‘So, let’s have a look at the house Sammy wants to rent,’ says Deanna, as she enters Oliver’s study.
Sitting at his desk, working on the day’s emails, Oliver looks up as his wife approaches. He opens the saved file. ‘Here it is.’ He pushes back his chair and is about to rise when Deanna places a restraining hand on his shoulder.
‘Don’t get up, Ollie.’ She settles herself on his knees. Working the mouse, she scrolls through the property details. ‘The attic room looks good and I like the roof terrace. The kitchen’s well fitted out and the main bedroom’s a good size. What do you think?’ She glances over her shoulder.
Even though he’s already studied the details and the property is fresh in his mind, Oliver peers around her body at the screen. ‘Seems a very nice place for a youngster to rent.’
‘What do you mean by that?’ Deanna asks.
‘Nothing in particular. Just that she’s young and has had a comfortable upbringing. It’s not that I want Sammy to experience difficult times, but she should have the opportunity to make her own successes. It’s unwise for us to hand everything to her on a plate.’
‘That’s your father talking, Oliver,’ Deanna says sharply. ‘Get with the current generation. Don’t you want your daughter to experience the best in life?’
‘Of course,’ Oliver responds.
‘So, then, what’s wrong with letting her have this place?’ Deanna digs further. ‘It’s not that much money and think of all the fun she’ll have living in Notting Hill and getting to know London.’
‘There’s nothing wrong with it,’ says Oliver evenly.
‘Well, then, that’s settled,’ Deanna says with finality. Shifting heavily on Oliver’s lap, she concentrates on the screen. ‘I’m meeting up with Pins next week in town. Sammy and I can view it then.’
Oliver stares at his wife’s back. What happened to the open discussions they used to have? ‘It’s not settled, Deanna. I will be paying for it; therefore, I will make the decision.’
Deanna straightens up. Getting off Oliver’s lap, she paces around the desk, crosses her arms and fixes her husband with a stare. ‘Oliver, you’ve made a lot of decisions in the past that haven’t always been in the family’s best interests.’
‘Meaning?’
‘Just that. I really don’t see the harm in helping Sammy on her way in the world. Just because we didn’t have anything when we first started out doesn’t mean our children have to follow suit. If we can provide them with a leg up, then we should. Don’t you want them to succeed?’
Oliver holds his wife’s gaze across the desk. There’s something flint-like in the eyes that meet his. She is always so strong. In fact, it was as much Deanna’s inner strength and independent spirit as her attractiveness that first caught his attention. Her character was so different from his; littered as his was with insecurities and mental health issues. The differences between them excited him, but over the years her definite mindset has grown to feel more like an immovable mountain.
Oliver massages his temples in an attempt to stem the approaching headache. When he speaks again his voice is low. ‘I am insulted by your insinuation that I don’t want to help my children. Of course, I do. I will help them in any way I can, but it’s a huge amount of money to spend on a girl’s first real home. It’s important Samantha understands how to manage money and not simply rely on the bank of Mum and Dad.’
Deanna considers her husband. His career has provided a lifestyle that neither could have dreamt of when he first started to tread the boards as a professional actor, but it has come at a cost. She has sacrificed a lot, not least her own possible career in the theatre. Bringing up Oliver’s children became her career. She will not permit him to thwart the crowning glory of her career by allowing their offspring to flounder. She will have the best for her children.
Deanna softens her gaze. ‘Don’t be insulted, Ollie. I agree, it is expensive, but Samantha is sensible. She will understand that she’s one lucky girl having parents prepared to give her this opportunity. It will set her up for taking responsibility as an adult.’
Oliver mulls over Deanna’s words. ‘I’m still not sure it’s wise to indulge her to such a degree.’
Impatiently, Deanna turns away. It’s not as if they can’t afford it! Composing herself once again, she turns back to her husband. ‘As I said, when I’m in London next week Sammy and I will view it. That way, I’ll know whether the property is worth the cost of the rent.’
Oliver watches his wife as she turns away and walks to the door. In her early forties, she is neat and attractive, dressed in a smart pinstriped shirt and close-fitting trousers that caress her still slender figure, despite her having had four children. With long raven locks falling over her shoulders in soft waves, she could pass as a woman half her age.
At the door Deanna turns. ‘Oh, I almost forgot. What’s this?’ Her manner is suddenly theatrical. Extracting something from her trouser pocket, she approaches his desk once again. Waving the item in front of her husband’s face, Deanna places a small paper doily on the leather desktop in front of him.
‘Annette. Call me…’ she says in a flirty voice and fluttering her eyelashes at him in a silly, girly way. But the eyes that meet his are ice-cold.
Incredulously, Oliver stares at the paper disc. It had completely slipped his mind!
‘So, what is it?’
‘It’s nothing,’ says Oliver.
‘If it’s nothing, why did you squirrel it away in your shirt pocket?’
‘I didn’t squirrel it away,’ Oliver says evenly. ‘When she gave it to me there wasn’t a bin to put it in.’
‘Oh, don’t give me that. Do you think I was born yesterday?’ Deanna’s voice rises with frustration.
‘Deanna, there was nowhere to put it so I simply placed it in my pocket.’ With a sigh, Oliver rises from his chair and walks around the desk. Catching hold of his wife’s hands, he looks deep into her eyes. ‘Don’t do this to yourself, Dee. It will eat away at you. You will make yourself ill.’
‘What, like you? We can’t have two sick people in this household!’ The minute the words are out she knows she’s overstepped the mark.
Letting go of her hands, Oliver takes a step back.
Deanna bites her lip, ashamed at how she’s behaving. She discovered the doily a couple of days ago and its implications have been festering ever since; her imagination working overtime. In what circumstances had it come about? Has Oliver called this Annette, whoever she may be? Her previously unshakeable confidence took a battering that summer two years ago, and she really doesn’t know what her husband gets up to when he’s away filming.
Oliver watches his wife carefully, surprised at the uncharacteristic vulnerability showing on her face. He opens his arms to her. ‘Dee, come here.’
Deanna looks up. She’s so confused – a state of mind unfamiliar to her. She’s always been in control and engineered their life as she saw fit, but now it all seems so murky. The only thing that is clear is her desire to make a name for herself, unfettered by any association with Oliver’s fame.
‘Come on, Dee,’ he says quietly, ‘let’s not fight.’
She allows him to pull her into a hug.
‘You cannot let jealousy eat away at you like this,’ Oliver says, gently stroking her hair. ‘It’s not good for you.’
‘I’m not jealous, Oliver,’ she says, her voice as cold as steel. ‘I’m just sick and tired of being undermined by all these women who imagine they have a chance with you. How dare they think they can make a claim?’
‘As you well know, they don’t have a chance,’ Oliver says, his gaze sliding across the room to the two Cornish paintings displayed on the study wall. ‘Only you have a claim.’