by Caro Fraser
*
The last person Dan expected to see at the von Hoffmanstahls’ party was Meg, and certainly not looking as she did. She was wearing diamonds and a backless black dress, with her hair up, and she looked more beautiful and sophisticated than he had ever seen her.
‘I’m glad to see you,’ she said. ‘I don’t know a soul here, and everyone seems terribly grand. Diana brought me, but she’s otherwise occupied, as you can see.’ Dan followed the direction of Meg’s glance and saw Diana with a group of young men, Roddy MacLennan among them.
‘Where’s Paul?’ asked Dan. A waiter passed with a tray of glasses of champagne, and Dan took two, handing one to Meg.
‘He’s still at Hazelhurst. But he’ll be here any day.’ She took a sip of her champagne. ‘How well do you know our hostess?’
‘I don’t know her at all, actually. I’m a friend of her husband, Raimund. I reviewed some book about his father a year ago, and he got in touch. We’ve met up a few times. Very interesting chap.’
‘Is Eve with you?’
‘No,’ he replied, then added, ‘There’s nothing serious between us, you know.’
‘That’s a pity. You’re well suited. She’s so clever. I’m quite a dunce by comparison. Those things she said that evening at our dinner party, about the Jews in Germany. She was right, of course. I’m too busy leading my own safe life to know or care.’ Her expression grew pensive. ‘Sometimes I feel like a child. A privileged, spoilt child. That’s what being married to Paul is like. I thought marriage would be transforming, a way of growing up and into the world. But it’s not like that. I sometimes wonder what on earth the point of me is.’
‘Are you saying that being Mrs Paul Latimer isn’t point enough?’
Meg coloured, lost for a reply. He realised the remark had been hurtful, but he didn’t care. He wished he could tell her what he’d seen that night in Soho Square. Then maybe she’d realise what a mistake she’d made. But it wouldn’t achieve anything. It would simply destroy her.
*
Though he knew it was childish, Dan decided to spend the rest of the evening flirting and gossiping with Diana. Towards midnight, Roddy took Diana to one side.
‘Can we go back to yours? I’m sick of the way that Ranscombe fellow has monopolised you all night.’
‘Perhaps,’ replied Diana, enjoying the subtle change in the weighting of things. ‘Though I’m not entirely sure you’ve earned the privilege.’
Roddy was leaning against the wall. He glanced around quickly to see if anyone was watching, then drew his finger down the length of Diana’s bare back and slipped his fingers into the waistband of her dress, stroking her buttocks. ‘You don’t know what it does to me to see you flirting with some other chap. I’ve been lusting after you all evening.’
Diana pretended to consider. ‘Well, if I do let you come back, you’ll have to behave very discreetly. My sister-in-law is staying.’
Roddy removed his hand. ‘In that case, perhaps it’s not such a good idea after all.’
‘Why ever not?’
‘You know very well why. Because it will probably get back to Paul. And frankly, I want to keep my place on the racing team.’
‘What? Rather than see me?’
‘I just don’t see the sense in jeopardising either.’
‘What a ridiculously craven attitude,’ said Diana, angered by the thought that her entire life seemed to be run according to the wishes of her brother. ‘Do you always dance to my brother’s tune?’
‘I don’t intend to argue about it, Di. I’m sure you’ll find someone else to see you home.’ And with that, he left.
Diana felt close to tears. Just when the momentum had swung her way, everything had gone wrong. Blast Paul.
At that moment Meg came up. ‘I think I’m ready to go home, if you are.’
Diana nodded. ‘More than ready.’
Having said their goodnights, they found their coats and departed in search of a taxi. Dan watched them go. When he went to take his own leave of his hosts a few minutes later, he found Ava holding a silver evening bag, which he recognised as Diana’s.
‘Someone left this by the cloaks,’ Ava said. ‘I think they must have forgotten it.’
‘It’s Diana Latimer’s,’ said Dan. ‘I know where she lives. I can drop it round to her tomorrow, if you like.’
‘Oh, would you? That’s very kind.’
