Perfection Comes at a Price, page 15
“And here is a school photo of Katie when she was sixteen. Do you recognise her?”
“Oh yes, Mrs Smith, there she is in the second row on the right-hand side. A very pretty girl who is even prettier today.”
“Katie was part of a little group of friends,” said Mrs Smith looking at the school photo, “such nice children. For so many years Katie thought she would be marrying her childhood sweetheart. But it was not to be. I’m so glad she has found pottery.”
At that Katie returned.
“I’ve been admiring family photos,” said Horace.
“Now, let’s have our tea.”
In the evening Horace sat pensively sipping some brandy. That visit to Southall had been an eye-opener. In the school photo he had recognised Eric. It showed him how very closed Eric was. Nobody at work seemed to know much about him. And certainly not that he had come from tenement flats in Southall.
Now he understood Katie. From childhood on she and Eric had been together till Eric had married. Yes, till 1971. A life-time. It was clear that Katie had not forgotten him. The same must apply to Eric. Why, why had that relationship broken? Horace could not find an answer. Eric was complicated.
He had married Philippa. Not only for money, that was clear to Horace, for Eric was truly fond of his wife. But had he ever been in love with her? No, he could not have been, mused Horace. The man was carrying some heavy burden. In spite of it, he was managing well both at work and at home. That took strength. It would be imperative that Eric should not get a whiff about Horace’s visit to Southall. If Eric knew that Horace knew, he would never speak to Horace again. Yet Eric’s background in Southall in no way diminished Horace’s friendship nor admiration for his friend, in fact it increased it no end.
Horace saw another thing. The fact that the can of worms had been opened thanks to his dinner party had probably prevented an even worse situation. It had stopped his dream of marriage to Katie in its tracks. Knowing what he knew now, they had all been saved. In the course of time, and with his continued courting of Katie, it could have resulted in her saying yes in the end. Perhaps even out of sheer loneliness. It would have been infinitely worse to find out later in life that one had married the love of one’s best friend’s life. Their friendship would have broken never to return. And to have by one’s side a wife who was in love with her former lover, that would have been a killer. Katie had not been a fleeting flame in Eric’s life – no, she had been his one and only. Horace had learned that from the photo in Southall and the few words by Mrs Smith. What he could not fathom was why on earth had Eric left Katie? There would have to be a reason somewhere deep in Eric’s psyche. Horace could not come to grips with that. It must have been a very powerful force, to make Eric leave Katie.
What, wondered Horace, were Eric’s feelings as a result of that dinner? A good question. Horace had a partial answer to it. He had realised that seeing Katie after sixteen years would have brought up to the front all the old memories. A yearning that had probably by then receded to the back burner would now have leapt to the forefront. A rekindled passion would rage inside Eric as it would rage inside Katie. How painful. Eric had it much easier than Katie, for he had the solace of his children. Katie was alone. Horace would be a stalwart friend to her, and he would explain to Eric that he was only a friend. Eric need not feel pained that Horace was in any way after “his girl”. Eric could have coped, in theory, with the fact that Katie might be bedding someone, but he would not be able to cope with knowing who the person was. And certainly not if it was an old friend.
Chapter 28
It took quite a while before Eric’s and Horace’s friendship got back to normal. In the end Horace had had to say,
“Look, Eric. I find it pretty bad that you begrudge any life to a woman whom you purport to love. Is she to bury herself into loneliness by your statue? Do be reasonable. I am just a friend to her. And I think she needs one. I know that Timmy Day is another one and an Indian girl whose name I forget.
I am not torturing you by incessant stories about Katie. If you want to know anything then ask me, and I’ll tell what I can.
We men don’t often talk about matters of the heart, but let me just say that I really do understand the emotional plight you have been under for so long, and still are. However, since you chose your path, now you must follow it the best you can. You are a lucky man to have such a lovely family.”
