A Married Man Part 23

'So.' Charlie eventually broke the silence. 'I'm glad we've got that sorted out. Now, back to the sofa, young lady, before you catch your death.'

And this time, happily, she obeyed.

When she'd disappeared and the door had closed behind her, I leaned, weakly, against the door frame. Slipped on my shoes. Felt all in, actually. Charlie took my face in his hands.

'I had no idea you knew so much about snakes,' he murmured.

'Tip of the iceberg,' I muttered. 'Trust me. There's plenty more where that came from.'

'I can't wait,' he whispered. 'I'll ring you, my precious.' He bent down to kiss me. 'A bientot.'

And with that, I turned and tripped down the steps into the street, where actually, I was very pleased to be.

I hurried along, not stopping until I reached the relative safety of my own road. Well, you know, my old, own road. I bent my head against a chilly breeze and folded my arms, trying to gauge my feelings. I was obviously disappointed to have had our afternoon curtailed in such an abrupt manner, but annoyingly, rather ashamed, too. Guilty, even. And it wasn't even as if we'd done anything much to feel guilty about, I reasoned, with mounting irritation. Just a grapple in a broom cupboard, for heaven's sake. But it was as if, before the fun had even started, before we'd even begun to live dangerously, all the gremlins were closing in around us. Threatening to spoil things for us, forcing us to think about the implications our affair would have on others. So unfair. I kicked miserably at an old c.o.ke can. I mean, sure, six months into an affair, you might kind of feel you deserved all that, but on the first date blimey.

I pulled my jacket around me, glad of its warmth. The sun had gone in and the first few, huge spots of rain were plopping down. I wished I had my jeans on and not this stupid skirt.

As I reached my house, I stared up. Behind that ground-floor curtain would be Rozanna and Hector, shaping up to lunch after a nice nudey sketching session. Upstairs would be Ray and Theo, playing cribbage perhaps, enjoying a pre-lunch sherry and listening to The World At One. Upstairs again, would be Teresa, draining a pan of spaghetti in the sink for Carlo who, Italian-style, insisted on putting his feet under his own table every lunchtime and sharing a bottle of wine with his wife. I hesitated. Should I join them? I could, easily. But on the other hand, what would I say? 'Oh hi, Teresa, I'm back. Yes, you see, my lover and I were disturbed by his eight-yearold daughter, oh, and his sister too,' who, now I came to think of it ... I narrowed my eyes reflectively at the wet pavement ... I was sure I recognised, just from that brief glimpse through the door. I'd seen her before, somewhere, but couldn't for the life of me think where. Oh well. I shivered. Consulted my watch. I couldn't possibly pick Jack up yet, it was much too early and he'd be sure to know I'd had a disastrous afternoon. I wasn't convinced I could cope with his smirking. Instead, on an impulse, I turned on my kitten heels, walked smartly up to the end of the road, then headed left down the King's Road, to buy a pair of jeans.

Chapter Seventeen.

When I arrived at Jack's location a little while later, it's fair to say I wasn't in the best of humours. I drove down a quiet, leafy backstreet just off Cheyne Walk, gazing up at a row of tiny mews houses of all different shapes, sizes and colours, stopping outside the requisite one, a rather dear little pale blue affair. At the top of some smart, well-scrubbed steps, a gleaming white front door with a large, shiny bra.s.s knocker in the shape of a lion's head rose up; on either side of the door, two square, Versailles planters frothed over with a delightful abundance of ivy and petunias, and in the window boxes, lacy lobelia blossomed. All of this, for some reason, made me even more cross. I stared up in grudging admiration at this exquisite doll's house; small, but on three floors, and no doubt absolute heaven inside, all chintzy and feminine, and with a sweet little manicured garden at the back, which, I was sure, if you stood on a chair and craned your neck, would offer a splendid view of the river. It was the sort of house I would cheerfully have killed for, but then again, I thought with a sigh, how many people would kill for a beautifully converted barn in idyllic Oxfordshire? Or any sort of house at all? A cottage, a council house, a shack, a box, a yes all right, we get the point, Lucy.

All the same, I thought, glancing back enviously as I purred past, trying to find a parking s.p.a.ce, it was typical of Jack to have a floozie in such an exclusive location. For all his irritating, libertine ways, you had to hand it to the man, he had some style, even if I couldn't park in this wretched, stylish road, full of wretched, stylish- 'ARRGGH!' I finally gave up and screeched backwards until I was bang outside the house again. I sounded the horn impatiently and glared up. No response. d.a.m.n. Where was he? I opened the window and peeped the horn again, rather more urgently this time. Two seconds later, an upstairs sash window flew up. A pretty, auburn-haired girl with dark, glittering eyes stuck her head out.

