‘It’s you that’s trying to wheedle me out.’ She pointed her teaspoon at him knowingly. ‘What will Shirley think?’
‘I’ll explain it all to her. She’ll understand.’
‘She’s a better woman than I am if she does.’
Tom looked hurt. ‘It’s entirely up to you.’ He spread his hands. ‘I’m only trying to help.’
‘Not too many weeks ago, you were advising me to sit there and do nothing but keep my mouth shut and my legs open.’
‘You have a very coarse turn of phrase when you want to, Pamela Duncan,’ he said accusingly. ‘Anyway, that was when you merely suspected. Now you’re sure, and you need to take action.’
‘I’m desperate, Tom.’
‘Desperate times call for desperate measures.’
‘You’ve said that before.’
‘That’s because it’s true. I don’t mind repeating myself when these things need saying.’ He wagged his ballpoint. ‘I said I don’t mind repeating myself when these things need saying.’
Pamela tutted impatiently. ‘I don’t know if I should be listening to you. You’re too damned persuasive by half.’ She drained her coffee cup.
‘Well—’ he shrugged ‘—my offer still stands. You only have to say the word.’ He rested his arm along her chair and looked down at her.
Pamela swallowed hard. He really was quite muscular when he was at such close proximity.
‘But right now…’ His voice was so sweet and sugar-coated it should have come with a tooth-decay warning. He fixed her eyes with his and there was the suggestion of a contented smile on his face, like a cat which has just eaten a mouse with double cream on top of it. ‘Right now I need to sell some impenetrable burglar alarms to some very vulnerable properties, otherwise their skimpy defences could be broken open just like—that!’ He clicked his fingers.
She felt her skin flush; the room had suddenly gone very warm. All she needed now on top of everything else was to start an early menopause. How on earth did she think she could cope single-handedly with a night out with this man? He was a Lothario of the first order and always would be. She flicked open her notepad irritably. And why did he always manage to make even the most innocent sentence sound like the most tempting invitation to go to bed?
Shortly before noon on that same day, Charlie came and sat on the edge of Jamie’s desk. ‘I’ve arranged for us to go to lunch with Gordy.’
‘Charlie!’
‘I know he’s a crashing bore, but he’s got a very salutary tale to tell.’ Charlie rummaged aimlessly through the papers in Jamie’s in-tray. ‘One I think you should listen to very carefully, considering your current predicament.’
‘What are you trying to do to me?’
Charlie, for once, lowered his voice. ‘I’m trying to knock some sense into that very thick skull of yours before it’s too late.’
‘Look, I’ve apologised about the other night. I didn’t mean to get you involved—it’s just that the opportunity arose what with that business with the trains.’ Jamie held up his hands. ‘Anyway, I’m not going through that again. You know the story. I’m sorry. It’s done. It won’t happen again.’
‘I can’t just stand by and watch you do this. I like Pamela.’
‘I like Pamela!’ Jamie protested.
‘You bloody ought to. She’s your wife.’ Charlie tugged fretfully at his unruly mop of curls. He looked as if he hadn’t been to bed again and hadn’t shaved. But then, that was how he normally looked. ‘If you still have any feelings for her at all, why are you doing this?’
‘I don’t have a choice anymore.’ Jamie looked round to check that no one else was listening. The worst thing about working in an office that was an ex–rabbit warren was that there were plenty of places for people with big ears to lurk. ‘Being without Teri now would be like being without breath—a fairly vital component to human life, I think you’ll agree.’
Charlie fished in Jamie’s desk tidy and started joining all the paper-clips together to form a chain. ‘And what about Pamela—and the kids? What would life be like without them?’
‘I’m not planning on leaving them.’ Jamie’s tone was becoming insistent.
‘What exactly are you planning to do, then? Lead this double life forever?’ Charlie swung the paper-clip chain in front of him.
‘I don’t think that’s any of your business.’
‘You didn’t go to boarding school, did you?’ Charlie raised one eyebrow.
‘You know I didn’t.’ Jamie looked puzzled. ‘I am a product of Queen Elizabeth’s Grammar School, Melrose, in the Borders of sunny Scotland.’
‘I went to boarding school,’ Charlie said flatly. ‘I was sent away by my parents when I was seven.’
‘Now you’re breaking my heart.’ It came out more sarcastically than he had intended.
