CHAPTER 5
Harry
Harry had just dropped Katie off at the Lisle Gallery, which was run by Charles’s brother Angus. He hoped the interview would go well, though he suspected the job was already in the bag.
He’d finished at Rose Corp. for the Christmas break, and they were off to Gloucestershire that afternoon. As he nosed the TVR back onto Wardour Street, he was reminded of his last visit to Soho. He glanced at the dashboard. One o’clock. Their bags were packed and the Christmas shopping was done. Or rather, Katie had done it all and he’d bought her the matching earrings.
He had some time to kill. Maybe he’d have a quick drink before heading back to Fulham.
The noise level in the Dog and Duck was deafening as he pushed his way toward the bar. When he spotted Bennie’s shaggy blond head, he was at once delighted and dismayed. He was prepared to admit she was the reason he’d come in, but had a premonition his future life would be less complicated had she not been working today.
He should turn around, right now. He stopped, and a woman crashed into his back.
“Excuse me, please.” The voice was cross.
“Sorry there, I’ll get out of your way.” Harry smiled.
“Oh.” The woman’s eyes widened, and she blushed. “No problem. Happy Christmas!”
Harry changed direction, heading toward the gents.
As he came out again he was still conflicted. Go right, toward the door, or left, toward the bar? He stood still as his conscience argued the toss with his less cerebral instincts.
Then all at once it was out of his hands.
“Harry!” Bennie had appeared in front of him, several glasses in each hand. “Can’t keep away, eh? I’ll serve you if you can fight your way through. It’s a bleedin’ madhouse today.”
“Hello again . . . Bennie, isn’t it?” Like he didn’t remember. “Great. I’ll just sharpen my elbows.”
Harry parked himself in the corner of the bar with his copy of the Times and a pint of best. Katie was taking a taxi home after her interview, so as long as he was home by three, he should be fine.
Bennie somehow managed to serve the stream of Christmas revelers and stay cheerful, and popped across to chat during occasional lulls.
She intrigued him. She was streetwise, sassy; so different from most of the girls he knew.
“You remind me of Madonna,” he said. “In a good way.”
She hopped onto a stool and looked up at him through lashes thickly coated in mascara. “Madonna’s pretty cool. Have you seen Desperately Seeking Susan?”
“Can’t say that I have. Not really my cup of tea.”
“So what is your cup of Earl Grey, Harry? No . . . let me guess. James Bond? Indiana Jones? What do toffs watch?”
“Beware of pigeonholing. One is not a toff. I enjoyed Out of Africa. Have you seen that?”
“Bloody loved it! So romantic. I would have run off with Robert Redford like a shot. And that washing-the-hair scene was the biggest turn-on. Oh god, I want someone golden-haired and handsome to wash my hair like that.” She blinked her long eyelashes.
“Your hair looks perfectly clean to me.”
“It could be cleaner.”
Harry couldn’t tear his gaze from her intense blue eyes. Look away! screamed his conscience.
“Bennie,” said a guy behind her. “Dave’s here. You can go now.”
“Cheers, Luke. Just as well, I’m buggered.” She hopped off the stool and looked at Harry again. “Only one more shift before Christmas, thank god. Want to walk with me to the bus stop?”
He shouldn’t. He was still safe while she was on that side of the bar.
“Come on, Harry. Look at everyone having a good time, and here’s me on my lonesome.”
“Are you going home for Christmas?”
“Course! But not until tomorrow.”
She disappeared into a room behind the bar, and Harry slowly folded his newspaper and downed the rest of his pint.
He could leave now and never come back.
He folded his paper again, and then again, forming it into a manageable, neat shape he could slip under his arm, smoothing it out between each fold.
He lifted his pint, in case there was a last sip not to be wasted.
“This way, it’s quicker,” came Bennie’s voice next to him.
She led the way out of a back door that opened into a pedestrian alleyway. Suddenly they were out of the noise and smoke and into the quiet crispness of a bright winter’s afternoon.
Bennie stopped to put on her denim jacket, flicking the collar up, and took a pair of black silky gloves out of the pockets. She slipped them on, smoothing them over her hands.
She took some deep breaths. “Ah, fresh air. Jeez, it’s so smoky in there. Maybe one day they’ll ban smoking in pubs.” She grabbed a handful of her hair and sniffed it. “Disgusting. Gonna have to wash it. Maybe you should come and do that for me, Harry? With a bowl of water and a jug, like Robert did for Meryl. Actually, you look a bit like Robert Redford. Except you’re better looking.” She grinned. That direct gaze again. And now that she was out from behind the bar, he was able to fully appreciate the figure-hugging jeans tucked into boots with killer heels.
“I have to go, Bennie. We’re driving to Gloucestershire this afternoon. But it was fun. Maybe I’ll pop in again. I work on the South Bank, but my wife’s probably going to be working in Wardour Street.”
There, he’d said it. Wife. He’d drawn the line.
“Glor-ster-shaar. Should’ve guessed. Is that where mater and pater live?”
He chuckled. It wasn’t a bad Harry impression. Was she choosing to ignore the part about his wife?
“My parents died, I’m afraid. It’s where Katie’s parents live.”
“Oh my god. Your parents died? Harry, you poor bloke.” She reached out and touched his arm, came closer.
It was the sympathy in her eyes that demolished his resolve. As her hand slid from his arm to his waist, he pulled her toward him, and then he was kissing her, and it was heaven. At first tentative and sweet, exploring her soft lips, then she was on her toes and pulling his head down as the kiss became urgent, hungry.
Finally they pulled apart, breathless, and Harry gently took her chin in his hand. “Happy Christmas, Bennie. And now I really have to go.”
“Yes, I suppose you do, Harry. But you really have to come back.”
And he did. Again and again.
At first, Katie enjoyed working at the gallery. Life was good. The staff and clients were lovely, the work was interesting, and she was thrilled to discover she was pregnant again. But after miscarrying at three months, she became increasingly down. In spite of Harry’s encouragement, she abandoned all thought of teacher training. Eventually she was only going through the motions with her job—she just didn’t have the energy.
Sex was loaded with unspoken emotion. They no longer seemed able to talk things through. The connection between Harry and Katie frayed, and neither knew how to weave it back together.
To Harry’s dismay, Katie turned for comfort to her Catholic faith (Harry had lost any belief in God when his mother died). She shifted from lukewarm to ardent as she searched for meaning in what she’d come to regard as her pointless, childless life. After another miscarriage, nothing could shift the hopelessness.
“Why is God doing this to us?” she’d ask. “Why do I keep losing babies? Are we meant never to have a child?”
After Harry’s initial attempts to help her through (and he did try, in spite of his other . . . commitment), he began spending less time at home and more at work, where his enthusiasm for the job and network of useful contacts saw him achieving success alongside Uncle Richard at the helm of Rose Corp. Work problems were easier to overcome than home ones.
And then there was Bennie, whose laughing eyes were the perfect antidote to Katie’s, which were full of sadness. Katie’s depression was too much for Harry. The ties that bound them were hanging by a thread.
Then, Katie got pregnant again, and this time, everything went perfectly.
Harry was a father.