'You seem much more relaxed now,' he commented, thinking how much better the world seemed just because she was there on the other side of the table.
'I am,' she said. T've been doing a lot of thinking.'
'What about?'
'About us. About our marriage.'
'Oh?' Patrick's guts knotted in anticipation. Was it possible that she had changed her mind too?
'I've realised how important our friendship is to me,' said Lou. 'I think I was a little jealous of Holly,' she admitted honestly, 'but I know that being friends is worth so much more than a physical relationship. I just wanted you to know that I won't be tense like that again when you go out with her or anyone else for that matter. That side of your life is nothing to do with me, and I want it to stay that way.'
Right, so no change of mind, then. Patrick fought down the disappointment. 'Great,' he said.
Lou got up and smiled at him. 'I don't think I've ever thanked you properly for everything you've done for us, Patrick,' she said. 'You've given us somewhere wonderful to live. The children are happy. Thanks to you, Fenny and I had a lovely week together.' She gestured at the guttering candles. 'And now this lovely meal.'
Sitting heavily in his chair, Patrick closed his eyes and breathed in the scent of her perfume as she bent and kissed him on the cheek, very gently. 'Thank you,' she said softly. 'This is the only way I'll kiss you now, so you don't need to worry about any more emotional hassles. I'm glad we
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didn't make love that night. It's better to be dear friends, isn't it?'
What could he say? 'Yes,' said Patrick in a curiously colourless voice. 'Much better.'
'So how are things going with you and Patrick?' Marisa asked a few weeks later. She was sitting at the kitchen table, filing her nails while Lou got supper ready. They were going out for an evening together as soon as Patrick got home.
'Fine,' said Lou. 'Great, in fact.'
They were great, she thought. Grace and Tom's choice of Minorca for a holiday had been a great success, and Patrick had joined in with everything with good grace. Back home, he didn't seem to be going out very much at all so that they had almost got their old, easy companionship back.
Almost, but not quite. Not once, by a word or a look, did Patrick ever do anything to suggest that he wanted more than quiet friendship either. Sometimes Lou even wondered if she had dreamt that wild, passionate kiss they had shared. In the circumstances, she should have been able to relax completely, but she still didn't seem to be able to do anything about the instinctive tightening of her muscles at the sight of him, or about the subtle shift in the atmosphere when he was in the room.
Mind over matter, Lou reminded herself when she found herself noticing it too much.
'Still on the just-good-friends thing?' asked Marisa, apparently intent on a hangnail.
'Yes.' Lou could hear the faintly defensive note in her voice. 'Why?'
'I just wondered. I saw your face when Patrick came in the other day, that's all.'
'What day was that?'
'You know, Grace's birthday.'
'Oh, then.' Lou rummaged in the fridge to avoid Marisa's sharp eyes. For all her friend only ever seemed to be concerned about her appearance, she missed nothing.
Patrick had come back from work on that wet November evening to find the kitchen full of warmth and light and laughter. Grace had invited her three closest friends round, and they had lobbied to make pancakes in lieu of a more traditional birthday dinner. There had been flour everywhere and stray splatters of pancake batter had decorated the work surfaces.
Lou had been supervising. Marisa, there in her role as Grace's godmother, had been drinking champagne and keeping well out of the range of the pancake tossing, but Tom had been in the thick of it and allowed to have his own go at flipping a pancake in the air.
There had been much giggling when Patrick had walked in.
'Patrick, come and have a go,' Grace insisted, dragging him over to the table.
'Give him a chance to get his coat off, Grace,' Lou protested, but she might as well have saved her breath. Patrick was bullied into discarding his jacket and rolling up his sleeves.
'I've never done this before,' he said as he loosened his tie.
'It's quite difficult,' Tom told him. 'Mum can do it, but the rest of us are useless.'
T did it,' Grace fired up immediately. 'Sort of. But you show him, Mum,' she added graciously.
So Lou showed Patrick how to pour in the batter and swirl it round, then wait for just the right moment before giving the pan a quick, sharp flip.