Dan bade his hosts goodnight and went in search of a taxi. He sat in the cab, brooding on his conversation with Meg, wishing he could simply douse his feelings, the way one might a fire, and achieve some peace. It was not to be, apparently.
*
Over a late breakfast the following morning, Diana announced her plans for the day. ‘I’m lunching with my uncle and aunt in Belgravia, then I have more Christmas shopping to do, and after that Lydia Esmond and I are going to the theatre. What are you up to?’
‘I thought I’d stay here, in case Paul arrives.’
‘It’ll be too ridiculous if he sits sulking in Berkshire. Oh, by the way, if Roddy MacLennan rings while I’m out, tell him… tell him I shall be busy for the next fortnight, and simply won’t have a free moment.’
Diana left shortly before one. Meg dismissed the maid for the day, and sat in the kitchen, fiddling with the remains of yesterday’s Times crossword. After a while she laid down the pencil and wondered what on earth she was doing. The more time went by, the wider the gulf between her and Paul was growing – and there shouldn’t be a gulf at all. On impulse she went to the hall and telephoned Hazelhurst. Paul was out, one of the maids told her. Thinking perhaps he was on his way to London, Meg asked if he had taken the car. But no, Mr Latimer had gone for a walk with the dogs.
Meg pictured Paul tramping unhappily on his own through the woods, then returning to an empty house. He was being ridiculously stubborn, but she hated the idea of him being all alone over Christmas. She would go back. She went to her room and began to pack.
Ten minutes later, as she was scribbling a note to Diana, the doorbell buzzed. She put down the pen and went to the door, and was surprised to see Dan standing there.
‘Oh – hello.’
‘Hello. I’ve come to return something to Diana. Is she here?’
‘No, she’s gone out for the day, I’m afraid.’
‘No matter.’ He held up Diana’s bag. ‘Perhaps you can give it to her. She left it at the party last night.’
Meg took the bag. ‘Won’t you come in for a moment?’
As he stepped into the hallway Dan noticed Meg’s coat lying folded across her suitcase.
‘Would you like some tea?’ asked Meg.
‘Thanks.’ Dan took off his hat and followed her into the kitchen, and she filled the kettle and set it on the gas. He sat at the kitchen table, still in his overcoat, and watched Meg moving around the kitchen, fetching cups and saucers, filling the milk jug. Minutes passed, the silence between them growing into something potent, but at the same time peaceful. He thought of a dozen things to say, but uttered none of them. One by one she brought the tea things to the table.
‘We can go into the sitting room, if you like.’
‘I’d rather be in here. I like kitchens.’
‘So do I.’ She sat down and poured the tea, passing Dan a cup.
‘Thanks. So, you’re on your way back to Hazelhurst?’
‘How did you know?’
‘I saw your things in the hall. I thought Paul was coming here for Christmas?’
Meg stirred her tea, deciding she might as well tell Dan. ‘The truth of it is, we had a disagreement. I didn’t want to spend Christmas stuck in Berkshire. So I came up to London on my own. But he hasn’t called, or made any move to join me here, so I think I might as well go home.’
Dan said nothing as he fished in his overcoat pocket for his cigarettes and lit one. He rose and looked round for an ashtray, found one and brought it back to the table. He studied the glowing tip of his cigarette in silence as Meg dran
k her tea. She found she couldn’t take her eyes off his hands, fascinated by the movement of his fingers, the tendons in his wrist as he tapped off the ash, the light golden hairs on his wrist beneath the shirt cuff. She had an overpowering urge to reach out and feel the warmth of his hands.
She went on, ‘I don’t want you to think Paul and I are unhappy. It isn’t like that.’
‘Why should you care what I think? You either are happy or you aren’t. It’s none of my business. Though from what you said last night, I take it marriage isn’t everything you expected?’
She met his gaze, feeling the change in the atmosphere between them. There seemed no point in anything but complete honesty. ‘I don’t know.’ She looked away, adding slowly, ‘In some ways it is. The house, domesticity, companionship – certain things are as I hoped they would be. But sometimes it feels as though those things are…’ she hesitated, ‘superficial. That makes it sound like they don’t matter. They do. Oh, I don’t know.’ She pushed her cup away. ‘Can I talk to you as a friend? We are friends, aren’t we?’
