull them from my head.

  ‘Ted. To what do I owe this pleasure?’

  ‘I need to talk to you.’

  ‘Sit down. Fire away.’

  He leans forwards, eyes burning into mine. ‘Our loan will run out in six months. Jenny Bletchley didn’t bite, did she?’

  I shake my head. ‘No. I just couldn’t relate to her. She was selfish and unreasonable. You can’t win them all.’

  ‘Well we need to win some more business soon.’ He sighs and pats me on the shoulder.

  ‘Don’t worry. Six months is a reasonable length of time, and I’m hoping to raise some money from home, before too long,’ I reply with a smile.

  114

  Caprice

  I press speed dial on my phone.

  ‘The Law Society. Can I help you?’ a crisp, sharp female voice answers.

  ‘I sent a letter of complaint to you about the solicitors Belgravia Private Clients of Ebury Street, two weeks ago. I haven’t received an acknowledgement yet.’

  The owner of the crisp sharp voice takes a breath. ‘Did you fill in the online complaint form?’ she asks.

  ‘No. I sent a letter.’

  ‘Snail mail is no good anymore. You need to follow the Law Society’s complaints procedure and fill in an online form.’ My stomach knots. Online forms are not my forte. ‘You’ll find the link on our website.’

  ‘Thank you,’ I reply as crisply as I can.

  Sitting at the kitchen table, I sigh inside as I boot up my computer. I take a deep breath as I download the form. It sprawls across the computer screen in front of me, print so small it makes my head ache. They want detail. So much detail. How can I proceed with this?

  115

  Hayley

  Saturday morning. I’m in the kitchen giving a cookery demonstration to my three favourite men. Making kiwi pie, a New Zealand favourite. Ben, Harry and Miles are sitting in a row at the breakfast bar, watching me. If it comes out well, the boys want to take a photograph and send it to the Blue Peter cooking club. Blue Peter, that British phenomenon. The longest running children’s TV programme in the world. I intend to take a photograph and write a section in my diary. Teaching Pommies to make kiwi pie. Hopefully Mum will find it amusing.

  ‘We need to start with the biscuit base,’ I announce. ‘We use Graham crackers back home, but we can’t get them over here. So we’ll have to make do with digestives.’

  I measure out the ingredients for the base. Macadamia nuts, sugar and biscuits. I zap them together in the food processor.

  ‘Watch me now. I’m going to melt the butter, which will bind the base together. Who would like to help?’

  Ben, Harry and Miles all put their hands in the air.

  ‘Harry, I pick you to help first.’

  He beams and slips off his chair to join me. I hold him up to the gas ring so that he can stir the butter as we melt it gently. He mixes it into the biscuit base with a wooden spoon.

  ‘Your turn now, Ben – you can help me line the pie dish with the biscuit base.’

  My helpers change places. Ben and I together prepare the first part
of the pie. I put it into the oven and set the timer on my watch for five minutes.

  ‘Now for the tricky bit. The fruity filling. Shall we let Daddy do that? I expect Daddy is good with fruity fillings.’

  Ben and Harry nod their heads. Miles comes and stands next to me. So close I can taste his aftershave of musk and sandalwood. So close that yet again my breath quickens. He follows the recipe and combines condensed milk with egg yolks and lime juice and zest. I take the pie dish out of the oven and he pours the filling in. His leg presses against mine, behind the kitchen counter. His touch pulses against me like electricity. Does he know what he is doing to me?

  Miles puts the pie back in the oven.

  ‘It’ll need fifteen minutes in the oven to bake. Do you boys want to go and play in the garden for a bit, while Daddy and I clear up? I’ll call you in when I need you to help.’

  ‘Yes please, Hayley.’

  I open the back door and they dash past me to gallivant in the early spring sunshine. Arguing as they go about whether to play catch or football.

  As soon as we are alone Miles smiles at me. ‘I didn’t know you liked cooking.’

