A Married Man Part 2

I glanced up. Smiled. 'I agree. Time to grow up.'

I didn't know then that there was no such thing, and we went home to Fulham, ad idem. The next morning he rang me at work.

'Meet me in your lunch-hour,' he said excitedly. 'I've found something'

'What sort of thing?'

'A flat?'

'A flat! But I thought-'

'Twenty-four, Royal Avenue, SW3. Twelve-thirty. Just be there, Luce'

And I was. Running hotfoot from work, which from South Ken, wasn't far, down to the Fulham Road, across to the bustling King's Road, and then left, towards the Royal Hospital and the river. My pace slowed as I approached, and I checked my A to Z in surprise. I seemed to be walking into the most perfect London square imaginable. It was broad and long, and lined with tall, white, wedding-cake houses, all with black and white chequered steps, and all with glossy black front doors and bra.s.s knockers that glinted in the sunlight. I stopped and caught my breath. The square itself had an almost Parisian feel to it, with gravel instead of gra.s.s, so I felt that at any minute, a few old men in berets might materialise and play boules. Instead, some Chelsea pensioners shuffled helpfully into frame, complete with medals and sticks, and sat on a bench in the spring suns.h.i.+ne. I swallowed excitedly. At one end, crowds of people thronged, but the glittering shops of the Kings Road held them in thrall, and they never peeled off past the flower-seller who marked the corner. At the other end, the Hospital Gardens formed a warm, tranquil pool of green.

A cab drew up and Ned jumped out, bright-eyed.

'You're mad,' I called as he flashed me a grin, simultaneously shoving fivers at the driver. 'What is it, anyway. A shoe-box?'

'Practically,' he said cheerfully, 'and more than we can afford, but look at the location.' He swung his arm around demonstratively.

' I'm looking, but Ned-'

'Come on, I'll show you!'

Keys in hand he dragged me protesting up the grand stone steps and into the communal hall. The door closed softly behind us. On we went, up the wide stairs, up and up, actually, until we eventually arrived, panting, at the fourth floor.

'With small children?' I gasped. 'Prams? Bikes?'

'Good exercise,' he grinned. 'I'd leave the pram at the bottom.'

'Oh, would you. And the oxygen cylinders?'

'Don't be wet,' he scoffed, and put the key in the door. He led me into a white, tiny hallway, which in turn, led into a corridor.

'Down here,' he insisted, leading the way, and since two abreast would be tricky, I followed. He turned left into a bedroom.

I looked around. Shrugged. 'Not a bad size, I'll give you that, and ooh, look at that view . .

'Uh uh, not yet, I'm saving that. In here first.' He ushered me out, across the pa.s.sage, and into another bare room.

'Boys' bedroom,' he breezed. 'Bunks here, in the corner.'

'Boys?' I said, hand on the small b.u.mp of my stomach. 'How d'you know?'

'Trust me, I'm a budding film director,' he grinned. 'And then back here,' he disappeared. 'Well, a bit of a kitchen.'

'A bit is right. So . . I swung back. 'You mean we've finished with the bedrooms? Just the two?'

'That's it, cuts down on the housework. But the kitchen, Luce, look. Very neat and tidy and, um, clean . .

'Oh bog off, Ned. Is that all you can say?'

'And the French range, terrific! Very fancy, very a la mode, and cupboards galore!' He swung one open. Shut his eyes and swooned. 'Mmmm... lovely hinge action, and no, not the window, Luce, not yet' He put a hand over my eyes and hustled me away, to face a pair of double doors. 'Terribly Jane Austen, don't you think?' he grinned, reaching down for both handles and opening them with a flourish. 'Ta-dah !'

I gasped. Because I had to admit, this room was a joy. Large, lofty, empty which helped, of course and with acres of pale wooden floor. Tall sash windows marched all the way down one side, except in the middle, where the windows went right to the floor, and issued onto a balcony. Someone had artfully left them wide open, so that the wisps of ivory muslin which pa.s.sed as curtains blew in the breeze. And then of course, there was the view. I walked across as if pulled by a string and stepped out onto the balcony, gazing over the rooftops. A fair old chunk of London town looked back at me, with the King's Road to the right, and to the left, the river and the Hospital Gardens.

'Perhaps they could ride their bikes in there,' I mused. 'If it's allowed.'

'Of course they could. And in the square - which we have a key to. And Luce, there's a bathroom ..

'I should jolly well hope so, Ned,' I said, following him back in. 'I'm not peeing in the river.' I peered inside. 'Tiny,' I sighed, 'and no shower. And still only two bedrooms.' I bit my lip. 'If only there was just one more.'

