‘Rupert, not here,’ I said breathlessly, pushing him away. ‘This is my home – Marcus’s home, for God’s sake.’
‘Fair enough,’ he said quietly, but his breath was coming in bursts like mine. His eyes burning. ‘So let’s go.’
‘Both of us?’ I said fearfully.
‘Of course, both of us. Pack a bag.’ It was said reasonably, but nevertheless with some force.
‘But what will Marcus think, if I’m not here when he gets back?’ I was thinking aloud now.
‘Were you supposed to be here?’
‘No, but …’
‘So how were you going to get to London?’
‘Take a taxi to the station, I suppose. Then a train …’
‘Exactly. So leave a note to that effect. Why d’you need to see him to tell him that?’
I twisted my hands in agitation as I paced the kitchen. I flicked up the lights again. He was right – I didn’t need to see Marcus. But I had wanted to wait, to talk to him. Just to see …
‘And anyway, how d’you know he’ll be coming straight back? The chances are he’ll assume you’ll go when you’ve seen Angus off, won’t he? Maybe he won’t come straight home.’
I swung around. ‘You mean …’
He shrugged. ‘Sunday night. Why come back to an empty house? Why not go to Perdita’s?’
I went cold at her name. Stopped at the sink and hung on, gazing into the white porcelain. ‘Yes. Yes, you’re probably right. It’s on the way back.’ I imagined him driving slowly past the riding stables, seeing a light on in her cottage. Pausing in the lane, turning into the yard. Parking under her bedroom window, a smile playing on his lips as he got out of the car and went to ring the bell. And who was the fool? Waiting here all alone? I turned. Licked my lips.
‘Wait there, I’ll pack a bag.’
Ten minutes later I was sitting beside him in his car as we purred smoothly back down the dark lanes that threaded through the valley. It was raining heavily now, and I watched as the windscreen wipers hypnotically swiped away sheets of silver-black water. I looked beyond them into the dark night, into the black fields and the dripping trees. Silence floated between us. My mind was spinning. I didn’t speak until we’d reached the motorway.
‘You’ve put me in an invidious position, Rupert,’ I said, my voice quavering. ‘By meeting Angus. He’s bound to mention it to Marcus at some stage. You’re forcing my hand. Pushing things along. I don’t like that. Don’t like being manipulated.’
I was shocked at hearing myself say those words, at the force of my feeling. But it was true. I didn’t like it.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said quietly after a moment’s thought. ‘You’re quite right. I’ve comprehensively let the cat out of the bag, but the truth is, I didn’t know he was there. Angus, I mean. I saw Marcus pack the car, and Lily and Angus come out. I assumed he was taking them both back to school. I wasn’t aware that Angus didn’t get in the car, he must just have been seeing them off. I saw you go for a walk with the dog, and got the shock of my life when I rang the doorbell ten minutes later and Angus answered. I’d only rung to check the house was empty.’
My mind whirled at the scenario. ‘Right. So then what were you going to do – break in and wait for me?’
‘Not break in, no. The key’s under a brick by the back door.’
I inhaled sharply.?
‘And I would have waited until Bill had shut up the chickens and gone back to his cottage.’
His cottage. He knew where Bill lived. Really knew the lie of the land. I turned to look at him, at his straight nose and full lips, his strong profile against the dark, rain-spattered window.
‘You mean business, don’t you?’
He paused. Gave this some thought. ‘I don’t want to lose you again, Henny, if that’s what you mean. And I don’t think you mean to lose me.’
We came to a halt at some lights. He reached out and put his hand on my leg in the dark. Slid it further up my thigh. I felt my insides melt at his touch.
As the lights changed, he put his hand back on the wheel. I shifted position. Extraordinary, the way he just had to touch me …I stared out of the window as rows of black houses under a phosphorescent glow rushed by. I felt foolish. Naive. Vulnerable even. This was quite a carnal awakening, something I hadn’t expected at this stage of my life. Was this how it was for Marcus and Perdita, I wondered? Tingling with longing whenever they touched? I’d felt contemptuous of that, always had done, but …surely this was different. After all, I had once loved Rupert very much. Even so …I licked my lips.
