by Jenny Harper
Kate felt sorry for him. For all his faults, Frank had fought for what he believed. She tried to soften the defeat. ‘Twelve turbines is quite a small wind farm, Frank. And what you were told about visibility was correct.’
‘Eight.’
‘Sorry?’
He beamed. ‘It looks as though we’ll probably succeed in one thing, at least, we’ve managed to negotiate down from twelve to eight turbines.’
‘Right.’ Kate suppressed a smile. She knew that AeGen had always assumed the proposal would have to be scaled back. ‘Well, there you go. That’s good news. And the village hall does desperately need an upgrade.’
Frank’s attitude changed abruptly. ‘We are where we are. I’m sorry,’ he said, ‘about your situation. You know – work, and—’
He left the sentence unfinished. It was obvious that he didn’t want to discuss her private affairs with Georgie present, but he laid a hand on her arm, the gesture solicitous.
‘Thank you.’ Kate felt herself getting emotional, but choked her feelings back determinedly. She hadn’t entirely given up on Andrew, and the work situation was looking amazingly bright. It was too early, though, to talk about either.
He removed his hand. ‘Come on, Georgie, more placards to take down. Nice to see you, Kate.’
‘And you.’ She meant it. She had not liked the angry Frank. Rage had done him little justice, it had outweighed fondness, and courtesy, and intelligent discussion. All the kindnesses he had shown her over the years had been swamped by pique. She hoped they could learn to manage their differences more moderately. On impulse, she stood on tiptoe and kissed his aged cheek, and was pleased when he looked gratified.
She tucked her arm into Georgie’s and walked a little way down the street with her as Frank strode on ahead. Georgie said in a low voice, ‘Do you know why Mum’s so miserable, Kate?’
Kate glanced at her sharply. ‘What do you mean?’
She glanced anxiously at Frank’s rapidly receding back. ‘I didn’t want to say anything in front of Grandpa, but she’s really snappy, and she never laughs. Frankie says she’s drinking loads, too.’
‘Drinking?’
‘She seems to open a new bottle of wine every evening, and Dad’s not even around at the mo.’ She tucked her long hair behind her ear and looked sideways up at Kate. ‘I don’t mean to be cheeky, but have you fallen out with her? We haven’t seen you in ages.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘Will you come and see her? Please?’
Frank stopped at a lamppost and swung round. ‘Here we are, Georgie. Number thirteen?’
‘Yup.’ She looked at Kate and mouthed, ‘Please?’
Kate smiled and gave her a hug. ‘I’ll do what I can,’ she murmured, wondering if she was telling the girl the truth. She wasn’t sulking, it was just that she was still too hurt by Charlotte’s admission to be ready for closeness again.
She met Harry at one of the small Italian coffee shops on George IV Bridge in Edinburgh. Harry was already there when she arrived, sitting on the edge of his chair at a small table in the far corner and nursing a tall latte. He stood up as soon as he saw her. ‘Thanks for coming, Kate, especially at such short notice.’ He bent and kissed her cheek. ‘How are you?’
‘As well as can be expected, considering I’m now unemployed.’ She took off her jacket and draped it over the back of the chair, where it dripped despondently onto the tiled floor. Outside, it was wet and bitterly cold, but the café was almost uncomfortably warm.
‘Unemployed? What happened? Surely the hearing didn’t go against you? They must be mad to let you go—’
‘That’s very sweet of you, Harry, but actually, I resigned.’
Harry blinked at her.
Kate explained the situation. ‘Do you understand how I felt?’ she asked.
‘Absolutely.’ His conviction was heartening. ‘They’re idiots, obviously. You’re so bright and efficient they shouldn’t be risking you going to the opposition.’
‘Thanks. Andrew thinks I’m mad to resign.’
‘Ah. Dad. That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. Did you order coffee?’
‘I think this is it coming now.’
A young waitress put a foaming cappuccino down in front of her and asked with a marked Italian accent, ‘Is that everything? I can’t tempt you to some torte? Or Pannetone? We’ve baked our own for Christmas.’
