When I had a call from Mark to say he’d like to call around after work, I was surprised, but I was taken aback and unaccustomedly lost for words when he said, ‘And maybe it’s time I stayed over. What d’you think?’
What did I think? I wanted to punch the air in excitement. I thought I’d blown it the previous night. He’d stayed later than he’d planned thanks to my artful seduction, but as he left, I saw a mask of guilt settle over his features. I wondered if I’d miscalculated and pushed him back into his wife’s arms. Guilt is the mistress’s biggest enemy.
But it looked as if I’d been lucky. Perhaps his wife had given him a hard time for arriving home late, had shouted at him for neglecting her, perhaps had even hinted that she’d had enough. Perhaps things had escalated and anger had succeeded in drowning the guilt. I neither knew nor cared. All I cared about was that my plan, which looked for a while as if it might have stalled, was suddenly shooting ahead. ‘I think that would be absolutely amazing. I’ll order in some food; you bring the wine.’
‘I think I could do better than wine,’ he laughed. ‘It’s definitely time for champagne.’
I hung up with a smile on my face. Well, who’d have expected this? I certainly hadn’t. My smile faded. I hadn’t expected it at all. I tapped my mobile against my chin.
I looked at the message I’d received earlier. I hadn’t replied, but now I needed to get rid of the man who’d agreed to oblige me in return for a couple of nights of mediocre sex. It took a few tries, a few messages written and deleted before I settled on one that worked for me.
It’s best if we don’t meet again. You were a rebound lover. I need space to find what it is I want from life.
It was a nice blend of truth and lies… well it was mostly lies, but he wouldn’t know that. He might guess, but he wasn’t a fool; he’d move on. I read my message over once more and frowned. It needed something more. I added a sentence after lover:
I wasn’t being fair on you.
That should do it. I pressed send, then forgot about him.
Hours later, the food I’d ordered was keeping warm in the oven, the champagne glasses were waiting, a carefully chosen sexy dress covered my curves, my hair washed and shining, my make-up perfectly applied. Everything was ready to make this first night we spent together so perfect that Mark would be able to relax knowing he’d done the right thing.
It was the way it should be.
Twenty years ago, I’d made a mistake. It was time to make it right.
When Mark arrived, he had a bottle of champagne in one hand, an enormous bouquet of flowers in the other and his briefcase tucked under one arm. His briefcase – not a suitcase – that did give me a second’s pause for thought but I brushed the slight concern away. It was all going to work out. I didn’t feel a smidgeon of guilt for the wife. She’d only ever been a stopgap – okay, so a twenty-year one – but he was always destined to be mine.
He made a fuss about opening the champagne, laughing as the cork flew across the room and bubbles fizzed as he poured into the waiting glasses. It seemed to me that he was happy with the decision he’d made and I felt a glow inside where it had been cold for so long.
‘Let’s have it on the balcony,’ he said, putting one of the glasses in my hand.
We sat there, side by side in the tiny space, the view ignored in favour of staring into each other’s eyes. Mark was unusually serious as he touched his glass to mine. ‘To our first night together.’ He said it like it was a prayer, or was it a wish?
I wasn’t shy about asking his intentions, but I was cautious about putting a foot wrong, my hope a brittle, fragile thing needing protection. There was also the issue of that briefcase preying on a tender part of my mind. ‘The first of many?’ It was the nearest I could bring myself to asking what was going to happen.
He swallowed his champagne and reached for the bottle to refill our glasses. I’d barely taken a sip of mine but he topped it up anyway. Maybe he was hoping my question would float away on the bubbles. He turned to stare out across to the water where it glinted as it caught the last rays of the sun.
I was good at waiting for what I wanted. After all this time, there was no point in rushing in where angels, or daemons, might fear to tread.
He took a few sips of his champagne before turning with a rueful smile. ‘I wish I could say every night.’
I rejected the instinctive, well, why don’t you, substituting the more considered, ‘I wish you could too.’ It seemed the perfect time for tears so I allowed them to come, brushing one away before it did too much damage to my make-up.
‘Hannah!’ He put his glass down and pulled me awkwardly and abruptly into his arms. Caught unawares, my still full glass tilted and before I could compensate, it emptied champagne over my breasts, the chill making me gasp. Mark, interpreting the sound as a reaction to his arms around me, tightened his hold so it was several seconds before I was able to free myself. The champagne had soaked into the fabric of my dress, making it like a second skin. I pulled at it and grimaced.
‘I’m so sorry,’ he looked appalled and brushed a hand over the wet patch as if his hand had magical drying powers.
‘I’ll go and change,’ I said, getting to my feet. Irritation swept over me. Not for the ruination of my dress – did champagne stain silk? – but for the wasted opportunity. Tears, if overdone, lose their impact. ‘Anyway, we should go in; the food’s waiting.’