"Ello?' she cooed.

'Oh, h.e.l.lo, is Jack there, by any chance?' I yelled. 'Jacques? Yes, he here, hang on. Ja-acques!' she called in a heavy French accent. She popped back in.

And that was another thing, I seethed, as I waited, tapping the steering wheel impatiently. They were always b.l.o.o.d.y foreign. Buxom Brazilian beauties, pneumatic Australian au pairs, and now this dusky French maiden. He seemed to conjure them up like a magician from a hat, all in national dress or undress presumably like a stream of silky hankies. What was wrong with a home-grown, indigenous one, for heaven's sake? Too parochial? Too pedestrian? Too unimaginative in bed? Oh come on, Jack!

A moment later she was back at the window, and with 'Jacques' beside her. At least they were dressed.

'Oh, hi!' He looked surprised. Leaned out on the windowsillin his shirt-sleeves. 'You're early. I wasn't expecting you until a bit later.'

'Something came up,' I said coolly. 'Not too inconvenient, I hope,' I muttered through clenched teeth.

'Sorry?'

'I said, I hope it isn't inconvenient!'

'No, no,' he grinned. 'It's fine. We'd pretty much finished here, hadn't we, Pascale?'

He turned to his French pal who giggled wildly behind her hand. 'I don't zink so!'

'Oh, come now, Pascale,' he grinned. 'Can't go on all day. Well, I know you can. This is Pascale De Maupessant, by the way,' he called, turning back to me. 'Lucy Fellowes.'

'A pleasure,' she beamed, prettily. 'Won't you come in?'

'I can't park,' I yelled. 'Jack, I'm sorry to be a bore, but could we you know . .

'Give me five minutes,' he called down. 'Just one or two things I need to clarify with Pascale.'

He winked broadly at me before shutting the window again. Their figures moved away from the gla.s.s, and out of sight. I imagined them though, moving back towards the bed; her reaching up to his shoulders, pouting prettily and trying to cajole him duvet-wards, covering him with kisses, whilst he, kissing her back, reached for his jacket, his wallet, fumbled for his shoes, simultaneously murmuring that of course he'd see her soon, very soon, the very next time he was in London in fact, but the old tartar outside was clearly in a filthy mood and mustn't be kept waiting too long otherwise ... mmmmm ... mmmmmm... OK, just one last ... kiss ... at which point he'd drop his jacket and wallet, take her firmly in his arms and kiss her, very comprehensively, on the mouth.

I leaned back on my head-rest with a deep sigh. A sour and angry feeling flooded through me. In an effort to dispel it, I rummaged in the glove compartment and found an old Polo mint. I crunched hard, but the bitter taste of uncontrollable jealousy prevailed. G.o.d, where was I going so wrong? It should have been me having the gaudy afternoon, not him. I hadn't chauffeured him up here to get his rocks off while I had an unsatisfactory grapple in a broom cupboard, for heaven's sake! I ground the mint to a pulp, and by the time he emerged through the front door, was ready to blow.

He sauntered casually down the steps, jacket nonchalantly slung over one shoulder, looking, 1 had to admit, rather attractively rumpled and post-coital, as he glanced up to the top floor, and blew Pascale a beguiling kiss. She blew an equally coquettish one back.

'Oh, for pity's sake!' I reached across and flung open the pa.s.senger door with an impatient flourish. 'Get in, can't you. This isn't the b.l.o.o.d.y balcony scene.'

'Ahh ...' he sighed happily, settling himself down beside me and ignoring my evident irritation. 'Lovely girl that, absolutely lovely. You haven't met her before then, Lucy?'

'I don't believe I've had that pleasure,' I snapped, shifting into gear.

'Have you not? Ah, well you must. You must meet her properly, you'd love her. She's one of the De Maupessant clan. There are five of them, you know five sisters'

'And which number are you on?' I said snidely, glancing behind me for traffic.

'Oh, Pascale's the youngest.''Naturally. Number five.'

'Otherwise known as Bright Eyes' He kept a smile at bay and waited, poised to reel me in, but I knew better.

'Which I presume,' I said lightly, 'has nothing whatever to do with her eyes, but everything to do with her going like a rabbit?'

He grinned. 'Ah, by golly. You have to get up pretty early in the morning to get one past you, eh Luce? But actually, you're quite wrong. It has everything to do with her lovely eyes.'

'Really,' I said drily. 'Well, if you swivel your head back, you'll see she's still waving, Jack. Can't seem to keep her lovely eyes off you'

He turned and beamed back extravagantly. Gave another d.i.n.ky wave.

'Pretty house,' I said grudgingly, as we pulled away and out of the road.

'Isn't it? And such an encouraging number, too.'