Kate shook her head and smiled. ‘I’m having lunch in an hour, though it sounds terribly tempting.’ When the waitress had gone, she said, ‘So you’ve seen your father?’
‘We met for a pint last night.’ He cleared his throat, then stirred his latte. ‘He wants to come back to you. I get the impression things aren’t entirely going well with Sophie. Don’t take him back, Kate.’
‘Don’t—?’
‘He’s an idiot. He’s done this before and if you take him back, I’m sure he’ll only do it again.’
‘He’s done this before?’
‘He’s had two or three affairs since you were married.’
Is the wife always the last to know? ‘Why the hell didn’t you tell me?’
‘Would you have believed me?’
Kate stared at Harry, dumbfounded. He was right, of course. If he’d come to her with tales of Andrew’s infidelity, she’d have thought he’d been provoked by resentment or spite.
‘Why do you think it’s taken me so long to get married myself? Because I saw the way Dad behaved and I didn’t want to be like that. It’s just taken me a long time to understand that I’m not programmed like him. When I met Jane, everything changed. I knew that there was no-one else I wanted to spend my life with.’
‘I thought you’d be on his side.’
Harry grimaced. ‘I love Dad, of course I do – but it’s in spite of everything. I hate the way he behaves around women, particularly young women. I despise it.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘I’m going to have to go. Sorry. I just wanted to say, I love the way you fight for things, Kate, but I think if you decide to fight to save this marriage you’d be fighting for the wrong thing. Dad’s not worth it.’
He stood up.
‘Sorry. Perhaps I shouldn’t have said anything, but I couldn’t have rested easy if I hadn’t told you how I felt. I’ll get the coffee.’
Kate stood too, raking a hand through her unfamiliarly long hair. ‘Goodness. Wow.’
Harry smiled. ‘Whatever you decide, can we still be friends? I would hate to lose you just as we’ve begun to talk.’
‘You won’t.’ Harry picked up his coat and briefcase and turned away. She called after him, ‘And thanks for being so honest.’
Outside, frost had been replaced by rain, a biting, wind-driven, bone-chilling kind of wetness. Kate put her head down and marched through it to meet Andrew. In the next hour, she supposed, her future would be decided.
Andrew tried to impress her by taking her to The Tower, high in the Museum of Scotland.
‘Hello, darling.’ He bent to kiss her, but she turned her face away, so that his kiss landed awkwardly near her ear.
‘Hello.’
They sat by a window, in a high eyrie with normally spectacular vistas – but today, Edinburgh was looking gray-cauled and sorry, a charcoal city in a pale mist. It had been raining all morning and now damp droplets slid off dark slates and landed in over-full gutters. Far below them, stone-slabbed pavements gleamed in cold light and pedestrians scuttled hopelessly, heads down, hoods up, wanting only to reach their destinations and better cheer. Trees in a nearby graveyard stood barren and black. It was winter, and dismal.
‘Lovely day.’
He smiled at her irony. ‘Nature’s cycle. Without rain there is no life, after winter comes spring.’
‘You’re very jolly.’
‘Wine?’
‘I think it’s absolutely necessary, don’t you?’
He pulled his glasses out of his pocket and slid them onto his nose. It was an affectingly familiar gesture. The lenses w
ere smeared and dusty and she fought the impulse to take them off him and clean them on a handkerchief.
‘Viognier all right?’
‘Perfect.’
How long had it been since she’d told him to go? Four weeks? Five? Six? She searched his face for change, but saw nothing. A faint strain round the eyes, perhaps, but no more than he showed when he was struggling with a novel.
‘How’s the writing?’
He winced, then tried to cover it by whipping off his glasses and playing with the leg, twirling the frame irritatingly to and fro in his hand. ‘All right. Sophie’s flat is rather small.’
‘But temporary, I assume?’
The spectacles twirled again. He laid them on the table, swapped spectacles for wine and tilted the glass away from him, then sideways, then the other way, watching as sugary legs streaked down the glass. ‘If things work out, I guess.’
‘Oh?’
