Dreaming. CHARLOTTE LAMB
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blind to the battle going on over him.
Oddly enough, Luisa could see it from Noelle’s point of view. It must be embarrassing to have a stepdaughter who was almost the same age as yourself; it must underline the difference in ages between man and wife, and Noelle was probably jealous, too, of the old affection Harry Gilbey had for his daughter, an affection which reminded his new wife of his dead one.
Luisa was very like her mother, as all the photographs which filled the house when she first entered it must have told Noelle. Anna Gilbey had been a graciously lovely woman of forty when she died of a heart attack, leaving her only child as a living reminder to Harry of the woman he had married when he was only twenty years old. The years since then had been lonely ones for her father. Luisa could understand why he wanted to marry again, even if his choice had astonished and disturbed her, just as she understood some of Noelle’s feelings, but to understand did not make it any easier, she was to find. Luisa had always been very close to her father, especially since the death of her much-loved mother. Suddenly being cut off from him was hard to take.
Nevertheless, she had tried to accept the new situation, for Dad’s sake, as much as anything. It must be difficult for him, too, to be a buffer between two warring women, and she wanted to see him happy again, uneasily though she viewed his marriage to a girl of her own age.
If only she hadn’t got so upset when she realised that her father had forgotten her birthday and was not going to be back in time to see her! But her birthdays had always been special days: Dad had always made them magical in the past. They had gone out to lunch somewhere special, spent the afternoons together, made each birthday memorable. This was the first one since his marriage, and realising that her birthday treats too were over had hurt more than anything else so far. She had reacted childishly when she realised where he had gone and had rung him at the party, overwhelming him with guilt.
No, she should never have done that—but how could she have imagined that such disastrous consequences would flow from her outburst?
‘He’ll lose his licence, you know,’ Noelle vindictively said. ‘For at least two years, the lawyer says. And that’s not the worst thing that could happen to him. Well, I won’t be able to drive him around all the time; he’ll have to get a chauffeur. He can afford it, although he keeps saying money is tight. He wasn’t so mean when I married him. If he’d had a chauffeur, that accident would never have happened. At his age his judgement isn’t too good any more.’
Luisa stiffened. ‘What do you mean, “at his age”? Dad’s barely fifty, for heaven’s sake!’
Noelle had not apparently thought him very old when she married him! She had always been saying how young he was, how full of energy and life—and Harry Gilbey had lived up to that description over the past year, working and playing hard to keep up with his young wife. When he wasn’t at cocktail parties, dinner parties, business lunches, he was out on the golf course playing with clients or people Noelle wanted him to impress.
‘His reflexes aren’t what they were,’ shrugged Noelle.
‘Maybe he goes out to parties too often! It must use up a lot of energy!’ Luisa accused, and her stepmother’s green eyes blazed back at her.
‘That’s right, shift the blame on to me! You’d love to say it was all my fault! Well, it isn’t—Harry enjoys a busy social life; he always did, before he ever met me!’
Luisa couldn’t deny that, either. Her father had always been a social animal; he was gregarious, lively and loved company, especially that of young people, which was no doubt why he had fallen for the ravishing blonde who had become his secretary. Noelle had encouraged him and Harry Gilbey hadn’t been able to resist her and the chance to be young again.
Luisa sighed. ‘Yes, I know he does.’ Poor Dad. She bit her lip and looked at her stepmother with appeal in her dark blue eyes. ‘Noelle, why do we always have to quarrel like this? Especially now, when Dad is in trouble...he’ll need both of us over the next few months. Can’t we be friends?’
Noelle’s beautiful mask didn’t soften. Her green eyes flashed. ‘You’ve done enough harm, just leave us alone. Harry is my business now, not yours.’ She turned to walk away, stopped, and pulled a crumpled newspaper out of the black leather briefcase she was carrying. ‘Have you seen this?’
She didn’t wait for an answer; she was gone a second later, leaving Luisa staring blankly at the paper, folded back to show a grey photograph of Zachary West above half a column of print headlined ‘Crash Wrecks West Exhibition’.
Even more worried and depressed now, Luisa looked around for somewhere to sit down. There was a café across the square; she made for it shakily and fell into a seat near the door.
‘What can I get you?’ asked a waitress, coming over at once.
‘Coffee, please,’ Luisa said.
‘Anything to eat?’
Luisa knew her blood sugar must be low; she was feeling light-headed. ‘A...sandwich?’ she muttered, glancing at the menu which stood in the centre of the red and white checked tablecloth. ‘Cheese and salad sandwich, please.’
The waitress vanished and Luisa spread the newspaper out in front of her. By the time she had absorbed what it said the waitress was back with her sandwich and coffee. Luisa folded the newspaper up again with fingers that trembled, and tried to enjoy her meal, but it tasted like sawdust and ashes. All she could think about was what she had just read.
The consequences of the crash were even worse than she had imagined. Zachary West was an artist, it seemed—and famous, according to the newspaper, which had talked about large sums of money paid for his work in the past.
When the crash happened Zachary West had been taking a number of paintings up to London, in his van, to be shown in a big exhibition of his work in the gallery of a well-known art dealer. The exhibition would have been a major event in the art world, the dealer was quoted as saying. It had been awaited eagerly since Zachary West’s work was much sought after and fetched increasingly large amounts and he had not exhibited his work for some years. The art world had been curious to see how he had developed his style and technique since his last exhibition. Now, said the dealer, tragically, the world would never know. All the paintings Zachary West had spent the last four years working on had been destroyed in the fire which had left the artist himself so badly burned.
Chilled and appalled, Luisa paid for her meal and left the café. She walked home and put away her shopping, then rang her father.
‘How are you this afternoon, Dad?’ she gently asked.
‘Have you seen the newspapers?’ was all he said, his voice dry and shaky.
Luisa bit her lip. ‘Dad. Dad, don’t—’
‘Don’t what?’ Harry Gilbey bitterly asked her. ‘Face up to what I’ve done? God, when I think—’
‘Don’t think about it, Dad, not yet. You’re still shocked,’ Luisa hurriedly pleaded, her blue eyes anxious.
‘How can I stop thinking about it? A man like that—a genius, they say in the papers—all that talent, so much to give the world...and I’ve destroyed him...’
‘You don’t know that, Dad! He’ll pull through, and he’ll do other work when he’s better. He’s still a young man...’ But her reassurances were only half-hearted and she knew it, because she felt just as guilty as her father, and with more reason. ‘And, anyway, it’s my fault, not yours,’ she huskily added.
‘Your fault? How can it be your fault? I was driving that car, not you!’
‘But if I hadn’t rung you and made so much fuss you wouldn’t have been hurrying!’
‘That still doesn’t make it your fault, Luisa. I was the one doing the driving, and I’d been drinking—oh, I wasn’t over the limit, I’m not that stupid, and I never have been a drinking man. As you know, I’m not that keen on spirits—I just had some white wine. Anyway, they