by Anne Weale
But, increasingly, as the days passed, her happiness was overshadowed by the imminence of their parting.
For Neal, when they said goodbye, there would be the excitement and camaraderie of the pre-Marathon trek to fall back on. For her there was only the flight home and a return to a life which, from her new perspective, seemed even duller and more limited than it had before.
On the afternoon of her last day, she went to the hotel where her own trekking group were staying to check that there was no change in the departure arrangements.
To her surprise, Sandy’s manner was much more friendly than it had been at the outset.
She went as far as to say, ‘You made the right decision. I’ve never met a worse bunch of moaners than this lot. What have you been up to?’
Sarah mentioned a few of the things she had done in their absence, wondering what Sandy would say if told that a lot of her time had been spent in the arms of a man who, two weeks ago, she hadn’t known existed.
‘Are you going to have dinner with us tonight?’ the trek guide asked.
‘I’ve arranged to eat with some friends I’ve made.’
‘OK. See you at the airport.’
As it turned out, Neal had arranged for them to dine alone. But at no time during the meal did he mention meeting again when they were both back at home. He would not be back for a month, so perhaps it wasn’t surprising that he wasn’t thinking ahead.
That night he made love to her with a tenderness that was almost unbearably moving.
‘I wish you could come with us,’ he said softly, close to her ear as they lay locked together afterwards. ‘I’m sure you’d enjoy it.’
‘I wish I could too,’ she murmured, knowing this might be the last time she would ever experience this special private moment. She would never be able to do this with anyone else. Her heart and her body were his, now and for ever.
In the morning, he woke her with kisses, but there wasn’t time to make love again. Her flight took off at nine and, according to Sandy, there was a lot of red tape to get through at the airport.
Room Service brought them an early breakfast. Sarah had had a quick shower. Her knapsack was packed. She drank two cups of tea, but didn’t feel like eating.
‘You ought to have something inside you,’ said Neal.
‘I’ll have something on the plane.’ Inside, she was bracing herself for their final moments together. Whatever it cost her, she must try not to let him see how painful their parting would be for her.
In the taxi, Neal exchanged some remarks with the driver. Halfway there, he reached for her hand and squeezed it. The gesture was nearly Sarah’s undoing. She had a lump in her throat and an ache in her chest, but she was determined not to show her emotions, except for answering the pressure of his fingers with hers.
Outside the terminal building, the usual horde of men and boys descended on the taxi, hoping for luggage to carry. Having told the driver to wait for him, Neal shepherded her through the pestering press and into the relative peace of the terminal.
‘Don’t wait, Neal. I’ll find the others. There’s no need to hang about,’ she said, trying to sound cheerful.
‘I nearly forgot.’ He unzipped one of the pockets on the legs of his trousers and produced a folded piece of pale yellow silk.
Shaking it out, he lifted it over her head and drew it round her neck: the traditional farewell offering to doparting travellers.
Holding it by both ends, he looked down into her eyes, his own expression unreadable.
‘Take care, Sarah. Goodbye...and thank you.’ He bent to kiss her cheek. Then he let go of the scarf and did what she had asked, turning away and striding out of the building.
CHAPTER SEVEN
BETWEEN touching down at Gatwick and boarding the train that would take her to her home town, Sarah had an hour to wait at the rail station. She rang Naomi to ask if everything had gone smoothly in her absence.
‘Yes, but I’ve missed you terribly. Have you had a great time?’
‘Wonderful.’
‘I’ll be at the station to meet you. What time are you due in?’
Three hours later they were exchanging a bear hug.
‘Are you half-dead with jet lag?’ Naomi asked, as they drew apart. ‘You don’t look it. You look terrific...never seen you looking better. Globe-trotting obviously suits you. Was the trek tougher or less tough than you expected?’
‘I didn’t go on the trek. The others were all much older. I backed out of it.’
Naomi looked startled. ‘So what did you do? Were you comfortable going it alone?’
Sarah had already given a lot of thought to telling or not telling Naomi what had happened to her. She had decided she couldn’t keep it to herself. She needed to talk to someone and knew she could rely on her friend not to betray her confidences.
‘I wasn’t alone,’ she said, as they left the station building. ‘I did what you told me to do. A gorgeous man materialised and instead of backing off I fell into his arms.’
‘You’re kidding me!’ Naomi exclaimed. Then, as Sarah shook her head, she added, ‘I can hardly believe it. You’ve had such a lousy love life. Sometimes I’ve felt your luck was never going to change. What’s he like? Where did you meet him?’
‘We met on the plane going out. He’s still in Nepal. He’s involved in the Everest Marathon...not as a runner. He’s a journalist.’ She had already decided not to mention Neal’s other profession.
‘When is he coming back? Where does he live?’
‘In London...but I shan’t be seeing him again.’
‘Why not?’
‘It isn’t an ongoing thing: It was lovely while it lasted, but it doesn’t have a future.’
‘Why not?’ her friend repeated. ‘Oh, God, don’t tell me he’s married?’
‘If he had been, it wouldn’t have happened.’
‘They don’t always tell you,’ Naomi said dryly. A long time ago, she herself had had an unwitting and painful entanglement with a married man. It had left her extremely cynical about the male sex’s capacity for duplicity.
