“What the hell…?” said Seb.
I had to tell somebody—somebody who wouldn’t judge me—and although I knew I could tell Pippa in confidence, we hadn’t seen so much of each other since I’d moved out, so Seb’s was the first pair of ears I could trust.
“So, you just walked out of there?”
“Please, you’ve got to help me,” I implored. “You’ve got to make me see sense in all this.”
I’d calmed down in the twenty-four hours since I’d met James, but my head was foggier than ever. What had happened there? And why was it affecting me so much? He hadn’t meant anything by what he said, I was sure of it, but I still couldn’t shake the feeling of unrest. It wasn’t what was said, it was more about the unsaid.
“I mean, do you think he was coming on to you? Like, seriously?” asked Seb.
“Yes! No … I don’t know.” I groaned, dropping my head back onto his sofa. “It was just, in that moment, I honestly felt like I was capable of anything. I wanted to talk to him, kiss him, run away with him.…”
“Well, the latter wouldn’t have been very wise, but you probably could have got away with a kiss!”
“You’re not helping,” I said, slapping him on the arm. “This is serious. What am I going to do?”
“Okay,” he said, his face suddenly stern. “What do you want to do? Let’s explore your options. The way I see it is this: You love Adam more than anything?”
I nodded.
“But you think his brother is hot?”
“Seb!”
“Sorry, okay, right back with you. You don’t think his brother is hot?”
I remained expressionless.
“Ooh, okay, so you do? Just a little bit? Am I getting warm?”
“No, I don’t know. He’s just so different from Adam. He listens to me, offers advice, doesn’t think I’m being paranoid about Pammie. He really seems to understand where I’m coming from, and we have a genuine respect for each other.”
“And he’s as hot as hell?”
I threw a cushion at him. “Yes, he’s also as hot as hell!”
“I knew it!” said Seb.
“But it’s more than that. He makes me feel valued in every respect. Honestly, Seb, you know what I’m like, I can’t see a ten-ton truck until it’s on top of me, but I could see it in his eyes. He would have done anything to help me, and knowing that makes me feel wanted. And right now that’s a dangerous place for me to be.”
“So, have things not improved any with Adam?” asked Seb, serious now.
I shook my head. “No.” I could feel a stinging at the back of my throat. “James has just caught me at a low ebb, and I’m pathetically flattered by the attention. If it had happened at any other time, I would just bat it away and think nothing more of it.” I didn’t know who I was trying to convince: Seb or myself.
“Okay, so that leaves us with a man you love, who you’re not having sex with, and a man you don’t love, but who you’d kill to have sex with?”
“Well, thanks, Sherlock, that seems to wrap things up pretty nicely. But it’s not just about sex, it’s more than that.”
“So, you haven’t imagined, for one second, being in bed with James?” asked Seb, his gaze unwavering.
I shook my head vehemently, while feeling my cheeks going red.
“You’re so shit at lying!” He laughed.
“But that’s really wrong, isn’t it? I mean, there’s seriously something badly wrong with that.”
“It is if you do anything about it, but for now it’s locked up in a lovely little fantasy room that we’re all allowed to have and like to look into but never actually enter. That’s the difference.”
“So, what do I say to Adam? Do I tell him I’ve seen James?”
“You’ve already got a whole world of hurt going on with that family, so I strongly recommend you don’t make it any harder on yourself. I think you should have told Adam that you’d met, but if you were going to do that, you would have done it last night. And you didn’t?”
I shook my head. I’d thought about it, all night. I was like a cat on a hot tin roof, running it over in my mind again and again, reaching a different outcome every time. I thought about telling him that James had needed some recruitment advice, but that would lead on to another lie, and I could see it all quickly unraveling.
Hot tears sprang to my eyes. “What a bloody mess.”
Seb shuffled up the sofa and put an arm round me. “Hey, come on, don’t get upset. You should think yourself lucky, having two men fighting over you. I can’t even get one to have a fight with himself!”
I laughed tightly.
“So, you think I’m doing the right thing? I’m playing it right?”
“As I said, there should be no guilt associated with fantasizing, just be sure not to act on it.”
I sniffed. “I never would, not in a million years.”
So why, then, did I agree to meet James for a drink after work when he called again a week later?
I don’t know, was all I could offer. It wasn’t a good enough answer, but it was the only one I had.
I’d not stopped thinking about how he’d made me feel, and I naively believed that if I saw him again, I’d be able to rationalize it in my head and put it to bed. How stupid I am. I should know that life doesn’t work like that, so why am I prepared to put myself in an untenable situation, as if to prove that I’m in control, that I’ve got this, when, deep within, I know that, all around me, the sky is falling down?
I could blame Adam. I could say that I no longer felt attractive, or wanted; that my husband-to-be made me feel unloved. I could say that he didn’t understand me or support me. And perhaps that was all true, but none of it justified me being unfaithful.
“I’m not going to sleep with him,” I assured Seb, when I called to tell him I needed to see James one last time, “for closure.”
