Rachel stood by the tall windows of the sitting room in what Simon still thought of as ‘his’ flat. He came in, then stopped abruptly.
The two white sofas, placed adjacent to one another, had been moved so that now they were facing, and instead of being pure white, they had brilliant scarlet, purple and emerald-green throws of fabric over the backs. The colours were in themselves arresting and vibrant. But not in his room.
‘No?’
To give himself time, he walked back into the kitchen, got some ice and dropped it into a glass, then filled it with two measures of gin and a little tonic.
‘Drink?’
‘Not just now thanks. I wondered if we could eat out – or is it too late for you?’
‘Not too late but don’t we have anything in the fridge?’
‘Yes, fine.’
He sat on the nearest sofa and looked across at the other. No, he thought, absolutely not.
He got up again.
‘I’m sorry. I just loved the colours – I wanted to … to make my mark I suppose.’
‘Not the colours so much,’ he said, ‘but I just can’t have them arranged like this. I like them as they were. This way round doesn’t work at all.’
‘OK,’ Rachel said brightly, and started to haul one end of the first sofa round. Simon took over, and they were back to their original positions in seconds.
‘I dare say you were right the first time. Sorry, darling.’
‘No problem. And yes, let’s eat out by all means.’
‘There’s the new dim sum place in the Lanes.’
‘No. I need proper sustenance.’ He drank. The colours of the throws jazzed in his eyeline.
Rachel moved to sit beside him. He put his arm round her.
‘I wonder if you should get something to do.’
‘To do? You mean, work?’
Rachel’s husband had left her a valuable house, which she had rented out, a chunk of capital, an even bigger chunk of shares, and a good annual income. She was not a lazy woman but she had no need to work and she wanted to take her time about finding the right thing, whether paid or voluntary. She had trained as a solicitor but only practised for a few years and hated it.
What concerned Simon most was that, with time on her hands and no money worries, she might make more radical changes to the flat than simply moving the sofas about and buying a couple of throws.
He was unprepared for what she did say, when they were having their first glass of wine in the bistro.
‘Si, your flat is lovely but it’s nowhere near big enough for us both, is it? I thought we might look for a house. No hurry, we want to make sure it’s absolutely the right one.’
He was so appalled he took too large a gulp of wine and had a coughing fit. By the time he had recovered with water, he was calmer – a little.
‘Absolutely not. Not even up for discussion.’ He looked into her violet-coloured eyes and saw distress and knew that it was unavoidable. ‘Rachel, the flat is my haven – it’s my security, my safe place, my oasis … whatever you like, it is. It’s where I can be my real self and I could no more leave it than climb Everest. Actually, I would probably climb Everest sooner than leave the close. I’m sorry if it feels small but you’ve made it smaller with your stuff. It should be fine for two people.’
‘You want me to take my things away?’
The waitress came with his steak, her salmon. He ordered another bottle of the house Merlot. More water, giving himself time.
‘No, I didn’t say that.’
‘I can, easily, of course I can. You should have said. Most of my other things are in storage, the rest can go there too. No problem. But – I wonder why you can’t imagine your bolt-hole somewhere else. If we found the right house –’
‘I can’t.’
Rachel hesitated. He could see that she was uncertain what to say next, how to react, that she was upset and puzzled, he recognised it and couldn’t help her. But he hated himself because it was like this all over again. It was always like this.
‘Rachel …’
‘I’m sorry. I feel stupid. I’ve done this all wrong.’
‘No, of course you haven’t. I’m sorry I’m difficult about it. I really do try not to be difficult about a lot of things but this is just non-negotiable.’
‘I didn’t understand. Not properly. I shouldn’t have brought my stuff and put throws all over the sofas and changed your pictures.’
‘Changed my pictures?’ He saw her eyes fill with tears. ‘Rachel …’
‘Leave it. Eat your food, it’ll get cold. I’m really sorry.’
He poured her wine. ‘Drink,’ he said, ‘now. Just don’t choke.’
She did not smile.
‘Drink.’
She drank.
‘What kind of a shit am I?’ Simon said.
‘No kind. I wanted to ask about something else.’
‘Ask anything.’ He put his hand over hers. ‘Go on.’
‘I’m afraid of how you’ll react.’
‘Jesus, please, Rachel – don’t be afraid of me. Really, don’t.’
‘It’s nothing major.’ She looked up at him anxiously. ‘Can we talk about holidays?’
‘Of course we can talk about holidays, for Christ’s sake.’
‘I just wondered if you had any leave blocked out – so we might book to go away somewhere? I haven’t had a proper holiday since Kenneth’s illness. I haven’t had one for years. It was always the odd weekend when I could get care for him – well, you know all that.’
‘A holiday,’ Simon said slowly. ‘A holiday would be beyond good.’
Her face lit up with relief and delight.
‘Only problem is something that came up today which means I won’t be able to commit myself to definite dates.’
‘But you have to – you get leave.’
‘I do but not always when I want it and this has made things very fluid for the foreseeable months, maybe till the autumn. I just don’t know.’
‘So what is this “something” that’s come up?’
‘I’m afraid I can’t tell you.’
‘Oh. Yes, well, I understand. But you must have some idea when it will be and roughly how long for?’
‘No,’ Simon said. ‘I have absolutely no idea at all.’
He looked at Rachel, and saw her struggle not to show disappointment. She was right, they ought to have a holiday, two or three weeks far away. But his holidays were not her holidays. He walked and spent hours drawing and next leave he had been planning the Norwegian fjords and the Northern Lights. Rachel loved sun, white sand, reading for hours with a long cool drink beside her. Romantic evenings. Those were things she had not had for many years with Kenneth, things she deserved. Things he realised that he too could not, or would not, give her.
She was looking out of the window into the empty Lanes in the lamplight. Phoney old-fashioned-style lamplight, but pleasing nevertheless. She was as beautiful in profile as full face, and she was sad.
I don’t deserve you, Simon thought but did not say. Too much of his life had contained the unsaid. That would not change.
‘There just are some things I can’t tell you. You do understand that?’ he said, his arm round her shoulders as they walked back.
‘Yes. If it’s the job that goes without saying.’
‘What else would it be? This assignment is open-ended – they often are.’
‘Yes.’
‘Far?’
‘I can’t say.’
They walked through Cathedral Close, where the huge old magnolias had finished flowering and the trees were in first fresh leaf. He could never leave here. Not for anything. Or anyone.
‘I was thinking that you won’t want to be on your own in the flat for weeks on end,’ Simon said.
Rachel did not answer. Was she afraid to look at him, for fear of reading something in his face that she was desperate not to know?