He took a quick sip, followed it with a sizeable gulp, then another. ‘The thing is, Kate, I’m not altogether sure about this.’
‘The wine? We can ask for something different.’ She was being naughty, but couldn’t resist teasing.
‘Not the wine. You know I’m talking about Sophie.’
‘Andrew, you can afford a bigger flat, surely. You could probably afford quite a big house, if it comes to that. Especially when we sell Willow Corner.’
He looked shocked. ‘Sell Willow Corner?’
‘You’ll recall that I’m currently unemployed.’ No need to tell him about the offer of contract work, not yet. ‘The mortgage payments are high and I can’t expect you to go on paying them. And you’ll need capital yourself for somewhere bigger.’
‘But you love Willow Corner.’
He was right. It was more to her than a house. Kate had always felt the connections to her home’s past keenly and she knew she’d miss her muslin-draped eighteenth-century predecessors in their shawls and bonnets, and the nineteenth-century women of the house in their stays and corsets. Stay with us, they seemed to call to her, don’t abandon us.
‘It’s a house,’ she said, stubbornly ignoring them all.
‘The thing is,’ Andrew said slowly, looking at her over his wine, ‘Sophie is – well—’
‘Demanding? Broody? Jealous?’
‘—very young.’
That brought her up short. ‘Oh. Well, you knew that.’
He pursed his lips.
‘Charlotte told me that young flesh fed your vanity.’
His mouth fell open. He dropped the wine glass onto the table, where it toppled precariously. Kate shot out a hand to steady it.
‘She said what?’
‘Was she right?’
His eyes were wide with shock. ‘That’s a terrible thing to say.’
Kate leaned forwards and stared at him intently. ‘But was she right?’
‘Kate, where’s this going? I asked you here today because I wanted to tell you that I think I’ve made a mistake.’
‘Who’s having the salmon?’ They both swivelled abruptly. A waiter was standing by the table, a steaming plate in each white-gloved hand.
‘Here.’ Kate indicated the space in front of her. The waiter placed an immaculately arranged dish of salmon in front of her, then presented Andrew with a sumptuous-looking bowl of braised beef. ‘Thank you.’
‘Will there be anything else?’
She smiled sweetly. ‘Nothing. Thank you.’
They stared at each other across the food. Neither of them picked up a fork.
Andrew said, ‘Your hair suits you like that.’
She ran a hand through the curls. Allowed to go untrimmed for more than three months now, the old cropped style had grown luxuriant and untamed to below her ears.
‘It’s more like when we met. Do you remember that day?’
‘Of course I do, it was just like this. Wet and miserable.’
‘You looked so beautiful.’
‘You looked horribly tempting.’
His conker-brown eyes were hooded and sensual. ‘Kate, I—’
‘Stop.’
‘I wanted to tell—’
‘No. Stop, Andrew. It’s no good reliving the old days. Everything has changed. You know that.’
‘For better or worse? I thought you, of all people, would fight for your marriage.’
‘Vanity is a terrible thing, Andrew.’
‘I didn’t mean— As a principle, I meant, that was all. I’m not so vain as to think you’d love me unconditionally. I just meant ... because you’re a fighter. It’s what I’ve always loved in you.’
‘Has this just been a game, then? To watch me chase after you? To test me against Sophie?’
‘No! You’re twisting everything I say. I didn’t mean that, either.’
‘You’re the one who’s meant to be good with words. You’ll have to be clearer.’
‘I’ve made a terrible error of judgment. I never meant things to go this far.’
‘No.’ Kate lifted the linen serviette on her side plate and spread it across her knees. ‘I don’t suppose you did. You just thought you’d have a nice, comfortable fling, like you have done before, then when you got tired of it, I’d still be there, waiting for you. Trusting you.’
He hung his head, his finger tracing imaginary patterns on the tablecloth. ‘It’s not like that.’
Harry’s words were fresh in her mind. ‘I think it is. How many women, Andrew? Hmm? How many?’
‘Don’t. It was always you, sweetheart. No-one else meant anything.’
