‘I must talk to you. I think I’m going mad,’ Graham’s voice said on her answerphone. But he didn’t leave a number she could safely call him on. It was after ten, for goodness’ sake, so how could she have called him back in any case? On impulse she dialled his direct office number, and was rewarded by his voice, after one ring.
‘Harvey.’
‘It’s me.’
‘Can you come in here? Now?’
‘I’m on my way.’
No one seemed to think there was anything unusual about her sprinting up the Steelhouse Lane Police Station stairs as if Old Nick were after her: perhaps the odd officer she passed thought she was still based there. She didn’t know what to expect: might have hoped for electric sex, feared – no, surely there was nothing worse to come than this morning’s letter?
She tapped on his door and popped her head round. If he were genuinely working late, if it wasn’t just an excuse to his wife, he might have someone with him. But he was alone, grey-faced and drawn. He didn’t get up to take her in his arms, but stayed behind the desk, clutching the edge as if to tear the top off. She stayed the far side: she might have been expecting the sort of conversations they’d had in the past about her handling of some case.
‘I don’t know what to do,’ he said at last.
‘You seemed to know when you sent me that note.’ Any moment now her legs would give way and she’d have to sit. The rest of her would give way too: hunger, tiredness, anxiety – whichever or whichever combination left her ready to weep.
‘I meant it. I think I still mean it. But …’ He released the desk, and then grabbed it again. ‘You do understand, don’t you? It may be all right for you – fornication’s one thing, but adultery … I can’t, I mustn’t … But—’ He broke off, looking at her as if the answer would appear in her face.
She mustn’t let it. Graham had to make his own decisions, as he always had, always did. She might be fifty per cent of the relationship, entitled to half the decision-making, but she’d known from the start that loving him would involve the suspension of those rights. He was the one with the marriage and the religion that made sharing her bed the agony she knew it was, but simply couldn’t understand. He always fell on her like a man collapsing in an oasis, but tore himself away more quickly after each encounter.
‘I want us to be friends. There’s no harm in that. I can’t bear the thought of not seeing you, not talking to you. But I can’t – I mustn’t – make love to you. Not any more. It’s a sin, Kate: you must see that.’
Wasn’t there something in the Bible about looking at a woman with lust in your heart being as bad as bedding her? Sooner or later he’d no doubt remember that, but at the moment she couldn’t remind him. Yes, just being in a room with him, the opposite side of that insuperable desk, was better than not being with him at all.
‘We are friends,’ she said. ‘We always were. I hope we always will be.’
He pushed away from the desk, to lean on the window sill. ‘You – if you find someone else, then you’ll be free …’
It was the first time he’d mentioned her and her feelings, wasn’t it? She was spineless not to point it out, spineless to stutter, ‘I don’t want anyone else.’ But she meant it. She knew the living body beneath the staid office clothes; knew each mole and scar as if she’d studied them. And wanted him now.
He turned. His eyes told her that he wanted her at least as much as she wanted him. Why not claim him? Make him forget his doubts?
Because of her period, that was why. However much he’d desired her in the past, menstruation had always turned him off as if she were unclean. So she stuffed her hands deep in her pockets and waited.
‘I’ll still visit Cassie,’ he said, surprising her. She’d never expected him not to. ‘She doesn’t know about … us, does she?’
‘You know I’ve told no one,’ she said, almost as angrily as she felt.
‘But has she guessed?’
‘For God’s sake!’
‘That’s why I’m doing this,’ he said quietly. ‘For God’s sake.’
She’d no idea how long the words hung between them.
At last, he flicked a glance at his watch. ‘It’s late. You should be going home.’
‘What about you?’
‘I’m waiting for a call from America about this case I’m working on. That’s why I’m here.’
As if on cue the phone rang. He seized it, managing a brief smile at her. But then his smile faded. ‘I told you, I’ve got to stay till Mellors phones … No, of course not. No later than I can help.’ He cut the call. As if weighing his decision, he came round the desk, half-opening his arms. Even as she opened her own to embrace him, she dropped them to her sides. It hadn’t been a gesture of desire, it was a gesture of utter helplessness. She took his face swiftly between her hands, kissed him on the lips, and left the office before he could speak.
She couldn’t fight God. And she no longer wanted to fight his wife. All she had to fight now was herself, and she had a terrible fear that that would be the hardest of all.