‘Rupert, when we get back to London, could we go out? You know, have supper somewhere?’
‘Sure,’ he said easily. ‘I’d rather planned on us eating. I haven’t had much today. But I thought we might eat in. Bought a couple of steaks.’
‘Oh. Oh, fine. I just didn’t want …’
‘What, to fall into bed?’ He smiled. ‘To be dragged back to my lair, caveman-style by your hair? I do have a few subtle moves, Henny. Don’t do everything SAS-style. And listen, no pressure, OK? None at all. When we’ve eaten, I can drop you back to Kensington if you like.’
I nodded, relieved. But we both knew that wouldn’t happen. Somehow, though, I felt better having the option in place. If the intent wasn’t there, if nothing was premeditated …well then, somehow that absolved me of guilt, didn’t it?
Who was I trying to kid?
An hour or so later we were climbing the stairs to the Albany flat. I’d decided en route that I was cooking, and would make a sauce to go with the steaks, and Rupert was reminding me of the last time I’d cooked for him, about fifteen years ago, in my parents’ flat. Chicken in a cream sauce, apparently, which my mother did a lot, but that night, I couldn’t find the recipe for it. My parents had gone to the cinema so I’d cooked it for Rupert and Benji: three chicken breasts with a carton of cream, heated and poured over the top.
‘You ate it,’ I giggled as we climbed the stairs. ‘You actually ate it!’
‘God, it must have been love,’ he groaned. ‘I felt as sick as a dog, I remember that. Benji gave his to the cat, as I recall.’
‘And then tried to spy on us when I sent him to bed. We were snogging on the sofa in front of Fawlty Towers, remember?’
‘I do. And his head kept popping round the door with those beady brown eyes. He was frightfully interested for one whose predilection was so clearly in the other direction.’
‘Oh.’ I paused on the landing. ‘You mean you always knew?’
He shrugged as he put the key in the door. ‘Well, I was pretty sure he wasn’t interested in women. You had that incredibly pneumatic young neighbour, remember –’
‘Tammy.’
‘Tammy! Exactly. She kept making passes at Benji in the corridor, squeezing past him wearing next to nothing, tits hanging out, and then ringing the doorbell in a towel to borrow a pint of milk. I remember Benji passing it to her with weary indifference, glancing over her shoulder to see if she’d brought brother Michael along, wondering if he needed an extra pinta too.’
I giggled as he shut the door behind us. ‘Yes, you’re right. How funny that you remember that.’ I flung my handbag on the hall chair, feeling lighter now, easier. ‘Yes, I suppose he made no secret of his sexuality really. It’s a wonder it took us all so long to click. One just assumes one’s brother is straight, I suppose.’
‘And he’s happy?’
I followed him into the sitting room. ‘Oh very. He found Francis pretty quickly. They’ve been together for years. Francis lives with him. In the house you –’
‘I know,’ he said quickly.
I was about to say, ‘In the house you saw me go into, in Chelsea,’ but perhaps he didn’t want to be reminded of another undercover operation. Another time he’d watched me, loitering this time under a Chelsea lamp-post, having followed me home from work. I tried not to, but had a quick mental picture of him on the Tube, watching me from down the other end of the carriag
e perhaps, behind a newspaper. Well, nothing wrong with that, I thought staunchly. I should be flattered. How many middle-aged women could boast a gorgeous man like Rupert watching their every move? I shivered. The flat was dark, and on the chilly side. I could do with a drink.
‘Gin and tonic?’ Rupert read my mind as he raced around turning lights on.
‘Please.’
‘Bum-freezing in here, sorry.’ He put a match to the gas-effect fire, then turned and caught me in his arms. Gave me a quick excited kiss, before moving on. ‘Now, to the kitchen, since you’re determined to redeem yourself. Although what you’ll find to make a sauce with I’ve no idea.’
I followed as he opened the fridge door with a flourish and brought out some rather tired-looking mushrooms. Made a face.
‘Oops. Sorry.’
‘Nothing wrong with them. I’ll fry them up and add – I don’t know …tomato purée?’