  ‘There are lots of things you don’t know about me. I’ve always loved cooking. But it can be so time-consuming. I just thought it would be a bit of fun to keep them amused today; as Saffron is away.’

  ‘Saffron never lets the children anywhere near her cooking. So this is a treat for them.’

  ‘Has Saffron always enjoyed cooking?’

  ‘No. It’s a very recent interest. She’s doing it to relax. I think she’s distracted at the moment. There’s something on her mind that she isn’t telling me.’

  Is he trying to tell me that there is a chink in the armour of their relationship? Will there be room for me, one day?

  116

  Caprice

  Despite my permanent exhaustion I manage to book a taxi to Esher Railway Station and board a train to Waterloo. My mission is to meet my new acquaintance, Andrew Cunningham, at the Skylon Restaurant, on the Southbank.

  I sit at a table by the window, waiting for him to arrive, muscles aching with fatigue. The Thames slides by, grey and wide. A flowing stream of steel. People meander past. Wide-eyed tourists drinking up the atmosphere of the big city. Youths loitering. Businesspeople on a mission, marching towards a lunchtime tête-à-tête, or the office. To pass the time I peruse the menu. But I’m not hungry. Despite all your efforts to fatten me up, Saffron, I’m not interested in food at the moment.

  ‘Wotcher.’ I look up. A large bear of a man with floppy brown hair and tree-trunk legs is grinning down at me. ‘Cunningham, Andrew, at your service. What can I do to help?’ His already wide grin widens and splits his chunky face in half.

  ‘Hello. Thanks for coming to meet me. Do sit down.’ He joins me at the table, so tall he dwarfs it. He rests his hands in front of him. Even his fingers are oversized, like a row of fish fingers. ‘Shall we order first and then I’ll explain why I wanted to see you.’

  ‘Good with me. Thanks for inviting me to lunch. It’ll cost you. I have to warn you. I’ve got a big appetite.’

  I smile a tight smile. ‘I can imagine.’

  ‘Imagine all you like. You’ll soon find out.’

  We sit looking at the menu. The more I look at it the more I don’t fancy anything to eat. The waitress saunters over. She is a very pretty girl, like Scarlett Johansson, pink-lipped and delicious.

  ‘What can I get you?’ she asks.

  ‘A green salad, and a bottle of sparkling mineral water,’ I reply.

  ‘Burger and chips and a double whisky will do for starters,’ Mr Cunningham quips.

  Scarlett Johansson melts away. ‘So, what did you want to see me about?’ he asks.

  ‘It’s about your comment on the Belgravia Private Clients website.’

  He taps his substantial fingers on the table and frowns. ‘Well, that was a while ago. So much changes in business all the time. I’ll have to rack my brains to remember.’

  Our drinks arrive. Mr Cunningham slugs back his whisky and gesticulates to the waitress. ‘Another double please.’

  ‘You said Belgravia Private Clients were slow releasing money for the deal you were negotiating.’

  ‘Ah, now that does ring a bell.’ His frown re-emerges and deepens. ‘I nearly lost the deal because of it. I was surprised because until then they’d worked hard. Arranged a good deal for me.’

  ‘It sounds serious.’ I pause. ‘You should report it to the Law Society.’

  His drink arrives. He takes a sip. ‘Do you think so?’

  ‘Yes. Maybe Belgravia Private Clients was using the money in your client account for their own purposes and that was what caused the delay. If so, they deserve to be struck off. People need to be protected from dishonesty.’

  He takes another slug of his whisky. ‘It doesn’t seem likely. I was friendly with Saffron. She seemed like a good egg. Why are you worried about what happened to me?’

  I lean forwards. ‘It’s my daughter-in-law’s company. I think she is dishonest. People need protecting from her.’

  He inhales sharply, and leans back in his chair. ‘People? I’m surprised. Has she caused other problems?’

