by Sophie King
She ended the conversation before he could say more.
‘One of your clients, dear?’
He averted his eyes. ‘Actually, she’s a magazine journalist, someone I’ve been working with. She’s given me details of an anti-bullying organisation that might help Freddy.’
Daphne’s heavily powdered face wrinkled with disbelief. ‘You told someone else about it?’
‘She’s a mother. She understands.’
‘And has she met the children?’
She thinks I’m seeing her, thought Mark. ‘No, of course not. I mentioned it over a working lunch.’
‘Well, it’s up to you, Mark, of course, but if I were you, I’d keep things like that in the family. And I’m sure your wife would think the same.’
He waited until she had gone, then went to knock on Florrie’s door. ‘Are you OK in there? Tea’s ready.’
No answer. He tried the handle. The door was locked. When they’d moved in, Florrie had insisted he put a lock on the inside of her door to stop Freddy coming in. But it worked against him too.
‘Florrie?’
‘I’m not hungry.’
‘What’s wrong?’
‘Piss off.’
‘Florrie, you can’t talk to me like that.’
‘Try stopping me.’ There was the sound of muffled sobbing on the other side. Mark tried the handle again. ‘Please let me in.’
‘I want Mum. Why did she go away?’
Mark wanted to pound his head on her door. ‘She’ll ring tonight – at least, she said she’d try. Please, Florrie, open up.’
‘I’ll get her to do it.’ Mark looked down at his son. ‘Go away, Dad, and let me do it.’
Reluctantly he went back to his study, which, at times like this, was a haven. He didn’t understand the kids. They either hated each other or ganged up against him. Slowly he dialled the educational psychologist’s number again.
Amazingly, someone was still there to make an appointment. He couldn’t be fitted in for a few weeks but fixing a date made him feel better. Now he could hear muffled voices through Florrie’s door so perhaps Freddy was getting somewhere. Better not go out or he might mess it up.
Receiving mail.
Mark scanned the message and groaned. Crazy! First his clients were mad at him and now they wanted to entertain him. The last thing he needed. But he couldn’t afford to annoy them. Providing, of course, that Daphne could babysit.
The following week was the usual mixture of work, arguments with the children and a few stilted phone conversations with Hilary. Florrie was being nicer, although Freddy had got moodier.
Sometimes Mark suspected they took it in turns. It was a relief to get out on Friday night.
‘Why are you all dressed up?’ asked Florrie, suspiciously.
‘I told you. I’ve got a client do.’
He knocked on Freddy’s door. ‘Coming down to say goodbye?’ He went in. Freddy was lying on his bed, cheeks flushed. ‘Are you ill?’asked Mark, concerned.
‘No.’ He glared at Mark and sat up. ‘Give me some space, Dad.’
‘Come on.’ Mark didn’t want to leave him like this. ‘Come and sit with Granny.’
Reluctantly Freddy followed him downstairs. ‘Florrie and I don’t want you to go out. We don’t want to be alone.’
‘You’re not, dear. I’m here!’ Daphne settled herself comfortably in an armchair. ‘I thought we could watch that nice auction programme.’
‘You’ll like that, Freddy,’ said Florrie, sniggering. ‘Ouch. Dad – stop him!’
‘Freddy, please behave.’ Mark heard the weariness in his voice. ‘Now, you know I’ve got to stay over for the meeting tomorrow morning, don’t you, Daphne?’
His mother-in-law shot him a knowing look. ‘Don’t worry about us, dear.’ She began to fiddle with the remote control. ‘How does this work, Freddy?’
He left them to it, adjusting his bow-tie in the hall mirror as he left. An uncomfortable stranger stared back at him; he wasn’t used to seeing himself in evening dress. Still, it made a change.
It took longer than he’d allowed to drive to London and find an NCP. By the time he’d entered the glittering hotel foyer, the place was teeming. It was an annual glitzy affair that he’d been to a couple of times with Hilary. In a way, he was relieved she wasn’t there: the last time, she had shunned small-talk with a potential client, dismissing him later as boring. Mark hadn’t got the contract.