Charlie stared out of the office window. ‘Did you go home every night to a loving family with your tea waiting on the table and your mother in her apron?’
Jamie frowned and said impatiently, ‘Something like that. Why?’
‘I cried myself to sleep every night for two years.’ He looked back at Jamie. ‘I know what it’s like to be without parents. And mine thought they were doing the best for me—giving me a good start in life, making a man out of me.’ Charlie pulled a wry face. ‘If you can’t think of Pamela, think of the kids.’
‘I told you,’ Jamie repeated tightly, ‘I’m not about to abandon them.’
‘Emotionally, you’re already out of the door.’
‘And when did you turn into my conscience?’ Jamie snapped.
Charlie ignored him. ‘Supposing Pamela finds out?’
‘She won’t.’ Jamie grabbed the paper-clip chain from Charlie’s hands and flung it onto the desk.
‘I bet Hugh Grant thought that too.’
‘This is entirely different.’
‘You’re right, it is. You’re not famous—you won’t have an agent turning it into good publicity. It won’t get you plum parts in new movies. And no one’s going to pat you on the back and say what a good bloke you are, even though you’re a bit laddish and ever so slightly careless.’ Charlie stood up from Jamie’s desk and stretched like a contented cat. ‘Still, at least you’re not paying for it like old Hugh.’
Jamie hadn’t realised how strong he was until his fist hit Charlie’s face. Neither did Charlie. Jamie knocked his friend straight off his feet and onto the floor. But then the element of surprise probably had something to do with it as well. Charlie probably realised he weighed a lot too, because he was sprawled on top of Jamie, punching at his body with a random ferocity that was quite alarming.
‘You bastard!’ hissed Jamie, showering spittle into Charlie’s face. It sounded as if there were two secretaries screaming, but they only had one in the office, so she must have been making that frightful din all by herself. Mercifully, someone hoisted Jamie off Charlie’s inert and breathless body. He was holding Jamie by the scruff of the neck when Charlie recovered sufficiently to open his eyes. Unfortunately, it was Jamie’s boss who had come to the rescue, the merciless director of information technology, John ‘Joyless’ Lovejoy. Jamie’s face was suffused purple with anger and he was still throwing half-hearted punches at the air.
‘This isn’t the flaming playground!’ Joyless shouted. ‘Get out of my sight and settle whatever this is about in an adult and dignified manner.’ He pointed a finger at Charlie, who was still flat on his back and breathing heavily. ‘I want you back in here by two o’clock acting like the best of friends, otherwise don’t come back at all.’
Joyless released his hold on Jamie, who stopped flailing and straightened his tie. ‘Help him up!’ Joyless ordered, and marched out of the room.
Jamie sat sullenly nursing his pint of lager. It was weak and flat and tasted of cleaning fluid. Charlie sat nursing a gin and tonic—a double—and his face. There was a bright red swollen splotch just under his right eye, which would eventually turn purple, and a
slight cut—well, more of a slight graze really—along his cheekbone. He was gingerly holding an ice cube against it that he had fished out of his gin. All three of them were crowded round a beer-stained table that was only intended for two, and Gordy was holding court. Jamie and Charlie intermittently glowered at each other.
‘We’ve been together two years, me and Tina,’ Gordy said in response to Charlie’s attempt at subtle questioning. ‘It feels like a bloody lifetime.’ His face sank deeper into its usual hangdog expression.
‘What went wrong?’ Charlie said. He sounded as if he had developed a slight lisp, but Jamie couldn’t be sure that he wasn’t putting it on in order to catch the sympathy vote. ‘I thought she was a right little goer?’
Jamie narrowed his eyes at him menacingly. Charlie looked the other way.
‘“Martini” they used to call her when she worked in the office. You know, like the advert, “any time, anyplace, anywhere”,’ he sang tunelessly. ‘And good grief, she was, too. Over the desk, behind the filing cabinet, in the stationery cupboard—we tried them all.’
Charlie swallowed his gin and pursed his lips. ‘What happened?’
Gordy raised his pint to his mouth and shrugged. ‘She went teetotal on me as soon as we got married. Now it’s “I haven’t got the time”, “we can’t do it here” and “no way, José”.’
‘Surely it can’t be all that bad.’
