CAROLINE SLEPT MUCH more soundly that night. She usually remembered very few dreams—a couple of scenes, at the most, hopelessly jumbled up, were all that she could summon in the mornings, and even these recollected scraps soon faded. This was fortunate, perhaps, because it meant that in none of her dreams was she the subject of reproach, as well she might have been had she dreamed that night of James, her friend to whom she had lied about not going out and whom she had then encountered in the Greek restaurant. His look of betrayal had haunted her—for at least half an hour, until Ronald’s conversation and charismatic presence made her forget her perfidy.
When she awoke, her first thought was of Ronald. He had slept in Jo’s room, which had a made-up bed. She wondered what time he would have to be at work, and whether he would want any breakfast.
She got up, donned a dressing gown and went into the kitchen. Ronald was sitting at the table, a bowl of cereal before him.
“Hi,” he said. “I hope you don’t mind: I helped myself to muesli.”
Caroline said she did not mind. “It’s Jenny’s, actually. But we all help ourselves to it. As long as we replace it from time to time.”
“Would you like me to cook for you tonight?” asked Ronald.
Caroline smiled. “You don’t have to.”
“I know, but I want to.”
“All right,” she said. “What will you make?”
Ronald thought for a moment. “Risotto?”
She could not help herself smiling. “Oh …”
He looked concerned. “You don’t like it? I can do something else if you want. I can make pizza—as long as I buy the base somewhere, I’ll do the topping.”
She assured him that risotto would be fine. “I had a friend who made risotto for me,” she explained. She blushed as she realised that she had said she had a friend. She had lost James because she lied.
“I can pick up everything on the way back from the office,” he said. “You could show me where things are in the kitchen.”
Ronald went off to work, and Caroline followed shortly afterwards. Throughout the early part of the day, though, she found herself thinking of him, glancing at her watch to see what time it was and how long it would be before they met again. It was a familiar feeling, even if she had not experienced it for some time. It was, she realised, the feeling that attends falling for somebody; not just becoming mildly interested in somebody, but falling for him completely.
She tried to take command of the situation. I barely know him, she told herself; I have no idea what he’s like. It would be rational to get to know him better before becoming involved; after all, one never knew whether closer acquaintanceship would lead to a dislike of a person’s mannerisms, or their views for that matter. She would find out about Ronald in due course, and it would be so much more sensible if she were to wait a while. But then that was not how these things worked. Love came upon one; one did not plan its arrival. It arrived in its own time and with an agenda all of its own devising.
Caroline’s employer, Tim Something, noticed that she was distracted.
“Something biting you?” he asked, as they made their way in his car to a late-morning photo shoot.
She was deliberately disingenuous. “What do you mean, biting me?”
He lit a cigarette, holding the wheel with one hand while he did so.
Caroline said, “I wish you’d be more careful. You shouldn’t light a cigarette while you drive.”
He sent a cloud of smoke up to the roof of the car; her nose tickled and she felt the urge to sneeze.
“Oh, listen to you,” said Tim Something. “Little Miss Health and Safety.”
“You may laugh,” she said. “But accidents are caused that way. You can’t drive and do other things. It’s irresponsible.”
“Oh yeah?” sneered Tim Something. “You may not be able to multitask, darling, but some of us can.”
She sighed and looked away.
“Big date?” asked Tim Something. “That what’s on your mind?”
It was none of his business, she thought. “Maybe,” she said.
He sniggered. “Who is he?”
“A rather nice architect,” she said. “You won’t know him.”
“Try me,” said Tim Something.
“I don’t know why you’re being so poisonous today,” said Caroline. There was something worrying her employer; normally he was perfectly civil. He liked her, she thought, or at least he gave every outward sign of being well disposed; she could not understand why he appeared to have turned against her. Unless … unless he was jealous.
The shoot was in Richmond. The traffic was slow and they were moving at a snail’s pace when Tim Something opened his window to toss out the butt of his cigarette.
“Don’t throw it out,” said Caroline. “There’s an ashtray.”
“Oh, yes,” said Tim Something. “Well, this is my car, as I recall, and I can do what—”
He did not finish the sentence. A van turned out of a side road and swung a wide arc across two lanes. Although Tim Something was not driving fast, the car’s speed was enough for a considerable impact. Caroline screamed as the other vehicle thudded into them, and she screamed again as she saw Tim Something, who was not wearing a seatbelt, pushed forwards into the windscreen as if by a giant hand. There was the sound of shattering glass and rending metal. Then, in the silence that followed, the hiss of steam as liquid of some sort fell on a warm engine block.
Caroline, who had been wearing a belt, felt a sharp restraining tug and then, in her left leg, a searing pain. For a moment or two she was confused; everything happened so fast and with such attendant noise that it was difficult for her to take it all in. But then, as she slumped back in her seat, her mind became perfectly clear. They had collided with another vehicle, and Tim Something had been propelled through the windscreen. He was somewhere outside, and she was inside the crumpled shell of the car.
She stretched to feel the painful leg. It was wet to the touch, and she realised that what she felt was blood. She closed her eyes. She was alive. But what had become of Tim?
Her belt was not stuck and a quick movement released it. She leaned sideways and used her shoulder to push at the door of the car. Some obstruction seemed to be preventing it from opening, but with a further bit of pressure, it swung open.
She shifted in her seat and began to slide her legs out of the car. She could move, she discovered, but when she lowered her feet to the ground a searing pain shot up her leg. It was as painful as when the dentist touches a dental nerve: a sensation not unlike a bolt of electricity.
She gasped.
Tim Something was standing on the edge of the road, looking at his ruined car with anger. His face was scratched from the impact with the glass, but only mildly so. Caroline was astonished that her employer should be uninjured.
“Look what you made me do,” he said peevishly.
Caroline closed her eyes. Ex-employer, she thought. As from now—right now: ex-employer.