Checking the table plan, he made his way to his hosts, who were quaffing champagne. ‘Mingling, are you, Mark? Good to see you. We need as much publicity as we can get. How about some coverage in the Telegraph? I see they’ve got someone here.’
‘I’ll try to find them.’ Grateful for the excuse, he moved into the crowd. No wonder some journalists despised PRs, he thought. At times they were no better than glorified salesmen.
‘Mark.’
He swung round. ‘Caroline! You look lovely.’ She did. That long red dress was stunning, and so were her bare shoulders. He ached to stroke them. ‘Are you with your husband?’
Something wavered in her beautiful grey-blue eyes. ‘No. He’s on a business trip. I’m with a friend. He’s gone to get a drink.’
He touched her right arm. The feel of her flesh was electric.
‘Look, I really need to talk to you.’
‘Please, Mark. No.’ She looked around, as if to check that no one was listening. ‘I don’t want to talk about what – what happened. It shouldn’t have. We both know that.’
‘But you’re not happy. And neither am I.’
‘That’s no excuse.’
‘Isn’t it?’
‘No, it’s not. Just because your wife’s in America and—’
‘She’s not.’
‘What?’
‘She’s not in America.’
‘Then where is she?’
Sod it. He’d had enough of pretending to himself and the kids. Daphne might be able to carry it off and make excuses, but he couldn’t. Not any more.
‘She’s in prison.’ He laughed hoarsely. ‘That’s where she is, Caroline. In prison.’
40
‘Prison?’ Caroline wondered if she’d heard him correctly, with all the laughter, chattering and music around her. ‘Did you say “prison”?’
An older woman next to her turned sharply at the word and Mark nodded. His eyes were feverishly bright but his face was set. ‘That’s right. Shall we find somewhere quieter?’
She looked round for Jeff but he was lost in a crowd at the bar. It was rude of her to disappear but this was an emergency.
Clutching her still-full glass of champagne, she followed him out into the reception area and then an anteroom where there was a sofa. They sat down in unspoken agreement. ‘What did she do?’
‘Insider dealing.’ He spoke dully to the pale green wall behind her. ‘I told you she worked for an investment bank. Well, she bought some shares in another company, acting on a tip that she shouldn’t have – it’s complicated but there was a conflict of client interest – and she got caught.’
‘You didn’t know about it?’
‘She told me the extra money was a bonus.’ He shrugged ruefully. ‘I’m not great on finance – it’s not my field. In the end, she lied so much that she ended up believing herself.’
‘But why? Did you need the money?’
‘Not really. That was the crazy thing. But you have to know Hilary to understand. She’s fiercely ambitious and she likes nice things. God knows why she married me.’
‘Because you’re funny and warm and charming?’ suggested Caroline, softly. ‘Which prison is she in?’
He named one not far from London. ‘It’s one of the few in the south-east for women. And it’s got a good psychiatric unit, which is what Hilary needs. She’s in complete denial. Says she can’t remember any of it.’ He rubbed his eyes. ‘She’s depressed, too, so they’ve got her on these drugs that make her all dopey.’ He shuddered. ‘When I visit,
the noise is unbearable. You sit in a room full of tables and chairs and have to shout to make yourself heard.’
This was awful. ‘But the children? Do they go?’
‘We haven’t told them.’
‘What?’
‘Hilary wouldn’t let me. She was so ashamed. It was true about her getting the transfer to New York and she’d have gone, too, if she hadn’t been caught. Shows how bad our relationship had got. But after she was convicted, she begged me to tell the kids she’d gone to the States for work. That was why we moved out of London to Oxford. Daphne lives there and no one else knew us, so they wouldn’t be able to tell the kids about Hilary. It’s a miracle we’ve managed to get away with it.’
He ran his fingers through his hair. ‘Christ, we even buy American postcards and stamps to send to the kids, imitating Hilary’s writing, to keep up the pretence. And because we can’t really post them – not with American stamps – we slip them into the post pile every now and then. We can’t ring her directly. In an emergency, we have to leave a message for her to call us. She’s allowed to phone us but only at certain times. You can imagine how hard that is for the kids.’
