“I know,” she said. “Me too.” And she began to kiss him again, hungrily, greedily. She wanted him so much, all pretence of restraint fell away. She put her arms around his neck and could feel him lifting her off the ground effortlessly. She laughed and pushed him away for a second.
“Paul… I…”
The phone rang and she felt herself stiffen.
“I’d better get that.”
He showed no sign of letting her go.
“Let the answer phone take it.” His voice was thick with passion as he leaned towards her and began to kiss her neck.
“OK.”
She relaxed again. By the time the greeting had ended, she was up against the wall, and Paul was gazing intently at her, a hair’s breadth away from kissing her again. She tried to concentrate on the moment in hand.
James’ voice cut abruptly into their pleasure:
“Allie? Allie! Are you there? Pick up, damn you! It’s urgent! Pick up!”
She felt Paul tense up and draw back. Suddenly he was handing her the phone. Reluctantly, she took it.
“Yes,” she said evenly, smoothing down her hair. She glanced up at Paul and saw puzzlement in his eyes.
“Thank God you’re there. What took you so long?” James’ voice bounced off the walls of the hallway as the answer phone kept recording, giving the effect of magnifying his anger. “Harry’s had an asthma attack. Liz took him to A & E. I’m there now. She tried to call you on your mobile, but it was turned off. Where have you been?”
Allie felt as though someone had slapped her. She turned away from Paul, vaguely aware of him moving back.
“My God! Is he OK? I’m on my way.”
James’ level of panic descended a notch.
“He’s fine now. Liz’s here with all the kids. She says she’ll wait until they’ve finished with him, then bring him home.” There was a pause. “There’s no need to come now.” His voice became cold. “Where were you anyway?”
“At the school. Parents’ Evening.”
“So late?”
Allie took a deep breath.
“What, you mean you don’t believe me?”
There was a click and a whine as the machine stopped recording. James’ voice resounded even louder in her ear:
“No, it’s just that it’s late. For a Parents’ Evening, that is.”
She could almost feel herself physically shrinking as they continued their descent into conflict.
“James. Please. Let’s not argue.” Allie lowered her voice. “Not now.” There was no reply. “James? Are you sure Harry’s OK? I don’t need to come?”
“No. I’m sorry, Allie. Sometimes, I… I’m sorry. I was just worried.” He coughed. “No. You don’t need to come. I’ve got to go now. Eleanor’s waiting. I’ll tell Liz you’re home. She should be back with Harry and the kids in about half an hour.”
“James, I…”
“Sorry, Allie. Got to go.”
And he hung up.
Allie stared at the phone for a moment, as though it could offer her an explanation for how ex-husbands still think they have a say over what their former wives do. And how the latter don’t question it. She could feel her eyes watering and blinked furiously.
“Allie?” Paul’s soft voice roused her from her thoughts. “Is Harry OK?” She nodded, keeping her back to him. She didn’t trust herself to speak. He continued: “Should I leave now?”
She swallowed and tried to keep her breathing steady, aware of the hot tears streaming down her cheeks, the damp, salty sensation on her skin and the bitter taste in her mouth. She didn’t turn round. She didn’t want him to see her like this. Drowning in an orgy of self-pity.
Then, gently, he put both hands on her shoulders and spun her round to face him. She kept her head down. Her voice was choked with sobs.
“I’m sorry, Paul. I don’t even know why I’m crying. I mean, Harry’s OK now. He’s on his way home. I… I’m sorry.”
“That’s OK,” he said, pulling her close and putting his arms around her again. “You weren’t there. That’s why you’re crying. You weren’t there when he needed you. But you made sure someone was. Come on, Allie. It’s OK now. He’ll be here in a while and he won’t want to see you upset.”
Allie gave in and let go of all her tension. With Paul’s arms around her, the floodgates opened.
“Oh no,” she sobbed. “I’m making your shirt all wet…”
He chuckled. It was a low, comforting sound.
“I’m used to that. Women always seem to want to cry on my shoulder.”
