4

Robert was coming through the airport when he saw Amanda.

He supposed that it had been ridiculous of him to imagine that he might get away with becoming invisible, and as soon as he saw Catherine’s business partner standing at the departures gate—Amanda in all her full-blown finery, the white pashmina, the upraised arm as she waved to her retreating mother, the whole commanding Amanda—his heart did a lazy double-flip.

Well, so here it came.

“Robert!” she called.

He smiled and pushed the luggage trolley in her direction.

She reached out and kissed him. “Been away?”

“Yes.” Did she know? Was it possible that she didn’t know?

He stood and looked at her.

“Anywhere nice?”

A beat while he looked at the bland expression on her face. “Italy,” he told her. “Rome.”

“How lovely!” She was already shepherding him out of the flow of arriving passengers, hand under his elbow. “I must say, I approve of a company that sends one to Rome on business.” She sighed. “I can’t remember when Mark and I last went anywhere. The only time I see a bloody airport is when I bring Mother here.”

They were getting to the exit. He listened to her objectively, politely, wondering if he would ever see her again.

“She says she’s perfectly capable, but, you know, seventy-seven! I imagine her going around and around the M25 in some taxi, forgetting where she’s meant to be.”

“Is she well?” he asked. He didn’t want to know. In fact, he didn’t want to talk. He wanted to get away.

“Arthritis,” Amanda said. “Mark will be breathing a prayer of thanks as we speak. She’s awful to him. Awful.”

They stopped. “Got your car here?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“Don’t want a lift?”

“No. Thanks.”

There was the slightest of pauses. Amanda frowned a little. “Catherine will be glad to have you back,” she said.

Was there anything in the phrase? Catherine will be glad to have you back. No. Amanda would not have kept her temper if Catherine had confided in her. He would have been met with a stream of invective and demands.

“Well,” she said. “I’m off, before the M4 disappears under a tide of Range Rovers heading west.”

“OK.”

“See you at home,” she told him, and kissed his cheek. “Why don’t you come to supper on Sunday? You can tell us all about Rome.”

He smiled. “Good-bye,” he said.

And watched her thread her way through the crowd. She walked at a rapid pace. She drove the same way, he knew. She would be back in three hours or so. Perhaps three hours or four before she spoke to Catherine.

Is Robert home yet? I saw him at the airport.

“Good-bye,” he murmured again to himself.