Gordy smacked his lips and returned his beer to the table. ‘She hates my kids.’ He had a line of froth settled on his top lip. ‘I hate my kids.’ He sat back and folded his arms. ‘I see them every other weekend and the only place they want to go—after McDonald’s—is shopping. They’ve turned into Toys “R” Us vultures. They swoop in there and won’t come out until they’ve picked the shelves clean. First it was Woody and Buzz Lightyear, then poofy-looking WWE wrestling figures, and now they’ve got every Monsters, Inc. cuddly toy frigging set. If their clothes haven’t got a designer label on them, they’ve Finding Nemo scrawled all over them instead. I’m dreading what comes next. I blame their mother,’ he said sagely. ‘She’s encouraged them to see me as nothing but a bottomless bank account.’
‘That’s terrible.’ Charlie looked pointedly at Jamie, who remained silent.
‘No, Charlie, you know what’s really terrible?’ Gordy was warming to his subject now. ‘I pay for them all—the whole bloody shebang. One ex-wife and three ex-kids. Of course, she’s got a lover. Surprising really, but she found one the minute I left. Young chap, too.’ He stopped momentarily to contemplate the strange ways of the world. ‘But will she marry him? Will she hell! She’d rather see me paying up until the day I die. It puts a terrible strain on our relationship, me and Tina. Of course, that’s why she does it. And the law courts back her up. There’s no justice in this world. What can a chap do?’
Jamie thought that he looked as if he wasn’t really open to suggestions.
‘Absolute nightmare,’ Charlie commiserated. He sat back in his chair, twirling the stem of his glass between his fingers. ‘So really, you would say that having an affair was the worst mistake you ever made?’ He sounded like the counsel for the prosecution summing up for the jury. Charlie smiled superciliously at Jamie.
‘Having an affair? Bollocks!’ Gordy said loudly. ‘The worst mistake I ever made was marrying Tina. I should have left things as they were. Set her up in a little flat, saucy nooky on tap twice a week, no strings attached. Best thing I ever did was have an affair.’
There was a look of utmost consternation on Charlie’s battered face. It was Jamie’s turn to wear the supercilious smile.
‘In fact—’ Gordy leaned forward conspiratorially ‘—I’m looking round for a nice young filly at the moment. If you know a good mount who wouldn’t mind going over a few jumps with me, you give me the nod.’ He winked theatrically.
Charlie’s mouth was hanging open.
‘You could park a bus in there,’ Jamie observed lightly.
Charlie snapped it shut. He looked at his watch. ‘We ought to be going, James. I have a mountain of work to be getting on with, even if you don’t. We’d better go back together, otherwise Joyless will want our resignations.’
Jamie stood up.
‘So soon?’ Gordy protested. ‘I haven’t even had a chance to ask you about that.’ He nodded at Charlie’s eye. ‘What was it? Lovers’ tiff?’
Charlie threw the rest of his gin down his throat. ‘Naff off, Gordy,’ he said shortly, and flounced out of the pub.
Charlie and Jamie walked to the end of the block in an uneasy silence. ‘So what was the moral of that little tale?’ Jamie said eventually.
Charlie shook his head. ‘I’m buggered if I know.’ They crossed over the road and then fell in step beside each other again. ‘I suppose it just goes to show,’ Charlie continued, ‘that we never learn by our mistakes. We just keep on making them. And whatever anyone else says to persuade us otherwise counts for bugger all.’
Jamie touched the sleeve of his raincoat. ‘Thanks for trying though, Charlie.’
His friend shrugged.
Jamie laughed and tried to lighten the mood. ‘Do you think he sussed which one of us is having the affair, or is Gordy too wrapped up in his own troubles to notice anyone else’s?’
‘Was I that obvious?’ Charlie looked concerned.
‘Dolly Parton’s breasts are less obvious than you, Charles.’
Charlie tutted. ‘I thought I was being so discreet.’ They walked along in silence again until Charlie said hesitantly, ‘I’m sorry for saying what I did earlier, about, you know, about Hugh Grant and all that.’
‘That’s okay. I’m too touchy at the moment. I shouldn’t have hit you.’
Charlie patted his face carefully. ‘No, you shouldn’t.’