“They have to be tall, to do that.” She smiled, then her features froze, as the vision of the tallest, most beautiful woman she knew came into her head. Melanie. She leaned back a little and wiped her face. “I’m sorry, Paul. I’m pathetic sometimes.”
He stroked her wet cheek tenderly.
“There’s nothing pathetic about a mother being worried about her children,” he said, looking steadily at her. “That’s perfectly natural.” His gaze drew her in and made her want to forget everything. Just lose herself in him.
She relaxed against him again, then started as the doorbell rang. A deep voice came from outside:
“Allie? Are you OK? Where is everyone?”
Paul’s eyes clouded over for a moment. He began to laugh softly.
“We’re not meant to be together tonight,” he said, kissing her damp face before relinquishing his hold on her. “I’ll see you on Saturday, shall I?”
“Yes. I….” Allie wanted so much to sound capable, in control. She was aware she was failing miserably. The evening would appear to be descending into farce. She began to giggle. “I’ll see you on Saturday.”
The voice outside became desperate and was accompanied by a frantic hammering on the door.
“Allie!! Are you in there? Are you OK?”
Allie called out. “It’s OK, Jeremiah. I’m coming. Hold on a sec!”
She put her hand up to Paul Richmond’s cheek and stroked it briefly. She was aware of a new intimacy between them, permitting her to touch him whenever she wanted. His skin felt slightly stubbly, a little rough against her soft fingers. A vision of his cheek against her breast flashed through her mind and made her blush. Looking into his eyes, she felt suddenly exposed. As though he could see the images in her head. She slowly withdrew her hand. Instantly, he caught it and pressed it back hard against his face, kissing her palm as he spoke.
“I’ll pick you up at eight,” he murmured. “Is that OK?”
She nodded, still transfixed by him.
“Allie!! Let me in!” She moved reluctantly away from Paul and opened the door. “Allie!! I… Oh.” Jeremiah’s face split into a huge, sunny grin as he took in the situation. “Sorry Allie. I didn’t know you had company.” He nodded at Paul. “It’s just that no one’s in at home, and I thought Liz might be over here, but there’s a half-eaten meal on the table and the door was unlocked.” He stepped in, seemingly unable to stop talking. “And the car’s gone. So I wondered…”
“It’s OK, Jeremiah. Come through. I’ll explain.”
All of a sudden, Paul found himself out on the step, looking in on Allie and her neighbour.
“I’ll see you on Saturday,” he said, trying to sound casual. “Bye Jeremiah. Nice to have met you.”
“Bye.” Jeremiah was already on his way into the kitchen.
Allie was still standing in the doorway, the soft light making her glow: a muted spectrum of golden hair and rosy flushed cheeks. To him, at that moment, she looked good enough to eat.
“See you on Saturday,” she said.
“At eight.” His words carried a confidence he didn’t quite feel. What was he doing? Was he ready for this? Could he go through with it? Maybe he should just tell her he couldn’t. That he wasn’t really free.
“I’ll be ready.” Her voice was trusting.
Damn. He was hooked. He had to see her again, hold her to him, breathe her in. There was no way back.
&n
bsp; Chapter Four
It was Friday afternoon, and Allie was settling down to work on her book. She stretched out on the shady patio, and prepared to lose herself in her characters and their exotic location. During the week, her Eastern European hero seemed to have acquired a few more of Paul Richmond’s traits, making him much more attractive and believable. That was Allie’s opinion, anyway. Just as she was about to put pen to paper, her mobile rang, making her jump.
“Hello?”
“Hello, Mrs. Johnson?”
Think of the devil…. The deep, lilting voice made her heart lurch. She had to make a real effort not to sound too eager.
“Mr. Richmond. How are you?”
“Fine thanks. And you?”
“Fine.”
There was a pause. She glanced at her watch: 1 pm. What on earth was he doing phoning her at this time? She pictured him in the school office, with the secretary looking on. She’d better not be looking too closely, she thought.
“Mrs. Johnson,” he continued. “Do you remember putting your name down to help at the arts and crafts afternoon?”
