The Green Room

by Faith Mortimer

  It was the nearest he had come to joking since we sat down, and I laughed as I forked up a mouthful of lasagne. “I don’t think so. We’ve been together for a couple of years, but there’s nothing serious in the pipeline. No rings or talks of wedding bells. I suppose it’s a casual sort of relationship we somehow fell into. I vaguely knew Pete, Michael’s partner in the force, a short time before, and we met through him. I’m happy as we are.”

  Tim eyed me across the table. “A couple of years? Funny,” he said in a low voice, his eyes soft and gentle, “I’d have put you down for a white wedding and at least three kids. I guess I was wrong.”

  His words and facial expression surprised me. I almost thought he seemed disappointed with my answer. I finished my glass of wine in a single swallow. “My round, same again?” I stood up, pushing my chair away from me with the back of my legs. Without waiting for an answer, I picked up our glasses and strode over to the bar. Despite his explanation, how the hell had he guessed I was dating a policeman? And did it matter what he thought?

  Chapter Twelve - Ella

  It was still early but quite dark when we arrived home. The lights were on in Mum and Dad’s apartment, but there was some kind of silent agreement between Tim and me as we trod softly up the stairs. As much as I loved them, I wasn’t in the mood for calling in on my parents and explaining where I had been all afternoon as if I was still a teenager. I guessed Tim felt the same.

  When we reached our landing, Tim fished the key from his trouser pocket. He paused. “I don’t suppose you’d like a nightcap to round off the day. Or coffee if you prefer.”

  Normally, I would have made some excuse, assuming he was only being polite by inviting me in. But I surprised myself. “Yes, that’d be lovely. A glass of wine if you have one.” I then covered myself just in case. “But just a small one, please. I’ve a lot to do tomorrow and I need a clear head.”

  Inside the apartment, he stood aside to let me pass into the hallway and closed the door behind me. The place felt warm and cosy after being outside.

  “I’m sure you know the way to the lounge, since this is the exact layout as your own place. Go and take a seat and I’ll fetch the wine. Want to stay with the red?”

  Inside the lounge, I chose an armchair facing the window. The drapes were still open, and I could see that the night sky was clear and bright. If it stayed like that, we would have a frost. I turned from the window at the sound of footsteps and sat down as Tim entered the room. He placed two glasses on the table and slid one across to me.

  “Cheers!”

  “Cheers!”, I echoed, taking a sip and studying him over the rim of my glass.

  Tim wasn’t old. I was thirty-five and he was what? Five or, at most, seven years older. His hair, although I thought it dark at first, was sprinkled with a fair amount of silver. He wore it short and sleek and it suited his features. Hmm. Maybe he was only early forties. As I watched, I was again struck by the almost strange beauty of his face. His eyes were large and sad, so deep a blue, like an ocean…almost violet I remembered as we walked across the park earlier, facing the low, setting sun. His brows were not quite black, well defined and matched the dark stubble shading his jaw. I considered his nose too long for true handsomeness, but high, wide cheekbones and a sensual mouth compensated. I recalled him being taller than my five foot seven inches, lean, and judging by the pace he set this afternoon, pretty fit. I laid my glass down on the table by my chair and glanced back at him.

  The overall impression was striking, but he didn’t look like your average Anglo-Saxon. Too tall for a Celt and his cheekbones too widely spaced. He reminded me of someone: Jude Law, no, Johnny Depp with blue eyes…despite the casual jeans and sweater, Tim Coleman managed to ooze exotic.

  I shifted in my seat when I noticed he caught me studying him, and I felt my skin grow hot as his smile reached those extraordinary eyes. I glanced away, suddenly shy, confused and a tad nervous.

  “You’re obviously deep in thought. Is the wine not to your liking?”

  “Pardon? Oh yes. Sorry, was I…I staring?”

  He laughed then, a deep rich sound, and his face creased into fine lines radiating from his eyes. “Not really.”

  Feeling brave, I persisted. “Yes I was. I was wondering about your background. I see lots of people in my line of work—all shapes, colour and sizes. You don’t strike me as being either typically Celtic or Anglo-Saxon.”

