Chapter 28
THE EVENING STARTED OFF easily enough; first, Maggie served the Wrackhams the pissaladière , after a lengthy debate about whether pregnant women could eat anchovies (‘is there not too much salt? Jack, sugar plum, can you google how much salt’s in an anchovy?’), followed by the turbot (‘Is it cooked through? I can only eat it if it’s cooked through’), before she started dishing up dinner to the unlikely trio sitting around the kitchen table.
By the time she’d laid the plates in front of them, Mungo had already asked Gray several embarrassing questions about the scandal and whether his fee for the film would be covered by insurance.
Maggie cringed as she sat. ‘Mungo, Gray doesn’t want to be interrogated about all this right now.’
‘My apologies, Gray. But tell me, how did you find this place?’
‘No problem, man, and all thanks to my agent. He stayed here a few years back.’
‘Ah, in its heyday, probably. It’s not the same now but back then it was quite the place. All sorts of celebrities, much like yourself.’
‘So I’ve heard.’
‘But then, of course, Maggie’s aunt went doolally and she ga— Oh, you need a drink, Gray. Your glass appears to be horribly empty.’
‘I’m good.’
Mungo stretched his hand towards the bottle. ‘Sure I can’t tempt you? It’s a very delicious Sancerre.’
‘No, man, thanks. I’m not a big drinker. Usually.’ Gray’s eyes darted to Maggie’s and he made a mock grimace, remembering his first afternoon by the pool.
‘A Californian who doesn’t drink when you have all that wonderful wine? Goodness. Ah well, all the more for us,’ Mungo said, pouring himself another glass as Maggie cringed again at his lack of sensitivity. ‘The one thing my wife’s batty old aunt did know about was her wine. That cellar is still magnificent, darling. Jamie, need a top-up?’
Jamie held his glass up. ‘Can we drink the cellar dry at the party?’
Mungo frowned. ‘What party?’
‘Jamie’s organizing one,’ Maggie explained, ‘a farewell party. A send-off for Phil on her birthday, or what would have been her birthday. We’re going to sprinkle her ashes. And I don’t see why not.’
‘Who’s coming to this party?’ asked Mungo.
‘Locals. And Jamie. And Gray, if you’re still here and you don’t mind the stares of everyone in the village, you’d be very welcome.’
He looked up. ‘Oh. Thanks. I’ve gotta call to discuss the plan with my agent tomorrow, but if I’m still here I’d be honoured.’
‘You asked your boyfriend yet?’ added Jamie.
‘What boyfriend?’ demanded Mungo.
‘He’s joking. He means Pierre, the one I mentioned. You know, the handyman.’
‘It sounds like everyone’s invited to this party but me.’
‘’Course you’re invited, that’s implied ,’ Maggie told him. ‘I wasn’t sure if you could stay out. But why don’t you? Stay out and work from here next week?’
‘Wi-Fi’s not very good,’ Jamie said quickly.
‘You could stay,’ Maggie urged her husband, ‘and help me pack up? Go through the attic, work out what we want to bring back to London? And then be here for the party, the final farewell to Phil. It would be nice to have you here.’
He reached for the wine. ‘Let me think about it. I’d love to if I can, darling, but James may need me in London next week.’
‘You work in property, Maggie said?’ Gray asked.
‘Correct, and my business partner and I have got a deal on with a Qatari at the moment, which is swallowing all our time. Not as thrilling as acting, I’m sure,’ Mungo said, flashing him a smile.
‘Talking of shady billionaires,’ Jamie interjected, ‘what was Bob Lacey like?’
‘A ball-breaker, but he seems to have all sorts of plans for the place.’
‘Which is why I’m less keen,’ said Maggie, raising her eyebrows at Jamie across the table. ‘He talked of a spa, and hot tubs. He’s quite strange. Did you notice, Mungo, every time he stepped into a room he did it with his left foot? I read it in an FT piece. He has all these superstitions.’
‘Oh, darling, all rich people have their eccentricities. And don’t be so old-fashioned. Hot tubs are very fashionable now. I viewed a house in Chelsea last week which had one on the roof terrace.’
‘What happens if it leaks?’
‘No idea. Look, let’s not worry about the hot tubs. The point is, he liked it and he’s got cash.’
‘They’ve just opened another club in LA,’ Gray added. ‘The guy seems to have bottomless pockets.’
‘You see, darling? Bottomless pockets. That’s what this place needs.’
‘Hey, Maggie,’ went on Gray, inspecting the end of his fork, ‘are these the olives we bought this morning?’
