by Susan Lewis
When he called the following day she should have been surprised, but actually she wasn’t. Somehow, she’d known he would find her, and in spite of telling herself she must not, under any circumstances, agree to see him, when he’d asked her to meet him at a cafe in the Sixteenth, she hadn’t even hesitated.
It was already six o’clock by the time Lisa’s train pulled into Paddington, leaving her less than an hour to get to the flat and make it ready for when David came home. Ready for when David came home. What a thrill she got from that! She could still hardly believe they were together at last, and not only together, but just weeks away from their wedding.
She was going to be Mrs Kirby!
The teenage romanticism of that made her want to laugh out loud. Of course she’d always be Lisa Martin, she was too established in her career to be known as anything else, but to her and David she’d definitely be Mrs Kirby.
Though she was still a travel writer with the same lifestyle magazine she’d joined three years ago, she’d started a sabbatical two months ago and wasn’t due to return until the middle of next year. This meant that apart from being able to organise her own wedding, a task that was becoming more consuming and thrilling by the day, she could also, once they were back from honeymoon, make a start on the novel she’d long wanted to write.
How had life suddenly become so perfect?
It was curious, indeed amazing, how seamlessly, even eagerly, she seemed to be slipping into her role as one half of a partnership. She’d never imagined she’d find it so easy to be with someone all the time when she certainly hadn’t before – though it had to be said living with Tony was often like being on her own, since he’d been away such a lot. Was it simply because she loved David so much that she’d been able to shrug off her jealously guarded freedom and independence as effortlessly as an old shawl, with hardly a backward glance? Or had she in fact, as Amy insisted, been far lonelier since her break-up with Tony than she’d ever want to admit, even to herself?
‘It’s time to stop running,’ Amy had told her. ‘You’re ready to make a commitment at last, and you couldn’t have chosen a more wonderful man.’
Amy was certainly right about that, because the way Lisa felt about David was showing her how empty, and in a way pointless, or at least aimless, her life had been since they’d been forced to let go, or maybe since she’d broken up with Tony. She’d had no real structure to her days for what seemed too long now, nothing to make them feel worthwhile, and no one who made her look forward to going home. Now she was always impatient to see David, and knowing he felt the same was, without a doubt, the best feeling in the world.
Her apartment, which had been her London base for the last fifteen years, was on the second floor of a spruce white Regency house, just off Old Bond Street, with a blue plaque over the front door letting the passing world know that a lawyer and philanthropist no one ever seemed to have heard of had once been the occupant of this sumptuous dwelling. She guessed it had probably been a single residence at the time, whereas now it comprised four spacious flats and three studios, one in the attic and two in the basement.
After collecting her mail from a box in the hallway, she dug out her keys as she climbed the stairs, chatting on her mobile as she went, letting her editor’s secretary know that yes, she was back in town, and yes, even though she was on sabbatical she was free to come in for a meeting tomorrow afternoon.
‘He’s going to be out all morning,’ the secretary told her, ‘or he’d see you …’
‘It’s OK, you don’t have to explain,’ Lisa interrupted. ‘Three o’clock’s fine. I can find plenty to do in the morning.’ Like catching up with the interior designer who was helping to turn her and David’s new house into a dream home; visiting the hairdresser for a practice run, dropping in to find out how her favourite designer was coming along with her wedding dress. The list was endless, but Brendan’s secretary didn’t need to know all that, she simply required reassurance that Lisa, like the dutiful columnist she often was not, would be in Brendan’s office at the appointed hour the following day.
Letting herself into the apartment, she dropped the mail next to the flashing answerphone, and hoisted the two bags of groceries she’d brought in with her off to the kitchen. Like most rooms in the building, it was large with a high ceiling and tall sash windows. She’d started to grow herbs in the decorative boxes on the outside sills. Since David had made this his home too, all kinds of fancy appliances and cookware had begun to appear amongst the tired old melamine units and chipped, but now trendy, butler’s sink. Having someone to cook for meant she needed all this stuff, she’d decided, however she still wasn’t even close to matching David when it came to culinary skills. Left alone with four ingredients and a microwave oven, as he had been at the beginning, he’d still managed to turn out a scrumptious pasta dish, which they’d eaten gazing into one another’s eyes like the new lovers they were, almost afraid to glance away in case the dream vanished while they weren’t looking.
After piling everything into the fridge Lisa poured herself a glass of chilled white wine, kicked off her shoes and padded through the double French doors that opened into the sitting room. With its original ornately carved marble fireplace, swag drop cornices and towering Regency windows hugged by a pair of black lacy balconies, it still bore all the hallmarks of a grand old salon. The eclectic collection of furniture, most of which she’d shipped from far-flung corners of the globe, ranged from a magnificent Thai chest to a matching pair of hand-sewn Moroccan sofas, a vibrant Mexican tapestry à la Frida Kahlo, and a very snazzy Italian desk that had set her back almost five thousand euros. At the centre of the room, amidst a colourful assortment of Indian silk pillows a faux bearskin rug lay in submission beneath her focal-point coffee table. If the vendor of this highly unusual piece was to be believed, it had started out life in the nineteenth century as the secret door to a Zanzibar harem. True or not, she had fallen in love with it during a few memorable days with Tony on the island, so now it was nestling in a bespoke walnut frame, and where there had once been a magnificent black iron handle, a sculpted ceramic pot with a flowering cactus had been sunk into the space, while the rest of the surface was protected by glass.
