casually.
Oddly enough, it was the truth, although she hadn’t been conscious of it until he’d asked his question. Was it a significant connection or a trivial coincidence? His first letters and phone messages had seemed creepy and self-serving at the time. But what if they’d been prompted by his discovery that he was about to have another child?
Could that have so shocked him that he’d needed to see how his first had turned out?
‘I’m trying to fill in the lost years, get to know you retrospectively,’ she said. Paddy was frowning now, but in cynical calculation, Trish thought, not anxiety, so she quickly improvised, adding: ‘What were you doing then – for work, I mean?’
‘Advising on personal development within corporate structures, just as I am now, but freelance, not as well, and not for nearly as much money. Trish, what is all this?’
‘And you had a girlfriend?’
‘Sure, and wasn’t I the broth of a boy, even if I was in my fifties?’
‘Don’t go stage Irish on me,’ she said, hating the way he used the fake brogue to deflect questions he didn’t want to answer. She still wasn’t sure whether it was a subconscious response to threat or a deliberately evasive tactic, but then she knew so little about him, in spite of a scary number of shared characteristics.
‘So who was she? Or they, if you were really such a broth of a boy?’
‘You mean you want a list? Leporello, eat your heart out.’
Who the hell’s Leporello, Trish wondered, until she remembered an uncomfortable evening at Glyndebourne, helping George with some client entertaining. As senior partner in his firm of solicitors, he had to do a lot of that, and Trish joined in whenever she could.
She wasn’t particularly musical, but she’d enjoyed Don Giovanni itself. What she’d passionately disliked about the evening was the pomposity of the other guests, the achingly long journey back into London afterwards, and the whole silliness of putting on evening dress at half-past two in the afternoon to flog out to deepest Sussex. If the weather had been good, it might have seemed less absurd as an entertainment for the kind of people who usually
gave the impression that they would be too busy to go to their own mother’s funeral. In the rain, the whole self-congratulatory pantomime had made her think of Thomas Aquinas’ gruesome theory that the pleasure of those in heaven would be greatly increased by the sight of the agony of those in hell.
‘I hope your list is fewer than mille-tre ,’ she said, then despised herself for needing to prove she’d picked up his reference. From the glint in his black eyes, he knew exactly what she was doing – and what she felt about it.
‘By one or two.’ He smashed two grissini at once and sprayed crumbs all over the cloth.
‘So, who were they? Come on, Paddy. Stop being so coy.’
‘But why do you want to know?’
‘I told you. I want to fill in the lost years, get to know you as you were all the time I was being so silly and inventing all sorts of weird, unfair ideas about what kind of man you must be.’ That was better. That really might get him talking.
The glint dimmed in his eyes. Disappointment or reassurance? She couldn’t tell.
‘For God’s sake, Trish,’ he said, looking at something over her shoulder.
‘Please, Paddy. It’s very important to me to know the truth about how you lived while I might have known you but didn’t.’
‘Look, I had only one girlfriend at the time. If I give you her name, will you shut up about it now?’
‘So long as you add her address.’
‘Why? I warn you, Trish, I will not have you banging on her door, badgering her with questions.’
‘D’you really suppose she still lives in the same place after ten years?’ Trish said, refusing to offer a direct lie about her intentions. She might not go banging on
the door, but she was definitely intending to pursue the woman.
Expecting Paddy to refuse, she was surprised when
Oddly enough, it was the truth, although she hadn’t been conscious of it until he’d asked his question. Was it a significant connection or a trivial coincidence? His first letters and phone messages had seemed creepy and self-serving at the time. But what if they’d been prompted by his discovery that he was about to have another child?
Could that have so shocked him that he’d needed to see how his first had turned out?
‘I’m trying to fill in the lost years, get to know you retrospectively,’ she said. Paddy was frowning now, but in cynical calculation, Trish thought, not anxiety, so she quickly improvised, adding: ‘What were you doing then – for work, I mean?’
‘Advising on personal development within corporate structures, just as I am now, but freelance, not as well, and not for nearly as much money. Trish, what is all this?’
‘And you had a girlfriend?’
‘Sure, and wasn’t I the broth of a boy, even if I was in my fifties?’
‘Don’t go stage Irish on me,’ she said, hating the way he used the fake brogue to deflect questions he didn’t want to answer. She still wasn’t sure whether it was a subconscious response to threat or a deliberately evasive tactic, but then she knew so little about him, in spite of a scary number of shared characteristics.
‘So who was she? Or they, if you were really such a broth of a boy?’
‘You mean you want a list? Leporello, eat your heart out.’
Who the hell’s Leporello, Trish wondered, until she remembered an uncomfortable evening at Glyndebourne, helping George with some client entertaining. As senior partner in his firm of solicitors, he had to do a lot of that, and Trish joined in whenever she could.
She wasn’t particularly musical, but she’d enjoyed Don Giovanni itself. What she’d passionately disliked about the evening was the pomposity of the other guests, the achingly long journey back into London afterwards, and the whole silliness of putting on evening dress at half-past two in the afternoon to flog out to deepest Sussex. If the weather had been good, it might have seemed less absurd as an entertainment for the kind of people who usually
gave the impression that they would be too busy to go to their own mother’s funeral. In the rain, the whole self-congratulatory pantomime had made her think of Thomas Aquinas’ gruesome theory that the pleasure of those in heaven would be greatly increased by the sight of the agony of those in hell.
‘I hope your list is fewer than mille-tre ,’ she said, then despised herself for needing to prove she’d picked up his reference. From the glint in his black eyes, he knew exactly what she was doing – and what she felt about it.
‘By one or two.’ He smashed two grissini at once and sprayed crumbs all over the cloth.
‘So, who were they? Come on, Paddy. Stop being so coy.’
‘But why do you want to know?’
‘I told you. I want to fill in the lost years, get to know you as you were all the time I was being so silly and inventing all sorts of weird, unfair ideas about what kind of man you must be.’ That was better. That really might get him talking.
The glint dimmed in his eyes. Disappointment or reassurance? She couldn’t tell.
‘For God’s sake, Trish,’ he said, looking at something over her shoulder.
‘Please, Paddy. It’s very important to me to know the truth about how you lived while I might have known you but didn’t.’
‘Look, I had only one girlfriend at the time. If I give you her name, will you shut up about it now?’
‘So long as you add her address.’
‘Why? I warn you, Trish, I will not have you banging on her door, badgering her with questions.’
‘D’you really suppose she still lives in the same place after ten years?’ Trish said, refusing to offer a direct lie about her intentions. She might not go banging on
the door, but she was definitely intending to pursue the woman.
Expecting Paddy to refuse, she was surprised when
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