by Anne Weale
She spent a long time trying to analyse what Chris’s face lacked that made Neal so much more attractive...at least to her.
When she had shown the snapshot of Neal with the Gurkha soldier to Naomi, it had prompted another lecture of the foolishness of letting him slip out of her life without some attempt to recapture and hold his interest.
There were moments when Sarah tried to convince herself that Naomi was right. But in her heart she knew it was wishful thinking. If she had been on her own, it might have been different. She could have transplanted herself to London. But even if her mother could be persuaded to move, there was no way Neal would want to involve himself with an elderly woman in poor health.
Then there was Matthew to consider. When she thought about Neal and Matthew confronting each other, she knew the whole idea was impossible. Even Naomi had conceded there was a problem there. Matthew had never known his father. His grandfather had died when he was six. He had grown up without any male influence other than that of his teachers. He wouldn’t take kindly to a stranger supplanting him in his mother’s affections.
Knowing the date when Neal was due back, Sarah couldn’t help wondering if he would track her down and call her.
A week passed and no call came. It might be that he was too busy with matters to do with his job to have time for any private detective work, she told herself.
Then, one evening, while she was reading and her mother was watching TV, the telephone rang. It was on the table next to Mrs Anderson’s chair but she left it to her daughter to answer it, frowning at the interruption during one of her favourite soaps.
Sarah reached for the handset. ‘Hello?’
‘Sarah?’
‘Speaking.’
‘It’s Neal. How are you?’
‘Neal...’
She had been training herself not to think about him, not to live on false hopes. His voice sounded different on the telephone. For a second or two she hadn’t recognised it.
‘Could you hold on a minute while I get to an extension?’ Covering the mouthpiece, she said to her mother, ‘Mum, give me time to get up to the office before you put this back, will you?’
Mesmerised by the screen, her mother gave an irritable nod. The characters in the soaps were as real to her as the woman who lived next door or the chiropodist who came to deal with her feet.
Sarah ran up the stairs and picked up the handset on her fax machine.
‘Hello.’ She was slightly breathless, more from the shock of his call than from the exertion.
Evidently he had heard the drama going on in the background. ‘Have I called at a bad time?’
‘No, my mother was watching the telly but I wasn’t. What a surprise to hear from you. How did you get my number?’
‘I looked you up. There were only nine Andersons listed and only one with the initial S. No problem.’
‘Did the rest of your trip go well?’ she asked.
‘Yes, it was good. How have things been with you?’
‘Fine. It took a few days to settle back into the routine, but now Nepal seems quite a long time ago.’
‘When can we meet?’
Night after night she had lain in bed, longing to believe that, when he came back, this was what he would say. Now she had heard him saying it but she still couldn’t believe it.
‘Sarah...are you still there?’
‘Yes,’ she said quickly. ‘Just thinking. Er...I’m pretty busy at present. Christmas brings extra work.’
‘How about dinner on Tuesday? I’m told by our restaurant critic that there’s a very good French place a few miles north of you.’
‘I believe so. I haven’t been there. But I can’t manage Tuesday.’
‘What about Wednesday, or Thursday?’
‘Hm...no, they’re no good either. Besides, it’s so far to come. Perhaps we could get together some time when I’m in London.’
‘When is that likely to be?’
‘Maybe in the New Year.’
‘When were you last in London?’ His tone had developed an edge.
‘I don’t get there very often.’
‘You’re stalling me, aren’t you? Why?’
She should have known this wasn’t going to be easy. ‘Well...I think it can be a mistake for people who meet on holiday to...to try to extend the friendship. It doesn’t seem to work too well.’
‘That sounds like a brush-off.’
‘I wouldn’t put it like that.’
‘I would.’ He rang off.
Sarah replaced the receiver. She had achieved her objective. Why, instead of feeling relieved, did she feel like bursting into tears?
After a while, when her emotions were under control, she went downstairs. It was time for the cup of hot chocolate her mother liked at this time of the evening.