'We only need two bedrooms, Lucy, and look, come and see this.'

'More?' I followed hopefully.

'No, but ...' He held my arm and led me out of the front door. Still holding on, he bundled me across the hallway and banged on the green front door opposite.

'Ned!' I drew back in horror. 'What the h.e.l.l are you doing?' The door opened almost immediately, and a pretty, Continental-looking girl stuck her head around.

'Ah-ha !' She swung the door open wide. 'You back. You say you be back and you are.' She put her hands on her hips and beamed delightedly at my husband.

'Of course,' grinned Ned. 'I always keep my promises'

I shot him an incredulous look as she reached out and pulled us across her threshold, simultaneously calling over her shoulder, 'Carlo! Non indovinerai mai, e ritornata!'

' Making promises to pretty girls whilst the mother of your unborn child toils?' I muttered in Ned's ear.

'And you bring your lovely wife too.' She beamed back at me. 'And pregnant! Lucky you' I smiled back. Impossible not to like her.

'Lucy, this is Teresa,' Ned introduced us, 'who has a shop in the King's Road which sells ...?'

'Oh, you know,' she waved her hands about airily. 'Lovely beady scarves and belts and silky bits and bobs which I buy for nothing back home in Italy and sell for fortunes over here!' she said cheerfully. 'And thees,' she swung her arm back, 'is my husband Carlo, who don't have a shop, but who try to tell me what to do with mine!'

A small, swarthy man got up from a table at the far end of the living room where he'd been playing backgammon with two older men. He gave a small bow, then grinned.

'You theenk she letta me tell her what to do? Huh? 'Ello, Lucy.'

'And thees,' went on Teresa, 'is our good friends Theo and Ray, who live on first-floor level in much tidier flat - smarter too - and who are so much delighted to meet you!'

They got to their feet politely; a pair of immaculate, well-preserved, elderly gentlemen, with pressed jeans, pastel Polo s.h.i.+rts, and cashmere jumpers slung artfully around their shoulders. Little leather pouches dangled from their wrists as they simultaneously swept back their gleaming, silver hair. Clearly an item. They stepped forward together and shook hands.

'We gather you're moving in. How absolutely marvellous,' boomed Ray in a theatrical, John Gielgud voice.

'Well, I-'

'And so much more marvellous because you have a Ben, and I have a Pietro!' broke in Teresa. 'Four years old together, see?' She lunged for a photograph on a crowded sideboard. A little dark-haired boy with a snub nose and mischievous eyes smiled back at me. 'So they be matey, yes?'

I smiled. 'Well, that would be lovely. Obviously, though, Ned and I will have to discuss-'

'Of course! So many things.'

I glanced at Ned who was looking inordinately pleased with himself. He wasn't meeting my eye, but finding a great deal of charm in the carpet.

'And soon,' went on Teresa, 'you meet Rozanna, our other good friend. She come up for a sharpener most days, but she not here today,' she frowned. 'I don't know why. She live down on first floor and-'

'What d'you mean, she's not here today,' purred a silky voice behind us. 'She's very much here, and quite ready for her sharpener, thank you. My usual please, Carlo, there's a love. Sorry I'm late, darlings,' she breathed as she whisked by, 'but I got waylaid by a ghastly prospective client. He wanted to relive his toddlerhood, but I told him my days of dressing up as Little Miss m.u.f.fet were over, and he could take his eyes off my tuffet. He took a bit of persuading, but I lost him eventually. h.e.l.lo my dears,' she drawled, turning deep blue eyes on us. 'Teresa told me you were moving in, and I couldn't be more pleased. Heteros.e.xual and English. Such a rarity round here, surrounded as I am by foreigners and poofters.' She rolled her eyes as her friends laughed. 'And a baby!' she beamed, looking down at my stomach. 'What heaven.'

I blinked at this very beautiful girl, blonde, tanned, and swathed from head to toe in silk and suede. She swept her pashmina dramatically around her shoulders and rolled her eyes again. 'G.o.d, I love babies, when's it due?'

'In May.'

'Lovely. A spring baby, so we can all take turns to push it round the square, show it the daffodils. Stopping for a game of backgammon, my dears?'

'No, no we really must be going,' we said, and finally, finally, with many goodbyes, thank yous, promises to return and oh yes, definitely to stop for a drink next time we made our exit.

We clattered downstairs.

'b.a.s.t.a.r.d,' I muttered.

'What?' Ned laughed.

