Errors of Judgment(11)

Toby glanced at his watch, and Sarah’s heart rose. ‘I think,’ said Toby, setting down his coffee cup, ‘that we’d better be making a move. I need to get back to town before five.’

‘Don’t you want to stay and watch the rugby?’ asked his father. ‘Wales versus France.’

‘Not this time, Dad. Sorry.’

Not this time, thought Sarah. That implied another time. Another time when Toby and his father would settle down in front of the HD telly for an afternoon of sport, while she helped Caroline with the pots and pans, listening to Caroline talk, and watching Caroline’s monumental bum rolling around the kitchen. Maybe she should develop a fierce devotion to rugby. It couldn’t be hard. Look at the people who played and watched it. Certainly no worse than cricket. Then she could book her place on the sofa with the boys. Somehow she couldn’t see Caroline letting that happen. Traditional gender roles seemed pretty clearly defined and respected in the Kittering household.

Toby got up and stretched, fishing for his car keys. He was tall, broad-shouldered, with light-brown hair, and a face that was handsome without being remarkable, the product of solid middle-class nurturing and a public school education, with his upper 2:1 in economics from Warwick, and his job in the City. His intelligence, shaped and sustained by the narrow values of his family and social class, was of the unquestioning variety. He was able to believe in the value of the work he did each day at Graffman Spiers Investment Bank because of the calibre of the people he worked with and for. They were chaps like him, and he trusted them. He trusted everyone up the ladder. He believed in the world of finance and its value to humanity. He found the present banking crisis unnerving but exciting, regarded the dire events unfolding daily around him as a test of everyone’s mettle, and not evidence of their ineptitude, and had unshakeable belief in the ability of the banks and the markets to triumph ultimately, and to restore order. Although at dinner parties and among work colleagues Toby mouthed orthodox criticisms of the government of the day, and articulate mild contempt for certain figures in the Treasury, like so many of his kind he possessed a deep-rooted, almost childlike faith in the infallibility of the British establishment. He had grown up in a Britain where certain aspects of life seemed reassuringly enduring – the chime of Big Ben on the six o’clock news, The Archers Sunday omnibus, the Boat Race, the Post Office, the Queen’s smile, the apparent indestructibility of The Rolling Stones, hold-ups on the M25 – and knew that although that world might be buffeted and rocked by squalls, by political upheavals and economic crises, these adversities were themselves part of the stoutly woven tapestry of British life, just like the Blitz, or the Chartist riots; there to be overcome. This lack of doubt gave Toby a cheerful solidity which was reassuring to others. Just looking at him made Sarah feel warm and safe. She glanced at Dr Kittering as he rose stiffly from the sofa, no longer young, energetic and broad-shouldered, but containing the ghost of the young man he had once been, and could imagine Toby morphing into his father as the years rolled by.

‘Can we help to clear up?’ asked Sarah, hoping Caroline would take this offer in the perfunctory spirit in which it was intended.

‘No, no. You two get back to London before it gets dark,’ said Caroline, extricating herself from her armchair. ‘It was lovely to see you both.’

As they emerged into the hall, Scooby, the Kittering’s West Highland terrier, came tearing from his bed in the kitchen and sprang around excitedly. Hoping the Kitterings wouldn’t notice, Sarah gave Scooby a furtive kick. She hated dogs bouncing around and snuffling at her crotch. Then she smiled and kissed her in-laws goodbye, stooping to peck the air next to Caroline’s furry cheeks, and enduring wet, leathery lip contact from Jon-Jon. Either he hadn’t learnt the art of air-kissing or he was being a bit of a lech. The latter, she suspected.

‘Tell your father I look forward to seeing him at the Beefsteak next Friday,’ Dr Kittering reminded Sarah.

‘I will. Thank you for lunch. It was such fun.’ She and Toby crunched across the gravel driveway to the car, and Sarah held her smile in place as she waved goodbye, only letting it fade when they reached the main road.

Caroline and Jonathan waved the Porsche out of sight, then went back inside.

‘Lovely girl,’ said Jonathan. ‘Heard a lot about her down the years from Vivian, but never knew her. Astonishing, the two of them getting together like that. The world is smaller than we think.’

‘Did you see the way she kicked Scooby?’ said Caroline.