‘Now that I have got.’ He reached up and passed it to me from a cupboard.
‘And wine?’
‘Wine.’ He lunged and seized a half-empty bottle. ‘Which’ll be fine for cooking, but I’m going to go round the corner to get a decent bottle for us to drink.’
‘And the steaks?’
‘In that plastic bag. You’re not going to start cooking them yet, are you?’
‘Why not? I thought about twenty minutes on each side?’ I grinned as his face fell. ‘Relax. I’ll pass them quickly round a hot pan when you get back. I have acquired a few culinary skills along the way, you know. No, I just thought I might season them, that’s all.’
‘Ah.’ He grinned. ‘Had me worried there. Thought I’d be chewing leather. Right – I’ll be back in a jiffy, the offlicence is only round the corner.’ He grabbed his wallet, then hesitated.
I smiled. ‘Go on then,’ I said softly. ‘And don’t worry. I won’t be gone before you get back.’
Our eyes met in recognition. He gave a rueful smile and then, with a backward wave, he went.
I took the steaks out of the bag. Yes. Odd that we could read each other so comprehensively. That he knew I was nervous about being here. That he felt he had to reassure me. I could feel him willing me to realize that once we’d been to bed together, all would be well. I sensed we both knew that, and that was why he was so anxious to get that hurdle out of the way. For us to officially be lovers. No question about it. To lie in bed all day if we felt like it, stroll hand-in-hand along Piccadilly. He wanted to put his marker down, say, ‘There, mission accomplished.’ And why was I so nervous all of a sudden? Why was I holding back?
I wasn’t, I reasoned, as I chopped the mushrooms and let them soften in some butter in a pan. I watched as they sizzled. I wasn’t holding back. I just hadn’t, in my mind, figured on being here with him tonight, that’s all. A couple of hours ago I was in the bosom of my family, wondering whether to attempt a reconciliation with Marcus – doomed, I realized now, as he was doubtless at Perdita’s – and now, here I was in Rupert’s flat. I didn’t like surprises. I’d somehow assumed I’d go back to work for a few days, and then – well, maybe he’d contact me next week. By which time, I’d be dying to see him. And by which time Marcus, in all probability, would have left a cold little message on my answer machine about arrangements for our next meeting with the children, details of where and when we were to break the news of our split to them, and I’d be feeling rejected and unloved.
Yes, that was it, I thought, glancing up from the pan. I wanted to feel like the victim, not the aggressor. Wanted to be able to justify my actions, but Rupert was forcing the pace. Our pace. I took a huge slug of my gin. You’re just nervous, I told myself. It’s a long time since you’ve been with another man, that’s all it is. I gripped my drink and wandered into the bedroom as the mushrooms fried. And you know very well that once he takes you in his arms, brings you in here, you’ll be lost. I held myself tightly, gazing down at the bed, feeling that warm glow already. Then my eyes fell on the chest of drawers, the photographs. Suddenly I darted across. Oh yes, those photos.
I picked up the one taken from his cottage in Ireland, the view of the hills, and quickly took the back off. It wasn’t hard, it almost fell apart in my hands, as it had done when Rupert had first shown it to me, when some photos had fallen out which he’d stuffed back in rather too quickly. I sifted through them. Well, how odd. There was the one of his mother that I’d spotted, and an old one of him and Peter as children, but not the one I’d felt he hadn’t wanted me to see. There had definitely been three in here, and one was missing. Was it of me, I wondered? And had he been embarrassed still to have it, to be carrying my likeness around when I’d married, had children, moved on?
I put the pictures back swiftly, just as the telephone rang by the bed, making me jump. I stared at it. Should I answer it? No, of course not. This wasn’t my house. Just let it ring. As it happened, after two rings, an answer machine clicked in. I listened to Rupert’s voice advising the caller to leave a message, and then after the tone:
‘Rupert, it’s me, Dad. Listen, can you give me a ring when you get back? There’s something I want to talk to you about. I know we both hate Sunday-night callers, but it’s important. Thanks, bye.’