‘Hot chocolate, Mum?’
‘Yes, please, dear...and a biscuit.’
They had this exchange every evening. It was one of the many small rituals that made up their narrow lives. Sometimes Sarah felt that without her nocturnal wanderings on the Internet, she would go mad. The Net, and her friendship with Naomi, were her only respites from a life that she felt was stifling her. The escape to Nepal had made her restlessness worse, not better.
In his part of his parents’ tall house in London, Neal was pacing the floor of a room which had once been a thirdfloor bedroom and was now his living room-cum-office.
It was ironic that his first brush-off had come from the first woman to give him sleepless nights.
Sarah’s manner on the telephone had been so unfriendly that he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Why should she have cooled off when he hadn’t?
His stint with the marathon runners had given him plenty of time to consider whether he wanted to pursue their relationship. His conclusion was that he did: that they had been so good together it would be crazy not to.
But Sarah, it seemed, had arrived at a different conclusion. Why? What was behind her aloofness and that statement about extending holiday friendships being a mistake?
That might be true in the majority of cases. But every rule had its exceptions and he felt their friendship was one of them. Because that was what it had been. A friendship. Not only fantastic sex, but a meeting of minds on all manner of subjects and, best of all, a meeting of senses of humour. They had liked the same kind of jokes, seen the same funny side of things. But, despite that, she wanted to end it, didn’t even want to have dinner with him.
For a moment or two, when she’d snubbed him with that haughty retort, ‘I wouldn’t put it like that,’ he had lost his temper. Now he wished he hadn’t rung off. It would have made more sense to press her to explain herself.
Because there had to be an explanation. Surely she couldn’t imagine he was going to let it rest?
The following evening Sarah was washing up the supper things when the front door bell rang.
Mrs Anderson couldn’t answer it. She had difficulty walking more than a few steps and could only reach her bedroom by means of the stair-lift Sarah had had installed.
Expecting the caller to be someone collecting for a charity, she dried her hands and went through the hall, closing the door to the lounge on her way past so that opening the front door wouldn’t send a current of cold air sweeping into the warm room.
The last person she expected to find looking down at her was Neal.
‘Hello again,’ he said, smiling. He was carrying a large bunch of hothouse pink roses protected from the raw November night by a swathe of transparent Cellophane.
‘Neall’ she said faintly, instantly aware that she looked a mess whereas he looked stunning in an expensivelooking soft dark brown leather blouson over a silver-grey cashmere turtleneck sweater.
Stepping across the threshold, he put his free arm round her, drew her close and kissed her mouth.
Immediately, all the heightened emotions she had felt in Nepal welled up inside her. The long weeks apart seemed to vanish. She was back to whe
re she had been on their last night together: unable to contemplate a future without him.
Still holding her close, he ended the kiss and pressed his cheek against hers. ‘I would have come earlier but I couldn’t get away.’
‘You shouldn’t have come at all,’ she said faintly, knowing she should push him away but unable to make herself do it.
‘Why not?’ Neal said, lifting his head to look down at her. ‘What was all that nonsense on the phone last night?’
Before she could answer, he added, ‘You’ll get chilled if we go on standing here on the doormat. Let’s get the door shut.’
He propelled her backwards and closed it. Then he handed over the roses and began to take off his jacket.
The way the soft cashmere moulded his powerful shoulders made Sarah’s insides turn over. She had thought she was beginning to recover control of the passions he had aroused, but his presence made nonsense of that idea.
Deep down, she wanted to take his hand and lead him upstairs to her room and have him make wild love to her.
‘Where can we talk?’ said Neal, glancing at the closed door of the lounge through which a burst of canned laughter could be heard.
‘In the kitchen,’ said Sarah. ‘I’ll put the roses in water and make you a cup of coffee. They’re beautiful. Thank you, Neal. But you shouldn’t have brought them...you shouldn’t be here.’
