‘He has two daughters,’ I said. ‘One’s called Ivy; she’s married with a couple of kids and I don’t know what her new name is. But the other’s an army surgeon, Major Cowling, first name Fleur. She shouldn’t be at all hard to find, so I was wondering. .’
‘No, she shouldn’t be,’ he agreed. ‘I have contacts in the Ministry of Defence who can tell me whether she’s UK-based or in Afghanistan. But suppose I do find her for you? What are you going to do after that?’
‘I’ll get in touch with her and tell her I’m looking for her dad, and why. She should know what a shit he’s been.’
Mark smiled into his webcam. ‘If this was anyone but you, I wouldn’t touch it with a very long bargepole, but what the hell? From the sound of things Mr Cowling deserves what’s coming to him. Give me a day or so.’
We said our farewells, and I headed for my long-overdue appointment with the shower, and with my slinkiest black dress, some very expensive cosmetics, and the kind of jewellery I keep in the safe. Half an hour later, I judged myself not half bad, and went downstairs to meet my date. His eyebrows rose, and I realised with not a little satisfaction that he shared my opinion. I have to say that Jonny looked pretty sharp too, in Lacoste jeans, a muscle-tight white vest and a soft black leather jerkin. He was freshly shaved, and he looked as if somehow he’d managed to fit in a visit to the haircut shop at some point during the week. He looked different, fulfilled, as if his afternoon triumph was sitting easily on him and had moved him on to a new level of maturity. He might have been only twenty-two years old, but he was a dish. Yup, I reckoned, if the chattering classes were out and about. . and in St Martí, it only takes one. . the rumour mill would have some new material to grind. About time too, I thought wickedly; a couple of years had gone by since the main topic of British conversation was Primavera Blackstone shagging the priest. . not that she ever did, I declare emphatically.
‘Where’s Tom?’ I asked.
‘One of his pals came to fetch him,’ Jonny told me. ‘The teams were lining up, he said.’
‘Damn, I meant to give him some money. Never mind, we’ll look in there on the way.’
‘No need, Auntie P. Board boys get paid; he’s flush.’
‘Who pays them?’
‘The tournament director.’
‘Nice to know they’re not being exploited. . even though Tom would probably have paid himself to do the job. Now, one other thing. How about you stop calling me Auntie P. . just for tonight if that’s what you want? I do not get dolled up in my Dolce and Gabbana number and my Jimmy Choo shoes to be made to feel middle-aged.’
He smiled, his perfect teeth befitting the grandson of a dentist. ‘If it makes you happy, Primavera. God, that sounds funny.’ He stopped, raising an eyebrow. ‘But no way do you look middle-aged.’
I took his arm as we walked through the square, taking our time over the fifty metres from my front door to the restaurant, if only because the pathway isn’t paved there, and I had to be cautious in the designer shoes. Even in that short way, I discovered that my nephew was famous; word of his profession had spread through the village since he’d moved in with me, and news of his victory had travelled even faster. St Martí has never boasted a resident celebrity; that night, as people called out congratulations to him, mostly in English but one or two in Castellano, it seemed to have found one.
The interior terrace was empty when we arrived; nine o’clock is seen there as an early booking, but there was a reserved sign on a table for four. I chose the one furthest away from it. ‘Champagne?’ Jonny asked.
‘On this special occasion,’ I told him, ‘I reckon you’re entitled.’ I wasn’t certain that any would be available in cava country, but it was, Lanson Black Label, which was fair enough by me. ‘I’m surprised you don’t fizz it around the place like a racing driver,’ I said, as the waiter opened it.
‘I’m my mother’s son,’ he laughed. ‘Every time she sees that done on telly she goes on about the waste.’
‘Are you going home to see her?’ I asked. ‘I know she’s gutted that she couldn’t be here.’
‘She couldn’t be here for that very reason,’ he pointed out, with a smile. ‘They say that hysterectomy isn’t as severe surgically as it used to be, but it’s still pretty radical. I saw her after she had the op, before Brush got me a sponsor’s invitation to Girona. Depending on how my schedule works out now, I might wait till she’s fit to travel and then take her for a convalescent trip somewhere. Maybe she could come with me to a tournament.’
‘That would be nice,’ I agreed. ‘How many tournaments will you get into for the rest of the year?’
‘All of them; automatically, as a tour winner. I need to decide which ones I’m actually going to play. Brush and I need to talk that through, and we will tomorrow.’
I looked him in the eye, over my glass. ‘You know, I still think the set-up’s weird, having a manager you’ve never met, but I’ll say this for the guy: he’s done a brilliant job for you simply by getting you this chance to prove yourself. At the same time, though,’ I added, ‘you’ve done the job for him, by taking it. What you’ve achieved this weekend, it’s just beginning to sink in. To win your first event; it’s fantastic.’
I reached out and squeezed his hand. He held on to mine for a while, gently. I felt a tingle, in my fingertips. ‘It is, isn’t it,’ he whispered. ‘Fuck! When I think of that last shot I played. . I’ll bet you thought I was crazy, Primavera. But did you know that I was actually trying to hole it?’
‘My darling boy,’ I replied, ‘I was too busy trying not to pee my pants to be aware of much of the detail of the moment. But now you mention it, no, you didn’t seem to show any doubt at all.’
‘I didn’t feel any, honestly. Like I said to Uche, I could see it in my mind; play the parachute shot, land it softer than Cormac did his, from higher, and let it take the slope as slow as possible. The only thing I didn’t plan for was getting a nick off his marker.’
He raised his glass and grinned. ‘Thank you, Mr Toibin,’ he chuckled. ‘I’m sure you’ll do it to me many a time in the future.’ He winked at me. ‘Truth is, he’s a better player than me, by a street; I do what I can do, nothing more, every shot is the one with the best percentage chance of success. I’m good, but I know my limitations, and this week I was mentally strong enough to play within them. Cormac’s a genius; I don’t think he has any limits. He’ll be the number one player in the world for years; I never will.’
‘Jonny,’ I protested, ‘don’t sell yourself short. You’ve just beaten him.’
‘By playing what will probably turn out, when my career’s over, to have been the shot of my life.’
‘Come on, you’re twenty-two,’ I reminded him. ‘Stop sounding as if this is the pinnacle. Be excited, dream some dreams, be a kid for a bit longer.’
He shook his head. ‘No, I’ll be a realist; it doesn’t hurt as much. You should know that.’
His remark took me by surprise. ‘What do you mean?’ I asked him.
‘Nothing,’ he said, too quickly.
‘No, not nothing; go on,’ I insisted.
‘No, this is supposed to be a celebration. I don’t want to upset you.’
‘There is no chance of that. Now please, tell me what I should know.’
He sighed, deeply. ‘Okay, if you insist. My Uncle Oz was the greatest man in the world. When I was young, mid-teens, I got myself into a bad situation, way over my head. It could have ruined my life, finished it even, but he made it all go away, and then he looked after me until I understood fully that although what I’d done was bad, it wasn’t evil, and that I should spend the rest of my life atoning for it by making the most of the second chance I’d been given.’
I couldn’t say a word, I couldn’t show any expression, for I knew what Jonny had done; close to the end, when the badness between us was over and Oz and I became lovers again, we were closer than ever before, and we kept no secrets from each other.