Chapter 22

Early in the second week Jean and Court were lying by the pool, comfortable in each other's company. Libby was practising her nocturnes. Court could listen to her forever. She had rigorously put in three hours a day. Not all of it had been piano and Court had been mesmerised by Jean accompanying Libby playing the clarinet. He had rootled around among all the old LPs and EPs upstairs and had at last found Monty Sunshine's recording of Petite Fleur. He played it to Libby with the Chris Barber backing. She was sold on it and very quickly picked it up complete, such was her ear, with all the subtle variations. On Saturday evening they had sat by the barbecue and he had accompanied her on the guitar. They had both been very pleased with themselves and each other. Jean had been very complimentary.

"You know, I could listen to Libby playing for the rest of my life," said Court. "It's not just that she's technically brilliant but it's the sound she draws out of the piano. Take these nocturnes, they could be sentimental and sloppy but they're not. They're full of emotion but they're also full of contrast. She never lets the emotion dominate the quicker passages and yet she leads back into the slower ones without a jolt."

"You're right. Take the first and third movements of the 'Moonlight'. Total contrast and yet she made it whole. The way she plays it, it isn't a sonata in three movements but a sonata of three movements."

Court thought about what she had said. "That is a very apt description," he said.

There was a silence.

"Jean?"

"Yes."

"I'm not quite sure how to say this but I so seldom see my mother and this is not something I could discuss with my father. You have become a very dear friend and are almost old enough to be my mother. Could I discuss it with you?"

"Yes, dear. Of course. If I don't think it's appropriate that you should discuss it with me I'll tell you."

"That's part of the problem."

"Oh! Would it help to talk about the other part first?"

Court nodded, took a deep breath and started.

"Well, I think you know I'm not very good with young women, especially beautiful ones."

Jean nodded. "I'm not entirely surprised with your father's record."

"That's it. To start with I've never really forgiven him for divorcing my mother. I loved her and still do. She was my bedrock because she was always there and yet, for some reason, he got custody. I don't know why."

"Why did he divorce her?"

"Adultery."

"True?"

"I don't know. Possibly. She didn't contest it and she was alone a lot."

"Did she move in with a man?"

"No. She went back to her mother. She didn't marry again until five or six years later."

"Hmm! How soon did your father marry again?"

"Six months, to one of his singers."

"What was she like?"

"Very beautiful, shallow and greedy."

"How long did she last?"

"Not long. Two or three years."

"Any children?"

"No."

"So, then?"

"Three more and none of them lasted any longer. I guess number four is about due for the boot."

"And they were all the same?"

"Pretty well. I didn't get on too badly with Penny, number three, but the current one, Cerise, is an A1 bitch."

Jean could not help herself and giggled.

"What's so funny?"

"Cerise! What a name! Is it her real one or her stage name?"

Court could not help but smile back. "No idea," he said.

Jean giggled again. "Was she a pole dancer?"

Court could not help himself and roared with laughter and, as Jean had hoped he would, relaxed.

"Ai would nevah have stewped so low," he mimicked.

They both collapsed with laughter.

"So why on earth does he go on like this?" Jean asked. "Surely he must have learned his lesson by now?"

"One would have thought so and that's what worries me and is why I'm so twisted up about young women. First, would I be like him and always looking for a newer model? Second, how can I be sure that I'm not going to end up with a leech?"

Jean looked at him fondly. "How old are you, Court?"

"Twenty-three. Why?"

"Forgive me but you're still quite young and, with no parental guidance and a frankly appalling example from your father, I'm not the least surprised you're in such a muddle. I think I need a beer to help me think this one through. If Dame Libby decides to join us, but I don't think she will for half an hour, we can continue with this discussion during the afternoon session."

Court rose to his feet. "Good thinking," he smiled and went to collect them. There was not a pause in the piano playing.

He returned. Jean thanked him and took a thoughtful swallow. It was just an act. She knew exactly what she was going to say. Court looked at her expectantly.

Jean smiled. "The answer to your first question is no, not necessarily. If you find a girl you fall in love with and you share a number of common interests, you are of much the same intellectual level, you laugh at the same sort of things and you also have the same moral outlook I don't see any problem. Martin and I knew each other quite a long time before we got engaged. Yes, we were physically attracted almost from the word go but, and it was almost unspoken, neither of us was prepared to commit ourselves until we were totally satisfied that we would enjoy the rest of our lives together. That probably sounds a bit old fashioned."

"Not really if you value marriage at all. I don't actually hold with this living together business. It's not a total commitment and in some cases I think one partner takes advantage of the other, for example where the mortgage is in one name and yet they both contribute to paying it."

"That stinks," said Jean. "I find it difficult to believe that anyone would be so stupid."

"I know someone but he's so besotted."

"How long have they been together?"

"A couple of years."

"And how much longer do you think it'll last before he sees the light?"

"Mm!"

"So what I'm saying is don't be frightened on that score but do make sure that you're both suited to each other. Discuss things."

"OK."

"As to the second, if you follow my advice on the first it will become pretty clear pretty soon whether she's a leech or not."

Court nodded. "I guess."

They were both silent.

A Chopin nocturne suddenly turned into Petite Fleur in waltz time, changed into ragtime, followed by the first three lines of the national anthem. Libby joined them.

"You're both looking pretty glum," she exclaimed. "I think I'd better have a beer today and liven proceedings up."

"I'll get it for you," said Court.

"What are the glooms about?" Libby asked Jean.

"Not glooms really, darling. Court's been telling me about his father and all his wicked stepmothers."

"Ah! Say no more and neither shall I."

Libby was in fine form, pulling the other two's legs, bubbling with laughter and generally livening things up. Jean mentioned Court's telling her about his friend helping towards his partner's mortgage.

"He must be dotty."

"He is about her," said Court.

"Double dotty then. He's throwing away his money and he's clearly picked a gold-digger. The sooner he's out of that the better. What a horrid girl she must be. Probably good in bed though."