She sat up.
“Isn’t that next week?”
He laughed softly.
“No. It’s in ten minutes. Can I count on you? A couple of the other parents have dropped out. Flu, or a sudden allergy to loud kids. Something like that.”
“No problem,” she lied, picking up her things and going into the kitchen. “See you in ten minutes.”
“I’ll look forward to it, Mrs. Johnson.”
The termly arts and crafts afternoon was one of the few occasions Allie really enjoyed helping out. As she entered the classroom, she could see that the corners were set up for different activities: predictably, drawing and painting, and more unusually, puppet making and pottery. The first thing she noticed was Melanie, directing the puppet making. How she managed to look so serene was a mystery to Allie. She was an Italian Renaissance painting come to life. Madonna and children. Surrounded by scraps of paper, glue, scissors and mess. Billy was in the room, supervised by Paul, who was bending over him in the pottery corner, guiding his hands as he moulded the clay into a long shape. His voice, patient and encouraging, drifted over to Allie, cutting directly through the babble of higher-pitched sounds.
“That’s right, Billy, well done. Keep rolling.”
He straightened up and met her eye. Despite her over-flushed cheeks, proclaiming the fact that she had run the last block to school, and her hair, which she knew must be sticking out in all directions, his gaze made her feel she was the most desirable woman in the room. Even with stiff competition from the chief puppeteer.
“Mrs. Johnson.” She loved the twinkle in his eye when he called her that. “How nice of you to come. Would you like to help out in the painting corner?”
“Of course, Mr. Richmond.”
He grinned as he led her across to a small group of children in paint-splattered smocks, who were carefully mixing colours and trying to capture the timeless beauty of a bowl of fruit.
“Hang on. Wasn’t there a banana here a moment ago?” Paul sounded surprised and, on hearing him, the children sat up.
A freckle-faced girl was the first to speak:
“Jordan ate it, sir.”
Allie turned away for a moment, trying to suppress a laugh.
“Jordan? Is that right?” asked Paul.
“Sorry sir, I was hungry. My mum forgot to put any sandwiches in my lunch box again.”
“Come with me, Jordan. Let’s find you something to eat. If you’ve all finished painting the fruit, you can paint the child next to you.”
As he led the small offender away and Allie took her seat, she caught his eye again. He smiled intimately at her, as if they were the only two people in the room.
“Sir! Molly’s sniffing the glue!”
The shrill voice grabbed his attention and he turned away. Taking a deep breath, Allie settled down for two hours of enjoyable mayhem.
As the afternoon wore on, Allie allowed herself the occasional furtive glance in the general direction of Paul Richmond. She was beginning to realise how much she enjoyed looking at him. Apart from the fact that she was drawn to his handsome features like a moth to a flame, she also loved the quiet strength that emanated from him. A relaxed confidence that didn’t need to be proved. He was very different from James, who, apart from the odd reflective moment, seemed to give out constant tension, tinged with instability. As she watched Paul deal with the mishaps that occur when eight-year-olds are let loose with clay, she noticed he never lost his patience. Calm seemed to radiate out and settle over the children around him, who were all now intently focused on their various tasks. Even Billy, who would often take off for a stroll round the room, seemed less restless when in his vicinity.
Allie was suddenly aware she had been staring at him for too long and shifted her line of vision to the puppet corner. She was met by Melanie’s steady gaze and a slow, warm smile. Shit. She had noticed. Allie smiled back casually, then looked down. When she dared to glance at Melanie again, a few moments later, she was dismayed to see that she had crossed the room and was crouching down next to Paul, chatting softly to him. Whatever she was saying made him laugh and, in the split second her eyes met his, Allie felt a rush of jealousy. Powerful, it wrenched at her gut and made her look away in shame. What was she thinking? With such a gorgeous woman, so confident in her ability to seduce him that she could invade his personal space without a second thought, what chance did Allie have?