Finding the room as stuffy as she’d expected, she went to draw down both windows to let in some air, along with the hum of traffic, then took herself off to the bedroom, which was much quieter and cooler, to prepare herself, and it, for the evening ahead.
As soon as David let himself in the front door he could tell Lisa was already at home. The mere scent of the place, a kind of citrusy musk mingled with an essence that was pure her, was all it took to assure him of this, and to smooth out the frown in his brow along with some of the troubles in his mind. Would he admit that he was later than he’d expected because he’d managed to go all the way to his old flat in Pimlico before remembering it wasn’t where he lived now? Perhaps not. She’d only think he was hankering after his old life, or missing Catrina, or losing the plot, and while the first two held elements of truth, and the latter probably shouldn’t be ignored, this was exactly where he wanted to be now. With Lisa, who was changed in so many ways, and as far as he was concerned all for the better, though once he’d never have considered it possible. He knew that she found him changed too, but to his surprise she insisted that the absent-mindedness and moments of introspection that had occasionally driven Catrina nuts – certainly towards the end when she’d been in too much pain for patience – were wonderfully endearing. He wished he could think of them the same way, but more often than not they frustrated him as much as they had Catrina. It was worrying him too, a great deal more than he wanted to admit. He’d started to wonder if he might be falling into a depression, but was unable to imagine how that could be when he was happier than he’d been in years. This wasn’t meant to be disrespectful to Catrina, because of course they’d been happy together, but a relationship that had been motoring along the same lines for thirty years was unlikely to supp
ly the same charge as one that was setting out on a brand-new journey.
Hearing Lisa moving around in the bathroom he called out to let her know he was back, and went to the kitchen to pour himself a drink. He was feeling much more relaxed now than he had a few minutes ago, the tension was ebbing and his spirits were emerging from the shadows of worry. He loved how at home he felt in this apartment, it was as though he’d been coming here for years, so what on earth had directed him to Pimlico this evening? Old habits, he supposed, and too much going on in his mind. Whatever, it didn’t matter. He was here now, and knowing that she was going to join him at any moment was enough to melt away all the concerns and complications that had weighted his day.
Carrying his drink into the sitting room, he sank down on one of the sofas and let his head fall comfortably into the cushions. Sometimes it felt as though he’d kept a part of himself locked away inside, just waiting for this, and now it was happening perhaps his real life was finally starting to unfold.
His thoughts drifted back to the moment they’d met, after the embassy party, in a Parisian cafe, when she’d waited only until their coffees had been delivered to a discreet corner table to say, ‘This is a mistake.’
He’d smiled at her and she’d regarded him curiously. ‘I was thinking the same thing,’ he explained, ‘but now I’m here I know it’s one I’d make again.’ He’d wanted to reach for her hands, but had held himself back. It was too soon, they didn’t know each other any more, so why did it feel as though they still did? ‘I couldn’t not see you,’ he told her.
She lowered her eyes.
As he sat watching her, absorbing everything about her, from the creamy softness of her skin to the exotic slant of her eyes and the elegance of her hands, he’d never felt such a sense of being in the right place, even though it could hardly have been more wrong.
‘How did you manage to get away?’ she finally asked. ‘Don’t you have security people following you?’
He laughed. ‘I’m not important enough for that.’
She appeared amused. ‘But you will be, soon enough, I imagine.’
Her voice, so husky and soft, seemed so familiar that he could almost feel himself falling back through the years. ‘Let’s not rule it out,’ he replied, arching an eyebrow with irony.
She allowed her gaze to meet his for a few brief seconds. ‘I sent a card when you were made Foreign Minister,’ she told him. ‘I know I probably shouldn’t have, but I thought, if it went to your office …’ He was looking surprised. ‘You didn’t get it?’
He shook his head. ‘One of the secretaries probably forwarded it to my home,’ and that was when he’d understood what must have prompted Catrina’s suspicions towards the end. ‘But don’t let’s talk about me,’ he said. ‘I want to know about you, who you are now, what’s been happening to you … Are you married?’
Though he was surprised to find out she wasn’t, it had thrilled him, which was neither noble, nor right. Then she told him about her column and he’d realised, finally, why the Lifestyle section of the Sunday paper always seemed to disappear before he could get round to it. Poor Catrina, he’d thought sadly, still so worried after so many years.
‘How’s your wife?’ she asked.
He hadn’t told her then about the cancer. It was in remission and they were still hopeful it wouldn’t make a return. ‘She’s doing well,’ he replied.
‘And are you happy?’
