I got the feeling that this was in some way momentous, and that she needed to share it with someone, even if it was just me.
‘And Alicia. They were … very close … for a bit. Tea would be lovely. Thank you, Miss Clark.’
I hesitated a moment before I opened the door, leaning against it with my hip so that I could balance the tray in my hands.
‘Mrs Traynor said you might like some coffee,’ I said as I entered, placing the tray on the low table. As I placed Will’s beaker in the holder of his chair, turning the straw so that he only needed to adjust his head position to reach it, I sneaked a look at his visitors.
It was the woman I noticed first. Long-legged and blonde-haired, with pale caramel skin, she was the kind of woman who makes me wonder if humans really are all the same species. She looked like a human racehorse. I had seen these women occasionally; they were usually bouncing up the hill to the castle, clutching small Boden-clad children, and when they came into the cafe their voices would carry, crystal clear and unselfconscious, as they asked, ‘Harry, darling, would you like a coffee? Shall I see if they can do you a macchiato?’ This was definitely a macchiato woman. Everything about her smelt of money, of entitlement and a life lived as if through the pages of a glossy magazine.
Then I looked at her more closely and realized with a jolt that a) she was the woman in Will’s skiing photograph, and b) she looked really, really uncomfortable.
She had kissed Will on the cheek and was now stepping backwards, smiling awkwardly. She was wearing a brown shearling gilet, the kind of thing that would have made me look like a yeti, and a pale-grey cashmere scarf around her neck, which she began to fiddle with, as if she couldn’t decide whether to unwrap herself or not.
‘You look well,’ she said to him. ‘Really. You’ve … grown your hair a bit.’
Will didn’t say a thing. He was just looking at her, his expression as unreadable as ever. I felt a fleeting gratitude that it wasn’t just me he looked at like that.
‘New chair, eh?’ The man tapped the back of Will’s chair, chin compressed, nodding in approval as if he were admiring a top-of-the-range sports car. ‘Looks … pretty smart. Very … high tech.’
I didn’t know what to do. I stood there for a moment, shifting from one foot to another, until Will’s voice broke into the silence.
‘Louisa, would you mind putting some more logs on the fire? I think it needs building up a bit.’
It was the first time he had used my Christian name.
‘Sure,’ I said.
I busied myself by the log burner, stoking the fire and sorting through the basket for logs of the right size.
‘Gosh, it’s cold outside,’ the woman said. ‘Nice to have a proper fire.’
I opened the door of the wood burner, prodding at the glowing logs with the poker.
‘It’s a good few degrees colder here than London.’
‘Yes, definitely,’ the man agreed.
‘I was thinking of getting a wood burner at home. Apparently they’re much more efficient than an open fire.’ Alicia stooped a little to inspect this one, as if she’d never actually seen one before.
‘Yes, I’ve heard that,’ said the man.
‘I must look into it. One of those things you mean to do and then … ’ she tailed off. ‘Lovely coffee,’ she added, after a pause.
‘So – what have you been up to, Will?’ The man’s voice held a kind of forced joviality to it.
‘Not very much, funnily enough.’
‘But the physio and stuff. Is it all coming on? Any … improvement?’
‘I don’t think I’ll be skiing any time soon, Rupert,’ Will said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
I almost smiled to myself. This was the Will I knew. I began brushing ash from the hearth. I had the feeling that they were all watching me. The silence felt loaded. I wondered briefly whether the label was sticking out of my jumper and fought the urge to check.
‘So … ’ Will said finally. ‘To what do I owe this pleasure? It’s been … eight months?’
‘Oh, I know. I’m sorry. It’s been … I’ve been awfully busy. I have a new job over in Chelsea. Managing Sasha Goldstein’s boutique. Do you remember Sasha? I’ve been doing a lot of weekend work too. It gets terribly busy on Saturdays. Very hard to get time off.’ Alicia’s voice had become brittle. ‘I did ring a couple of times. Did your mother tell you?’
‘Things have been pretty manic at Lewins. You … you know what it’s like, Will. We’ve got a new partner. Chap from New York. Bains. Dan Bains. You come up against him at all?’
‘No.’
‘Bloody man seems to work twenty-four hours a day and expects everyone else to do the same.’ You could hear the man’s palpable relief at having found a topic he was comfortable with. ‘You know the old Yank work ethic – no more long lunches, no smutty jokes – Will, I tell you. The whole atmosphere of the place has changed.’
‘Really.’
‘Oh God, yes. Presenteeism writ large. Sometimes I feel like I daren’t leave my chair.’
All the air seemed to disappear from the room in a vacuumed rush. Someone coughed.
I stood up, and wiped my hands on my jeans. ‘I’ll … I’m just going to fetch some more logs,’ I muttered, in Will’s general direction.
