Up To No Good

by Victoria Corby

  ‘Madame says this part of the building hasn’t been altered since the fifteenth century, apart from additions such as plumbing, so I suppose if it’s lasted for six hundred years we can expect it to go on to tomorrow morning without falling out into the street,’ Robert said from beside me.

  ‘Hope so,’ I said vaguely, though I still found it unnerving to look out of the window and see that my hands, resting on the window ledge, were several inches further out over the street than my feet. Actually I found the pink counterpane-covered bed, a very large double bed, even more unnerving. Surely Robert wouldn’t even think... A room was one thing, in extremis, but a bed...

  ‘My room’s even worse,’ he went on. ‘The bath’s been placed down the slope so I’ll be interested to see what happens when I run it. I doubt the water will even manage to reach the far end before it rises up to the overflow at the other.’

  ‘Would you rather have this room?’ I asked, eager to make amends for my silly fantasies, even if he didn’t know about them. ‘The bath’s on the level, though it’s not very big,’ I added with a doubtful look at his lanky legs.

  ‘No, it’s fine, thanks. It’ll be a new experience,’ he said cheerfully.

  Half an hour later, bathed, changed and freshly made up (on my part, not his) we were setting out to explore the town and find somewhere to eat. Actually it would have been rather more than half an hour later if I’d been left to my own devices. I had been having a sartorial crisis of some extent, that familiar one that starts with, ‘I’ve got nothing to wear.’ Well nothing that was clean, ironed, new and, most importantly, flattering. It was only an impatient knock on the door that made me seize up a top I’d already tried on once and taken off. It didn’t really matter what I wore to go out to eat with Robert, I told myself, it wasn’t that sort of dinner.

  ‘Your time-keeping hasn’t improved over the years,’ he said disapprovingly as I appeared. It was all right for him. He belonged to the put-on-the-first-clean-thing-that-comes-to-hand school of dressing and it might look fine on him, it did actually I noted, looking at his navy shirt and jeans, but if I adopted it, I’d end up looking like your original ragbag. ‘I suppose you’ve been dithering about what to wear,’ he said, giving me a casual once-over.

  ‘Yup.’ There was no point in pretending. He’d been through this before and as he’d said so accurately, some things just don’t change. ‘But the results were worth it, weren’t they?’

  He looked at me again, with more attention this time. ‘Not really,’ he said in an offhand voice and grinned at my indignant expression, waiting just long enough for me to build up a smouldering head of miffed steam before he said, ‘You’ve got good basics so you don’t need to spend hours in front of a mirror to look nice.’ I was just digesting this, a nice warm smug feeling at the compliment creeping through me when he added, ‘Especially not when we’re supposed to be going out for dinner. I’m starving. Shall we go before I pass out from hunger?’

  I’d recovered enough of my sense of humour to be speaking to him again by the time we found a tranquil square with a little restaurant highly recom­mended by Madame, who had waxed lyrical about the quality of the service and the chef’s magic touch with seafood. She had waxed so lyrical that Robert muttered the chef had to be either her son or her lover and the ‘service’ must be some other relative. Since the chef remained in his kitchen doing what chefs do we never got to see if Robert’s theory was correct in that respect but we both detected a distinct resemblance to Madame around the nose and chin in the pretty waitress who took our order, though luckily for her she bore no resemblance to Madame in the waistline or hair areas.

  Even if Madame was putting business her family’s way she had done us proud. We sat outside at a table on a part of the pavement sectioned off by tubs of flowers from ordinary passers-by, sharing a bottle of good wine and eating food which was amongst the best I’d had for a long time. Even better, unlike George, Robert wasn’t neurotic about germs and was quite happy to let me sample what he’d chosen so I could see if he’d done better than me; indeed, he pinched more than one of my moules. Though I was enjoying myself so much I don’t think I’d really have minded if the food had been cooked by my brother, which says a lot. I’d forgotten how much I liked talking to Robert, especially now that I didn’t feel he was waiting to go for my jugular each time I dropped my guard. I could relax and didn’t have to watch every word I was saying. By the time he said, with a welcome degree of regret in his voice, that he supposed we really ought to let the staff close up, we were the last customers left and even the youths who had been hanging out in the square making eyes at the teenage girls mincing past had slouched off to find other haunts.