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She was standing very close to him, close enough to smell theclean, distinctive male scent of him. Close enough to see the texture of his skin, the way his hair grew, and the prickle of stubble on his jaw. Close enough to count the lines starring his eyes. It was hard to breathe there for a minute. Hard to remember that it was merely a matter of mind over matter.
Patrick made a comical face and flipped the pancake over, just catching it back in the pan. He turned with a mock bow to receive the applause of his audience.
'You did it!' The children were all gratifyingly impressed.
'Beginner's luck,' Patrick explained over the excitement and glanced at Lou with a smile. 'And a good teacher!'
He had given Grace shaggy snow boots for her birthday. They were for her to take on the skiing trip she had so longed for and which was now confirmed. Lou remembered how Grace's face had lit up that morning when she'd opened them, the easy way she'd hugged Patrick to thank him.
She watched him laughing with the children as they insisted that he eat the pancake he had tossed so impressively. Grace sprinkled on sugar while Tom leant against Patrick's shoulder, and Lou's heart contracted at the sight of them together.
And of course Marisa had seen.
'How long are you going to keep up this pretence that you don't love him?' said Marisa, holding the back of her hand up to inspect her nails.
There was a tiny pause. T don't love him,' said Lou.
Marisa sighed. 'Lou. Look at me.' Reluctantly Lou met her friend's eyes. 'Now say that again.'
T don't want to love him,' Lou said wretchedly, abandoning the supper to slump down at the table opposite her
friend. 'I want things to stay as they are. I want us to be friends.' If she said it enough, she would believe it.
'Friends isn't enough when you look at a man the way you look at Patrick,' said Marisa.
'It's better than being hurt.'
'Lou, Patrick isn't Lawrie. I'm sure he's stubborn and pigheaded and unbelievably difficult a lot of the time, but basically he's a good man. And he loves you.'
'He doesn't'
'Of course he does.' Marisa rolled her eyes. 'God, it's so obvious! Honestly, Lou, I can't believe you two are being so obtuse. The man can't take his eyes off you.'
'Really?' Lou was torn between disbelief and hope.
'Yes, really, and it's time you did something about it. You're married to a good man who you love and who loves you. Why are you wasting time like this?'
Lou chewed her thumb. 'I don't want to risk what we've got,' she tried to explain.
'Then you're a fool,' said Marisa roundly. 'Sure, it's good to be friends, but you've got other friends. You could have Patrick as a lover as well. You could have a real marriage.'
She gave an exasperated sigh when Lou still dithered uncertainly. 'You've talked a lot over the years about wanting Grace and Tom to grow up with the example of a loving relationship, Lou. Well, give them one! Don't waste your life being afraid that he'll let you down and hurt you the way Lawrie did. There are no guarantees in any relationship, and I guess you'll have to work at it, but it seems to me that a strong and loving marriage would be worth the effort and the risk.'
It would be. Of course it would be. But only if Patrick wanted it too, and Lou wasn't sure that he did. He had chosen his freedom over her once befor
e.
She tried to explain this to Marisa. 4 And I've spent so long insisting that I just want to be friends, I wouldn't know how to tell him that I've changed my mind.'
'You could always try sending the kids to bed early and coming down in stockings, high heels and something lacy,' said Marisa. 'He'd be bound to get the point then.'
'I can't do that!' Lou felt her face grow hot at the very thought. 'It would just embarrass Patrick.'
Marisa grinned. 'It's a long time since you've been with a man, isn't it, Lou? Of course he wouldn't be embarrassed. He'd be too busy not being able to believe his luck! And Patrick looks like a stocking man to me. I saw the way he was looking at that suit you wore at the wedding.'
'I'm not prancing around in stockings!'
'Well, then, you're going to have to fall back on the last resort of relationships in crisis.'
'What's that?'
'Talking,' said Marisa. 'I hate to break it to you, Lou, but you're both big people. For heaven's sake, just sit him down and tell him how you feel!'