‘Yes, we are. And yes, you can.’ He felt his heart tighten.
‘I thought that loving Paul and being married would somehow be sufficient purpose in life. That we would be everything to each other. But he has his affairs of business in London, and his racing car project to occupy him. It’s as though he has a world, and I merely have an existence within it. I seem to have no purpose beyond him. At first I thought that was simply the nature of love. But sometimes, when he’s away for days on end, I think about a thing you once said…’ Her voice tailed off.
Dan waited as the seconds ticked by. ‘What thing? If it was something beastly, it’s not worth dwelling on. I was jealous, that’s all.’
Meg got up and carried her cup to the sink. She stood with her back to him, hands resting on the sink, saying nothing. Dan ground out his cigarette. Then he rose and went over to where she stood. He leaned back on the work surface and tried to look into her face. She wouldn’t look at him. He reached out and gently turned her face to his. The mere touch of his fingers electrified her. ‘Tell me.’
‘You said Paul simply needed a wife, and I fitted the bill. That he didn’t really love me.’
‘I’m sorry. I should never have said that.’
‘Why? You were saying what you thought was true. Are you saying now it wasn’t true?’
‘Oh Lord – look, I didn’t want to believe you were in love with him. I was still hoping I had a chance.’ He paused. ‘When did I say this, anyway?’
‘At the Cunliffes’ party. In the library.’
‘Ah, yes. The library.’ Was she remembering, as he was, the way they had kissed, clinging together, burning with need for one another? He searched her face, but could read nothing.
‘So, sometimes I think of that, and I wonder if you were right. That I’m just another feature adorning Paul’s life. The little wife waiting at home.’
‘I’m sure he loves you,’ said Dan, knowing he only said this so that she shouldn’t be unhappy.
‘I wish I were sure,’ murmured Meg. ‘I want so badly to be loved.’ She turned to Dan, straining with every effort of thought to resist the impulse to touch him, to put her hand against his face and feel the warmth of him. The longing that blazed within her seemed kindled simply by his nearness, by some mysterious chemistry.
‘But you are,’ said Dan. ‘You know you are.’
They gazed at one another, overpowered by something utterly beyond their control. He took hold of her and kissed her. After a slight tremble of resistance, she sank against him and let it happen, all sensible thought drifting from her mind. Then after a few seconds her senses returned and she pulled away. ‘This is wrong. We mustn’t do this.’
‘Don’t you want to be happy? Ever? Even just for an hour?’ The intensity in Dan’s voice took her aback.
‘But it’s—’
‘Christ, don’t say it’s wrong. Of course it’s not wrong. What’s wrong is that you married him, and I couldn’t stop you.’ His mouth found hers again, and she kissed him back hungrily, feeling something give way within her. He slipped his hand inside the bodice of her dress and caressed her breasts. He felt no guilt at what he was doing. Her marriage was a sham, even if he couldn’t tell her that, and besides, she wanted him as much as he wanted her.
‘Does he make you feel this?’ muttered Dan. ‘Does he?’
‘No,’ she gasped. The last vestiges of restraint fell away. She drank in the harsh tweed scent of his coat as she pushed it from his shoulders, tasted the roughness of his chin as she dabbed it with kisses, felt the thickness of his hair as she ran her fingers through it, holding him, striving to bring her body as close as possible to his. She tugged at his shirt and tie and he worked at the fastenings of her dress as they fought to find each other’s skin. Dan slipped a hand between her legs, lightly thumbing the damp crotch of her knickers, and she let out a small gasp. He stopped. They gazed at one another for a second, their breathing hard and urgent.
‘Not here,’ muttered Dan. ‘Much as I like kitchens.’
