The Last Kiss Goodbye

by Tasmina Perry

  ‘Then what is it?’

  ‘He’s off to the jungle. On his own,’ said Sam quietly. ‘There’s anacondas and angry pygmies. You know, pretty much everything out there can kill you.’

  ‘I’m not sure that’s helping me much, Sam,’ Ros said grimly

  ‘My point is that perhaps he’s deliberately distancing himself from you because he knows how dangerous it is. He’s trying to protect you in case he doesn’t come back.’

  ‘Oh Sam. That’s just what I’m scared of. I’m terrified of losing him.’

  ‘Then don’t give up.’

  Ros scoffed. ‘Don’t you start. I followed Victoria’s advice and look where that got me. ‘

  ‘You’re Ros Bailey,’ said Sam firmly. ‘Everyone in the socialist movement respects you because you’re—’

  ‘A bitch?’

  Sam shook her head.

  ‘Because you know what you want and you go out and get it. You’re a doer, a fighter, and we all follow you because you never say die.’

  Rosamund looked down, slightly taken aback and a little embarrassed.

  ‘So why should Dominic be any different?’ Sam continued. ‘If you were running a campaign against the injustice of Dominic Blake ignoring his girlfriend, what would you do?’

  ‘Start a demonstration? Print up some posters?’

  ‘No, Ros,’ she said, wagging a finger. ‘That’s what other people would do; you would think of something clever. Lateral thinking, isn’t that what it’s called?’

  Slowly, a smile crept over Rosamund’s face.

  ‘You’re right. In fact I have an idea that might just kill two birds with one stone.’

  ‘Then what are you waiting for, Ros Bailey? Go and get him.’

  For a moment Rosamund wondered if she had walked into the wrong flat. She was tired and preoccupied and had barely paid attention to anything on the walk from the tube, so it was entirely possible. But no, it was definitely the right place; it was just that everything looked different. When she had left this morning, the narrow passageway from the front door had been crammed with boxes and equipment; now it was empty save the sideboard, which had a neat stack of envelopes and a vase of fresh flowers on it. Flowers?

  The flat even smelt different: some sort of cooking coming from the kitchen. And was that singing?

  ‘Hello?’ she called, walking forward uncertainly, glancing into the bedroom, which, like the hallway, was uncluttered and tidy. What on earth?

  The singing stopped and Dominic put his head around the door. ‘Hello,’ he smiled, stepping over, wiping his hands on a tea towel. He had a smear of something white on his right cheek and he was wearing an apron. He bent to kiss her on the lips.

  ‘Good timing,’ he said. ‘Dinner will be five minutes. I’ll just pour you a drink.’

  Frowning, she peeked into the small living room.

  ‘Dom, where are all the boxes? What’s happened?’

  ‘I saw you trip over a hurricane lamp last night.’

  ‘Class act, aren’t I?’ she smiled.

  ‘No, no. The flat’s in chaos, so I’ve sorted it out. Some of the stuff has been shipped out to Peru. At least we’ll have a bit more space to sit, have dinner. Oh shit. Something’s burning.’

  ‘Supper?’ said Ros with a grimace.

  Dom disappeared into the tiny galley kitchen and returned holding a blackened pan.

  ‘What was that?’ she asked, peering into its depths.

  ‘Chicken à la King.’

  ‘No longer looking too royal.’

  ‘Let’s go out,’ he said grabbing her hand.

  Twenty minutes later, they were in a quiet French restaurant on a side street in Covent Garden. As the light outside faded and the waiter lit the candle placed between them, Ros thought she could be back in Paris.

  Dom smiled at her, and his expression was so loving, she felt guilty for doubting him.

  ‘Thanks for cooking,’ she said as the waiter poured them glasses of crisp white wine.

  ‘Thanks for putting up with me,’ he replied, clinking his goblet against hers.

  She raised her eyebrows. ‘The expedition?’

  He nodded. ‘I’ve been thinking a lot about what you said in France, and you’re right. For so long it has been just me. I haven’t had anyone or anything else to think about in any decision I make, except maybe the readers of Capital. But now there’s you. You are the most important thing in my life and I want to make some changes to accommodate that. To accommodate you.’