Easy for Marisa to say, thought Lou the following evening as she waited edgily for the time when she could legitimately send Grace and Tom to bed. By the time she and Patrick were finally alone, she was in such a dither that she could hardly sit still.
T was, er, wondering if we could have a little chat,' she said and grimaced inwardly as she heard herself. She sounded as if she were inviting the office junior in to talk about unpunctuality.
'Sure.' Patrick looked a little surprised at her formal tone. 'Is this serious?'
'No... well, yes... in a way...' Lou trailed off helplessly.
'Shall we have a drink, then?'
'Good idea.' She certainly needed one.
When Patrick brought her a whisky, she gulped at it for courage. After a moment's hesitation, he sat down at the other end of the cream sofa.
'What is it, Lou?'
Lou cleared her throat. 'Well, I was just wondering.. .that is...well, no, the thing is...' Oh, God, how were you supposed to ask your husband to make love to you?
She was still dithering about how to put it, and beginning to wonder if it might not have been easier to go for the stocking option after all, when the phone rang.
It was the perfect diversion. Lou leapt up to answer it, but as she listened to the voice at the other end the colour drained slowly from her face.
'Lou?' Patrick got up in concern as she put the phone down and he saw her expression. 'What is it?'
'It's Fenny,' she said in a voice that seemed to belong to someone else entirely. 'She's had a stroke.'
CHAPTER TEN
Lou wanted to set off immediately. Tve got to get to the hospital,' she said, pacing around the room, desperately trying to work out what needed to be done. 'If I got a taxi to the station, I might still be able to get a train... I'll have to tell the kids... Perhaps I should take them with me, but it's too late to wake them up...'
Chewing her thumb anxiously, she turned to Patrick. 'What do you think?'
'I think you should sit down and drink this,' said Patrick, topping up her glass of whisky. 'You're not going anywhere tonight.'
'But I must see Fenny!' she protested as he pushed her gently back onto the sofa and made sure that her fingers had closed around the glass.
'There's nothing you can do tonight, Lou. Even if you get the last train north, you won't be able to get a connection to Skipton. We'll get up early tomorrow morning and I'll drive you to the hospital. If we leave at five, we could be there by nine.'
'But you've got meetings...'
He shrugged. 'Meetings can be rearranged.'
Lou felt shaky and close to tears. 'What about Grace and Tom?'
'We'll ring Marisa in a minute. She'll come and look after things here.' Patrick sat down next to Lou and nodded at the whisky. 'Drink that. It'll steady you.'
Obediently, Lou took a sip, choking a little as the fiery liquid hit the back of her throat.
'Better?'
The peaty warmth was spreading down her throat and settling in her stomach, and Lou felt steadier, just as he had said she would.
'Yes. Sorry. I don't seem to be able to think clearly.'
'You don't need to think about anything right now.' He took her hand. Til sort it out. Now, tell me what Fenny's neighbour said.'
His warm, firm clasp was immensely comforting, but made it harder to be strong. Tears prickled behind Lou's eyes and she blinked them fiercely back.
'She didn't know much. She'd just popped in to see Fenny about flowers for the church, and she found her lying on the kitchen floor. She called an ambulance, and went with them to the hospital because there wasn't anyone else.' Lou drew a shaky breath. 'She told me the doctors said it wasn't looking good.'
She looked at Patrick, her dark eyes stark. 'Fenny's my rock,' she said, trying to keep her voice under control, but it cracked a little all the same. 'I can't bear to lose her. It would be like losing my mother all over again.'
T know,' he said, and his grip tightened around her hand. 'I know.'
With a huge effort, Lou pulled herself together. She put down her whisky and dabbed her fingers under her eyes to stop any rogue tears from spilling over. 'I mustn't carry on like this,' she said. 'I've got to be strong.'
Patrick let go of her hand and pulled her firmly into his arms. It wasn't the way he had wanted to be holding her, but right now she needed to be held like a child, not a woman, and after a moment's resistance he felt her weaken and turn instinctively into him.