‘Then why do it? Did those women mean so little? Did you afford them no dignity?’
His lips were tight. He looked much older today than his fifty-seven years. His skin was grey and there were two loose folds under the chin she had never noticed before. He was becoming gaunt, and it was not a good look.
He swallowed hard. ‘Sophie is a very insistent person. I suppose ... I confess I was flattered, at first. She’s fine-looking, she’s a little mysterious, you know? But I soon discovered that she’s very needy.’
He looked straight at Kate. ‘Not like you, Kate. You’re so brilliantly sure of yourself. So capable. I admire you enormously.’
‘But you still betrayed me.’
‘I’ve been unutterably stupid. I suppose you’re right about vanity. At the end of the day, that’s what it is, isn’t it? Having someone young and beautiful look at you adoringly is deeply gratifying.’
That acknowledgement was a start – but could Andrew really change? If he gave Sophie up and came back home, would suspicion gnaw at her for ever?
She thought of Harry’s words. You’d be fighting for the wrong thing. Dad’s not worth it. ‘Nothing can ever be the same between us, Andrew. Even if I did say you could come back, every time you left the house in the future, I’d think it was to go to Sophie – or Rachel, or Jess or whoever the hell you’d got your eye on.’
‘It wouldn’t be like —’
‘If you smiled at a woman, I’d think you were screwing her. If you even wrote about a pretty girl, I’d draw parallels and imagine you were indulging in some secret liaison.’
‘I’ve told you before that fiction and reality are two very different things.’
This was the moment of choice. In front of her were two paths. One was familiar and would remove many uncertainties. She would be able to stay in Willow Corner, she would work to rebuild trust with the man she had fallen so deeply in love with, the man she had believed she would spend her life with. The other turned a corner and was unmapped, its destination uncharted. She would travel it alone and there would be many difficulties along its course. Two days ago she had walked away from her job to salvage self-respect. Should she abandon her marriage for the same reason? She took a shaky breath.
‘Stop. Enough. It’s over. You know it is. We’ve both got to face it. Perhaps we should both just be grateful that our marriage has lasted sixteen years.’
‘Kate—’
‘No!’ She
threw her linen serviette onto the table. ‘I can’t do this. You made a choice. You’ve made a lot of choices over the years and most of them didn’t fall out in my favour.’
She pushed back her chair and stood up. Andrew jumped to his feet and caught her arm. ‘Don’t go. Please. You haven’t even eaten yet.’
‘I’ve lost my appetite.’
‘She’s not right for me, Kate. You are. I love you.’
She gazed at him steadily. ‘You should have thought of that before.’
‘Please. Let’s talk. There’s Ninian—’
‘Don’t! Don’t you dare use your son as a tool.’
She’d thought her job was the most important thing in her life, until she’d discovered that her family meant more to her than her work. She’d thought her love for Andrew was unassailable until she found that he had demeaned it. Now all that mattered was Ninian, and being true to herself. And in her current situation that meant discovering, all over again, who she was and what she really cared about.
‘Sophie—’
‘Yes, you need to think about Sophie. You owe the girl some honesty. But don’t think about her in the context of your marriage, because that is over.’
She picked up her handbag and walked out. The maitre d’, at the doorway, called after her, ‘Is everything all right? Madam?’ Behind her Andrew stood, helplessly.
She emerged into a pale and watery sunshine. Seeing Andrew had been difficult, but her reaction to his feeble complaints had told her all she needed to know about their marriage. She hadn’t lied to him. No more prevarication. No more fooling herself that maybe, ‘for the sake of Ninian’...
She knew it really was over.
Chapter Thirty
The run-up to Christmas – a time when Ibsen normally found himself at something of a loose end – was exceptionally busy this year. He hadn’t been back to help Kate clear up after the storm. Instead, making the excuse that he had too much to do in the community garden at Summerfield, he’d asked one of his pals from college to help her.
The story about the garden had the merit of being partly true, at least, because there was to be a carol concert in the garden on Christmas Eve, and as it was its very first official event, he wanted the place to look the best it could look at this time of year.