  I leaned back with a happy sigh while the waitress unhurriedly went off to make up the bill. ‘Thanks for all this.’

  ‘What for?’ he asked.

  I shrugged. ‘Everything. Allowing Janey to bully you into offering me a lift, suggesting that we stay here. After what happened yesterday, if I’d simply got on the train and gone home as I was originally supposed to, I’d have felt flat and miserable about everything, but today’s made it all different...’ My voice trailed off and I looked down at the tablecloth, afraid that I might have said too much.

  ‘You’ve got nothing to thank me for,’ he said in an amused voice. ‘I’ve been suiting myself entirely, I promise you.’ Startled, I raised my eyes and he smiled at me in a way that did something very odd to my stomach. ‘As I said, it made sense for you to come along, even if you’ve got the acceleration instincts of a snail. Since it’s such a nice evening, shall we walk around the town a little before we go back to the auberge?’

  Robert’s smile had been making female stomachs, and ones made of much tougher stuff than mine, lurch pleasurably for years; it didn’t mean anything. On either of our parts. I was just reacting to an attractive man. It happens. I was trying to think of the last time it had when the bill came and I was able to get rid of my last lingering feelings of self-consciousness over having a hormone system that apparently goes into overdrive over a display of white teeth (one front one slightly crooked) by having a vigorous discussion over whether we were going to split the bill or not. I won. We did. But even so, that relaxed feeling I’d had during dinner of being with a good friend had vanished to be replaced by something much more unsettling, something I didn’t really want to think about.

  We meandered around, admiring the floodlit castle walls and deciding that as it was dark it probably wouldn’t be a good idea to take advantage of the path that went around the top of them, wandering along the main square which was obviously the social centre for the whole of town and was still humming. Robert wanted us to have a drink in a particularly disreputable-looking bar so he could have a chance to play the table football at the back of the room. ‘I was twelve the last time I saw one of those,’ he said longingly. Luckily for me several youths got up and surrounded it in a noisy joshing group that looked as if it was going to be there for some time. Frankly, I hadn’t fancied being the only woman in such a seedy dive, especially as an unshaven man in a grubby white singlet was already openly leering at my cleavage. At least he’d noticed I’d got one, unlike certain other parties, I thought peevishly as we walked back down the hill towards the hotel.

  Was it my imagination or did a pall of tension envelop us as we turned in under the arch that supported our rooms? Conversation died and we crossed the darkened courtyard only muttering occasionally, ‘Watch out for that step,’ or ‘Can you remember the way to our rooms?’ in hushed voices so we didn’t wake anyone up. Robert even managed to swear in a whisper when he banged his knee on one of the many tables Madame had littered around the foyer to ambush unwary guests, even if I’d never heard quite that range of expletives expressed at any volume. When I stumbled over a raised floorboard in the corridor upstairs, he shot out a hand to stop me measuring my length which certainly would have negated all our attempts to keep quiet, then withdrew it again quickly as i
f he’d been burned as soon as I recovered my balance.

  ‘If we aim to leave at eight, we’ll have plenty of time to get to your parents’ house. That OK with you?’ he asked as we reached our rooms.

  I nodded, for some strange reason finding it difficult to breathe. Actually it wasn’t strange at all. I knew perfectly well what was going on, I’m not that self-deluded. But I do have a certain sense of self-preservation and I was well aware that the lines my thoughts, my wishes, were running along were not at all sensible. Anyway I didn’t know what he was thinking. Not for certain anyway. ‘Goodnight. Thanks again,’ I said.