  I thought his facial expression suddenly became tight and guarded; he hesitated for a full ten seconds before replying. “My grandparents on my father’s side were Polish. They came over before the war. As the family name was unpronounceable and they wanted to be accepted here in England, they changed it from Cembrocowicz to Coleman.”

  “Ah! I see.”

  “What do you see?” His face still remained stiff and controlled as he turned it towards me.

  “The unpronounceable bit. It’s a shame changing your heritage but understandable.” I wondered about Tim’s explanation. It seemed to fit, but why the hesitation? I realised it was the first real thing I had learnt about him…if it was true. But why was I questioning his answer? Maybe he was just an ultra-private person. Dozens of celebrities, writers, actors shunned telling the world their secrets. All the same, it was only me asking.

  Apart from a few desultory remarks, we finished our wine in comparative silence; the relaxed mood we had shared seemed to have slipped away. Tim was becoming withdrawn. Less than five minutes later, I set my glass down on the table, stood up and made an excuse to leave. Tim didn’t attempt to deter me and accompanied me to the door. As I stepped onto the landing before turning back to say goodnight, I realised I had a visitor at my own place. The figure stepped from the shadows into the light pooling from Tim’s apartment.

  “Michael! I didn’t know you were coming round. I assumed you and Pete were tied up all evening. How did you get in?” I guessed it was my mother—she had done it before and I disliked it. I appreciated my privacy and thought I would mention it to her in a gentle way.

  He moved nearer, and I could see he was scrutinising Tim rather closely. “I’ve been calling you all afternoon. Why didn’t you answer your darn phone?”

  I made a little gasp as I remembered. “Sorry, I forgot to take it. I’ve been out,” I finished lamely, thinking how odd it must have looked. Me coming out of a stranger’s flat, my long-standing boyfriend waiting on my doorstep.

  Tim interceded smoothly by offering his hand to Michael and jerking a thumb over his shoulder. “My fault entirely. I’m Tim. I’ve just moved in to the area, and Ella’s very kindly been telling me about Guildford. We’ve just shared a glass of wine. If you’d come round earlier, you could have joined us and…” His words died away. Michael’s eyes narrowed as his glance passed from me to Tim and then back to me. I noticed he ignored Tim’s proffered hand. “What? All afternoon and evening?”

  For some reason, I felt my hackles rise. How dare he be so rude? I was an unmarried adult and perfectly entitled to do what I liked. Michael wasn’t normally like that.

  Feeling unusually emboldened, I turned back to Tim with a beaming smile. “Goodnight, Tim. Thank you for the wine. I enjoyed our talk. No doubt we’ll bump into each other again.” I ignored Michael and marched over to my door. As I inserted the key into the lock, I couldn’t resist throwing a furious glare Michael’s way. He shrugged, turned away from Tim and moved to join me. Seething inside, I knew we were about to have an almighty row.

  Chapter Thirteen - Ella

  “I still don’t see why you’d waste an afternoon on him. What do you know about him? After all I said about being careful. I warned you enough, or didn’t you think to listen?”

  I raised my hands to my ears. “Stop! Stop! Stop! For Christ’s sake, we’ve done all this. I don’t want to hear another word on the subject. I thought he was okay. Mum thought so, too. I couldn’t see the harm in sharing a walk together in broad daylight. There were plenty of people around, and it wasn’t as
if we were alone in some remote place. Don’t you think you’re over-dramatising? It wasn’t as if he’s been stalking me, for god’s sake.”

  Michael mumbled something from his position over at the window, which I couldn’t make out. His behaviour had been unbelievable ever since entering my place. Never had I ever experienced him in a mood like this. If I hadn’t known better, I would have said he was jealous—which wasn’t possible. Our relationship wasn’t like that. I wondered if he was still involved with the murder case and whether it was affecting him in some way. I decided the best course was to steer the conversation away from me and Tim and asked Michael if he was still on the recent murder team.

  “Yes and no. Today was more house-to-house enquiries for me and Pete. Tedious, I can tell you. We’re probably going to be released back to Godalming station soon, as we’re no longer needed,” he replied in a sour tone when I asked him.

  “That’s a shame. Only, I know you like being involved.” I lowered my voice and spoke in a calm and caring manner hoping to ease the tension between us. “Michael, why don’t you sit your sergeant exam again? If you pass next time, surely you’d be in a better position to be taken on as a detective permanently.”