I glanced back. Sixty-nine. 'Oh, for heaven's sake, Jack'

'Sorry,' he said. 'Too adolescent, even for me, I agree, and actually,' he frowned, 'enough of me and my exploits for five minutes. I mustn't hog the limelight so persistently. How about you, little Luce? I trust you've had a pleasant afternoon? Enjoyed your jaunt up to Town? If you don't mind me saying so, you look a bit down in the mouth. Like the cat who didn't quite get the cream, am I wrong?'

I glanced at him quickly. How on earth did he- But his eyes were wide and innocent. I swallowed. Just a lucky guess, no doubt.

'Not at all,' I said lightly. 'I had a lovely time with Teresa' 'Ah. So, you didn't get to see your parents, then?'

I licked my lips. d.a.m.n. I'd forgotten about that little lie. How awful.

'No, I well, you know. I don't often get to see Teresa. And we had so much to catch up on. We just sort of curled up on her sofa and gossiped. Lost track of time.'

'Really?' He frowned. 'How extraordinary. I popped out for a bottle of wine at one point. Could have sworn I saw her in her shop.'

I gripped the wheel and concentrated hard on the road. 'Ah, yes, that's right. She had to go back to work. I sat with her while she served. Behind the counter.'

'Ah.' He nodded. 'In that case you must have been in the loo.'

'What?'

'When I popped in. Well I couldn't very well walk straight past, could I?'

I flushed and stared straight ahead. 'Are you spying on me, Jack?'

'Good heavens, no,' he said in mock horror. 'Why on earth would I want to do that?'

'I have no idea,' I said, between clenched teeth. 'But I think you should know that I don't take kindly to having my private life scrutinised. I'm a grown woman, you are not my keeper, and what I do in my own time is my own affair, got it?' I flashed him what I hoped was a fierce look. He didn't actually look too terrified.

'Got it, miss,' he grinned, tugging his forelock and settling back in his seat. 'Message received and understood. Entirely laudable, too. Of course you should have a personal life.'

'Of course I b.l.o.o.d.y should!' I bl.u.s.tered. 'G.o.d, it's abouttime. And talk about the pot calling the kettle black look at you, you old roue!'

'Touche,' he agreed. 'The only difference being, of course, that this old pot may be as black as sin, but it hasn't got any innocent dependants looking to it for any sort of moral guidance. Any sort of shining example. Ahh ... I must say it's nice to be back in this comfortable old wagon again. I've been looking forward to this return trip, princ.i.p.ally because if it's all right by you, I intend to spend it in precisely the same way I spent the outgoing one. It's been an exhausting afternoon, one way or another.'

And so saying, he rested his head back, shut his eyes, and laced his fingers across his chest, so that by the time I'd puzzled over his words and made sense of what he'd said, he was fast asleep.

b.l.o.o.d.y cheek! I seethed, eyes popping with sudden realisation. Innocent dependants how dare he! He'd just stuck that in to make me feel guilty. Christ four, wretched lonely, blameless years and I finally dip my toe into the outside, heteros.e.xual world that he'd been rutting around in for years, and here he was trying to ruin it for me! Dragging my children into it! I'd like to wake him up and give him a piece of my mind. Although actually, I conceded, a few moments later, as the memory of the ghastly tip-toeing-past-the-daughter episode reared its unattractive head, maybe I wouldn't wake him. Perhaps it was as well he slept. I wasn't sure I wanted him to know just how many innocent dependants there were, knocking around.

When we finally made it back to Netherby a couple of hours later, Joan was in the front drive, trying to pull a rug out of the boot of a very twisted and mangled red Escort.

'Oh G.o.d it's the aunts' car!' I gasped, getting out in horror.

'They're fine,' she a.s.sured us, as we hastened towards her anxiously. 'Escaped with a few cuts and bruises, but the car's a write-off, as you can see. Wrapped it round an oak tree in the park, and not before time if you ask me. Anyway, they're both in there now,' she jerked her head towards the house, 'convalescing. And with everyone gathered m the morning room. Waiting for you, most likely,' she intoned darkly.

'Ah. I wondered if we'd have a reception committee,' murmured Jack, as we walked up the mountain of steps together.

'I wouldn't mind seeing the boys first,' I said.

'Wouldn't mind a pee, personally.'

But as we crept through the front hall and past the morning-room door, we were halted by Archie's commanding tones. 'In here!' he called.

We stopped mid-creep, glanced warily at each other. Then dutifully, tracked left.