Someone walked past and Caroline paused until they were out of earshot. ‘Why didn’t you tell me the truth sooner?’
‘I didn’t know you. On the way back to the station after we’d kissed, I wanted to. But it didn’t seem the right time.’
Somehow her hand slipped into his. ‘You poor thing.’
He stiffened. ‘I don’t want sympathy.’
‘No, I can understand that. Do you miss her?’
Mark took his hand back. ‘I miss her for the children’s sake, but for me it’s a relief.’ He grimaced. ‘Terrible confession, I know, but she’s been impossible for years with awful temper tantrums or just being cold and distant.’
‘That last bit sounds familiar,’ murmured Caroline.
‘It got worse when she moved jobs. Working in money can do that to you and Daphne says she always had to be the best. But she didn’t seem like that when we got married. I think I told you she got sort of depressed after Freddy. She used to get all withdrawn and say she’d never be taken seriously at work because she had two kids.’
‘It’s not easy when you’re a mother and have a career,’ said Caroline, quietly.
‘I know, but—’
‘Caroline! There you are. I’ve been looking everywhere.’
She sprang up as Jeff approached, with more drinks. ‘I’m so sorry. This is Mark. We’ve been working together. Mark, this is Jeff, a friend of the family.’
The two men shook hands and she couldn’t help appraising them. She’d always considered Jeff tall but Mark towered over him.
‘I’m taking Caroline’s husband’s place tonight because he’s at a conference,’ said Jeff.
Despite what Mark had told her, she wanted to laugh. Dear old Jeff. So serious and honourable, making it clear he wasn’t her date and, if she wasn’t mistaken, flagging up her marital status.
Then she wondered if he’d picked up on the atmosphere between her and Mark and, suddenly, felt uncomfortable.
‘We had to talk work, I’m afraid, and it was too noisy in there.’
‘I won’t bother you, then.’
‘No, it’s fine.’ Mark stood up abruptly. ‘We’d just finished. Caroline, perhaps we can talk next week. Goodbye, Jeff. Nice to meet you.’
His table was nowhere nears hers. She spent most of the first and second courses looking around for him without success. Prison!
‘You’re very quiet.’ Jeff topped up her glass. ‘I’m sure he’s all right.’ It took a second to register that he was talking about Roger, not Mark. ‘It is a conference, you know. One of our chaps has gone.’
‘I’m beginning not to care,’ she said lightly. ‘You said to me, soon after it happened, that if I spent the rest of my life panicking about whether Roger would do it again I’d go crazy. You’re right. If he does, he does. At least now I know that I wouldn’t put up with it again.’
‘Caroline!’ A woman’s shrill voice cut in on them. ‘I didn’t know you were coming! Almost didn’t recognise you without your tennis gear! Rupert, this is Caroline.’
Caroline shook the limp hand of a short, squat man in a white dinner jacket next to Ginny, a flurry of white teeth and pink satin.
‘Rupert’s just taken over a PR company,’ she boomed, ‘haven’t you, darling? That’s why we had to come.’ She beamed at Jeff. ‘You must be Caroline’s husband.’
‘No,’ they said together.
‘Caroline’s husband is away on business,’ said Jeff, smoothly, ‘so he asked me to accompany his lovely wife.’
‘How sweet,’ simpered Ginny.
Her husband linked his arm through hers. ‘Better circulate, darling.’
‘Absolutely, Rupee. See you next week, Caroline.’
Jeff waited until they were out of earshot. ‘Doesn’t seem your type of friend.’
‘She’s not. But we met at the tennis club and she asked me to join her doubles set. I go for the exercise rather than the company.’
Caroline watched Ginny weave through the crowds, her husband’s arm round her waist. He might be short and squat with a limp handshake, but the realisation that they had more of a rapport than she and Roger could ever have made her immeasurably sad.
‘Would you like to dance, Caroline?’
They’d finished dinner but she couldn’t stop thinking about Mark’s wife. Jeff, as always, had been an attentive dining companion and talked entertainingly about his work and the woman barrister who had been pursuing him. He was always being chased by women.