I was pleased to see he’d made himself useful when I returned and had removed the dishes from the oven and lined serving spoons up beside each. ‘Perfect,’ I said, picking up a plate and serving myself. I caught him staring at me. Rather than another dress, I’d slipped on a robe, the deep V of the neckline leaving little to the imagination. Tears, after all, weren’t the only weapon I possessed.
‘You are,’ he said, running a hand over the curve of my bottom.
I planted a kiss on his cheek. ‘Food first, I’m starving.’ I was hungry and wasn’t delaying my food for the dubious delights of a tumble in bed. If he was going to engage in sexual gymnastics, I needed to eat first. I also wanted, and needed, to get the conversation back to what was happening next.
But it seemed as if Mark had been giving my question some thought while I was gone. He played with his fork before putting it down and resting his elbows on the table.
Definitely a prayer. I wondered if it would ruin the moment if I shovelled some lamb into my mouth while I waited for whatever he was going to say. He was obviously struggling to find the right words. Had he struggled as much when he told his wife? Had he told her?
‘I want to be with you,’ he said, ‘you have to believe that.’
I could hear the ‘but’ coming and felt my features tighten, the corners of my upwardly curved lips freezing into place. It might look as if I was smiling. I was good at pretending.
‘It’s Susan. She doesn’t know about us yet.’
I understood now why he hadn’t brought a suitcase. Where did the poor fool of a wife think he was?
‘She thinks I’m with a client,’ he said as if I’d spoken aloud.
‘She’s not suspicious even though you’ve been late home and spent hours over the weekend with me?’
‘I sometimes have demanding clients. It’s a part of my job; she accepts that.’
‘Food’s getting cold,’ I said, and picked up my fork again. The lamb was tender and fell apart in my mouth. But as I smacked my lips and swallowed, it was the unexpected bitterness of guilt I tasted. It was an unaccustomed emotion for me; my façade was of platinum… or at least it had been until I discovered… no, I wasn’t going there. I wished I’d never gone into my mother’s bedroom, never opened that damn drawer.
Anyway, I thought, trying to force my thoughts back to the present, I wanted Mark because he was one of the few men who’d been good to me, who’d made me happy. Wasn’t it ironic how he’d also been inherently decent – until I came back into his life.
So, of course his stupid wife wasn’t suspicious. He’d never given her reason to be until now. I brushed away the guilt. I’d made a mistake; he was always destined to be mine. I was simply rewriting history.
My lamb might be tasteless but it was evident from the little mewling sounds of pleasure Mark was making that he was enjoying his. I tried a little more, washing the tasteless piece of meat down with a mouthful of champagne. Pushing the plate to one side, I reached for the garlic nan bread and tore a piece from it, relieved to find it tasted sufficiently garlicky.
‘You haven’t brought any things. How will you explain going into work tomorrow looking a little dishevelled?’
He reached for the nan bread, tore a piece off and ran it through the sauce on his plate before popping it into his mouth. ‘I’ve told them I’ll be working from home.’ My face must have registered surprise because he suddenly looked worried. ‘That’s okay, isn’t it?’
Was it? I wasn’t sure I liked being backed into a corner. It was quite a leap from the odd few stolen hours to a full night, and now a day. I should be thrilled, shouldn’t I? ‘We could go out somewhere. I’ll check the weather; we might go for a drive, maybe to the coast. Walk along the beach or something.’ It would be great.
‘No, I’m not going to have time for that; I really do have to work.’ He nodded to where his briefcase was sagged in the corner. ‘I have my laptop with me.’
‘Right.’ So what was I expected to do while he was working? Housework? ‘Maybe we could go out for lunch. You have to eat.’
Another piece of nan bread was dragged through the sauce before he answered. ‘If I’m supposed to be working from home, I can’t afford to be seen around here; it’s a bit too close to the office.’ He put the sauce-soaked bread in his mouth, chewed and swallowed before smiling across the table. ‘We could have some mid-afternoon fun here though.’
I kept a neutral, fairly pleasant expression parked on my face. I was expected to lounge around doing nothing to be available for a bit of rumpy pumpy when he was free. Be careful what you ask for, wasn’t that what they said? But I hadn’t asked for this. ‘Actually, if you’re going to be working, I might take a trip to Windsor. I didn’t manage to pick up everything the last time I was there.’
I was pleased to see Mark’s forehead crease with concern. ‘Your ex-husband doesn’t mind you popping back?’
‘Ivan doesn’t mind me calling in as often as I like. Actually, he’s not an ex as yet.’ I thought it was time to make that little confession. ‘You know what paperwork is like.’ I waited for that to sink in. ‘You’ll be gone by the time I get back.’
‘Yes.’
‘And…?’
He ran a hand over his hair before downing the contents of his glass in two mouthfuls. ‘I’ll talk to Susan, I promise. Just give me a little more time.’
It was a dance. I knew the steps; I just had to teach him. ‘We have tonight, and the morning.’ I got to my feet and held out my hand. ‘Let’s make the most of it.’