LITMIR.BIZ

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lie like that? What was the motivation behind it? What was the reason for the lie? What had he hoped to gain?

      All kinds of other questions jostled for prominence in my mind, as I sat there in his house in Hampstead with his widow playing hostess; I went on sipping her dry sherry and pondering my love affair with him.

      Had Tony been playing for time? Had he been intending to marry me, as he had often said he would, and in doing so commit bigamy? Had he merely been stringing me along, hoping that Fiona would leave him? Or that I would tire of waiting? Had he found himself in so deep with me he didn’t know how to extricate himself, and therefore had invented the divorce and given me the Grecian ring as…pacifiers? Had he been hoping that something would happen to solve his problems?

      Tony had had a favourite expression, one which he used frequently. ‘Life has a way of taking care of itself,’ he would say to me and others.

      Well, life had indeed taken care of itself in the end. Had he always known he would die covering a war? Had he had a presentiment about this? An icy shiver shot through me at this appalling thought, and I immediately put it out of my head. Otherwise, I might start thinking that his recklessness had in some way been calculated.

      A feeling of dismay mingled with frustration now lodged in the pit of my stomach, as I recognized that I would never know what had been in Tony’s mind. No one would. The only person who had all the answers was dead and buried.

      IV

      Not wishing to wrestle any further with the puzzle of Tony’s marital status and his terrible game-playing, if that was what he had been doing, I focused my eyes on the garden for a short while longer. It was so tranquil, filled with such a calm beauty, I took a measure of peace from it. And again I was thankful that nobody was disturbing me with their idle chatter.

      The slashing rain had long since stopped and the day had turned sunny; airy white clouds floated across a soft periwinkle-blue sky, and it had become one of those lovely September afternoons which are so endemic to England.

      Suddenly that bright sunlight was pouring into the room. Yellow was the predominant colour and the result was magical; the whole room acquired a shimmer to it, a warm, golden glow that appeared to make everything gleam. My eyes roamed around, taking everything in for the first time since I’d arrived.

      There were some attractive modern paintings on the walls, and a number of handsome Georgian antiques were on display. But essentially it was a room which had been furnished rather than decorated, because there was no cohesive decorative theme to it. Beautiful things were dotted here and there, but they looked as if they had been gathered somewhat indiscriminately and then placed around haphazardly. The room did have comfort and there was more than a hint of refined taste at work, but very little of Tony was in evidence here. This setting had been created solely by Fiona, I was sure of that.

      Jake moved away from the corner of the room at last, sauntered over to me and looked down. He said, ‘You seem a bit pensive. Are you all right?’

      ‘I’m fine. I’ve just been sitting here, thinking. Thinking things through.’

      Jake nodded, gave me a small lopsided smile. ‘We’ll talk later. In the meantime, how about coming into the dining room, getting a little food? You should try and eat something, Val, before we go to the airport.’

      I agreed.

      V

      In the end it was the study that told the real story.

      Jake and I had just finished eating when Fiona came over. Leaning closer to us, she said in a low confidential voice, ‘Let’s slip away. I want you to choose something of Tony’s as a memento.’

      I jumped up at this invitation. Jake and I followed her out of the dining room, up the stairs, down the corridor and into the long spacious room which had been Tony’s private abode.

      The moment I stepped inside I knew that no one else could possibly have occupied it; his own unique imprint was stamped on it everywhere.

      The first thing I noticed was the baseball cap, and my stomach lurched.

      How could I miss it? I had bought it for him last year, on our vacation in the south of France. There were a number of other hats hanging on the antique mahogany hat-stand near the door, but my baseball cap had been his favourite. The way it hung there now, a bit lopsidedly, made me catch my breath. He might have just flung it onto the peg a moment ago.

      Feeling decidedly queasy, I glanced away and moved farther into the room.

      Along one wall, a series of built-in cupboards ran down towards the window, and I guessed that this was his filing system; those cabinets more than likely housed hundreds of his photographs and all of his records. And God knows what else. I wished I could get into them, but no hope of that I knew.

      Stacks of magazines, piles of books, and a selection of very expensive cameras were carefully arranged on top of the cabinets, and above the long countertop the wall was lined with cork. Onto this Tony had pinned a lot of photographs. Including some of mine, I noticed with a small jolt of surprise.

      Walking closer, I looked at them, remembering. Remembering so much.

      I instantly closed my mind to those memories. With a rush of irritation I knew he had put them up there as souvenirs of our vacation in France last summer. All of them had been taken near St Tropez, where we had spent a week sailing. Seascapes. Empty beaches. Sunsets. Shots of the endless sky. Close-ups of flowers, trees, birds, nature in all its forms. Beautiful shots which were a relief for me to take after the horrors of war. They were unidentified, but they were mine all right.

      Then my gaze fell on the camera I had given him. A Leica.

      Automatically, I reached for it, held it in my hand, thinking of Tony, suddenly angry with him again. I felt betrayed and used by him.

      Fiona must have seen me pick it up, because she exclaimed, ‘If you want the camera, please take it, Val dear. Rory and Moira have chosen the ones they prefer. I’m so pleased she’s taking after Tony, following in his footsteps. I’m sure she’s told you all about her plans, Jake, hasn’t she?’

      I turned around to face the two of them.

      Fiona stood near the big partner’s desk in the middle of the room, and she was looking up at Jake.

      He said, ‘Yes, she has been filling me in. She’s very excited that she’s going to join Tony’s agency next year.’

      As I continued to look at them it struck me suddenly that Jake looked very tired, as if the day had affected him as deeply as it had me. Also, I couldn’t help wondering what Moira and Rory had been talking to him about. Their father, no doubt.

      Picking up the camera, I went to join them both. Jake put his arm around me, drew me closer to him, almost protectively, I thought.

      ‘Thanks, Fiona, I’d like the camera,’ I murmured, although I didn’t want it at all. But I thought it would look churlish, perhaps even odd, if I didn’t take something of his, since we had worked together.

      Looking pleased, Fiona now picked up a small leather box which was on the desk, and opened it. She showed the contents to us; it held a pair of cufflinks. Glancing at Jake, she said, ‘I thought you might like to have these, as a memento of Tony. They’re good ones, you know. They’re made of eighteen-carat gold, and lapis, as you can see.’

      For a split second Jake looked as though he was about to refuse the blue cufflinks but apparently changed his mind. ‘Thanks,’ he said, taking them from her. He studied them for a moment, closed the box and put it in his jacket pocket without another word.

      ‘Would you like to select one or two of Tony’s cameras?’ she asked him.

      Jake shook his head. ‘I’ve got so many of my own, honey, but thanks for offering.’

      Sitting

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