  ‘You make me sound like a four-poster bed you’ve got to squeeze into a studio room,’ she laughed. Ros never felt comfortable with compliments or emotion, but secretly she was thrilled with his words. After the tension at Les Cyprès, she had never imagined he would say them.

  ‘I don’t want you to do anything you don’t want to do,’ she said, treading carefully. Half of her was still imagining it was a trick. ‘Travel, adventure, it’s your lifeblood. I don’t want to change you. The only thing I want is for you to be happy. For us to be happy.’

  ‘We could go and live in Paris. Or the South of France. Get that shack you liked the sound of, with the bed for two.’

  ‘What about Capital?’

  ‘We could set up a French sister publication. For English-speaking ex-pats. Robert can run the London edition, I can become international chief, and you, Rosamund Bailey, rising star of the industry, can be editor-in-chief, Capital Paris.’

  ‘Now that sounds like an adventure,’ she said grinning.

  The enthusiasm on his face softened.

  ‘But first I need to go to Peru. I can’t pull out now.’

  It was the first time she had ever heard him talk about the expedition with anything other than excitement.

  ‘I don’t want you to pull out,’ she said softly.

  ‘You don’t?’ he said with surprise.

  Ros paused as the waiter brought their food. Then she took a fortifying mouthful of boeuf bourguignon and looked at Dominic.

  He frowned. ‘What is it?’

  ‘I went to the Foreign Office today.’

  ‘The FO? Why?’

  ‘Because I’ve decided to come with you to the Amazon.’

  ‘You want to come with me,’ he repeated slowly.

  She locked eyes with him, her expression stony. ‘I won’t come into the jungle, if that’s your decision. You are the expert on this and I will respect your opinion. But I am going out to Peru with you because there is a chance you may never come back and I want to spend every possible moment with the man I love. Is that clear?’

  ‘That’s not the most optimistic way to view my trip.’

  ‘But it’s true,’ she said frankly. ‘You know it, I know it. That’s why you want to go to Blackpool for our next holiday.’

  ‘Not exactly,’ he smiled.

  ‘I’ve been to the Royal Geographical Society, the Peruvian embassy and the Foreign Office,’ said Rosamund. ‘All the paperwork is in. I am signed on as your logistics manager.’

  She gulped, trying to stay composed, knowing he had every right to be furious with her.

  ‘You would do that for me?’ he said finally.

  ‘You should have realised by now that I’m an all-or-nothing kind of girl.’

  ‘I’ve realised that you’re even more remarkable than I thought.’

  ‘Stop getting mushy. I’m just protecting my investment, even if you can’t cook a meal without burning it.’

  ‘Let’s get out of here.’

  ‘Hang on. I haven’t finished my potatoes.’

  He had already asked for the bill and thrown down a ten-shilling note to pay for their food.

  ‘Where are we going?’

  ‘Let’s just walk,’ he said, taking her hand.

  He was quiet for a few moments, as if he was thinking. They crossed the road at Aldwych, exiting the dense streets of Covent Garden, and she felt her shoulders relax as they came within sight of the river.

  ‘Waterloo B
ridge,’ she smiled. ‘I remember what you said about this place on our first date.’

  ‘Our first date?’

  ‘At the pub in Primrose Hill. I know it wasn’t actually a first date. I know you just wanted to talk about my article, but still . . .’

  ‘It was a first date,’ he said, squeezing her hand.

  She gasped when she saw the view. As a former student of the nearby LSE, it was a vista she knew well, but it never ceased to astound her. The majestic Houses of Parliament, an always inspiring symbol of democracy, was to her right, whilst St Paul’s Cathedral and the twinkling lights of the City sparkled to her left.

  Dusk was settling over London, streaking the sky with gold and violet, and it sent shivers of emotion coursing through her body.

  ‘I don’t think I’ve ever felt more excited about life and the promise it held than when I walked over Waterloo Bridge,’ she said softly.

  Dominic put an arm around her shoulder and drew her close.

  ‘You said that on our first date, and now I know exactly what you meant,’ she said, looking up at him.