“Who are you trying to convince? Me or you?” He laughed wryly. “Because I have to say, I’m not on the same page as you on this one. Go have your ego stroked if that’s what you need, but you’re playing a dangerous game here and you need to wake up to the consequences. If Adam finds out about this, even if nothing happens between you, you’re going to be in a whole heap of trouble.”
“I know what I’m doing.” I sighed heavily.
“Do what you want, but don’t come running to me when the shit hits the fan.”
I felt a bolt across my chest at that. Seb was open-minded about anything and everything, so to be told in no uncertain terms where I stood compounded the gravity of the situation.
“Call me when you’ve got your sensible head back on,” he said, before putting the phone down.
There was a tiny part of me that wanted James to cancel. It would have made things easier, drawn a line under whatever this was. But he didn’t, so, with butterflies dancing in my stomach, I walked into the American Bar at the Savoy, and his eyes met mine as I walked toward him.
“Good to see you,” he said, holding my shoulders and kissing both cheeks. “You look incredible.” The word resounded in my head. Incredible. That isn’t how your future brother-in-law should describe you. Lovely, yes. Well, yes. Even great, yes. But incredible? Absolutely not. My heart raced at the thought that I’d not imagined the look he’d given me in the café, nor the sentiment behind his words.
“What can I get you?” he said, while raising a hand to the barman.
“A glass of prosecco, please.”
“Two glasses of champagne, please,” he said to the white-jacketed man behind the bar.
“What are we celebrating?” I asked.
“You are looking at the official gardener for Lansdowne Place at Knole Park.”
“Oh, fantastic,” I cried, instinctively pulling him toward me for a congratulatory hug. “You got the job.”
There was the briefest moment when our faces collided, unsure of whether this was just a hug, a kiss, or both. We awkwardly extricated ourselves, but the touchpaper had been lit.
“So, does Adam know you’re here?” James asked, his eyes not meeting mine.
“No,” I said honestly. “I haven’t told him.”
He tilted his head to one side, his hair flopping with it. “Why not?”
“I don’t know.”
“I didn’t mean to make things difficult for you,” he said softly.
If he could just stop staring at me like that. Stop brushing my leg every time he moved.
“You haven’t. It’s worked out perfectly, actually. I was just around the corner at a meeting and with the Tube strike, it makes sense to wait awhile before attempting to get home.” That was all true. It was a normal day, just like any other. The part he didn’t need to know was how I’d spent it trying to convince myself that my French Connection miniskirt and silk blouse were my normal work attire, even though I’d worn nothing but trousers for over a month.
“Are you bloody mad?” Adam had asked, as he watched me dress that morning, tying his tie into a thick knot. “It’s going to be freezing today.”
I mumbled acknowledgment.
“And there’s a Tube strike, so none of us knows where we might end up. You’d be better off in boots today rather than those heels.”
“I’m all right,” I’d said, “stop fussing.” But the shards of guilt cut through my chest.
The barman placed a glass of champagne in front of me, its tall stem resting on the double-layered coaster beneath it.
“Cheers,” chimed James, raising his glass. “It’s really good to see you.”
We locked eyes as we took our first sips. I looked away first.
“So, how have you been?” he asked, setting his glass back down on the bar.
“Mmm, fine,” I said casually. “Really good.”
“Strange … your eyes are telling a different story.”
I blinked and looked away.
“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked.
“It’s complicated,” I said. “We’ll work it out.”
“Are you happy?”
What a loaded question. Was I? I honestly didn’t know.
“I’m not unhappy” was all I could offer.
“Don’t you think you deserve more than that? Don’t you think that someone else might be out there who could truly make you happy?”
The air in my body felt like it had been sucked out of me. Tiny pinpricks of heat emanated from every pore, and my mouth felt like it was full of polystyrene, rendering me speechless.
He looked at me, his eyes desperately searching mine for a response.
“James, I…” was all I could manage.
He reached for my hand and held it. A frisson of electricity traveled along my arm, literally standing the hairs on end.
Images flashed behind my eyes like an old-fashioned cinematic film, shuttering madly. I could picture us, making our way to a room on one of the floors above. I imagined us kissing in the lift, unable to contain ourselves for a second longer than it took for the doors to close. The urgency as we’d make our way along the carpeted corridor, my shoes being kicked off as we’d hang the Do Not Disturb sign on the door.
We’d ignore the chilled bottle of champagne standing on the dressing table, and I’d picture the anonymous faces scurrying along the bustling street below, none the wiser to the deceit and betrayal that was unfolding just a few meters away.
I’d wrap my legs around him as he pushes me up against the wall, our kisses intensifying as the heat in our bodies rises. We’d be clawing at each other, pulling our clothes off as he carries me over to the bed. We’d sink into the luxurious white sheets and his eyes would never leave mine as—
Enough!
I stopped my mind from racing on, knowing that it would only end with us lying there lamenting what we’d done, and wishing we could undo it.
