by Rosie Fiore
He kissed Biddy first, warmly, and said something softly to her that made her giggle. Then he turned to Esther. ‘Professor Hart,’ he said, holding out his hand.
‘Professor Wolfson,’ she replied, equally seriously.
Then he grinned and pulled her into his arms for a firm bear-hug. She could feel the smooth skin of his back, warm through his thin shirt, and she had a flashback of him standing by the side of the pool.
‘May I say, you look very foxy in that red dress, Professor,’ he said, looking her up and down.
‘Why thank you, Professor. You don’t look too shabby yourself,’ she replied. It was the sort of light banter they had always shared, except now it seemed to carry a charge of real electricity. She knew it was all in her own head. She had to stop it. He was married. This was a work conference, and he was a valued colleague. Behaving like a flirtatious, desperate divorcée who had been let out for the weekend just wouldn’t do. She exchanged the necessary pleasantries, then forced herself to spot someone else she knew across the room, make her excuses and move on, leaving Michael and Biddy to chat to one another. A few minutes later, one of the conference organizers came in and announced that dinner was served, and they all moved into the dining room.
A colleague who held the same post in another London university introduced herself, and Esther, mindful of her professional responsibilities, opted to sit with her at dinner. She was a dry, rather humourless woman, an expert on Beowulf, who had taken to her administrative duties as head of department with zealous seriousness. She talked statistics with dull relish, and Esther couldn’t help glancing over at the table where Biddy, Michael and a few other colleagues seemed to be having an uproarious time, laughing and drinking wine. She had definitely cut off her nose to spite her face. The Beowulf woman was drinking still water (not even sparkling, Esther noted gloomily). She defiantly refilled her own wine glass. If she was going to be bored to death by grade quotas, she may as well be tipsy and bored.
After dessert was served, there seemed to be a general shift as people took their coffees and began to mingle, moving from table to table. Madame Beowulf seemed to be going nowhere, however. Esther was about to make her excuses and move on when she sensed someone slipping into the empty chair on her other side.
‘So, Professor Hart, it’s been a while.’
‘It has indeed, Professor Wolfson. Some years. A lot has changed.’
‘That’s true. For one thing, I’m no longer a professor.’
‘You’re not?’
‘Didn’t really work out in the Midlands. I hated the department, and the teaching load was too heavy to allow time for any meaningful research. So I’ve taken a step down the ladder and I’m now at a college in Surrey where I supervise a few PhD and master’s students and by and large they leave me to my own devices. I’m not even a head of department, just a deputy, but my boss is on maternity leave, so here I am.’
‘Surrey?’
‘About half an hour from London by train.’
‘How has that worked out for Lisette? Is she at the same university as you?’
‘Lisette is still in the Midlands. We split up about three years ago.’
‘I’m sorry,’ said Esther, but she felt a small thrill deep in her belly, as if she had just gone over the top on a rollercoaster. ‘Well, I’m in the same boat. Stephen and I split up about four years ago.’
‘I’m sorry too,’ said Michael, although he didn’t look even slightly sorry. ‘How’s Lucie?’
‘On the verge of being a teenager and struggling a bit because Stephen has remarried and she’s about to get a new half-brother or sister. How are your kids?’
‘Both at university now – Oliver’s at Durham, Luke’s at Cardiff. They split their holidays between their mum and me, when they’re not off gallivanting with friends.’
‘Gosh, so a lot has changed for both of us,’ she said, taking a sip of her wine.
‘A lot has changed,’ he said quietly. ‘Some things are the same.’
She looked up and caught his eye. He was watching her intently, searching her face.
The conference organizer tapped her glass with a fork and stood up to make a series of housekeeping announcements. She concluded by suggesting, none too subtly, that an early night might be in order, as there was rather a full programme the next day. Most people took the hint, finishing their coffees and saying their goodbyes.
Michael had turned back towards the table and was drawing circles in the sugar with the spoon, lost in thought.
‘Are you all right?’ said Esther.
He looked up at her. ‘I have a really nice room, with a balcony that overlooks the lawns. Number 23, in case you were wondering. I was trying to think of a way to suggest we get a bottle of wine from the bar and go and sit out there. But every sentence I frame sounds like a proposition.’ He gave her a crooked smile.
‘A proposition?’
He nodded. ‘I suppose mainly because it is. A proposition.’
It was her turn to be pensive for a moment.
‘I think I might be amenable to that,’ she said finally.
‘Should we be having a grown-up conversation about whether this is a good idea, and whether we’re both in the right place emotionally, and whether this will ruin our friendship?’
‘It’s an excellent idea, I’m fine, hope you are too, and meh, we weren’t that good friends anyway – I didn’t even know you’d got divorced.’
He chewed his lip for a second. ‘I… kind of knew you had.’
‘You did?’
‘Grapevine. You know how it is. So when I heard you were attending this conference… that bit of news may have been a deciding factor in my choosing to come.’
‘Interesting,’ she said coolly. ‘Well, since we’re laying our cards on the table, I took a walk down to the pool earlier, and I may have, unobserved, watched you swimming for a while. You have very fine form, sir. And your freestyle is excellent.’