  ‘It was my pleasure,’ he said with another of those smiles. This time I was as sure as you ever can be of the message that I read in his eyes. I gulped, my stomach doing another loop the loop as several images flashed through my mind, none of them decent. All I had to do was tilt my head as he bent to kiss me goodnight so that instead of my cheek he met my mouth and we could take it from there... So it wouldn’t be wise, there was no future in it - not even I could fool myself into believing that, but I was a big girl now, wasn’t I? An adult even. I was entitled to do stupid things sometimes, and was it really so stupid to live for the moment for once? I’d done the sensible thing with George and look where that had got me. And when you walk into something with your eyes wide open so that you’re fully armed against the consequences, that’s not really stupid at all, is it? It’s called seizing opportunities. Besides, I wanted to. I really wanted to.

  He looked at me gravely. I thought for a horrid moment that he wasn’t going to kiss me goodnight at all, then as I smiled rather tremulously his face cleared and he bent towards me. I tipped my face up.

  CHAPTER 23

  I didn’t get a lot of sleep that night. I was too busy berating myself for being a bloody fool and wimping out at the last moment. God knows what Robert thought as I suddenly whipped my head away and bolted into my room muttering I had loads of packing to do so I’d better start now. It seems I’m not good at seizing opportunities, not ones like that. There I was, about to do whatever we were going to do, when I’d been overwhelmed by a feeling that somehow I’d got on the high diving board when I’d planned to climb the little plank they allow the toddlers to jump off. It was all right for him; tomorrow he’d go back to his real life without a backward glance, maybe even start patch­ing up things with Venetia, and if he thought of me in the next few weeks it would be with a mild pleasure that we’d been able to cement our rapprochement in such a mutually enjoyable manner. That’s how men think about one-night stands - that they’re fun, that they’re nothing serious, and, above all, that they’re for one night.

  There’s walking into things with your eyes open know­ing the risks, and there’s walking into them knowing that you’re about to go in waaay too deep. So I fled.

  In the end I got up off the bed and wandered restlessly around the room, thinking I might as well stick to the letter of the truth and get on with my packing. I folded every garment immaculately, taking care to do up all the necessary buttons, close the zips, even putting my shoes in facing each other and toe to heel rather than chucking them in any old how like I usually do. Anything in fact to keep my hands busy, even if I couldn’t stop my mind buzzing. My mother would have been proud to see that her lessons on how to pack a suitcase so that you didn’t crease the clothes had at last borne fruit, as I put the last beautifully cornered skirt on top of the pile in the case and straightened out a collar on a shirt just so. Of course she usually started with clothes that hadn’t been lying in a crumpled heap on the floor, but you had to begin somewhere.

  In the cold light of day I felt even worse, and acutely embarrassed to boot. How could I have reacted as if Robert was Dracula stopping by for a three-course meal when he’d only been about to give me a peck goodnight? I trailed downstairs, hardly able to bring myself to look at him, but he asked me in a perfectly normal manner if I’d slept well and then went back to eating the liberal quantities of croissants Madame thought was necessary for a breakfast. I began to wonder if I’d imagined the whole thing.

  My mother appeared so promptly on the doorstep as we turned into the drive at home that if I hadn’t known she doesn’t have any, I’d have suspected she’d been on net curtain duty, ready to mount an ambush the moment the car drew up. I knew yesterday when I rang to say that I was travelling with an old friend and was staying over­night that I’d never get away with merely assuring her it wasn’t George. Indeed, it was only the excuse of Robert’s mobile’s failing batteries that had saved me from the full maternal interrogation going into operation there and then.

  What was Min doing here? I thought as a slim blonde figure appeared alongside her. She was supposed to be travelling up North with her beloved. She beat Mum in the race to reach the car and to give me a hug, saying in her usual breathless rush, ‘Francis has gone to Glasgow, of all places, for the bank, and says he’ll meet me in Cumbria, so I thought I’d take the chance to go over the plans for the reception with Mum. Are you sure you don’t want to be a bridesmaid? We can talk about it in the car because I’m going to drive you up. Dad’s got something on this morning and doesn’t want to leave until mid-afternoon. Besides, I’d like some company and it’ll give us a chance to catch up. I haven’t seen you for ages.’

  ‘That’ll be great,’ I said, trying to cut across her flow. I know from bitter experience what Min is like when she gets going.

