Page 54 of A Midlife Gamble

Marianne’s features had set like poured cement. ‘I would guess that too,’ she said bleakly.

‘Why?’ Caro asked.

Helen shook her head, her shoulders rising as she breathed in and walked across to the kitchen sink. It had been positioned under a window, and just like her own kitchen at night, the image reflected back was that of herself and the domestic scene behind that she was a part of. ‘To get away from us,’ she said flatly, and thank goodness, the reflected face that looked back at her was so obscured in shadow, she couldn’t quite make out the expression. ‘To get away from us,’ she repeated.

‘This is my fault,’ Marianne muttered. ‘I should never have contacted him!’ She dropped onto the nearest sofa like a stone into water, and the soft whoosh of air escaping from the cushions had Helen turning back to the room.

‘What is going on?’ Caro repeated.

Staring straight ahead, Marianne said, ‘Tony doesn’t own this ranch.’

‘He doesn’t? Who does?’

‘A friend from Hollywood. Arichfriend from Hollywood.’

Caro looked from Marianne, to Lula, who shrugged, shoulders rising to her ears.

‘Lula told me,’ Marianne continued. ‘When you were both out riding. I came in for coffee and we had a chat. Stupid me! Going on and on about what a lovely place Tony had, and so she told me.’

‘Told you what, exactly?’ Caro said.

Marianne’s head shook, side to side like it vibrated, like what she had to say was so shameful, her body refused to allow it.

Across the room, Lula picked up an empty wine glass from the table and, holding it in both hands, said, ‘Mr Tony is a friend of the boss. I think they have known each other a long time. He lets Mr Tony come and stay when he wants. I don’t know why. He is too good. When Mr Tony comes, he is supposed to do some jobs, but he never does. He rides and he eats and he drinks and then he leaves. And sometimes he brings friends, and they eat and drink and also leave.’

No one spoke. Eventually, still at the sink, Helen said, ‘I’m so sorry. We had no idea. Obviously we’ll pay for what we’ve eaten.’

‘Of course,’ Caro finished.

Marianne nodded

Lula shook her head. ‘I not taking any money from you ladies.’

Turning to Marianne, Caro said, ‘He lied to you?’

‘He neveractuallysaid he owned it,’ Marianne answered.

‘But he let us all believe he did,’ Helen finished.

‘Amen,’ Lula nodded.

‘We believe what we want to believe,’ Marianne said quietly. ‘Tony,’ she continued, ‘Has four ex-wives. Two children who won’t speak to him, no money and no career. I suppose his Hollywood friend feels sorry for him.’

‘I think this is true,’ Lula nodded.

‘He is a compulsive gambler. And his friend is fully of sympathy, because Tony tells everyone that this is an illness.’

Lula was still nodding. ‘All true.’

Helen snorted.

Marianne leaned her head back against the cushion of the sofa. ‘He tried to tell me the same.I’m sick,Marianne,he said. If you’re sick, I said, I’m a fish!Sick?’The heat of anger, or contempt, energised her now, and as she shuffled forward to the edge of the sofa, Marianne’s face became animated. ‘My mother,’ she declared, ‘who was half Serbian, was born with a hole in her heart. Her brother, my uncle, was crippled with polio and my grandmother lost an eye. No one knows where, but it was never found! I never heard any of them ever say they were sick!Sick?In my family, we don’t have time to be sick.' She stuck her hands deep into the cushions, ready to heft herself upright, looked around and then as if she’d been shot, fell back again. ‘I’m so ashamed,’ she wailed, one hand shielding her eyes. ‘What an old fool I’ve been.’ Holding her hand up she turned it around to study her painted nails, and then around again, as if to show the room. The lone sequin left on her little fingernail caught the light and glinted. ‘What a vain old fool! And now Kay! Kay is driving off with him to who knows where!’

Lula frowned, her expression inscrutable.

Still at the sink, Helen glanced to Caro. It was impossible not to feel sympathy for Marianne; on the other hand mirrored in Caro’s face was a look she knew she wore herself. The resignation of being caught in a squall that had been forecast days ago. Marianne’s relationship with the suave Tony was as unlikely as tulips in winter. But what could they have done? In the glow of Tony's attention, Marianne had been untouchable, walking on air, experiencing the kind of lightness-of-being that rolls around only once, or twice, in a lifetime. The kind Helen had so recently enjoyed and remembered fondly from her time with Kaveh in Cyprus. Why shouldn’t they have left her to enjoy the moment? As long as there was a safety net in place. Which is what they must now be. The two of them. She nodded as Caro’s eyes met hers. And then quietly she walked over, and sat down on the arm of the sofa, next to Marianne. ‘The only fool I can see,’ she said gently, ‘Is Tony.’

‘This,’ Lula said, ‘is also true.’

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