By the time they reached the station she was very tense, almost looking over her shoulder, as Richard got her suitcase out of the boot.
‘Have a good time,’ he said, kissing her goodbye. ‘Don’t forget to phone.’
‘Don’t fuss.’
He raised his eyebrows slightly, which meant he was annoyed. ‘Thanks a lot. I should have let you get the tube.’
Yes, you bloody should, she thought. ‘I’m sorry. Of course I’ll phone. I always do.’
She watched him drive off, just to be sure, before she ran through the station and out again into the side street where Felix had said he would park. Her heart was pounding with tension and rage and at first she couldn’t see the car. What if something had happened and he couldn’t get away? What would she do? Then she saw him waving at her.
‘Darling, you’re shaking,’ he said as she got in and they had a long embrace.
‘Richard gave me a lift.’
‘What a good thing we arranged to meet here, not closer to home.’
‘Yes. And I thought you were crazy suggesting it.’
‘The practised criminal always sticks as close to the truth as he can.’
She didn’t altogether like his flippant tone but it did calm her down. ‘It was awful. I was so afraid he’d see your car. I actually snapped at him and he snapped right back.’
‘Richard’s a very angry person,’ said Felix, sounding pleased.
‘But he hardly ever loses his temper.’
‘That’s what I mean.’
Gradually she began to relax. Once they were out of London the flat open country with its peculiar light soothed her. After a while Felix stopped and took a small box out of his pocket.
‘Knew I’d forgotten something.’
She opened it and found a narrow wedding ring of twisted gold. He put it on for her and it fitted perfectly. How did he manage to get these details right? She nearly cried, and they kissed until he said they had better drive on or they’d have to make love in the car. For the rest of the journey she watched the sun glinting on the gold, narrowing her eyes and moving her fingers to make it flash. She’d never had anything gold before. It looked so delicate. It was exactly what she would have chosen. She thought how carefully she would have to hide it until she went away and could wear it all the time.
* * *
The beauty of Cambridge startled her as they drove in. She had only seen it in films before. The hotel was breathtaking, too, right on the river. He hadn’t prepared her for that, but she could see how her pleasure delighted him. She was never sure if she preferred looking forward to things or being surprised, and somehow he always managed to give her both, as if he understood the dilemma.
She felt conspicuous at the reception desk and hung back rather, admiring the calm way he dealt with everything, though it did make her think briefly of how often he must have done it before. Never here, she hoped, but decided it would be better not to ask, just in case she didn’t like what she heard.
Their room was large with a big double bed, TV, en suite bathroom and a terrace overlooking the river. She went around opening doors and exclaiming, then they spent some time kissing and hugging and admiring the view. It felt very wicked and grown up.
‘Isn’t it wonderful?’ she said. ‘I do love hotels.’
He asked how many she had stayed in, knowing the answer.
‘None. We always rented cottages or barges, it was cheaper. So I’m a real expert.’
He said seriously, ‘Yes. It’s just the way it ought to be,’ and she knew they were going to have a wonderful time. They shared a sense of occasion. The place was magic and they both knew it.
* * *
Having the whole weekend ahead of them was such an extraordinary treat that it even took away the normal urgency to make love at once. Instead they decided on lunch and sightseeing. Time would stand still until they got to bed. Like the school holidays, the first night of a weekend like this could be postponed or prolonged almost indefinitely. If they didn’t begin it, then it couldn’t be over. They were waiting to unwrap a parcel and they could put it off as long as they liked.
Somehow over lunch she found herself talking about Helen.
‘I know it sounds funny but I always felt sort of responsible for her, as far back as I can remember. As if she couldn’t cope and I had to look after her.’
‘How very uncomfortable.’
‘Yes, it was.’
He poured some more wine. ‘I felt a bit like that about my mother too.’
‘Oh, Felix.’ She was always amazed how he understood everything she said from first-hand experience. It was still a shock that he was every bit as wonderful as she had thought he would be. ‘We do have a lot in common, don’t we? The mother in The Heartbreak Merchant – was it all true?’
He nodded and she saw the pain in his face. She held his hand across the table. ‘I thought so. What a shame.’
‘Oh, I survived.’
Now he was being brave, pretending it wasn’t as bad as it was. She knew that one too. She kissed his hand.
‘I felt with Mum that she was trying so hard to be strong, I mustn’t add to her troubles. It was odd. As if I had to be good all the time.’
‘Have you ever told her that?’
‘Oh no, I couldn’t. It would sound like whingeing. She did her best. It was really hard for her trying to support herself and me by painting and teaching – well, nearly impossible. I don’t know how she did it.’ She thought back for a moment. ‘God, it was cold in the studio. We lived there for years. We had paraffin heaters and we had to wrap blankets round our legs. She actually had to paint in gloves sometimes.’
Felix said, ‘You love her very much, don’t you?’
‘Yes, of course. She’s funny, she kind of makes you love her. But I get very angry with her sometimes.’
* * *
In the afternoon they roamed round the colleges like tourists.