And I picked up the basket and fled.
‘And Alicia. They were … very close … for a bit. Tea would be lovely. Thank you, Miss Clark.’
I hesitated a moment before I opened the door, leaning against it with my hip so that I could balance the tray in my hands.
‘Mrs Traynor said you might like some coffee,’ I said as I entered, placing the tray on the low table. As I placed Will’s beaker in the holder of his chair, turning the straw so that he only needed to adjust his head position to reach it, I sneaked a look at his visitors.
It was the woman I noticed first. Long-legged and blonde-haired, with pale caramel skin, she was the kind of woman who makes me wonder if humans really are all the same species. She looked like a human racehorse. I had seen these women occasionally; they were usually bouncing up the hill to the castle, clutching small Boden-clad children, and when they came into the cafe their voices would carry, crystal clear and unselfconscious, as they asked, ‘Harry, darling, would you like a coffee? Shall I see if they can do you a macchiato?’ This was definitely a macchiato woman. Everything about her smelt of money, of entitlement and a life lived as if through the pages of a glossy magazine.
Then I looked at her more closely and realized with a jolt that a) she was the woman in Will’s skiing photograph, and b) she looked really, really uncomfortable.
She had kissed Will on the cheek and was now stepping backwards, smiling awkwardly. She was wearing a brown shearling gilet, the kind of thing that would have made me look like a yeti, and a pale-grey cashmere scarf around her neck, which she began to fiddle with, as if she couldn’t decide whether to unwrap herself or not.
‘You look well,’ she said to him. ‘Really. You’ve … grown your hair a bit.’
Will didn’t say a thing. He was just looking at her, his expression as unreadable as ever. I felt a fleeting gratitude that it wasn’t just me he looked at like that.
‘New chair, eh?’ The man tapped the back of Will’s chair, chin compressed, nodding in approval as if he were admiring a top-of-the-range sports car. ‘Looks … pretty smart. Very … high tech.’
I didn’t know what to do. I stood there for a moment, shifting from one foot to another, until Will’s voice broke into the silence.
‘Louisa, would you mind putting some more logs on the fire? I think it needs building up a bit.’
It was the first time he had used my Christian name.
‘Sure,’ I said.
I busied myself by the log burner, stoking the fire and sorting through the basket for logs of the right size.
‘Gosh, it’s cold outside,’ the woman said. ‘Nice to have a proper fire.’
I opened the door of the wood burner, prodding at the glowing logs with the poker.
‘It’s a good few degrees colder here than London.’
‘Yes, definitely,’ the man agreed.
‘I was thinking of getting a wood burner at home. Apparently they’re much more efficient than an open fire.’ Alicia stooped a little to inspect this one, as if she’d never actually seen one before.
‘Yes, I’ve heard that,’ said the man.
‘I must look into it. One of those things you mean to do and then … ’ she tailed off. ‘Lovely coffee,’ she added, after a pause.
‘So – what have you been up to, Will?’ The man’s voice held a kind of forced joviality to it.
‘Not very much, funnily enough.’
‘But the physio and stuff. Is it all coming on? Any … improvement?’
‘I don’t think I’ll be skiing any time soon, Rupert,’ Will said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
I almost smiled to myself. This was the Will I knew. I began brushing ash from the hearth. I had the feeling that they were all watching me. The silence felt loaded. I wondered briefly whether the label was sticking out of my jumper and fought the urge to check.
‘So … ’ Will said finally. ‘To what do I owe this pleasure? It’s been … eight months?’
‘Oh, I know. I’m sorry. It’s been … I’ve been awfully busy. I have a new job over in Chelsea. Managing Sasha Goldstein’s boutique. Do you remember Sasha? I’ve been doing a lot of weekend work too. It gets terribly busy on Saturdays. Very hard to get time off.’ Alicia’s voice had become brittle. ‘I did ring a couple of times. Did your mother tell you?’
‘Things have been pretty manic at Lewins. You … you know what it’s like, Will. We’ve got a new partner. Chap from New York. Bains. Dan Bains. You come up against him at all?’
‘No.’
‘Bloody man seems to work twenty-four hours a day and expects everyone else to do the same.’ You could hear the man’s palpable relief at having found a topic he was comfortable with. ‘You know the old Yank work ethic – no more long lunches, no smutty jokes – Will, I tell you. The whole atmosphere of the place has changed.’
‘Really.’
‘Oh God, yes. Presenteeism writ large. Sometimes I feel like I daren’t leave my chair.’
All the air seemed to disappear from the room in a vacuumed rush. Someone coughed.
I stood up, and wiped my hands on my jeans. ‘I’ll … I’m just going to fetch some more logs,’ I muttered, in Will’s general direction.
And I picked up the basket and fled.