He broke into a broad grin. ‘Just wait…’ he began, but she laid a finger over his lips.
‘You’re doing so well, Michael, this had better not be a breaststroke joke.’
He laughed, a deep chuckle. She remembered that laugh, and the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled. It gave her a warm, sweet glow.
‘Let me go to my room to freshen up, and I’ll meet you in yours in fifteen minutes,’ she said, standing up.
‘Are you leaving first so I can watch your bottom as you walk out of the room?’
‘What you do is entirely up to you.’ She smiled over her shoulder and put a little extra sway into her hips as she left.
She couldn’t help grinning broadly and even skipping a little as she made her way down the long carpeted corridors back to her room. As she walked, she offered up fervent thanks to Phil and released any bitterness she might have harboured towards him for their brief and ill-fated encounter – because Phil had served his purpose. In being so utterly wrong for her, he had helped her to know when someone utterly right was there in front of her. Her worries about Phil, her soul-searching about whether or not she was attracted to him, her doubts about her own behaviour and her trying to understand his – all were swept away instantly in this reconnection with someone who was, in the simplest way, perfect.
Michael Wolfson. Sexy, warm, delightful Michael, whom she knew so well and yet didn’t know at all. Of all the scenarios she had imagined in which she might meet a man, getting together with someone she’d known for years was not something she had considered. And yet it made so much sense. She knew he was a good, kind and honourable person. She knew his life story, knew they shared knowledge and interests, even many mutual friends. And as for attraction, just looking at him made something melt and fizz in her. She had been acutely conscious of the heat of his arm as he sat next to her at the table, and she had found herself staring at his hands and mouth and thinking profoundly unacademic thoughts.
Although she was absolutely set on her course of action
for the evening, she was still nervous, so she hurried into her room, stripped off and had a lightning-quick shower, before putting on fresh underwear, retouching her make-up and applying a little perfume. She hesitated for a second about what to wear and then put the red dress back on. It seemed to be doing the trick. No point in messing with something that was working. She gave her teeth a quick brush, tidied her hair, and she was ready to go.
Michael’s room was on the other side of the hotel, and she felt a little as if she were doing a premature walk of shame as she crossed the reception area and went down the corridor into the other wing. A few people who were sitting having coffee glanced up as she passed, though no one spoke to her. But as she turned into the corridor where Michael’s room was, Biddy stepped out of a room a few doors along.
‘Hello there,’ she said cheerfully. ‘Is your room down this side as well? Michael’s along here too!’
‘Um… no,’ said Esther carefully, looking at the room numbers. ‘I seem to have got turned about. I’m on completely the wrong side. Night!’ She gave Biddy a wave, turned on her heel and recrossed reception. Once she was back in her room, she sat on the edge of the bed for a moment. Her hands were shaking. Then she looked in the room service directory and worked out how to dial another room in the hotel.
‘Cold feet?’ Michael answered.
‘Not exactly. I bumped into Biddy, a few doors from your room.’
‘Oh dear.’
‘It was a proper bedroom-farce moment – I did consider hiding in a broom cupboard and then chasing a curate up and down the stairs with a feather duster.’
He laughed. ‘And so…?’
‘Well, maybe it’s a sign.’
‘It’s definitely not a sign. I taught a course on signs and signifiers. I’m practically a world expert. That wasn’t a sign. Come on over.’
‘How do I get past Biddy? She’s gone to sit in the reception area and drink coffee and gossip. I’d have to crawl through a flower bed, or wear a false moustache or something.’
‘Shall I keep an eye out and let you know when she’s gone to bed?’
‘She might stay up for hours.’
‘So… where does that leave us?’ He sounded uncertain and suddenly serious.
‘Not… shagging?’ she said, trying to lighten the mood. ‘At least, not tonight.’
He was quiet for so long, she wondered if the connection had been cut, but then he said, ‘I had a speech all prepared, you know, for when you got here.’
‘A speech?’
‘I could do the telephonic version if you like.’
‘I’d like,’ she said.
‘Okay.’ She heard him take a deep breath. ‘This isn’t just about sex, you know. I didn’t imagine this as a saucy conference one-night stand. I’m really not that bloke.’
‘I’m relieved. I’m really not that woman either.’
‘Don’t get me wrong,’ he said, ‘I fancy you immensely. I’ve spent an unconscionable amount of time over the years imagining what you might look like without your clothes on. But it’s more than that.’
She smiled at what he’d said but didn’t interrupt. She just let him talk.
‘I’ve never been a Lothario. I was faithful to Lisette for all of our marriage and since we split up, I’ve gone on a few dates, but there’s been nothing, or no one, significant. I know that you aren’t in a position to take things lightly. You’ve got Lucie to think of, and even though my boys are older, I worry about them too. I don’t want to embarrass them by parading a succession of women in front of them that don’t stick around. I like you… a lot. I’m not the most thrilling of fellows. I think I’m what they call a serial monogamist. So when I invited you to my room, what I was saying was… I would very much like to have a go at… embarking on a relationship with you.’