  “Leave it out, Ella. I’m happy as I am. You don’t fucking well know anything about how it all works and never have. Why don’t you ever listen?”

  I know my facial expression must have shown how shocked I was about his choice of words and tone of voice. He rarely swore when we were together and was acting completely out of character.

  “Fine. Sorry I spoke.” I stared pointedly at my watch. “So, if that’s all you have to say, then I think it’s best if you leave. If we prolong this conversation then one of us is going to say something we’ll regret.” I turned towards the door, showing I meant what I said.

  “I’m sorry I swore, but what’s your problem, Ella? I finish work and come round expecting to see my girlfriend and find her all cosied up with some effing stranger. You’re the one at fault.”

  I stared but said nothing. Again the thought passed through my mind: Michael jealous?

  He swung away from the window and stood tall, hands on hips, his head nodding up and down as he continued to berate me. “Well? I’m bang on, aren’t I? Maybe you don’t think I’m good enough, being a lowly constable. You’ve intimated it enough times. Let me tell you one thing—I’m more of a man than that insipid-looking, bloody, so-called wanker of a writer.”

  Michael had a temper. I had seen it once or twice, but he usually kept it under control. The tips of his ears were red and his face pale and blotched across his brow and down his throat. “Michael, please shut up. There’s no need to be rude, I—”

  He made a sudden lunge towards me, grabbing me by the arms and pinning them to my sides. I squeaked in surprise then fought to throw him off and ended up kicking him in the shins. Michael retaliated by grabbing me round the throat.

  “Don’t,” he said.

  Shocked and then terrified, I stiffened as I felt his thumbs pressed against my windpipe. I managed to rasp out his name, and I watched as recognition dawned in his face. “Ella, I…I’m sorry, I don’t know what came over…” He dropped his arms and turned away, holding one hand held over his eyes as he moaned between his fingers.

  Seconds passed before he dropped his hand and faced me. A look of absolute horror was plastered across his features as he realised what he had done. “I’m so sorry. I don’t know what came over me. Ella, please forgive me,” he repeated in a voice hoarse with remorse.

  I was holding my throat. Beneath my trembling fingers, it felt bruised and tender. I felt the colour drain from my face; my legs suddenly seemed incapable of supporting my weight. I shook as I fought to keep in control. What the hell had just happened? I glanced back across and thought I noticed a glint of tears in Michael’s eyes. I sucked in my breath. I needed to defuse the situation rapidly. What was wrong with him? Was it an acute case of stress?

  “Michael, I think you’re tired and overworked. This murder case has got to you somehow. I know you’re worried it might happen again, and I do understand you’re concerned for me, but I’m okay, really I am. I’d never put myself in danger. Look, this is me—sensible to the extreme. I’ve never done anything stupid in my entire life. I’m so bloody predictable, I’m boring!” I made an attempt to draw my mouth up into a smile, turn it into a joke, while at the same time fighting to keep the tremor from my voice.

  He nodded wearily. “Maybe you’re right. I’m over-reacting and I am knackered. I can only apologise. Can we start again?”

  I knew he was sorry and trying to make amends, but he had shaken me up no end. We had argued before—not so much that he had become violent—and it always ended up with us in bed. That night, however, I really had had as much as I could take. I thought we should both cool down, and I didn’t believe sex was the answer.

  “I accept your apology. I truly think you’re stressed, but I’d still like you to leave. Don’t take this the wrong way—I just think we’ll be better calming down on our own tonight. Give us…both...a chance to think things over.”

  Michael opened his mouth as if to argue, and then after shrugging his shoulders, he nodded. “You’re right, but I’m still sorry.” He walked through to the hallway and picked up the jacket he had flung down on the floor. He didn’t bother putting it on. Instead, he wrapped his scarf round his neck, and then moved towards the door. As he threw it open, he suddenly turned round to confront me. He seemed completely in control now, his eyes and face steady as he stared down at me.

  “One thing I think you ought to know, Ella. After you told me about your new neighbour the other night, I ran a check on him. You know, you never can be too careful, especially after what’s happened recently, and he’s a stranger in the area. As far as I could gather, Tim Coleman has never written anything in his life.”