‘Not so hard anyway,’ Jamie countered. ‘I don’t know what’s got into me, Charlie. I’m sorry. You’re not going to believe this—’ Jamie dodged two drunks who were lying asleep across the pavement ‘—but we haven’t even…you know. Nothing. So why am I feeling so guilty?’
Charlie’s eyebrows pulled together in a crease. ‘Not a thing? What about the other night?’
‘We slept together—as in asleep.’
‘Non-consummated adultery? Now there’s a novel concept.’ ‘It isn’t through lack of inclination,’ Jamie elaborated hurriedly.
‘Mmm,’ Charlie said. ‘I see.’
‘How can you see, if I don’t see?’ Jamie said crossly.
‘You feel guilty because you are guilty,’ Charlie explained. Jamie’s face darkened. ‘I don’t want to have to hit you again, Charlie.’
‘Well, I suppose I should be thankful for that.’ Charlie looked sideways at him. ‘It’s because it’s premeditated, dear boy. You can’t plead diminished responsibility, because your responsibility isn’t diminished. This isn’t a flash in the pan, is it? This isn’t carnal manslaughter—one moment of madness and you’re left with a body that you don’t know what to do with, and blood on your hands. This is inching step-by-step to its ultimate conclusion, every move precisely planned. This is first-degree adultery that you’re planning to commit. Every jury in the land would find you guilty. If there was still capital punishment, you’d swing.’
Jamie looked stricken. ‘If you’re trying to cheer me up, Charlie, I have to say it isn’t working.’
‘I’m merely trying to point out the facts of the case.’
‘Not only do you look like Colombo, you’re starting to sound like him too,’ Jamie said tersely. ‘Anyway, I don’t know why I’m telling you all this.’
‘Because I’m your best friend.’ They stopped at the office door. ‘Because I’m your only friend. And because, even though I think you’re a prize prat, you know I’ll be there to help you pick up the pieces when it all goes horribly wrong.’
Jamie punched him playfully on the shoulder.
‘And don’t hit me again,’ Charlie said tetchily. ‘I mark easily.’
Chapter 13
Teri was sitting on the toilet seat. Clare was in the bath surrounded by an overindulgence of bubbles which bobbed rhythmically round her chin and showed a blatant disregard for the economies of a water meter. There was a bright yellow duck with an orange beak at the taps end which was struggling to keep its head above the froth.
The bathroom was the only room that Teri hadn’t yet tackled. The suite was yellow—primrose yellow rather than duck yellow—and someone had gone overboard, covering every conceivable remaining surface with three-inch white tiles erratically veined with the same yellow. It was truly nauseating and would be hellishly expensive to put right. The bathroom needed a new suite and new tiles—albeit not on the scale of the current acreage. She’d tried sponging and stippling and Artexing, and she could put up a shelf that actually stayed up, but tiling was something that Teri felt was beyond her limited Do-It-Yourself ability. That was definitely a job for someone else.
Teri twisted the top on and off the foaming bath gel. It was an aromatherapy one, optimistically called The Source of Life and the blurb on the back assured her it was enriched with oils of ylang-ylang and sandalwood to relax troubled spirits and soothe the tired mind. She’d used gallons of it since Clare arrived. It had made not the slightest bit of difference. Her ‘troubled spirit’ was still about as relaxed as a poltergeist, and her ‘tired mind’ rather than being soothed felt perilously close to exploding. Clare had also used a gallon of it, and it hadn’t done anything to make her easier to live with either.
Teri glanced at her friend. Clare was resting with her eyes closed, a dreamy look on her upturned face, curiously decapitated by the froth. Teri went back to twisting the cap. ‘Look, this is going to be really hard for me to say.’
Clare opened her eyes. ‘It’s about the milk, isn’t it? I know I used it all yesterday morning. I’m really sorry, but I think you ought to get some more delivered. There’s just not enough, and dry Golden Grahams are no one’s idea of a fun breakfast.’
Teri sighed and counted very quickly to ten. ‘It isn’t about the milk.’
Clare’s brow crinkled. ‘It’s the ironing board, then.’ A hand appeared from beneath the water, and she cleared a path in the bubbles just in front of her mouth. ‘I can tell you exactly how it happened.’ Clare’s gabbling was legendary. ‘David rang just as I was pressing my jeans, and I don’t know how, but it must have just fallen over. I didn’t notice until I could smell the burning.’
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