'You st.i.tched me up'

'Not at all! I simply wanted you to see some local colour. And you must admit, it's a bit more vibrant than Cranborough Road, Clapham'

More vibrant, yes, and more eclectic, definitely, but it was the warmth that really knocked me out. I'm quite sure the stockbrokers south of the river would have been equally kind, but all I know is, that when the s.h.i.+t hit the fan six months later, and there I was, in Royal Avenue, with a newborn baby and no husband, these people weren't just kind, they were my family. Which is why I wondered if Ned was watching.

In those dark, early days after Ned's death, I'd take to my sofa in that lofty, airy room for hours at a time; a tiny baby asleep on my tummy, a sea of screwed-up tissues around me. And left to my own devices, that's where I'd have stayed. All day. Until Ben came back from school. Except that I found I couldn't. Because inevitably, around mid-morning, there'd bc a soft tap at the door, and it would be Teresa, wondering if I'd like to see her new collection of scarves, or Theo, saying no pressure, but they needed a fourth for whist. They were kind, never pushy, but also, immediate. I didn't have to make arrangements, or promise to be somewhere later; I'd just force a smile, heave myself off my sofa, and totter downstairs. Then an hour or so later, I'd totter back up. It was enough.

No one was ever asked to Rozanna's flat, and of that, I was glad. Ben and Pietro, who'd become inseparable, once knocked on her door, giggling, but she'd shoed them away, carefully s.h.i.+elding the Cabinet Minister in his dressing gown from view. 'Not in here, my darlings,' she'd said gently, turning them around. 'Not in Rozanna's little salle clamour.'

True to her word though, she regularly took the baby to the park.

'Of course he's mine,' she'd snap to anyone silly enough to ask. 'Just look at thosc eyes, for heaven's sake!'

When she returned him, I'd rise drowsily and sometimes woozily from my sofa, and she'd linger, concerned, making endless cups of tea, chattering gaily, waiting until she was sure I could take over the reins again.

Later, when I felt stronger, Teresa and I would walk the boys to school and I'd go on to the shop with her, with Max in a sling around my neck. I'd stay for an hour or so, perched on a stool, helping her pop scarves in bags, hang cardigans back on hangers. I'd watch the customers come and go, and then totter back to the flat again, feeling I'd had a sliver of life.

And so there I was, at my most vulnerable, surrounded bythe most fiercely protective; my parents and Jess on one side of London, and my new friends in Chelsea on the other. All of them were magnificent, and all of them did their d.a.m.nedest to a.s.suage my grief. And then of course, there was Ned's family, the Fellowes, who, as far as I could tell, did their d.a.m.nedest to augment it.

I didn't meet Ned's family until the summer of 1993, just before we were married, and a whole year after we'd been going out together, as students, at Oxford. Too long, I'd decided, one bright April morning as we'd cycled to lectures together. Crikey, I reasoned, he'd met Maisie and Lucas loads of times, been to stay with Dee in Florence - my brother in India was somewhat harder - and by now he was practically part of the family. So how come I'd never set eyes on any of his lot? What was the problem, for heaven's sake? Was he ashamed of them? Or of me?

'Of them,' he'd a.s.sured me firmly as I wedged his front tyre in the bicycle stand, refusing to let him go to his lecture until he'd told me.

'They're not like me, Lucy, and they're not like you. Or Maisie and Lucas. They're not normal.'

I laughed. 'Why - how so? Hairs on palms of hands? Eyes in the middle of foreheads? I'm up for any of that. In what way not normal, Ned?'

He smiled wryly. 'Trust me. You're going to get a terrible shock.'

'Try me,' I said defiantly. 'In fact, try me this weekend. Let's go and see them, Ned. I'll put on a frock and buy some flowers for your mum, and you can take your was.h.i.+ng home like any normal student. Come on, I want to rattle all the skeletons in your cupboard!'

'Big mistake,' he said, shaking his head ruefully. 'Really, big mistake.' But I was insistent, so we went.

Two days later I emerged, wide-eyed and reeling. Hairy palms would have been lovely. Cyclops, perfect. Instead, it transpired that, far from dating a bog-standard member of the proletariat, as I'd rather a.s.sumed, I was actually dating Prince Charles. Ned's father was Lord Fellowes, enn.o.bled for services rendered during the Thatcher government, and his mother, naturally, Lady Fellowes, but actually, Lady Rose, too, since, as the daughter of an earl, she had a serious gong in her own right. So far so scary. Secondly, 'home', if you could call it that and clearly Ned didn't was Netherby Hall, a majestic Georgian mansion, surrounded by two thousand acres of prime Oxfords.h.i.+re farmland, which included in its portfolio, two farms, six cottages, three lodges, and as Jess had so rightly pointed out, half the flaming village thank you very much. And there they all lived. The entire Fellowes clan with the exception of Ned under one roof. A menage I'd previously only encountered in a popular eighties TV drama, based on an oil baron's family.