‘So you keep telling me. I think it’s time you gave some reasons,’ he said, following her to the kitchen.
There was a stool in a recess. Sarah pulled it out for him to sit on. Then she opened a cupboard and brought out a tall cut-glass vase which was one of her mother’s wedding presents.
As she took it to the sink and filled it with water, Neal said, ‘You’ve never talked about your home life. I’m beginning to think there is something I ought to know that you chose not to tell me.’ He took in the dishes and cups in the rack on the drainer. ‘Who did you eat with, Sarah? Who is it in your sitting room, listening to TV?’
‘It’s my mother. We live together. She’s nearly seventy and a semi-invalid. She can’t live on her own. I’m responsible for her. While I was away, one of our neighbours, a widow, moved in and looked after her for me. But that was a one-off, special-occasion arrangement. Mrs Evans wouldn’t want to do it on a regular basis, and we couldn’t afford it if she would.’
While she was talking, she filled and plugged in the kettle before turning her attention back to the roses.
‘So, having no brothers and sisters, you’re solely responsible for your mother’s welfare,’ said Neal. ‘Does she object to your having relationships with other people...is that the problem?’
‘No, it’s not that. Mum isn’t possessive. It’s just that she can’t be left for long. A few times Naomi, my friend and business partner, has slept here while I’ve been away overnight. But as a matter of principle I wouldn’t impose on her kindness more than very occasionally. So you see I’m not a free agent. I can’t come and go as I please.’
Neal had ignored the stool and was leaning against a worktop, his arms folded over his chest. His trousers were a darker grey than his sweater and his shoes were wellpolished brown brogues with punched toecaps. He looked the personification of casual masculine elegance, making her doubly conscious that she looked a scruffy hausfrau in a sweatsuit and sneakers, without earrings, lipstick or any redeeming touches.
He came to where she was standing, putting the roses in water, and turned and tilted her face. There was nothing but kindness in his eyes. It made her want to put her arms round him and lean her head on his chest and let him take over her life. But she knew it wouldn’t be right. In the long run, it would be easier for them both to cut the connection now.
‘OK, so you’re not as free as I am,’ he said quietly. ‘Is that the only reason you want to cut off our friendship?’
‘The kettle is boiling.’ Grateful for the reason to move away, she stepped aside to deal with it. ‘Would you like coffee or tea?’
‘What are you and your mother having?’
‘Chocolate for Mum. Instant coffee for me.’
‘Instant is fine. Have you told your mother about me?’
‘No. She wouldn’t approve. She finds it hard to accept modern ways and ideas.’
‘A visit from someone you haven’t mentioned will surprise her,’ he said dryly.
‘I didn’t think you’d come. I didn’t expect to see you again.’
‘Did you really think that after our time together I wouldn’t get in touch?’
‘I wasn’t sure.’ She gave him a direct look. ‘Were you? When we said goodbye at the airport, did you intend then to see me again?’
‘I wasn’t sure either,’ he conceded. ‘Away from one’s normal surroundings, it’s easy to get carried away. I knew that I’d never forget you. It was more than a casual affair. But I didn’t know then how much more. I do now. I want to see a lot more of you, Sarah. I want us to spend time together... to get to know each other properly. At the moment we could be described as intimate strangers.’
Hope fluttered to life inside her. Was there a future for them? An instant later she knew it could never work. He only knew half the problem. There was more to it... so much more.
At that moment she heard her mother’s voice. ‘Sarah...?’
Although, since the failure of the second operation on her knee, Mrs Anderson had been unable to walk unaided, she could hobble about the lounge with the aid of her stick and holding onto the furniture.
Now, when Sarah answered her call, her mother was holding onto the upright piano which had always stood in the lounge although it had never been played by anyone but her long-dead grandmother.
‘I thought I heard a man’s voice, dear? It’s not Matthew, is it?’