  ‘I’m feeling it again now, aren’t you?’ he said, nuzzling the top of her head.

  As she nodded, he took hold of her hand and turned her around so that she was facing him. She thought he was about to kiss her, but he looked suddenly nervous, a tic pulsing under his left eye, those grey eyes she loved.

  ‘Marry me,’ he said.

  At first she wasn’t sure she had heard him properly.

  ‘I don’t just want you to come to the Amazon with me. I want to be with you for ever.’

  Her heart was racing, and then she started laughing, the sound carried away on the riverside breeze. And finally she said, ‘Yes.’

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Nobody was particularly surprised when Dominic Blake insisted on throwing a party to celebrate his engagement to Rosamund Bailey. If cooking wasn’t his forte, then throwing an intimate bash for a hundred of their closest friends was what he was certainly good at.

  Ros walked into the stucco apartment in Belgravia and gasped. It was a huge lateral space with a bank of almost floor-to-ceiling windows on one side of the room looking out on to Eaton Square. The polished walnut floors and the elegant grey furniture gave it a glamorous Art Deco feel, and as she accepted a glass of champagne from a man in a dinner jacket, she felt like Audrey Hepburn in Billy Wilder’s Sabrina.

  ‘If this was my house, I’m not sure I’d lend it to anyone,’ she said, looking around the room, searching for breakables.

  ‘It’s a good friend and they are never in the country,’ said Dominic, taking a guest list out of his pocket and checking it.

  ‘Do they know how many people you’ve invited?’ asked Ros, peering over his shoulder at the long list of names.

  ‘Everyone’s well-behaved,’ he whispered, sipping at his champagne bowl.

  ‘We’ll see about that,’ laughed Ros cynically.

  She was glad to see Jonathon Soames and his girlfriend Michaela, who brought her an enormous bunch of peach-coloured roses. Accepting them, she felt like a movie star on stage at the Oscars, but told them not to expect a speech. There were others in the room that she was only meeting for the first time – more university friends, old colleagues from a broadsheet where Dominic had worked straight out of Cambridge.

  Her heart fell when she saw Victoria Harbord arrive, especially as she looked more stunning than usual. Ros had seen her without make-up in the pool, and knew she was a natural beauty, but she couldn’t help thinking that Lady Harbord had made a special effort this evening. An emerald-green silk dress with a boat-cut neckline showed off an expanse of tanned shoulders, and her dark blond hair fell in waves down her back.

  She waved when she saw Ros and headed over.

  ‘Ros, you look as ravishing as ever. I love this dress.’

  Ros looked down at the blue shift dress she had bought specially for the occasion; it looked very dowdy and ordinary compared to Victoria’s.

  ‘How are you, Vee?’

  ‘Good, good. I’ve been following your journalism. I saw your piece in the New Statesman. Do you really think they’re going to build an actual wall through the middle of Berlin?’

  ‘That’s the rumour. It was denied in a press conference, but East Germany wants to stop the brain drain to the West, and I think they’re going to take quite drastic steps to do that.’

  Victoria sighed and looked around the room, clearly no longer interested in discussing politics.

  ‘Enjoying the party?’ she asked, playing with a gold pendant around her neck. ‘I can’t say I ever thought it would come to this,’ she added.

  ‘You sound surprised,’ replied Ros thinly.

  ‘I have never doubted Dominic’s love for you. I just didn’t think we’d see him at the altar. How on earth did you do it?’

  ‘Well, I didn’t need a leash.’

  ‘Then why are you going with him to Peru?’

  Ros glanced at Dominic with annoyance, wondering how much her fiancé had told his friends.

  ‘Why are you here, Victoria, if you’re not happy for us?’ she said, unable to contain herself any longer.

  Victoria put a reassuring hand on her forearm. It was a trick that Ros had seen time and again among Dominic’s high-flying circle of friends. She wondered if it was something they taught you in the fancy schools these people went to.

  ‘Ros, please don’t be sensitive. Dominic is one of my dearest friends. Of course I am happy for you.’

  ‘But you don’t think I’m good enough for him, do you?’

  Victoria’s expression hardened.