  ‘She may well have. But she’s good at covering her tracks. She needs stopping.’ I put my head in my hands and pretend to cry. ‘She’s swindled me out of money.’

  ‘That’s a serious accusation. What has she done?’

  I take a handkerchief from my pocket, sniff and wipe my eyes. ‘I lent her and my son a lot of money, to help them buy their house. To make sure my investment was protected it was agreed I should have a charge against the property. Just lately, I’ve started to need the money so I went to see my solicitor to discuss it. He checked the document. It was null and void. Incorrectly drafted. What a fool I was to accept her kind offer to do the legals.’

  ‘You poor thing. But do you think she did it deliberately?’

  ‘Oh yes. She’s a nasty piece of work. When I explained to Saffron and my son what had happened, he initially agreed to pay the money back. But then she threatened to leave him if he facilitated me in any way. She is the mother of his children. He went along with her. Told me the house was legally theirs and there was nothing I could do about it. I am heartbroken, short of cash. Bereft. My daughter-in-law needs stopping before she does something worse. Damages a client’s life, like she has damaged mine.’

  I put my hand on his arm. ‘Please, Andrew, report your complaint to the Law Society. Protect the world from a dishonest solicitor.’

  117

  Hayley

  I’m sitting in the kitchen drinking a cup of coffee, watching Saffron gathering together the ingredients for her next cooking marathon. Her chin juts out a little as she lays out onions, shallots, mushrooms, chuck steak, red wine, garlic and bouquet garni. Even though she is vegan she cooks a lot of meaty dishes for the house these days. Mozart’s Horn Concertos blast from the Sonos. Whistling along to the melody as she works. Distracted, Miles said. Determined, more like.

  118

  Saffron

  Sitting in my office, I google The Times Rich List, considering who to approach next. Despite all the encouragement from Julie and Ted, despite all my efforts, I still need a new client. A knock on the office door. It opens and Julie appears. She is wearing Margaret Thatcher blue today, so bright it hurts my eyes. Julie is a lovely woman. She has forgiven me for my dreadful possessive behaviour, and treats me with kindness, just as she always has. But I haven’t forgiven myself, every time I think about my hissy fit, I feel ashamed. She walks across the room and hands me a letter.

  ‘It’s first class, from the Law Society. I thought you’d better open it straight away.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  I do as she suggests. She stands watching me as I read. They’ve received a serious complaint about BPC. The words on the page push into my mind like daggers.

  119

  Caprice

  Saffron is ho
me from work early. I hear her car pull into the drive. The front door slams. She stomps up the stairs like an angry teenager. I open my bedroom door and step onto the landing. She looks awful. No make-up. Hair that needs combing.

  ‘Is everything all right, dear?’ I ask.

  She glowers at me with blazing eyes. ‘If it wasn’t, you’d be the last person I’d talk to about it.’

  120

  Hayley

  I’m lying in bed thinking of you. Always thinking of you. How many ways do you please me? Your brown eyes melt into mine like honey. Your body is taut. Hard. Muscular. You keep strong by working hard in the swimming pool. I watch your chest rising from the water as you glide up and down, practising butterfly stroke. You have a flurry of downy hair on your pecs. When you get out of the water I admire your thighs. Neat, not over-muscled, but powerful. Masculine but not macho. A perfect balance.

  It feels like a teenage crush, but it isn’t. It’s not all about oestrogen and testosterone. You are thoughtful and intelligent. You make me laugh. You make me think. You gave me a second chance to stay with your family; didn’t turn Saffron against me. You make me smile. You are considerate. Good with children. You adore opera.

  I don’t care about the twenty-year age difference. I value your life experience, your maturity. If we had a relationship it would be made in heaven.

  121

  Miles

  You’re standing in front of me, in our bedroom. Wearing a short silk dressing gown, and kitten heel slippers. In tears, on this sweltering summer evening. The window is open and the scent of climbing jasmine mingles with your perfume. Heady and sweet.