Sarah shook her head. ‘It’s a friend...someone I met in Nepal.’ She looked over her shoulder. ‘Neal, come and meet my mother.’
He came to join them, offering his hand and smiling.
‘Hello, Mrs Anderson.’
‘Oh...pleased to meet you.’ Visibly taken aback by the unexpected appearance of this intensely virile stranger, Dolly Anderson put her little plump, pallid hand into his large, hard, brown one.
He shook hands gently, Sarah noticed. There could hardly be a more marked contrast between any two people than between these two: the tall, active, confident man and the small, semi-invalid, timorous woman.
‘You must forgive me for bursting in on you like this,’ Neal said to her. ‘I’m bringing an invitation from my mother. She would like Sarah to spend a weekend with us. Perhaps you would like to come too. Shall we all sit down and discuss it?’
Transferring her hand to his left one and putting his other arm round her, he steered her back to the chair where she had been sitting.
Dumbfounded, Sarah followed. Did the invitation really come from his mother, or had he made it up on the spur of the moment? She was torn between gratification that he wanted her to meet his family and despair at what must ensue. Even if, at the moment, he couldn’t see, or chose to disregard, the obstacles between them, his family would certainly recognise them.
‘Well, I don’t know, Mr...er...’ her mother said, still confused, as she sank into her chair.
‘My surname’s Kennedy, but please call me Neal.’
He sat down at the end of the sofa nearest to her, leaning forward, all his attention focused on a woman who must, Sarah thought, be as different from his own mother as a portly tabby from a sleek Siamese.
‘You see, Neal, I never go out...except in the garden, in summer. Getting about is too much for me.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that. What’s the problem?’
Oh, God, here we go, Sarah thought, helpless to stem the outpouring of medical details he had invited. She left them to it and went to the kitchen to finish making the coffee and her mother’s hot drink.
By the time she returned with the tray, which Neal sprang up to take from her, Mrs Anderson was in full flow,
relating what Matthew called ‘all the gory details’, meaning an exhaustive description of her operation and its aftermath.
When eating a biscuit silenced her, Neal said, ‘Providing you don’t have to over-exert yourself, a weekend away could do you a power of good. I’m the medical correspondent for The Journal newspaper. If I have a word with your doctor, I’m sure I can get him to agree to letting you come. Who is he?’
Mrs Anderson told him. ‘Are you a doctor yourself?’ she asked.
‘Not a practising one...or not unless there’s an emergency. Excuse me a moment. I just want to get my palmtop and jot those details down.’
As he left the room, Mrs Anderson said in a stage whisper, ‘What a nice man. You never mentioned meeting him out there.’
‘I met lots of people, Mum.’
‘Not many like him, I’m sure,’ said Mrs Anderson roguishly. ‘He must have taken to you to come all this way.’
To Sarah’s embarrassment, Neal overheard this remark. ‘Your daughter’s a charmer, Mrs Anderson...and now I can see whose genes made her that way,’ he added.
It was such an outrageous bit of flirting that, if Sarah hadn’t been burning with annoyance, she would have been forced to laugh.
Her mother’s reaction was to giggle. As she watched him key in her doctor’s name on a pocket-size organiser, she said, ‘Sarah’s keen on all these modern gadgets. So is—’
Desperate to stop her saying what she sensed was coming next, Sarah cut in, ‘Don’t you think you should. check with your mother, Neal, before you bring two guests home?’
He gave her a look of amused understanding. ‘I live under my parents’ roof but not with them, Sarah. I left home a long time ago but moved back the year before last because they needed help with their overheads. The house is too big for them now, but they don’t want to move. So I converted the top floors into flats for myself and my grandfather. He was getting too old to live on his own so the arrangement suited everyone.’
He turned to her mother. ‘I notice you have a stair-lift, Mrs Anderson. We put in a lift for Grandpa. I’ll move down to his guest room while you’re with us, and you and Sarah can sleep in my flat. How does that sound?’