  ‘I don’t think you’re right for him. There’s a difference,’ she said in a quieter voice.

  Ros felt her back stiffen. She knew how easy it was to be intimidated by these people, but she was not going to let it happen.

  ‘And why would that be, Victoria? Am I too Jewish? Too working class? Too opinionated for a trophy wife? How do I not quite fall into your very narrow view of what is good marriage material?’

  ‘I don’t care who you are or where you came from,’ said Victoria, keeping her tone light. ‘Tony was a butcher’s son, born in the slums of New York, but he has made his mark in society in spite of where he came from.’

  She took Ros’s hand and wrapped both of hers around it, her self-assurance softening to concern.

  ‘You excite Dominic, Rosamund. You madden him, you intrigue him. You are as exotic as the jungle and as familiar as the girl next door, and believe me, that is quite an intoxicating combination. But you are just too different to make it work. I mean, do you ever socialise with his friends?’

  ‘Like who?’

  ‘His friends! These people?’

  ‘I’ve seen them,’ she said stiffly.

  ‘Occasionally, by all accounts.’

  Ros knew they were both aware that it had happened just a handful of times.

  ‘Ros, there is a difference between a marriage of opposites and an incompatible partnership. Dominic keeps his worlds separate, you and them, because he knows you just don’t mix. He will never let go of his friends, so his solution is to keep you apart. But how is this anything other than a temporary solution? At some point he will have to make a choice. And even if he does choose you, which I suspect he will, there will be a part of him that will be forever resentful. I should imagine the same goes for your friends. How much do they like hanging out with Tory boy? They don’t, and so never the twain shall meet.’

  ‘We love each other, that’s what counts.’

  ‘Does it? I thought you of all people wouldn’t have such a rose-tinted view of life.’

  ‘What are you saying, Victoria? What are you really saying here? That I shouldn’t marry Dominic?’

  ‘Have you set a date?’

  ‘Not yet, no.’

  ‘Well, I wonder why,’ said Victoria, taking a glass of champagne and wandering off into the crowd.

  Not even another couple of
glasses of champagne, downed in rapid succession, could calm Rosamund.

  ‘I’d say the party’s a success,’ said Dominic, slipping his hand around her waist.

  Ros nodded and smiled with as much enthusiasm as she could manage. But whilst she knew she had no loyalty to Victoria Harbord, she could not tell her fiancé about the conversation they had just had and how much it had upset her. For a moment she was reminded of an episode with bullies she had experienced at school; for weeks she had been too scared to speak out against the girls who had tormented her for being too ethnic, and too smart. Even though she had stuck up for herself in the playground, it was only when she spoke out and canvassed support around her, teachers and other pupils, that the bullies went away.

  And yet still she could not tell Dominic about Victoria. He loved his friends, she knew that, and she didn’t want to create a wall between them.

  ‘Right, I want to meet some of your friends,’ said Dominic, taking hold of her hand. ‘Sam. Where’s Sam? I want to introduce her to my friend Edward.’

  ‘She’s definitely on her way,’ said Ros, scanning the room. The party had started at 7.30, and all of Dominic’s friends seemed to have arrived by eight o’clock, yet none of the people Ros had invited – Sam, Alex, George, the manager of the café where she used to work and three new Primrose Hill friends – were yet here.

  She breathed a sigh of relief when she saw her parents standing awkwardly at the door, the first of her fashionably late contingent. Her father was in his smartest suit; her mother was wearing something that resembled a saucer on her head.

  ‘Mr and Mrs Bailey,’ said Dominic, squeezing Ros’s fingers as they went over to greet them.

  ‘Dominic, what a beautiful place,’ said Valerie, almost speechless as she looked around.

  ‘Sadly it’s not mine,’ said Dominic, making sure they had drinks.

  ‘In which case, I’m going to have to take you into my study and talk about your prospects,’ said Samuel, already looking giddy on the champagne.

  Ros laughed. She knew how well Dominic got on with her father. When he had gone round to officially ask for Ros’s hand in marriage, the two men had disappeared to the pub and returned three hours later laughing like old friends, which had only impressed upon Ros how badly she wanted to marry him.