  I was too late. ‘And what have you been up to, little sister? Sudden change of plans, I hear?’ she asked with a knowing smile, glancing over my shoulder. ‘Not that I blame you. He’s a lot more exciting than going on the train. Who is he?’ she hissed in an all too audible whisper. ‘The new Mr Right?’

  ‘No, the old one,’ Robert said in a highly amused voice as I went scarlet.

  ‘You must remember Robert, Min? I’m sure you met when you came up to visit me one weekend,’ I said woodenly as her eyes widened into an incredulous O. ‘We were staying near each other in France and he kindly offered to give me a lift back.’

  For once Min seemed to be lost for words, something I was very grateful for, although I could already see the what, where, when questions beginning to form. Mum’s curiosity-meter, which always works at high pitch where her children are concerned, cranked into overdrive the moment she twigged who my travelling companion was. She hadn’t met Robert before, though she’d certainly heard enough about him, and he didn’t stand a chance of getting away before she’d satisfied her nosiness to the fullest degree. She cut firmly across his protests that he ought to be pushing on, saying she was so delighted to meet an old friend of mine after all this time. He must be tired from the journey and the very least she could do to thank him for his kindness to me was to give him a cup of coffee and a slice of the excellent chocolate cake she’d brought from the WI Bring and Buy sale a couple of days ago. There was no need to worry about my luggage. Min and I could make ourselves useful and do that.

  Recognising an immovable maternal object when he saw one, Robert met my eyes and meekly said that chocolate cake sounded wonderful. He was borne off inside while I jiggled his car keys in one hand and looked balefully at my elder sister.

  ‘So you’ve made up with him at last. That’s great. He’s one of those men who improve with age, isn’t he?’ she said, though fortunately Robert was out of earshot this time. ‘It’s not fair. Nobody ever says that women look better with a few extra lines.’ She stroked one of the imaginary crow’s feet around her eyes that had recently begun to occupy her, then snapped her attention back to the matter in hand. ‘So when did all this start? Not long ago, I imagine, if you went in for an unscheduled dirty stop out last night.’

  ‘It wasn’t like that,’ I said, unlocking the boot of the car.

  ‘Wasn’t it?’ Min sounded disbelieving. ‘So tell me all about it.’

  ‘Look - I don’t know where to start, and even if I did, Mum would have had Robert completely inside out before I was anywhere near f
inishing. I’ll save it for the car.’

  ‘OK,’ she said, ‘but you aren’t wriggling out of it. I want to know everything.’

  ‘Don’t you always?’ I grinned, for though Min drives me mad sometimes we get on very well. ‘Tell you what, I really will tell you everything, providing you stop banging on about me being your bridesmaid. I’m sorry, I love you dearly, you know I do, but I am absolutely not, and I mean it, parading up the aisle behind you wearing a ballerina-length ice blue silk dress.’

  She laughed. ‘I suppose it will look better on Francis’s sister than it would on you.’

  ‘Yeah, well, it helps if you’re fourteen,’ I agreed.

  ‘Right, it’s a deal,’ she said briskly. ‘Though I’ll make sure you’re the one to get my bouquet. You look as if you might need it.’ She skipped back out of reach of retaliation, then peered in the boot. ‘This suitcase I recognise, but these are nothing to do with you, are they?’ she asked, looking at the stack of pictures in their cases.

  ‘Those two with the pencilled N in one corner are mine, and no, you may not have a look inside.’

  She made a show of being about to rattle one of them until I stopped her, then laid it flat in the boot of her car. ‘If we put our suitcases on the back seat you needn’t worry about anything toppling on these.’

  ‘Good idea,’ I said, fishing out a carrier bag containing some last-minutes presents I’d bought on a lightning dash around a supermarket between Souteil and Calais this morning. I didn’t expect the wine and cheeses to be the type to tickle the most discerning palates, but I reckoned being questioned by the police on the day you’d been planning to do your present shopping is pretty hard to beat as a plausible excuse for why you didn’t spend hours poring over the goods in an upmarket emporium. I handed a Camembert and a Pont l’Eveque to Min. ‘Here you are. Something to make your car smell nice.’