“Oh Horace, please forgive my behaviour to you. It was quite unmerited. But you understand why. All is well between us. Also, my dear friend, Philippa has decided to forgive you your surprise dinner.”
“I humbly bow at such grace. Tell her that I have been prostrate with grief at having caused her pain and that only now do I dare to hold up my head. Tell…”
“Oh shut up, Horace. It’s a storm in a teacup.”
Life in the office continued its exciting path. The Diplomatic Service was never dull. There was always something going on in some corner of the world. Eric enjoyed learning Swedish. He found the pronunciation difficult at first but eventually he got used to the sing-song of it. The practical side of it was that with Swedish one could get by anywhere in the Scandinavian countries, and also Finland. Eric, who was a monarchist, loved the fact that Sweden and Norway were monarchies. Where there was a court, life was ever so much fancier. He loved pomp and ceremony with every fibre of his being. He had a collection of magazines about royal weddings, funerals, coronations and special anniversary feasts. In his children he found a wonderful audience to share his enthusiasm with and who thus learned to love pomp and ceremony just like their father. Each magazine was a fairy tale, except for being a real one. Philippa left him to his hobby. In her opinion, it was rather over the top.
Eric had been kept busy with his Swedish desk from almost the beginning. On the 28th of February, 1986, there had been real flurry. The Swedish Prime Minister, Olof Palme, had been shot dead. It was a major mystery. Almost in its footsteps, in March, Eric had noted that the Swedish AB Bofors had signed a $15 billion contract with India. The arms trade continued to blossom everywhere, thought Eric.
He had had a hunch that he would be posted to Sweden and thus he crammed himself with knowledge about the country. He found it fascinating that Stockholm was built on an archipelago of fourteen islands woven together by fifty bridges. The Swedes seemed to be fervent. Eighty-five percent of them were members of the Lutheran church of Sweden. Of note was that the very first IKEA store had opened in 1958 at Almhult, and now it was a huge concern. What made Eric shake his head was to learn that in 1979 they had outlawed the spanking of children. How were parents supposed to keep law and order? He himself had on several occasions spanked Lucius, and Philippa had done the same with Emma. Eric firmly believed that the Good Book was right in saying “the man who loves his son does not spare the rod”.
The year 1986 had held a lot of romance. The courtship by Prince Andrew of Sarah Ferguson had the world papers and magazines selling at the rate of knots. And then on the 23rdof July their wedding had taken place at Westminster Abbey. The whole Flint family had been glued to the box.
“Mami. Mami, “cried Emma, “all the ladies are wearing beautiful clothes.”
“So they should, they are all guests at an important wedding.”
“Oh, look, that pale yellow and white outfit is gorgeous. And so’s the purple one. Look. The red hat is good but the jacket is boring I hate boring clothes.”
“You pay a lot of attention to women’s clothes, Emma.”
“Sure I do, Mami, I shall become a fashion designer.”
“What a boring job,” commented Lucius unhelpfully.
“Just ignore your brother,” said Eric.
“Ah, here comes the bride,” crooned Emma. “Her dress is all right, but it should be more jazzy. At least it does not make her pale into insignificance, as did the over-sized, over-frilled grimmo made for Princess Diana. But that was not her fault. She knows how to dress exquisitely.”
“The bride looks very jolly,” said Lucius, “They should have a fun marriage.”
“To be married to a Royal will not be easy,” said Philippa, “but at least she will have another young woman around her, I mean Princess Diana.”
In October 1987, Eric was told that he would be posted as a Councillor to Stockholm the following May. When he told this to the family, both Lucius and Emma were jubilant.
“We shall see the midnight sun. And the Aurora Borealis. Ski-ing and skating, galore!” enthused Lucius.
“And there is Abba,” added Emma.
“Don’t forget the King and the Queen, court etiquette and all the wonderful outfits, Emma, at the functions,” smiled Eric.
“We will need real furs,” said Philippa, adding a practical note.
“Oh and saunas,” said Lucius, “I hear that in the North they roll in the snow after saunas.”