‘That’s wonderful to hear,’ Esther said, ‘but we’re adults, and we have to accept that there are no guarantees. I mean, I recently met someone—’
‘Oh God, I didn’t even consider that. That you might have a boyfriend. What an idiot. I’m so sorry.’
‘I definitely, definitely don’t have boyfriend,’ she said, and briefly she told him about Phil.
‘Well, firstly, he sounds like a bell-end,’ said Michael. ‘And secondly, I’m not him. I have kids too, and I understand that Lucie always has to take priority, especially now when things are a bit tricky for her. We can take things as slowly as you like. I really do understand.’ He suddenly caught himself. ‘If you… you know… want to take things at all.’
‘I want to take things,’ she said softly. ‘Or at least I want to try.’
‘I would very much like to smell your hair right now,’ he said. ‘I hope that doesn’t sound weird. It’s just that when I came to sit next to you at dinner, I caught the scent of your hair as I sat down. It smelled wonderful.’
‘Thank you – I think. I don’t think anyone has ever complimented me on the smell of my hair before.’
‘I should warn you, I’m quite rubbish at this. I’ve never had any good chat-up lines. My main methods are bumbling honesty and desperation.’
‘So far, they’re working a treat.’ She smiled.
There was a loud burst of laughter from the foyer, which was audible in both of their rooms.
‘It doesn’t sound like Biddy and her cronies are going to be winding up the party anytime soon,’ he said regretfully. ‘Can we try again tomorrow night?’
‘If I have to abseil down the building to your window.’
‘Will this abseiling involve any kind of close-fitting black Lycra outfit?’
‘Possibly. Now we should both get some sleep. Tomorrow, you know… Big day and all that. Lots of plenary sessions and breakouts.’
‘Hmmm… I’m trying to…’
‘… think of a double entendre involving plenary sessions? I know you are.’
‘Ah, Esther, we’ve been dating for fifteen minutes and you already find me predictable.’
‘It’s okay,’ she said, quietly. ‘I rather like predictability.’
‘Well, predictably, I shall be staring at you through breakfast, finding an excuse to stand near you during the coffee breaks, and fantasizing about you during the afternoon discussion on research grants.’
‘Sounds delightful.’ She smiled. ‘Good night, lovely Michael.’
‘Good night, delectable Esther,’ he said softly.
She passed a fitful, broken night and got up at dawn to go for a run around the quiet, misty grounds. She may as well not have attended the conference at all, for all the attention she paid to the sessions that day. Michael came to sit beside her at breakfast, but, regrettably, so did a number of other colleagues, and there was no opportunity for them to talk privately. He kept his leg pressed up against hers under the table, and at one point managed to take her hand and stroke it briefly.
They were both well aware of how swiftly gossip spreads in academic circles, so they were careful not to spend too much time together. They chose different breakout sessions in the morning and sat separately at lunch. But Michael risked sitting beside her in the afternoon talk on funding and distracted her throughout by drawing saucy cartoons in the margins of his notepad and then angling the page so she could see them.
At the end of the afternoon session, the conference organizer explained that there would be a couple of free hours before dinner and that they were all welcome to make use of the hotel facilities. Biddy, who was sitting two rows in front of Esther and Michael, stood up, stretched and turned to face them.
‘Right, I’m off for a swim in the pool. Either of you fancy joining me?’
‘No thanks,’ said Esther, as casually as she could manage. ‘I need to catch up on some emails.’
‘I swam this morning,’ said Michael. ‘I think I might just go for a lie-down.’
‘Righto, see you at dinner,’ Biddy said cheerfully, and set off.
They walked nonchalantly out into the foyer and stood chatting until they
saw Biddy leave her room and head for the leisure complex. The reception area cleared, and as the last stragglers left, Michael caught Esther’s hand and hurried her down the corridor, pulling his key card from his pocket as they walked. Within seconds they were inside his room, with the door closed.
He drew her into his arms and held her, very lightly and carefully, as if she was precious, and then he kissed her for the first time. It was the polar opposite of Phil’s clumsy lunge in Grosvenor Square – a sweet and sensual kiss – and Esther felt desire leap in her like a flame.
They didn’t make it to dinner. Around nine o’clock, Michael rang room service and ordered bacon, eggs and toast, which they devoured sitting cross-legged on the bed. Then they showered together and fell back into bed.
Esther’s thighs were aching, she felt deliciously bruised inside. Her lips were puffy and swollen and her hair was a bird’s nest. Michael flopped down on the pillows beside her, and entwined their fingers.
‘Well, my dear, I think we can safely say our friendship is over.’
She glanced over at him. They hadn’t drawn the curtains or turned any lights on, and in the pale light coming in from outside, she could see he was smiling.
‘Yup,’ she said, ‘I think it’s clear we’re no longer mates and work colleagues.’
‘There might be a few things we haven’t done – we might need a few more goes, just to make sure that period of our lives is over.’
‘We have plenty of time,’ she said, rolling over and putting her head on his shoulder and stroking his chest.
He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close to him. ‘We do. But despite all my brave talk, I’m not as young or as virile as I used to be.’