‘He definitely isn’t married,’ Sarah assured her. ‘He’s anti-marriage. His brother had a bad marriage and it’s put Neal off going that route. He has no need for a wife. He’s a ten-out-of-ten with all the perks that go with it.’
‘Genuine ten-out-of-tens have brains as well as sex appeal,’ said Naomi. ‘They don’t want to play the field for the rest of their lives. They’re looking for one special woman. What makes you think you can’t be his special person?’
They had arrived at her car. She was on the driver’s side, Sarah had gone to the passenger door. Looking across the top of the car, she said, ‘He’s thirty-six.’
‘So?’
‘Oh, come on... you know how old I am.’
‘Does he?’
‘He didn’t ask and I didn’t tell him. His guess may be a year or two under, but he’d have to be short of some marbles not to know that I’ve been around longer than he has.’
Naomi unlocked, got in and reached across to unlock the door for Sarah. When they were both in the car, she said, ‘Men marry younger women all the time. Why should it make any difference the other way round?’
‘Because it does, and you know it. A man of my age and a woman of his can marry or set up as partners and no one thinks anything of it. That’s the normal age gap. When the woman is older it isn’t. It’s the subject of endless gossip and speculation.’
‘I wouldn’t let that bother me,’ Naomi said, turning to face her. ‘What other people think doesn’t matter a damn. It’s whether the people involved in a relationship are comfortable with it that counts. This decision to end the affair, is that your idea?’
‘It was mutual. When we said goodbye at the airport, he didn’t suggest meeting again and neither did I. We both knew it wouldn’t translate into real life.’
‘But he does have your address or your telephone number in case he changes his mind about th
at?’
‘Not my exact address. He knows where I live. He’s a journalist. He could trace me from that... if he wanted to. But he won’t. I’ve thought about it a lot and I reckon I’m lucky to have had such a wonderful time with him. It was literally out of this world and should stay that way. In real life we have almost nothing in common. To try to prolong it wouldn’t work.’
‘If you didn’t have much in common, how come you got on so well?’ Naomi asked.
Sarah hesitated. ‘We spent a lot of time in bed. He was a marvellous lover. But that’s not a basis for a lasting relationship.’
‘Maybe not, but it’s a good start, bed being where lots of relationships seem to go wrong.’ Naomi switched on the ignition. ‘And if he’s switched on your libido, that’s a genie it isn’t easy to put back in the bottle.’
‘Maybe not, but at least now I know what I’m missing. That’s better than going to my grave never knowing what all the fuss was about.’
The hole in that argument being that, with any luck, you won’t be going to your grave for thirty or forty years. That’s a helluva long time to live on a memory,’ said her friend. ’Tell me some more about him.’
‘I’ll show you a photograph as soon as I’ve had my films developed. Did you get my postcard?’
‘Not yet. How long had you known him before he lured you into bed?’
‘A few days. I did resist him for a bit. Now it seems like some crazy dream...something I read, not something that really happened.’
‘It happened,’ was Naomi’s comment. ‘I should have known what it was the minute I saw you. Great sex gives women a glow like nothing else, not even an orgy of shopping. When I had that whirl with Philip six years ago people kept asking what I’d been doing to myself.’ She gave a yelp of amusement. ‘It was what he was doing that was making the difference.’
‘Mm, I remember,’ said Sarah, thinking back to the time of Naomi’s longest and happiest liaison. But it hadn’t lasted. Philip had wanted too many concessions in his favour without being ready to make any himself.
‘Will you tell your mother you didn’t do the trek?’ asked Naomi.
‘I’ll have to, but I shan’t tell her about Neal. Apart from the fact that she’d be horrified by the moral aspect, it would only worry and unsettle her. I’m her security. She couldn’t cope on her own and she’s frightened of being deserted.’
‘She’s a selfish old woman,’ Naomi said bluntly. ‘She battens on you, Sarah. They both do. Matthew’s even worse than she is. Mrs A is old and disabled. He’s young and strong. He should be standing on his own feet, not bringing home his dirty laundry and expecting you to wait on him.’
‘If it hadn’t been for Mum, I wouldn’t have gone to Nepal and had my adventure,’ said Sarah.
Naomi snorted. She had never soft-pedalled her opinions of Sarah’s mother and son. More than once they had come perilously close to a stand-up knock-down fight when Naomi had expressed what she considered useful home truths but which had been seen by Sarah as incursions beyond the boundaries of friendly advice.
‘It’s the only useful thing she’s ever done for you,’ Naomi said bluntly. ‘I’d hoped the trip would give you a new perspective on your domestic problems. It’s way past the time when you broke out...lived for yourself for a change.’
‘That’s what I’ve just been doing.’
‘For two measly weeks...big deal! You need to break out and stay out. Not step back inside the cage and lock the door on yourself until the unlikely event that your mother wins another competition in your name.’
‘Why are you snarling at me?’