“Well, son, I’ll look forward to seeing you do the same,” smiled Eric.
“I bet he will,” interjected Sir Philip, who was, as usual, on a visit together with his wife. The whole family were together so often that it would have made sense for them to live all in the same house.
“Daddy’s been to Sweden on several occasions,” said Philippa.
“I have indeed, the summers are delightful but the winters are horrid, over six months of ice and snow. It can be heavy.”
“But we are still…” started Philippa.
“Young enough to cope,” Eric finished the sentence for her.
Chapter 29
After that surprise dinner of Horace’s, Katie’s feelings had blossomed again. She dreamt of Eric more frequently. She had seen him, she had touched him and she had kissed him. She had seen in his eyes, during those few minutes they had had alone, that her love was returned. This meeting had in no way depressed her, it had galvanised her love to burn yet more brightly. He had not forgotten her. She still meant something to him. He had not rejected her, he had only put her aside.
If Eric had wanted her to be his mistress, Katie would have been perfectly happy. But he was too decent a man to do that. For that, too, Katie adored him. The news about Eric’s family life continued to trickle through Nandita. Horace was too honourable a man to tell any tales about his friend. Katie respected him for that. In summer 1988 she lost Horace’s company because he had been sent to China as a Councillor. He was very happy; his career too was moving along well.
Katie was again visiting Nandita.
“Hello, Katie, do hurry in from the cold.”
“In November it is supposed to be cold, so never mind.”
“You know, Nandita,” said Katie as she settled down comfortably on the sofa, “it is quite remarkable how I have perked up after seeing Eric at that dinner.”
“That is so surprising. I would have thought you would be down in the dumps for a long time.”
“No, Nandita. I saw in his eyes that he still loves me. He said that I will always remain in his heart. Oh Nandita, he was even more handsome than in his youth.”
“The main thing is that you are not grieving.”
Nandita did not voice her real thoughts upon the matter. Her friend would not have wanted to hear them. She thought herself that Katie’s obsession with Eric was sick. And now after an absence of sixteen years the poor woman was gushing again like a lovesick teenager. Dear me. She had not allowed any other boyfriends into her life. At least she had started a livelier existence since her success at pottery. She made friends, she went out. Nandita still shuddered when she thought of the account that Katie had given her of that dinner. It was a miracle that it had not been worse. Nandita felt primarily sorry for Philippa, who had taken the hardest blow. No doubt Eric would have concocted some story by which to save his bacon. That was as sure as sure could be. Anyway, it was clear that Katie wanted to stay cocooned in her love for Eric.
“Are there any news about Eric?”
“I thought Horace was your source of information.”
“Oh no, he never has been. Also, don’t forget that he was posted to China eight weeks ago. As a Councillor, he said.”
“Then you would not have heard that Eric has been posted to Stockholm next May. The Foreign Office is certainly using his language skills.”
“I shall think of him as a polar-bear,” said Katie dreamily.
As a result, her pottery began to have a Nordic flavour of icebergs and icicles and snowflakes. She was having a big exhibition in March. The gallery was over the moon at the versatility of her works. The exhibition was well advertised and all items were expensive. Kat Claydon was a name.
What Katie was not to know was that Eric, who had seen the advertisements, went secretly to see the exhibition. He was mightily impressed by Katie’s skill. He had been touched, for his instincts told him that all of her creativity was mainly due to him. He bought two small, but exquisite pieces. Small because he needed to be able to hide them. He paid in cash, having prepared himself with a suitable sum. When they asked whether he could give his name and address, he wrote down: Patrick Jones, 104 South Parade, Crosby.
Chapter 30
In May 1988, Eric and Philippa arrived in Stockholm. The weather was wonderful and the days so long. Philippa had gone to the trouble of learning some basic Swedish so that she could cope with daily life. In the so-called polite society everyone seemed to speak French, which made it easy for the couple. They had been given a lovely, centrally located large house, with entertaining in view. The dining room seated twenty-two. There were two living rooms, separated by double doors which could be kept open. There were five bedrooms with en-suite facilities. They had brought a cook/housekeeper with them. A cleaning lady for two days a week was employed locally.