Privately, Roger maintained that his friend embellished each situation to make a good story, but the rapt attention he was attracting from the pretty brunette on his right suggested otherwise.
‘I’d love to.’
The music was excellent. She adored the old tunes from the seventies that made her feel young again. Looking back, as she did too often nowadays, it was the only time when she had been truly herself.
‘You’ve got more stamina than me,’ gasped Jeff, after half an hour of golden oldies. ‘Where did you learn to jive like that?’
‘Roger taught me. Years ago.’
‘I’d forgotten how well he could dance.’
‘He doesn’t now. At least, not with me.’
‘Don’t, Caroline. You’ll torment yourself.’
His sympathy irritated her and she turned to go back to their table.
‘Hello again.’ Mark looked up as they reached it. ‘Would you like to dance?’
‘We’ve just been on the floor,’ said Jeff, pulling out Caroline’s chair.
She put her bag on it. ‘Actually, I’d love to.’ What right had Jeff to decide what she should do? ‘Thanks.’
Mark was an amazing dancer, seeming to know instinctively which way she was going to turn. Yet at first she felt inhibited.
Dancing with Jeff had been like wearing a familiar pair of socks, but with Mark it was like slipping into an Agent Provocateur basque. Thrilling but unexpectedly comfortable – and so different from that terrible party in Oxford when she and Roger had been unable to look each other in the eye.
‘That was great. Thanks.’ He smiled at her. ‘Stay for another?’
She nodded as the slow music started. Without saying anything, he drew her to him, his arm round her waist. Careful to keep some space between them, she put one hand on his shoulder and the other in his. The feel of his skin sent electric shocks through her. ‘I keep thinking about what you did,’ she said softly.
‘And I keep thinking I shouldn’t have.’
She felt headily irresponsible, all sensible decisions flying out of her head. ‘I’m glad you did. I mean, we did.’
His hand tightened round her waist and she wished Jeff wasn’t sitting at the table, waiting for her. Slowly, his hand stroked her back.
‘Mark, don’t.’ She disengaged herself. ‘I have to go. Sorry.
’
The ball ended just after midnight. ‘Sure you want to stay overnight?’ repeated Jeff. ‘I could easily drive you back.’
‘I’ve booked a room so I can do some early Christmas shopping in town tomorrow morning. Georgie’s on a sleepover so I thought it would be a good excuse. It was lovely of you to be here with me tonight.’
‘It was lovely of you to ask me.’ He bent forwards to kiss her cheek. ‘Take care. I’ll call next week.’
She went up the stairs past the framed Monet prints and along the cream corridor and into her room. Strange to be on her own in a hotel without Roger. Ironic that the noise at home drove her mad, but when she was away she missed it. She lay down on the double bed, still in her dress. She’d wanted to stay with Mark but it had been too weird with Jeff watching.
Her mobile rang.
‘Mum?’
‘Annabel!’
‘I rang home and Ben said you were at some ball.’ She sounded suspicious. ‘Why isn’t Dad there?’
‘He’s at a conference –’ Caroline forced herself to speak evenly and reassuringly ‘– and I had to be here for work. But what about you? Is everything all right?’
‘Fine. Look, I can’t be long because I’ve run out of credit and I’m using a friend’s mobile. Just to say I’ll be at Auntie Janie’s next week. We’re having an extra week in Queensland.’
‘Are you having a good time?’
‘Brilliant.’
‘Be safe, Bella.’
‘I will. Love you. Must go. ’Bye.’
She’d gone. There had been so many questions Caroline had wanted to ask. The phone rang by the bed. Annabel again?
‘Hello?’
‘Are you still awake?’
She moistened her lips. ‘Very much so.’
‘Look, I’m sorry but I saw you going into your room. I’m staying over too and I wondered if you wanted a nightcap. Are you still dressed?’
‘Yes. Sorry. I’m a bit disoriented. My daughter’s just rung from Australia.’
‘That must have been reassuring.’
‘It was.’