When she dared to look up again, Paul and Melanie were both talking quietly to Billy, who was looking down and smiling, immensely proud of the pot he had managed to make from his clay. Allie felt confused. There was obviously some kind of intimacy between Paul and Melanie. Maybe it had something to do with Billy? Not knowing what to think anymore, she focused on the children in her group again. To her horror, Jordan was painting directly onto another child’s smock.
“Hey! What are you doing?”
“Just doing what Sir said, Miss.”
She was puzzled. What was the child talking about? She lowered her voice.
“Well, stop.”
He put down his paintbrush and looked up at her, hurt.
“But that’s what Billy did last week, when Sir told us to paint the person next to us. Honest, Miss.”
Allie smiled.
“OK. But you’re not Billy. You know what I mean.”
Jordan grinned sheepishly.
“Sorry Miss.”
And the afternoon drew to its messy and chaotic conclusion.
At four o’clock, Allie, Paul and Melanie were still tidying up. Smoothing down the last of the paint-splattered smocks in the cupboard, Allie glanced out of the window. Harry and George were playing football in the deserted playground, and Billy was lying on a bench, twirling a stick over and over in his hand, squinting up at the sky.
“He’s not too keen on football,” said Melanie, who had appeared at Allie’s side, carrying a box of puppet pieces.
Allie turned to face her:
“I can relate to that.”
“Me too.” Melanie smiled, radiating serenity. “Would you and the boys like a lift home?” she asked. It was hard to dislike her.
“That’s really kind of you, we’d love that.”
“I’ll see you at the gate in about five minutes, then.”
Melanie turned to go. As she walked past Paul, who was lining up various half-finished pots on the windowsill, Allie saw her stop. Suddenly deciding to refold the last smock, she turned away, straining her ears to catch what Melanie said, but to no avail. She heard a low laugh, and then Melanie’s footsteps heading for the door again. As she left, she called out to Paul:
“See you!”
“See you.” Paul’s voice was like a shard of ice to Allie’s heart. Her fingers trembled as she rearranged the smock for the umpteenth time. Aware of his eyes on her, she closed the cupboard door and turned round.
“OK there, Allie?�
�� He turned his steady gaze on her. “Ready to go?”
She began to walk quickly towards the door.
“See you, Paul.”
In a split second, he was by her side, with his hand on her arm.
“Do you have to leave so soon?”
She looked up at him. Mischief twinkled in his eyes. What was he doing? She could hear the cleaner’s Hoover in the neighbouring classroom and the excited shouts of her sons outside.
“Melanie’s giving us a lift home.” Her voice had a distinctly frosty edge.
“I see.” His hand moved to her shoulder, gently caressing her skin. “Are we still on for Saturday?” She looked down. “Allie?” He tilted her face up gently to meet his gaze again. “See you tomorrow?”
She nodded and closed her eyes as he bent to kiss her. His lips brushed hers, then he drew away quickly, as if only now aware of where they were. As she gazed up at him, a question began to form in her head. She knew she had to ask him about Melanie. She took a deep breath, aware of his eyes drawing her in, and tried to give voice to her doubts. The only problem was, as soon as she opened her mouth, completely different words came out.
“So, where are you taking me?”
“Don’t dress up.” He stepped back as the sound of the Hoover grew louder. “We’ll go for a country walk.”
She smiled.
“Wellies and a sou’wester, then?”
“And not too much else, Mrs. Johnson.” He grimaced inwardly. Where were these lines coming from? It had been a while since he had been required to ‘chat up’ a woman, and he was sorely out of practice. She must think he was some kind of creep. He coughed. “I mean… You know what I mean.”
She laughed.
“OK. See you at eight, then.”
As she turned to go, he felt a small, nagging doubt. Melanie. Had Allie noticed something? Maybe. Had he given anything away? Probably. He wasn’t very good at deception. Not having had much practice, it didn’t come easily to him. Melanie was much better at it, although he wondered whether she had crossed an unspoken line today. Sometimes their intimacy would reveal itself in the most unlikely of situations: a touch here, a word there. They knew each other so well. It was hard to hide the truth.
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