  ***

  I slept badly that night. The fight with Michael kept going round my head, and as much as I gave him the benefit of the doubt about being overworked and frazzled, I couldn’t forget he had hurt me. Sure, he apologised, but it shouldn’t have happened.

  We had our moments in the time we had been together—petty rows and squabbles like all couples—but he had never laid a finger on me before. It wasn’t only that. If I was completely honest, I felt we had been in a rut for some time. I was fond of Michael, but without any sort of real spark between us, deep down, I knew the relationship wasn’t going anywhere. There were other things, too, maybe minor, and I deplored Michael’s lack of ambition more than I admitted. The more I went over everything, culminating with the previous night, I knew it was time to move on. I had been idle, stupid and had wasted my time. We could stay friends, but I wanted to be free to meet other people.

  I thought about my parents and what they would say. Mum would be disappointed, as she had hinted numerous times that having babies became more dangerous the older a woman got…as if I needed reminding. Thanks, Mum. Dad would have been furious. He had never lifted a finger to me and deplored violence, whatever the reason. I decided to keep quiet about the full picture.

  I got up and crossed over to the window, drawing back the curtains. I glanced up. The black sky twinkled with stars, and Capella, the brightest autumnal star, hung like a golden bauble. No. I would keep quiet about Michael’s behaviour. It was a one-off occurrence. Besides, thinking of my parents, why hurt those you love the best?

  Chapter Fourteen - Ella

  The next morning, I checked my calendar and, on seeing a red circle around the date, realised it was the day of the auction I planned to attend. I had almost forgotten. Michael had said he would accompany me, but with my new resolution in mind, I knew I would be far happier going on my own.

  I had viewed the auction items online the week before, and I was interested in a couple of pieces for my lounge. I needed a bookcase to house my huge collection of favourite books, another small table, and for some reason, I had always fancied a small writing desk
. The online catalogue had some promising exhibits for sale, and I planned on bidding for the items I wanted. I checked the start time—ten a.m. And because I enjoyed auctions, I decided to get there for the start of the bidding.

  The day beyond my window looked glorious, a pale-blue sky with a few fluffy clouds and no hint of rain. Perfect. As I was getting ready, I heard a knock on the door and found Mum hovering outside with a puzzled expression on her face.

  “Hi, Mum. I was just making coffee. Want a cup?”

  She followed me into the kitchen and perched herself on one of the kitchen chairs. “You’re obviously not decorating today, judging from your clothing. Where are you off to?”

  I glanced up from the coffee machine. “The auction rooms in Godalming. You remember, I wanted to get a few things if I could. Want to come?”

  She shook her head. “I had forgotten. My memory’s not what it was. No thanks…I think I’m beginning a cold. I feel a bit rough.”

  “Oh no, not another! You’ve only just got over the last. I hope it doesn’t turn into bronchitis like the other two bouts.”

  She shrugged. “Hopefully, it won’t come to anything much. You go and enjoy yourself. Is Michael going with you?”

  Nothing like time being the essence, I thought. “No, and I’m glad you asked, as I’ve decided to finish with him. I’m hoping we can stay friends.”

  I added extra frothy milk to her cappuccino and slid the cup across the table towards her. I caught the expression on her face and realised I would have to expand. After filling my own cup, I joined her at the table and pushed a tin of chocolate biscuits between us. “Help yourself.”

  “Actually, I suppose I’m not really surprised,” she said between sips of coffee and a bite of biscuit. “Michael and you, er, as much as I’d love you to settle down, you two have never seemed that close.”

  I eyed her over the rim of my cup. Those old eagle eyes never missed a thing. I grinned. “No. I think we’re fond of each other, but there’s nothing more between us. I don’t mean in bed—that side of things has always been okay, but we don’t share anything apart from the odd visit to the cinema or the theatre occasionally. Not really. Not music, literature, that sort of thing. Michael’s fairly sporty, likes his workouts, motor racing and football. I loathe football. I’m happy going for a run when I have the energy or maybe skiing in winter…” My voice trailed away and I frowned. The thought of being on my own again saddened me. Was it always so hard for me to make relationships work?