What Happens at the Beach.... T Williams A

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СКАЧАТЬ senior partner in a large and long-established law firm. Given his career choice, it was little surprise that his only son had followed him into that profession. And, as Natalie knew only too well, David was expected by everybody to achieve a position of pre-eminence in the London law scene in his turn. Increasingly over the past few months, Natalie had been trying to make up her mind as to whether in fact she wanted to be at his side when he did so. She and David had been arguing more and more often and she sensed that their relationship was reaching a tipping point. She drained her third glass of champagne and went back into the house in search of another.

      As she went in through the French windows, she found herself confronted by a sea of suits and cocktail dresses. Over in the far corner of the room, she spotted Marjorie, deep in conversation with a man she recognised as David’s boss, Mr Lightfoot. Natalie had no hesitation in heading off in the opposite direction. She went along the corridor to the kitchen, helping herself to a fresh glass of champagne from a tray carried by one of the catering staff as she did so. The kitchen had been taken over by the caterers and, as she walked in, she spotted Winston the cat, her only friend and ally here, as he slipped through the door into the old pantry, no doubt looking for a place of refuge. Natalie decided to follow his example. She grabbed a couple of sausage rolls from a silver platter and followed the cat into the larder, pulling the door half-closed behind her. It was cool in there. The only window had been covered with wire mesh to keep the flies out and the narrow room was perpetually in twilight as a result.

      ‘Hello, puss.’

      Recognising her voice, Winston turned and came over to her with a plaintive meow, tail standing stiffly in the air. Natalie sat down on a packet of toilet rolls, set her glass on the floor beside her and stroked the old cat while he rubbed himself against her legs. She stuffed one of the sausage rolls into her mouth and offered him the other one. He sniffed it fastidiously before taking it delicately from her fingers and settling down to eat, purring to himself as he did so. Natalie took a mouthful of champagne and sat back, glad to get out of the babble of chatter for a brief while.

      She looked round the larder, her mood still gloomy, as it had been for months now. Things had started out so well with David four years earlier. She had met him when she was at her lowest ebb, shortly after the accident that had taken both her parents. At the time she had convinced herself it was love, and had embarked upon an affair with him that had led quite naturally to their moving in together and then to their engagement. Now, with the benefit of hindsight, she found herself coming to the realisation that it probably hadn’t been so much true love as a deep need for support and company at what had been a desperately lonely time. Their life together had been very good at first, but doubts, serious doubts, had started to set in as the months and years went by. She saw now that he had changed since those early days and she was analytical enough to see that she, too, had changed. He had been right behind her when she had made the decision to give up teaching and go back to university to get her doctorate. Now, her studies no longer appeared to interest him. The fact that she had been increasingly busy with her thesis had impacted on their home life together, and his encouragement had dried up as a result. It had become increasingly clear to her that he would really prefer a wife who would look after him in the kitchen and the bedroom, rather than an intellectual equal.

      And now? Yes, she now had her PhD after so much hard work, but she didn’t have a job yet. Could it be that she would end up like David’s mother, running an immaculate house for her successful husband, her role reduced to that of gracious hostess and producer of children to continue the line? Certainly, the more they had spoken about it, the clearer it had become that David’s family, if not David himself, saw it that way. And how did she see it? Well, she thought to herself, as she sipped her wine and watched the old cat, the one thing she knew for sure was that she wanted more out of life.

      ‘Sausage rolls! What on earth were they thinking of?’

      At the sound of the voice, Natalie jumped, spilling champagne on her fingers. She turned towards the door, but the conversation was taking place out in the kitchen. She couldn’t see the owner of the voice, but there was no mistaking it.

      ‘Sausage rolls, of all things! I told them I wanted refined canapés, not the sort of thing you can find in any local pub.’ Natalie recognised Marjorie’s acid tones, mildly surprised that her future mother-in-law was admitting to being familiar with the inside of a pub.

      ‘The sushi and the goat’s cheese crostini were pretty good, but I quite agree with you, Mummy; sausage rolls, indeed!’

      David’s big sister, Emily, was sounding more and more like her mother as the years went by. Natalie glanced down at the cat who was thoroughly enjoying his sausage roll and reflected that she, too, had enjoyed the one she had just eaten. Then, to her surprise, the topic of conversation on the other side of the pantry door changed to a subject much closer to home.

      ‘I tell you who would like the sausage rolls.’ Emily’s voice was contemptuous.

      ‘Yes, I daresay you’re right. By the way, I haven’t seen her for a while. Have you?’

      ‘The last time I saw her she was out in the garden glugging Daddy’s champagne.’

      ‘I do think she could have made a bit more of an effort. What on earth was she thinking of when she chose that frock she’s wearing?’

      ‘The price, Mummy, I would think. From a charity shop, I have no doubt.’

      ‘Or the supermarket.’ Marjorie sounded bitter. ‘Really, she could have tried a bit harder. After all, she knew Gordon Lightfoot was going to be here.’ Natalie listened as David’s mother went on to reel off a list of names of other notables from the legal profession and did her best to stifle a growing sense of anger. Along with the anger came the realisation that what she was hearing just confirmed what she had been thinking for months.

      ‘I really don’t know what David sees in her.’

      ‘Well, she is quite pretty.’ Marjorie even managed to make a compliment sound like an insult. ‘It’s just that she’s so…’ She paused for thought. ‘So unkempt. She just doesn’t make any effort at all. A bit of make-up, some nice clothes and she would really be quite good-looking.’

      ‘And a change of attitude’s long overdue.’

      ‘Of course it’s because she’s a student, I suppose. Ever since she’s been at college she’s been getting so scruffy and bohemian. And she’s far more interested in her studies than in David. Doesn’t she realise how important it is to him to have a fiancée who can support him and make the right impression? He’s got his career to think of, after all.’

      ‘She’s only studying history, after all, and it’s not as if she’s likely to do anything meaningful with it.’ Emily’s tone was dismissive and Natalie found herself gripping her glass so hard she was in danger of crushing it in her hand. She made a conscious effort to relax her grip, but it wasn’t easy. After three hard years doing a PhD in medieval history, she knew full well just how much work had been involved. She had lost count of the late nights, early starts and the interminable days she had spent in university libraries all over the UK and France. She had lost a stone in weight, developed dark rings under her eyes and ceased to have any kind of social life, with or without David. The PhD was done now, but she knew it would take her months to recover from the effort. She growled to herself as she listened to the conversation in the kitchen.

      ‘And it’s French history of all things, and ancient at that. Surely she could have tried to do something British.’ David’s mother’s voice dropped a little. ‘Of course, she’s only half British. I suppose that explains it. How on earth she thinks she can make a living with something like that I really don’t know.’

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