As the winter came along, Philippa found it difficult to endure it. Her headaches had got worse in Sweden, she was sure of that. For the past year she had had headaches from time to time, but since they had come to Sweden, these aches had intensified. She had not bothered Eric with it. The weather seemed to have no effect on Eric, but for her it was a nightmare. Life was otherwise pleasant though somewhat stiff. The eternal and overwhelming rules of etiquette made most occasions into obstacle courses. One had to remember what to do and what not to do. That year the Swedish film “Pelle the Conqueror” had won the Palme d’Or at Cannes Festival. It was talked about for months.
Back home the early months of 1989 were full of gloom because of the December disaster of the Pan Am Flight 103 which was blown up over Lockerbie. Then in April British football got a bad name thanks to the Hillborough disaster. These topics of conversation did not produce any pleasant talk at the social occasions.
Matters perked up in the summer. In June Pope John Paul 2nd visited Sweden. Eric and Philippa were among the guests at one of the receptions.
Their second winter had started early with very low temperatures. Philippa tried to keep a brave face, but it tired her enormously. For a Nordic Christmas Sir Philip and his wife came for a three week stay from the 22nd of December till the 12th of January.
Fun reigned supreme. Eric, Sir Philip, Lucius and Emma threw themselves into cross-country skiing. Sir Philip had taken to skis like duck to water. He had an excellent natural technique and kept up with the younger folk without a problem. Lady Saunders stayed at home keeping Philippa company. The evenings were spent with family games and home performances of flamenco and the sevillanas. Lady Saunders was very good at sevillanas.
“Grandpa, I shall become a physicist like you,” said Lucius.
“Good, I can see that you have all the aptitudes necessary,” answered Sir Philip, “but there will be hurdles to overcome.”
“And I shall be in the fashion world,” said Emma.
“Darling,” said Philippa, “do bring your fashion sketch books here for your grandparents to see.”
“Sure. I’ll get them at once.”
“I wish she would go to university,” sighed Philippa.
“What for?” said Eric, “she seems truly talented in fashion. I’ll insist that she takes a business course, nevertheless. She will need to know how to run her future business empire.”
Emma came back with the sketches.
“These are excellent,” said Lady Saunders, “and you have a special style of your own. A sense of line, shape and how the material falls. I am impressed.”
“I know nothing about women’s fashions,” said Sir Philip, “only that the three women in my life always look wonderful.”
“I am looking forward to that New Year Dance which is being held for the young people, which you told us about, Daddy. In fact I shall be wearing one of my own creations. Pink silk with turquoise and silver decorations. A boat neck, sleeves till the elbows, skirt billowing slightly from below the hips. Just over three quarter length. Silver shoes and silver handbag.”
“You are obviously planning to be the queen of the ball,” said Lucius, “you just might succeed.”
He looked at his sister appreciatively. Emma, at the age of sixteen showed all the signs of becoming a beauty. Her eyes were unforgettable, large, light-blue and luminous. She had thick nearly black eyelashes that curved up naturally and the same colour arched eyebrows. The eyes were nearly Eric’s but they were definitely those of Eric’s mother. From her Emma had also inherited her thick, dark-blond hair. For Eric it was a special sensation to see the eyes of his mother look at him with love – through the eyes of his daughter.
In the new year, the ladies wanted to go to the sales. The cold did not worry them at all under those circumstances. A few days later they went on a second hunt in the shops and came back laden with parcels.
“Lucius, come and help your grandmother to take off her coat,” shouted Sir Philip while helping Philippa.
Suddenly, Philippa gave a twitch, and then, without any sound, she collapsed. Sir Philip had caught her fall. He laid her down gently.