Ned's father, Archie Eton, Oxford, Grenadier Guards was pop-eyed but amiable and quiescent. Lady Rose, by contrast, was gimlet-eyed, had a smile that could freeze the marrow in your bones and a tone of voice similar to that employed by our first lady Prime Minister. She certainly scared the pants off me. Hector, the elder brother, and therefore Crown Prince and heir apparent, was flaxen-haired, pink-faced, and easily embarra.s.sed, whilst his sister, Lavinia,was formidable, forthright and liked a drop. Pinkie, the indulged younger sister was flighty, over-s.e.xed, and probably not a lifer in that house like her siblings, although unlike Ned, more on course for Tramps than Oxford. Finally, there were two maiden aunts who shuffled on- and off-stage periodically, neither of whom were the full s.h.i.+lling. Phew.

'I see,' I'd said faintly to Ned, after a long silence in the car on the way home.

He grinned across. 'Still fancy me?'

'Ask me again in the morning,' I said as I leaned my weary head back, shut my startled eyes.

He did, and actually, he asked me to marry him too, to which I happily agreed, and then he accused me of gold-digging because I'd seen his house.

'It's that family crest that's got you all excited, isn't it, you little hussy,' he hissed, as we rolled around giggling on his futon in his Oxford bedsit. 'You can't wait to get your hands on my motto'

'That's it,' I squeaked. 'I want coronets on my matchboxes and monograms on my napkins. And it's not just your ancient lineage I'm after either. You'd better get the family vaults prised open p.r.o.nto. I want a socking great rock for my finger, too!'

Instead, he decorated it with a dear little garnet which we found together in Bermondsey Market the following weekend. I can still remember smiling uncontrollably at it, twisting it round on my finger and admiring it from every angle, as we headed off on a bus across London to see Maisie and Lucas, to make plans.

The wedding, we decided, would be soon, in the summer, at my parents' local church in London. We'd follow it up with a quiet lunchtime reception in their back garden. A few mutual friends from Oxford would be there, Jess, of course, all my family, naturally, but apparently, and rather unnaturally, none of Ned's.

'Ned, this is crazy!' I said, banging my fist on my parents' kitchen table, Maisie and Lucas having tactfully withdrawn. 'For Christ's sake, write to them. Ask them to come. They can always say no.'

But that's just it, they will say no. To this anyway. What -a low-key do in a local church and then back here to your parents' house for lunch? It's hardly the Guards Chapel and a reception at the House of Lords, and that, my dear Luce, is what they'll want. Either that or something equally grand with a sodding great tent in the grounds at Netherby, and I don't want that either. I'm just not up for it, Lucy; it's not my style.'

It wasn't mine either, but I couldn't help feeling we were sneaking around, which I wasn't comfortable with either. I bit my lip for a couple of days, then steeled myself and wrote to them; guiltily and fearfully, one Sat.u.r.day morning when Ned was at a seminar. I told them where and when it was happening, invited them, if they'd like to come, and popped the letter in the post. It sparked our first row. I can see him now, as I told him what I'd done, standing over me as I sat on the edge of his bed, white-faced and with a terrible clenched calmness.

'Don't ever interfere with my family again,' he seethed. 'You know nothing, Lucy, nothing. If I say I don't want to tell them about my b.l.o.o.d.y wedding, then I don't want to b.l.o.o.d.y tell them! They've had a d.a.m.n good crack at messing up most of my life, but they're not going to b.a.l.l.s up this bit, OK?'

He was trembling with emotion. I'd never seen him so angry. Never seen him angry at all, actually.

'OK, OK,' I whispered. 'I'm sorry.'

Nonetheless, far from forbidding me to marry her son and drawing up affidavits to keep me out of the family coffers, Rose wrote back immediately, clearly touched.

. .. you were so sweet to let us know. Of course it was a shock, but you know, I always had an idea that Ned would get married like this. Quietly, privately, and to a clever, bright girl like you. Thank you so much for writing to us, my dear . .

I showed it to Ned, waving it triumphantly in his face as he woke up that morning.

'You see? Perfectly sweet. Couldn't be nicer. And she approves of me, too.'