Sure enough, Archie, Rose, Lavinia, Pinkie and the aunts were all a.s.sembled. Also in the room, but standing slightly apart from the group, over by the French windows, was Sir David Mortimer. David was the family doctor and a very old friend of Archie's; a small, dapper man with a quick, bright smile. I'd noticed, since my marriage to Ned, that he tended to be present at most important family gatherings. I'm not sure in what capacity his presence was deemed necessary perhaps to be on hand if Lavinia pa.s.sed out insensible, or Rose had another attack of angina but he was a calm, sensible man,and actually, at a potentially explosive meeting of this kind, his presence was welcome.

Archie was pretending to read the obituary column in the Telegraph, Rose was sitting opposite him on the other sofa, bolt upright, twisting her rings and not even attempting to occupy herself, and Lavinia and Pinkie were at a little table, playing Scrabble with Cynthia, who had a huge Elastoplast on her head. Violet was squeezed in beside Rose, and was trying to talk to her, muttering insistently about a race meeting she wanted to go to.

'You see, I haven't got a car now, so-'

'Yes, I will take you, Violet, I said I would,' Rose snapped, brushing her away like a fly. 'Now shush, Jack and Lucy are back. Darlings!' She got to her feet, eyes bright with anxiety. 'How was it?'

'Ah, you're back' Archie gave a stage-managed jolt as if we'd surprised him, but of course he'd called us in. He folded his newspaper and set it aside with a flourish. He too stood up, beside Rose, back to the fireplace, hands clasped behind him, bushy brows furrowed. He rocked back and forth on his heels.

'Well?' he barked. 'What did he have to say for himself?'

Jack held up his hands in defeat as I quaked in behind him. 'Look, don't shoot the messenger, Archie, OK? It ain't our fault' Then more gently, 'But no, I'm afraid it's no go. I'm sorry, but he's adamant. His mind's made up, and he wants to marry her. I must say they appear to be blissfully happy and very much in love, and with the best will in the world, Archie, I think there's d.a.m.n all anyone can do about it'

There was a silence at this. Rose put a trembling hand up to her throat and fingered her pearls. Her face was pale.

'That's what he said? Those were his words, not hers? That he wants to marry her?'

'I'm afraid so, Rose.' Jack perched on the arm of the sofa she'd just vacated. 'But for what it's worth, Rozanna is acutely aware of the hurt she's causing, and also that Hector is something of an innocent, so she's asked him to wait a year. Not to ask her until then.'

'Oh!' Rose brightened.

Archie's eyebrows shot up. 'Ah-ha. Promising.'

'No, not really, because Hector's response to that was that he wasn't having any of it. He wants her now, and he's determined he's going to ask her every day until she says yes.'

'Oh,' breathed Pinkie. 'How romantic!'

'Shut up, you stupid girl!' Rose rounded on her furiously. 'There's nothing remotely romantic about a scheming manipulative wh.o.r.e who's got her claws into my only boy!' Her voice cracked slightly at this and a hanky came out of her sleeve. She clasped it to her mouth, sank into a chair, and gave a little moan.

'Steady, Rose,' said David quietly from the window, back still turned, gazing out at the view.

'Well, it's true!' she sobbed.

'Maybe so, but David's right, no point getting hysterical,' said Archie tersely. 'You'll only upset yourself. If Jack says it's no go, then it's no go. Hector's clearly made his mind up which I must say, is a first and he's a bigger fool than I thought he was. I said it yesterday, but I'll say it again, and you can all bear witness. He'll get nothing from me, and he'll never set foot in this house again, not on that woman's arm. I don't want to hear his name mentioned in my presence either,and I don't want you,' he turned to his wife, 'getting on that phone and begging pathetically into it, got it?' His fists, by his side, were clenching and unclenching as he glared at her. 'He's made his bed, and as far as I'm concerned, he can b.l.o.o.d.y well lie in it.' With that he turned and left the room.

There was a silence. 'He doesn't mean it,' piped up Pinkie, at length, in an unnaturally shrill voice. 'I know Daddy. He says that now, but he's upset. I can talk him round, I always can. He doesn't mean we'll never see Hector again. After all, this is the twenty-first century! So what if she's a tart? So what? Golly, we've all been around, haven't we?' She glanced defiantly at Jack.

'It's where she's been that's the trouble,' muttered Lavinia, gazing at her feet.

'I don't see why.' Pinkie was indignant. 'I mean yes, OK, she does it for money, but that's the only difference. I mean-'

'We're playing for money?' Cynthia glanced up, startled, from her Scrabble letters. 'You didn't tell me that.

'No no, we're not playing for money,' soothed Lavinia.

'I wouldn't have let you have "d.y.k.e" if I'd known. It's only in the dictionary under "derogatory", you know.'

'Hector's girlfriend's a d.y.k.e?' enquired Violet, from the sofa.

'No dear, she's a wh.o.r.e'

'What?' Violet cupped her ear.