'You don't need to be strong tonight,' he said, resting his cheek against her silky hair. 'I'm here.'
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Fenny looked very small and very frail in the hospital bed. She had always been so active that Lou had never thought of her as elderly, but she looked old now. Throat tight, Lou sat beside her aunt and held her thin hand, willing her to get better.
But Fenny didn't get better. At one point she opened her eyes and saw Lou sitting desperately beside her.
..oo,' she slurred.
'Yes, Fenny, it's me, Lou. I'm here.'
Fenny tried to say something else, and Lou leant forward to try and make out the word.
'Patrick?' she guessed, and Fenny managed a tiny nod of assent.
'Patrick's with me. He's just outside. Look, here he is,' she said, turning as she heard the door open behind her.
Patrick moved over to the bed so Fenny could see him. He had been talking to the ward sister who had told him that Fenny was sinking fast. 'Hello, Fenny,' he said, and his voice was so normal, so reassuring, that Lou wanted to cry all over again. Funny how he could make everything seem better just by standing there.
Fenny struggled to say something more, her eyes trying to convey some urgent message as they flicked between him and Lou, and Patrick suddenly realised what it was that she wanted.
He put a hand on Lou's shoulder. 'Don't worry, Fenny,' he said. 'I'll look after Lou. I promise.'
There was no mistaking the relief in Fenny's eyes, and one side of her mouth tried to smile, '-ood,' she said, and visibly relaxed, lapsing back into sleep.
She died just over an hour later, very quietly, with Lou still holding her hand.
Patrick dealt with everything. He talked to the nurses and
made all the arrangements, while Lou sat numbly, unable to take in the fact that Fenny had gone. Then he put his hand under her elbow and guided her out of the hospital, and put her in the car. He didn't try to make her talk. He just made sure the car was warm, and drove her back to Fenny's house, where he lit the fire and made her tea, and then held her when the numbness cracked and she fell apart.
He let her cry until she was too exhausted to cry any more, and then he took her upstairs and put her in a chair while he made the bed up for her. Numb with misery, pig-eyed from crying, Lou sat unresisting as he wiped her face with a flannel and helped her out of her clothes.
For the next couple of days, he was everywhere, dealing with al
l the practicalities, gently bullying Lou into eating, buttoning her coat and taking her out for a blustery walk, cleaning the fire and laying it so that he could light it for her as soon as she came in.
And gradually, Lou began to feel better, better enough to feel a real pang when Patrick told her that he was going back to London.
Til go and get Grace and Tom,' he said. 'They'd want to be here for the funeral. We'll be back tomorrow.' He hesitated, looking at Lou in concern. 'Will you be OK here on your own for a night?'
'Yes, I'll be fine,' said Lou. 'I'm OK now.'
But she missed him horribly when he had gone.
I'm relying on him, she thought, watching the Porsche drive out of sight, and letting her hand fall forlornly to her side. It was so long since she had let herself rely on anyone that it felt strange. Strange and indescribably comforting.
They buried Fenny on a crisp winter day. The trees were
■ stark against a pale blue sky and the bite in the air brought
colour to Grace's pale cheeks. Lou held her hand, and
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Patrick stood beside her, a comforting hand on Tom's shoulder.
Lou watched desolately as Fenny's coffin was lowered into the ground next to her husband. Fenny had been there for her when her parents died, when Lawrie left her, through all the bad times, and the good. And she had understood what it was like to be on your own. A widow for thirty-five years, she had only been forty-nine when Donald had died.
Not much older than Lou was now. Lou felt sick and giddy at the thought. How would she feel if she lost Patrick? If she had to spend thirty-five years wishing that she had made the most of the time they had together, as Fenny and Donald had done, instead of pretending that she didn't care, that it didn't matter if Patrick didn't love her the way she loved him?
She glanced at Patrick, standing massive and reassuring beside her, offering her son unobtrusive comfort, and she remembered how anxious Fenny had been to see him, how her aunt had relaxed at his promise. I'll look after Lou, he had said.
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