I wait until Nathan’s put Olivia to bed before pouring us both a large glass of red wine and settling down on one of the oversized cream sofas, making sure I sit perfectly in the middle, so that he’ll feel more inclined to sit in the identical one opposite me. I want to be able to watch every twitch on his face, every spasm of expression.
There’s a churning in the pit of my stomach as I wait for him to join me, an unmistakable swirl of nervousness that will only dissipate when I have the answers that I need. I pull my legs up underneath me as he walks in, conscious of relaying a more relaxed mood. As expected, he sits down heavily on the sofa opposite and takes a slug of wine.
“How did it go in the office today?” I ask. “Get much done?”
I tilt my head to the side, in another subconscious effort to put him at ease. Though why, I don’t know. I guess it just feels that I’m more likely to catch him out if he’s off guard.
“Yes, it’s much easier when the phone isn’t constantly ringing.” He clears his throat. “So, are you going to tell me what was going on with you this morning, and last night…?”
I wonder if he knows he’s walking into a minefield, the severity of the explosion entirely dependent on the words he chooses to utter in the next few minutes. I take as large a mouthful of my wine as I can, in the hope that it might numb the pain. I’m almost a bottle in and still waiting.
“Steady on,” he says, and I defiantly knock back another gulp, my eyes never leaving his. “What the hell is going on with you?”
I shake my head and shrug my shoulders. “Nothing.”
“You’ve not been yourself since I got back from Japan,” he says, trying a different tack. “Are you worried about the work involved if we get the job? Because you know I only want to do this if you’re entirely happy. I don’t want to put you under any unnecessary stress.”
“I’m not a five-year-old,” I say petulantly.
He sighs. “You know what I mean.”
“No, actually, I don’t think I do. What are you trying to say?”
I drain my wine and put the stained glass on the coffee table, both of us momentarily watching it wobble.
“I just don’t want to risk you having a setback, that’s all,” he says. “You’ve come such a long way and I’m so proud of how well you’ve done.”
Tears jump to my eyes. I don’t know if it’s because I want to make him proud, or that I know he’d be devastated if he knew I was back on medication. I guess they’re one and the same thing.
“I’m still doing fine,” I say, hoping he can’t sense my guilt.
He sits forward and looks at me earnestly. “You can do this, Alice.”
“Which bit?”
“All of it,” he says, smiling. “Japan is a big ask, I know that. But I wouldn’t have pitched for it if I didn’t think you were capable of doing it.”
I nod. I am capable, but that’s not what the problem is here.
“You only have to say the word if it’s not what you want, but it would be such a huge waste of your hard work. You’ve put your heart and soul into this … I thought it was what you wanted.”
It was, until I discovered that my husband is having an affair. Now, everything feels uncertain, as if I’m suspended in some weird, parallel universe. Hanging there in limbo, waiting for my strings to be cut.
“I’ve got a confession to make,” I start, half smiling. I can’t go in too accusatory. “I’m afraid I washed your white shorts.”
His eyebrows knit together as he watches me walk through to the kitchen and reach behind the last cookbook on the shelf. I pull out the hotel bill.
“Sorry, I didn’t see it until it was too late, but this was in the pocket. I hope it isn’t anything important.” I hand him the bombshell, which I’ve wet along the creases, just enough to give it the appearance of having seen better days, but without any of the incriminating evidence being destroyed.
I watch as he opens it carefully with his forefinger and thumb, a slight irritation to him now. He peels one side painstakingly slowly away from the other, so as not to damage the damp paper. How ironic that in just a few seconds he’s going to wish he’d done the exact opposite.
He stares at the Conrad logo blankly before looking at me. I’m careful to keep my expression neutral, to make him think there’s still a chance I haven’t yet looked at it.
“What’s this?” he asks.
I stay silent, waiting for the penny to drop.
“Oh, it’s just my hotel bill,” he says dismissively, before folding it carefully again. “No doubt I’ll need that for accounts.”
“Are all entertaining expenses tax deductible then?” I ask casually, picking at imaginary fluff from a cushion.
A funny noise emits from his throat. I’m not sure if it’s because he realizes I’ve seen it or if it’s a derisory snort at my comment. If I look at him I’ll be able to tell which it is from the expression on his face, but I don’t want to know.
“It’s not entertaining, Al,” he says. “I was there on business.”
“Well, that all depends on how the taxman views it,” I say. “I’m not sure he’d see a couples massage as business, do you?”
He doesn’t miss a beat. “A couples massage? Where on earth did you get that idea from? I was there on business. For AT Designs. For you.”
“Don’t you dare make out that you’re doing me a favor.”
“Jesus,” he says, standing up. “First it’s an earring, now it’s a hotel bill.”
“Don’t forget the bouquet to Rachel,” I sneer. “What were you apologizing to her for? Have you had a lovers’ tiff? I bet you tore a strip off the florist for delivering it to the card holder’s address instead of your darling Rachel. Is that where you’ve been this afternoon? Buying another bouquet and delivering it personally?”
He comes toward me. “Listen to yourself,” he snaps. “What the hell is going on with you?”
It takes all my willpower not to swing at him. How dare he insinuate it’s all in my head? “Do you honestly think I’m stupid?”
His jawline clenches involuntarily. “I haven’t got a clue what—”
“Look!” I shout, snatching the bill out of his hands. I’m not nearly as careful as he was opening it. “There.”
His brow creases as he leans in to look at it more closely.
“I honestly have no idea what that even is.”
I roll my eyes, exasperated.
“Honestly, I don’t know where that’s come from. That’s not my bill.”
“Are you kidding me?” I snap. “Are you really expecting me to believe that?”
He takes it from me and stares at it, shaking his head. “This isn’t my bill.”
I fold my arms. “So, you didn’t pay £792.60?”
“Nowhere near. I only had a few extras, because the room was paid for in advance. They must have given me this printout by mistake afterward.”
“You must think I was born yesterday.”
“Alice, I promise,” he says gently.
I want to believe him, and as I allow the possibility that it could all, somehow, be a comedy of errors, I suddenly feel spent. I fall back onto the sofa as all the nervous energy of the past couple of days consumes me.
“So, you’re telling me I don’t need to worry?”
He looks me squarely in the eyes. “About Japan? Yes, we do need to worry because there’s no guarantee we’re going to get it and if we do, you need to be ready. But I swear on the girls’ lives that I’m not having an affair.”
I flinch as he uses Sophia and Olivia to bet on.