She nodded.
‘The best olives I ever tasted, and the best, what did you call it, piss—’
‘ Pissaladière .’
‘That, whatever that means, it’s the best I’ve ever had.’
‘Thanks.’
‘Could do with a little more salt,’ Mungo added, reaching for the ramekin.
‘So, has he made an offer?’ Jamie asked, returning to the topic of the hotel.
‘Not yet but hopefully,’ Mungo replied. ‘Jamie, by the by, do you play tennis?’
‘Christ no, have you seen my physique, Mungo? The only time this thing moves is on the dance floor.’
‘Ah well, not to worry.’
‘You want a game?’ Gray asked.
Mungo’s eyes drew together as he sized his opponent up. On the one hand, he couldn’t now say no. On the other, Gray looked like he’d worked out every day of the week. ‘You play tennis? I thought you chaps were more into basketball.’
Gray shrugged. ‘When I have time, but I’d be happy to have a game tomorrow.’
‘The court’s pretty tired,’ Mungo grouched.
‘Mun, you’re the one who suggested it,’ Maggie chided.
‘Yes, no, all right, why not? After breakfast suit you, Gray?’
‘Sure,’ he replied.
Maggie lay in bed that night feeling uncomfortable. It wasn’t just the jibes that Mungo had directed towards Gray throughout dinner – about actors and their vanity, about property prices in Hollywood and being unable to understand why anyone would want to live there. It wasn’t just being in a different bedroom, either. Instead, she realized with alarm, it was the idea that her husband might try to have sex with her.
‘You have to admit, they are very tired, these bedrooms,’ said Mungo, standing in the doorway of the bathroom.
She lifted her head. ‘What d’you mean?’
Mungo gestured around the room. ‘No minibar, no TV.’
‘Why do guests need TVs in every single room? The bathroom, Bob Lacey said. Do you need to watch TV on the loo? What’s wrong with a nice book?’
‘Ndhwhdwndwjdnmw,’ Mungo replied, because he’d started brushing his teeth.
She dropped her head back to the pillow.
‘All I’m saying,’ he continued a few minutes later, as he slid into bed, ‘is that this place needs an overhaul. And just think if Bob Lacey makes an offer!’
If Maggie heard that man’s name one more time, she thought she might scream.
‘What’s that noise?’ Mungo said suddenly, sitting upright, at a rustling noise underneath their window.
‘It’ll be the donkeys. Lie down and turn the light off, will you?’ She felt half asleep, and if she could demonstrate how tired she was, maybe they didn’t have to have sex. She yawned as another clue.
‘That actor seems very at home,’ Mungo continued, as he settled back down. ‘How long’s he here?’
‘Not sure,’ she mumbled.
‘Lucky I’m not the jealous type otherwise I might have words. But I’ll show him who’s boss on the court tomorrow. Now, darling, I know it’s been a while and I have very cold hands, sorry, but do you feel like …’
He reached one arm across Maggie’s torso and lowered his mouth to hers. It was familiar again, like everything about him – his smell, his movements, the sensation of his hand moving over her hip – but she didn’t have the energy to respond, and her unwillingness to pretend outweighed the guilt she felt at rejecting him.
She pulled her head back. ‘I’m just not sure … after everything recently … I’m not sure I feel ready yet.’ It wasn’t a lie. Their sex life had changed so much in the past eight years. What was once a precious, joyful thing between them had become an activity they did for a purpose. But they’d kept failing at that purpose and now Maggie wasn’t even sure they could go back, that sex could be precious or joyful again when it felt as if every time they did it was futile, a mission that would only end in disappointment.
A ripple of sadness crossed Mungo’s face before he lifted up his arm. ‘Not to worry, darling, let’s cuddle. It’s jolly lovely to have you in my arms again.’
She laid her head on his chest and let the guilt come for her. But the disappointing evening wasn’t entirely her fault; dinner was supposed to have closed the gap between them and yet she’d been embarrassed by Mungo so many times. Had France changed her so much, or was it simply that the time had allowed her to think about what she wanted, away from London and the nursery at the top of the stairs? Maggie had scrolled through enough IVF forums to know that it put a strain on even the sturdiest relationships, but was it a strain that a couple could come back from, even if there was no baby at the end? Lying there, listening to Mungo’s breath enter and leave his chest, as physically close to someone as it was possible to be, she realized the person next to her felt more and more like a stranger.
Then came a more startling thought: she wasn’t even sure that she minded.