Her bluntness threw him. He didn’t want to lie, but now the question was before him, he couldn’t be sure what the real truth was. ‘I guess it depends how you’re measuring it,’ he said in the end. ‘We’ve been lucky, our business took off in a way neither of us expected, and we have a wonderful daughter.’
She smiled. ‘Tell me about her. How old is she now? I guess twenty-six?’
‘Twenty-seven.’
‘Is she like you? Does she have your eyes, your smile? I love your hair, by the way. It suits you, silver. Makes you look very distinguished.’
‘And I love yours,’ he murmured, allowing his gaze to run over the ash-blonde silkiness of hers, and wishing his eyes could be his fingers. ‘I’m glad you kept it long. The plait is … very you.’
She looked down at her cup, but when she picked it up she didn’t drink, only sat staring at the table, seeming to want to speak, but perhaps like him, she couldn’t find the right words when there were too many wrong ones trying to be spoken.
In the end her eyes came to his and even before she spoke he felt as though the world was falling apart. ‘I ought to leave,’ she said.
‘Can we stay in touch?’
‘I don’t think we should.’
‘I can’t just let you go.’
Whatever she said next was lost in the mists of time, all he remembered was her slipping away, leaving him sitting there, and though he’d wanted nothing more than to go after her, he hadn’t. It was a decision he’d regretted for a while, but only until he’d discovered how sick Catrina really was. Nothing in the world, not even Lisa, could have persuaded him to cheat on his wife then. He wasn’t even sure he’d have been able to, anyway.
Lisa was lying in David’s arms, savouring the descent from a release that had exploded like a starburst inside her, and wondering if he really was the best lover she’d ever had. Or was she telling herself that because she’d rather he was in that role than Tony? Annoyed that Tony should even enter her mind at such a time, she abruptly shut him out again and let herself drift in the pleasure of knowing that her and David’s bodies were still as in tune as their minds, and that their hunger for one another was as insatiable as the need to catch up on so much lost time. She knew they’d make love again tonight, and she smiled secretly to herself as she watched her fingers, pale and slender, trailing over the muscular darkness of his thigh.
‘Are you OK?’ David murmured, turning to look at her. ‘Hungry?’
‘Mm, starving,’ she replied. ‘I brought some steaks in from M&S, or we can go out if you prefer.’
He sighed and stretched, then wrapped her tightly in his arms. ‘I’d like you to remain exactly as you are, so I guess we’d better stay here,’ he decided.
She gave a moan of pleasure as he kissed each of her nipples before getting up from the bed. ‘Am I allowed to put on anything at all?’ she asked, her eyes performing a bashful coquetry as she gazed up at him.
He shook his head.
‘Not even a napkin when I eat?’
He continued to shake his head. ‘If you drop anything, I’ll sort it out.’
After using the bathroom she followed him out to the kitchen and laughed to find him wearing nothing but an apron as he tenderised the steaks before putting them on the grill. ‘If your constituents could see you now,’ she teased, slapping his bottom on her way to the fridge. ‘Or any of your Right Honourable colleagues … Which reminds me, how did your meeting go with Colin Larch today? Don’t tell me, you’re about to be reinstated as Minister?’
David’s eyebrows arched in their adorably ironic way. ‘That can only happen when there’s a reshuffle,’ he reminded her, ‘and there won’t be one of those during this parliamentary term.’
‘But he wants you back?’ she prompted.
‘Yes, he does, but actually that wasn’t what we discussed.’
When he didn’t elaborate she turned around, bringing the wine bottle with her. ‘So?’ she said. ‘Can you tell me, or is it classified?’
He was smiling as he said, ‘Yes, to both.’
Her eyes sparkled mischievously. ‘Which can only mean it was about his bid for the leadership?’
He nodded, and held out his glass for her to refill it. ‘Again, nothing’s going to happen this side of the summer recess, and we’ll have to see what’s going on in the world, never mind the country and the polls, before we put anything into motion later in the year. That said, Colin’s a very strong candidate, popular with the people and within the Party, so as much as anything it’s going to be a question
of getting the timing right.’
Lisa was smiling wickedly. ‘Do you think he’ll appoint you as Foreign Secretary if he does get the leadership?’ she asked, clinking her glass against his.
‘One step at a time,’ he cautioned. Then, capitulating, ‘But I guess, provided I want it, it’s not beyond the bounds of possibility.’
Her eyebrows went up. ‘Do you think you might not want it?’ she asked.
His eyes stayed on hers. ‘Would it bother you if I didn’t?’ he countered.
Startled, and vaguely confused, she started to shake her head. ‘I don’t suppose so,’ she replied, ‘I just thought, presumed, it was something you’d set your heart on.’
He took a sip of his drink. ‘Yes, it is, or was,’ he said, ‘but now, well, I … Is that your phone or mine?’
With a roll of her eyes she said, ‘One of us really has to change our ringtone,’ and going out to the hall she listened, trying to track down where the ringing was coming from. Realising it was his jacket, she scooped it up and took it to him.
As he dug out the phone she draped the jacket round her shoulders and returned to her wine.
