only fair since we’ll have a sale in January - not that we’ll be putting that particular fabric in the sale. She has excellent taste. Her comments on the art we’ve got in the shop at the moment were all spot on.’ Fred was obviously taken with this new acquaintance. ‘I think I’ll invite her to our Boxing Day party,’ she said, to my dismay. ‘Is that a good idea?’ I said. ‘Why not, darling?’ I couldn’t think of a reason that I could give to Fred. ‘The poor girl will be lonely, all alone at Christmas, thousands of miles from home,’ she went on. ‘I’ll send her an invitation. I’ve got her address on the order form for the curtains. She has a flat in one of those new canalside developments.’ ‘Does she?’ I said, in a tone as uninterested as I could make it. The thought of Alex gaining entrance to this house, mingling with the guests at our party, ingratiating herself with members of the family, meeting Dad, who would be impressed by her blonde good looks and no doubt regale her with his wartime reminiscences of playing at dances on American airbases, is deeply unsettling.
18 th December. I woke up this morning with a tickle in the back of my throat which presaged the onset of a sore-throat cold. Sure enough, by lunchtime it hurt to swallow: all I need in the run-up to Christmas. And there was a letter for Fred in this morning’s post with Alex’s name and address on the back of the envelope, which I didn’t doubt was an acceptance of the invitation. I put it on top of a small pile of other mail for her on the hall table, and glanced at it apprehensively every time I went up and down the stairs.When Fred came in she brought her letters into the kitchen, as she usually does, to open them at the table over a cup of tea or a drink, according to the hour or her inclination, and I was there, waiting for her. ‘Tea or drink?’ She asked for a glass of white wine, being in good humour because the faulty Italian fabric which had caused a minor crisis some weeks ago had been replaced in time to make up the client’s curtains for Christmas and Ron was going to fit them tomorrow. I turned my back on her to get a bottle of Aligote out of the fridge, and she said something I didn’t catch. When I turned round she had a letter-card in her hand.
‘What?’ I said.
‘Alex Loom is going back to the States.’
‘For good?’ I said. A vain hope had leaped from my brain to my lips - in an instant I anticipated the bliss of Alex being suddenly, miraculously removed from my life.
‘No, of course not, darling,’ said Fred. ‘Just for Christmas. Why would she order curtains if she was going home for good?’
‘Oh, I’d forgotten that,’ I said lamely.
‘Anyway, she hasn’t finished her PhD, has she?’
‘No. I thought perhaps she had decided to pack it in. She’s not very satisfied with the supervision she’s getting from Butterworth.’
‘Well then, you must give her what help you can, darling,’ Fred said. ‘You have plenty of spare time.’
‘Oh, thanks very much,’ I said. There was more irony in my remark than Fred was aware of. Now I have her permission to meet Alex as often as I like - when it’s the last thing I want.
‘She says she’s very sorry to miss the party,’ Fred continued, scanning the letter-card, ‘but her father sent her the money for a flight home for Christmas, so of course she has to go.’
‘Well, God knows there are enough people coming to this party already,’ I said, disguising my emotions behind a familiar grouchy mask. If it is not the miraculous reprieve I dreamed of for an instant, it is at least a relief to know that Alex will not be around to contribute to the stresses of Christmas.
13
22nd December. I have spent the last two days in bed, trying to get over my cold before I have to make the journey to London to pick up Dad - the bed in the guest room, to avoid infecting Fred or disturbing her at night with my coughing and spitting. It was also a way of going to ground, avoiding contact with Alex or anybody else. I hunkered down under the duvet with Radio Four on earphones for company and a Trollope