Meg took his hand and led him out into the hallway. Her mind was a blazing blur, the urgency of her desire dictating everything. She had no coherent sense of betrayal; none of that mattered. She led him to Paul’s bedroom. The room, with its dark green walls and solid furniture, sat in its customary manly silence, the sheets and bedding smooth and tight, as they had been on that first night of her marriage. She went to the bed and began to pull at the closely tucked sheets and blankets, hauling them back from the pillows, tugging and wrenching everything into disorder. She turned to Dan, who stood in the doorway, tie-less, his shirt halfway unbuttoned, looking uncertainly around, understanding where he was. Meg felt crazily in control, exultant in what she was doing. She put out a hand, and as he came towards her she kicked off her shoes and unfastened the remaining buttons of her dress, letting it slip to the floor. She lay back on the bed, and then his mouth was on hers, and she was sliding his shirt from his back as he pulled off the remainder of his clothes. She ran her hands over the muscles of his chest, back and arms in a kind of ecstasy of pleasure, vaguely aware of the deftness with which he was removing her underwear. Then the warmth of his skin was close against hers, and she could allow herself to feel the hardness of him, brush him with her fingers and feel the spasm of his longing in a way which she could never allow herself with Paul.
He lowered his head to kiss her shoulders, then her stomach. Where his hands went, his mouth followed. Meg closed her eyes and let her senses lift her into some place where she was barely conscious of anything beyond her own pleasure. As she reached a moment where she could scarcely bear it, she felt him enter her; his mouth was on hers again, and she tasted herself. A shudder ran through her and he moved as far inside her as he could, and she arched her back slightly, giving herself up entirely to a sense of completeness she had never thought possible, and the knowledge that it was Dan filled her with an inexpressible happiness. He seemed utterly attuned to her, as though his body was listening to hers, waiting, feeling, following.
For Dan the intensity was something he had never experienced with any woman. At moments he would pull away, almost leaving her, simply to experience the pleasure of gazing at her face, blurred with anxious desire, before pushing himself into her again, feeling her relief as his body locked once more to hers. The rhythm between them mounted to a place of slow pleasurability, until at last Dan could hold back no longer. A few seconds later, he felt a tremor of pleasure rock her body, and she cried out, her thighs tight against his.
They clung together, their breathing slowing, their passion ebbing, their senses separating, retreating from each other into their own minds until eventually they lay side by side in a state of stillness. They lay that way for several minutes, wordless.
Suddenly Meg’s eyes grew alert. She glanced at the doorway.
‘What?’ asked Dan.
‘I don’t know. I just thought…’ Then she c
losed her eyes. ‘Diana said she’d be out all day and evening. But even so, this is madness.’
Reality seemed to pool and congeal in the room. The coldness of it made Dan reach for the blankets and pull them up around their shoulders.
‘It’s not madness. It’s the sanest thing anyone has ever done. I love you. And now you know what that means.’
She opened her eyes and looked into his. ‘Yes. Yes, I do. All those months ago I told myself I shouldn’t pay any attention to the things I felt for you. That I could train myself out of them.’
‘Tell me, then.’
She was silent for a long time, her eyes searching his face, her fingers toying with his hair. ‘I love you. I always have. From the first time you gave me a cigarette. We’d just played tennis, and I didn’t really want it.’
‘You didn’t really smoke.’
She laughed, and the feeling of her body trembling against his was delightful. ‘No, not really. But I wanted you to think I was sophisticated.’
‘I thought you were sweet. And not in the least sophisticated.’
They lay in the warmth of the bed, the afternoon deepening outside, talking for a long while. They made love again, and then, amazed at the perfection of it, yet again. At a little after four o’clock Meg turned her eyes to the darkness beyond the window. She remembered standing at that window a few months ago on her wedding night, aware of her heightened self, the prepared responsiveness of her body. She remembered, too, how it had met with nothing. Not like this. For the first time, she was aware of an ache of guilt. Whatever she felt for Paul, her husband, it was genuine, and she had betrayed it. She searched in herself for a reason to care, and found it – found the knowledge of Paul’s kindness and trust. Maybe it wasn’t his fault he couldn’t love her as Dan did. She turned away from Dan’s arms.
Instinctively Dan said, ‘Don’t think about him.’