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have…” he said, releasing my hand.
I willed him to touch me again, so I could feel that bolt rush through me one more time.
“I love Adam,” I said. “We’re getting married. We’ve got our problems, but we’ll work them out.”
“You deserve better,” he said. “Adam—”
“Don’t,” I said, cutting across him. “This isn’t right.”
I lifted myself off the stool. “I’m sorry, James. I just can’t do this. This is all wrong.”
I thought of how carefully I’d selected my underwear that morning. What the hell had I been thinking? Had I really intended to go that far?
“I need to go,” I said, grabbing my coat and throwing it over my arm. “I’m really sorry.”
The cold air hit me as I pushed through the revolving doors onto the street, the wind whipping up from the Thames making a buffeting sound as I exited.
“Have a good evening,” said the doorman, smiling and tipping his hat to me.
I didn’t know which way to go. I thought of calling Seb to see if he was still in town, but just as I tapped his name on my phone, I was hit by a sudden urge to get home to see Adam. I needed to know that he didn’t suspect. Selfish on my part, but I couldn’t stop my stomach from turning over at the thought of him knowing. What would he make of this? Of knowing that I’d come here to meet his brother, with the merest hint of intention? Wasn’t the intention almost as bad as going through with it?
I tried to pretend to myself that the tears streaming down my face were caused by the wind I was battling against, and not the shame of what I might have done. But the brain’s not stupid, and by the time I’d reached Charing Cross I was having trouble convincing myself that I hadn’t gone through with it. My head felt as if it had been screwed, even though my body knew it hadn’t.
I squeezed onto the 19:42. The Tube strike had clearly held commuters up as they made their way across town, as it was more like the 18:02, and everyone was packed in like sardines. I was held upright by the overweight bald man behind me, his breath so close to my ear that he could have licked it, and the young twenty-something woman in front of me who had had the foresight to get her phone out and in texting position before she got on the train. Now, stuck as I was, my upper limbs pinned to my sides, I had no chance of letting Adam know I was on my way.
Pinpricks of sweat jumped to the surface of my back, the rush to get the train catching up with me. I imagined a thin streak of dampness, the length of my spine, seeping through the silk of my emerald-green blouse, compounded by the heat of other bodies pressed up against me. Those nearest to the windows, the people who had had the luxury of sitting in their seats for the past ten minutes waiting for the train to depart, were reaching up to close them as we crossed the river. They sank their faces farther into their woolen scarves while I battled the oppressive heat that was engulfing me.
I shifted a little, angling my body away from the man behind me, his rotund stomach filling the concave of my back, and he grunted. I wondered if he could smell the deceit on me.
Adam was in the kitchen. A waft of frying onions and garlic hit me as I let myself in and hung my coat on the hook behind the door.
“Hey, is that you?”
I could tell from the tone of his voice that all was well, and the heaviness in my chest began to lift. I didn’t know if I was going to be honest with him, but I wanted to be.
“Who else were you expecting?” I laughed.
“You made good time,” he said, kissing me, wooden spoon in hand. “It was murder a couple of hours ago.”
“Thought it might be. That’s why I decided to wait a bit. Get some work done.” So once again, without even thinking about it, I’d made the decision to lie.
“Grab some cutlery and pour us some wine. It’ll be ready in ten minutes.”
“Will do,” I replied, “let me just get out of these clothes.”
I walked into the bathroom, unbuttoning my blouse and wriggling out of my skirt. I needed a shower, to wash the dirt, both real and imaginary, from my body. The water ran hotter than felt comfortable, but it numbed the nerve endings, stopped them from jangling. Eyes still closed, I reached for the towel on the hook, but a hand caught mine, making me jump.
“Jesus Christ!” I yelped, my heart thumping.
Adam laughed. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you. Thought you might like this while you’re in here.” He handed me a towel with one hand and a glass of red with the other. I smiled and sipped it gratefully, feeling its warmth as it ran into my chest.
He sat on the side of the bath as he watched me dry myself, his eyes roaming my naked body.
Suddenly self-conscious, I wrapped myself in a towel. “You really are quite something,” he said, standing up and walking toward me. “Take it off. Let me look at you.”
I smiled and slowly held the towel open.
He took a sip of my wine before dipping his finger in the glass and offering it up to my mouth. He traced my lips and my taste buds sprang to life as I sucked the wine from his finger. I could feel a pulsing in my groin as he watched me, his eyes never leaving mine.
We shared the remains of the glass, and, as Adam passed it between us, some of it spilled, dripping down my chin and onto my breasts. He bent his head down to slowly lick them. My back arched as he came up to meet my mouth, his fingers running down my spine, sending goose bumps to my skin. I shivered involuntarily.
He picked me up, and I wrapped my legs tightly around him as he carried me into the bedroom and laid me down on the bed.
“God, I love you,” he said.
I cried as he entered me, hot tears of relief and wanting, but most of all guilt. How could I have risked losing this?