‘I’m snarling because I’m envious,’ Naomi said crossly. ‘Don’t you see? What’s happened to you is a dream come true. Millions of women like us—single mothers on the wrong side of forty—imagine that very thing: a wonderful man looming up out of nowhere and whipping us into bed and maybe, just maybe, into the kind of future we’ve always yearned for. No, hear me out...’ she said as Sarah started to speak.
Just then they stopped at some traffic lights. Naomi yanked on the hand brake and turned to face her.
‘For most of us, it’s never going to happen. It’s a pipe dream...we know that. You’re the rare special case. To you it actually has happened. But instead of thanking your stars and damn well making the most of it, you’ve decided to chicken out when the thing’s only halfway through. Is it any wonder I’m snarling? If I were in your shoes I’d be following through.’
‘There’s nothing to follow through. We’re like people from different planets who happened to meet somewhere in outer space. Take away the physical attraction and there’s nothing left.’
‘I don’t believe that,’ said Naomi. ‘You wouldn’t jump into bed with someone you didn’t like. What’s all this about different planets? Oh, he’s from Mars and you’re from Venus. There’s always that to contend with, even with the boy next door. So what are the other big snags...apart from the age gap?’
Sarah had foreseen that Naomi might not see the affair from the same perspective that she did, but she hadn’t bargained for being pressured so early or with such vehemence.
‘He’s from a different background. Better off...better educated...better—’
‘Is he a snob?’ Naomi interrupted.
‘No, not at all.’
‘Then why are you being an inverted snob?’
‘I’m not. I’m just facing facts. People aren’t all the same. My father was a policeman who, if he hadn’t dropped dead, would have been charged with beating up suspects. Neal’s parents—’
Again, her friend cut her short. ‘You’re not responsible for your dad’s misdemeanours. You were one of his victims, for God’s sake. Most families have some skeletons in their closets. If you have any sense, when Neal is due back in England, you’ll drop him a friendly note so that he knows where to find you and let him take it from there. Is he a freelance journalist?’
‘No, he works for one of the nationals.’
‘Then contact him via his paper. Send him an e-mail... say what a great time you had... ask if he’d like some prints of your holiday snaps. What have you got to lose? The worst he can do is ignore you.’
In Nepal, where it was early evening, Neal was having a pre-dinner drink with a group of other people involved in the marathon. Among them, in the chair next to his, was the Army medical officer.
She was attractive and friendly. As a colleague he found her good value. As a woman she left him cold.
He found himself missing Sarah. At the same time he knew it had been sensible to allow a cooling-off period, to hold back from any commitment to see each other again.
She had obviously felt the same way. Her manner when they said goodbye had been composed. He had thought she might be upset but, if she had felt any emotion, it had been under control.
Wondering what she was doing, he wished he knew more about her background and had a clearer impression of her home life.
Last night, while she was airborne, he had missed having her close to him in bed. It had seemed strange to wake up and find himself alone. Tonight it would be the same. But in the morning they would be on the move. Tomorrow night he’d be sharing a tent with another member of the medical team. Before the end of the week he’d be back to normal, back to being on his own, part of a group but not one half of a pair.
It could be that, in a month’s time when he hit the UK, he wouldn’t want to pick up the threads of their relationship. She might feel the same way. They might both have reached the conclusion that what they’d shared here had been good, but not so good that they wanted to pursue it.
It was one of those ‘only time would tell’ situations. Right now he felt strangely bereft, as if some important component of his life had gone missing.
It was a natural reaction. She had been a lovely woman: great company in and out of bed, as. different from Cleo, his brother’s widow, as if they were different species.
But that didn’t alter t
he fact that before he met Sarah he’d been content with his life. And most likely would be again, once he’d had time to adjust.
In the early hours of the morning, when she had been home for a week and still wasn’t sleeping properly, Sarah got up and went to her office, formerly Matthew’s bedroom.
Now, when he was at home, he slept in the loft conversion reached by a pull-down ladder. Before Sarah had had all her working equipment in her bedroom where there hadn’t been adequate room for it.
In warm pyjamas and a wool dressing gown, she sat down at her computer. Roving the World Wide Web on the Internet might distract her from the thoughts which were turning her into an insomniac.
Sometimes these middle-of-the-night excursions took her to places it would have been wiser to avoid. Once she had found her way to the website rum by the clinic where she had discovered that Neal was a doctor. Another time she had been to the on-line department of Pilgrims Book House in whose real-world garden restaurant Rose had collapsed.
One night she had been unable to resist the temptation to search cyberspace for news of the Everest Marathon. But all she had found was a report of another mountain marathon, nothing to do with the one she was interested in.
Tonight, after checking out a couple of websites recommended in a magazine someone had lent her mother, she gave in to an impulse to search for information about Chris Kennedy, Neal’s dead brother.
Within seconds of typing his name, she had half a dozen leads. She followed them, one by one, until when she clicked on one link a photograph began to appear.
It was slow to load. At first all she could see was a horizontal band of background: a mountain. Then the top of a dark head appeared, the hairline so like Neal’s that she felt her heart give a lurch. The rest of the forehead appeared, followed by a pair of dark eyebrows. But the eyes beneath them were not the amused grey eyes she remembered. Chris, when she saw his whole face, was recognisably Neal’s brother but not, in her view, better-looking as Neal had claimed.