I frowned. Andrew. What could be so important? Well, just about anything, Henny; you don’t know all there is to know about their family life, do you? Maybe someone was ill, maybe anything. I jumped as it rang again, but this time it was a different ring. A charge of the light brigade summons. A mobile one. The one that Lily insisted I had. I darted to my bag in the hall and fished it out.
‘Hello?’
As I answered, Rupert came back through the front door. He raised enquiring eyebrows at seeing me on my phone.
‘Darling? It’s me.’
‘Oh hi, Mum,’ I said publicly, letting Rupert know.
He grinned and moved past me to put the bottles on the side in the kitchen. Two, I noticed, as I followed him through, and some Cointreau, to which I was particularly partial, and which he no doubt remembered.
‘Darling, is this a good time? I’m not disturbing you?’
I picked up my wooden spoon and turned the mushrooms. ‘No, it’s fine, Mum. I was just, um, getting some supper.’ I blushed and saw Rupert smile as he prepared to pull a cork.
‘Oh, but I tried the flat. Your machine’s on.’
‘Er, yes, sorry. I put it on because I was going to have a quiet night in. You know, just watching telly.’ There was a silence. I frowned into it. ‘Mum? Are you OK?’
She sighed. ‘Not great, my love.’
My stomach flipped. ‘Oh Mum, why?’ I left the mushrooms and turned round in alarm. Heard her swallow hard.
‘I don’t know. I suppose it’s only just hit me. Your father and everything. I’m just …well, I’m having a bad moment, that’s all.’
I gulped. ‘Oh Mum. Poor you.’
I felt sick suddenly. Poor Mum. Golly, we’d all assumed so much. Taken so much for granted. Her strength at the funeral, her seeming imperviousness to Dad’s death. Of course, it was bound to take its toll. I was frightened by her silence on the other end, though. Usually you couldn’t get a word in edgeways.
‘Mum?’
No answer.
‘Mum, are you all right?’ I felt panicky suddenly. ‘D’you want me to come over?’
‘Would you, my love?’ Her voice wavered.
‘Of course I will. Of course.’
Chapter Twenty-four
I saw Rupert’s eyes cloud over as I clicked off the phone.
‘You’re going over there?’
‘I have to, Rupert, she’s upset. God, my father only died a week ago, we’re all upset. I have to go to her.’ My voice broke as I said it.
‘Of course,’ he said quickly, recovering himself as I dashed around scooping up my bag, my coat. ‘Why don’t I drop you?’
‘No, I’ll get a taxi. Why should you?’
‘Because I want to.’
I turned at his voice. Suddenly I s
aw how forlorn he looked, standing in his kitchen, arms limp and helpless by his sides, his steaks and wine on the table, his romantic evening evaporating before his eyes. I went across and hugged him hard. Kissed him on the lips.
‘I’m sorry. I’ll be back,’ I promised.
‘Tonight?’ he said hopefully.
I smiled. ‘If I can. If she’s not too upset. But Rupert, if not, well then tomorrow, or the next day. Or even next week. We’ve got so much time. We’ve got all the time in the world, haven’t we?’ I gave him a little shake, forcing a smile out of him. ‘What’s the rush?’
He grinned sheepishly. Scratched his head. ‘You’re right. There is no rush. It’s just …well, now I’ve got you, Henny, I so badly don’t want to let you go.’
‘I know. And I understand that. But Rupert, I’m not going anywhere, OK?’
‘OK,’ he agreed.
We kissed again, and then again, a bit more passionately this time, dangerously so. Laughing, we untangled ourselves.
But as I ran lightly down the stairs to the front door, shutting it behind me, why all the while did I feel a curious sense of freedom stealing over my soul? Why so liberated, as I ran out into the rain-soaked street, as if I’d escaped? No, that was just my imagination, I reasoned, hurrying along. That was ridiculous.
I could easily have got a taxi in Piccadilly, but the traffic was heavy for a Sunday night, so I dived down into the Tube. Quicker, I reasoned, and somehow, being amongst all these anonymous Sunday-night people rattling along to their various destinations – their homes, their families – suited my mood. As I emerged into the dank night air, I fished in my bag and rang Benji. Francis answered.
Not That Kind of Girl Page 33