‘It’s so beautiful,’ she said, marvelling at it all, feeling actual tears in her eyes. ‘It’s even better than I imagined.’
Felix looked pleased, as if he were personally responsible. ‘Yes, it is pretty good. It’s nice there are still places that live up to their reputations. Venice is another.’
‘I wish we could go there together,’ she said quickly, excited by the idea.
‘Maybe we will some day.’ But he didn’t elaborate. ‘Byron was an undergraduate here, I think.’
‘You’re a bit like Byron, aren’t you?’
‘Minus the limp.’ He laughed. ‘Maybe I should try it. Might get a bit more attention.’
‘You’re getting quite enough, I think.’
They strolled on, arms round each other, enjoying the sunshine.
‘Oh, this is so lovely,’ Sally said rapturously, wondering at the same time if she was being too enthusiastic. Did it make her seem gauche and silly? ‘I want to do all the traditional things, like going in a punt and having tea at Grantchester. Can we?’
‘Whatever you like, my darling. Provided someone else does the actual punting. I’m a bit out of practice and I don’t fancy getting stuck on the end of a pole.’
It was a lovely mental picture. ‘If you fell in, I could save you. I’m a good swimmer.’
‘Yes, you’d like that, wouldn’t you?’
‘Or I could hold your head underwater till you promised to love me for ever.’
‘You don’t need threats to make me do that.’
They kissed and suddenly it was all very serious.
‘Felix. What’s going to happen if I go to Sussex?’
‘Well… you’re going to have a wonderful time with lots of young men chasing you and I’m going to be very jealous.’
‘No, I’m serious.’
‘So am I.’ He held her face in his hands.
‘I mean how often are we going to be able to meet?’
‘Well, not as often as now, obviously. But I’ll drive down for the day whenever I can, an
d you’ll be coming home for the weekend now and then, won’t you?’
It didn’t sound anything like enough. It sounded vague and unstructured.
‘It’s going to be very different,’ she said, thinking about it.
‘But all that freedom. No more Richard and Helen breathing down your neck.’
She tried to smile, wondering where all her elation had suddenly gone. ‘I suppose I’ll have to ring them tonight. Pretend I’m in Aldeburgh.’
‘Ring from a callbox and tell them the cottage doesn’t have a phone.’ He kissed her again, but lightly this time, on the forehead. ‘Come on, darling, cheer up. We’re going to have a lovely time.’
* * *
Felix noted with satisfaction that the other hotel was decidedly inferior, the sort given over to conferences or even designed with them in mind. It had that dreadfully functional air about it. Other crime writers were milling around, signing in, greeting each other, having drinks at the bar. He only intended to stay long enough to check the programme for any last-minute alterations and confirm the time of his speech, but someone he remembered slightly came charging up to him looking pleased, rather like an eager Labrador.
‘John. Good to see you,’ he managed, the first lie of the day.
‘Hullo, Felix. How’s the world treating you?’
‘Not so bad. And you?’
‘Mustn’t grumble. Things have really looked up since I changed agents.’
God, surely he didn’t write as badly as he talked? Who was the poor sod getting ten per cent of all those clichés?
‘Who are you with now?’
‘Natasha Blor. You put me on to her, don’t you remember?’
Oh dear. ‘I put so many people on to Natasha, she ought to reduce her commission.’
‘Mind you, I need every penny I can get. Running two families comes expensive.’
‘Well, if you will make these romantic gestures.’ He remembered now. John was one of those who after years of miserable monogamy suddenly ran off with a much younger woman, leaving hordes of screaming children in his wake and embarking on a new breeding programme as if he thought mankind was in danger of extinction. Extraordinary.
‘Is Elizabeth with you?’
‘No, she couldn’t get away.’ What the hell was the name of the new young breeder?
‘Lorna’s here. Why don’t you join us for dinner?’
‘Actually, I’m staying somewhere else, so I won’t be around much. Just dashing in tomorrow to do my spiel and that’s about it. Thanks all the same.’
John looked at him admiringly, reading between the lines as Felix had hoped he would. ‘Same old Felix. I don’t know how you keep it up.’
‘I sometimes wonder about that myself.’
* * *
By the time he got back to his hotel he was aware of feeling tired. The stress of travel, a heavy lunch, all that unaccustomed fresh air and sightseeing, then inane dialogue with John – they had all taken their toll. Most of all he was conscious of not having his usual allowance of time alone. His normal day was so differently structured and he was used to it, he needed it. Now yet another elaborate meal awaited him and then a peak performance in bed would be expected. A quickie before lunch would have been much more relaxing. He didn’t like all this postponement: it had the heavy aura of a wedding night about it. Had he been foolish to buy Sally a ring? But she had wanted one so much and it had seemed, at the time, like a harmless fantasy.
He mellowed when he saw her. She looked so young, sitting there in her underwear, carefully painting her face as if she could improve on nature. He wanted to laugh and hug her. At the same time he feared her relentless energy. Would she expect him to stay awake half the night? Perform over and over again? Weekends away were something he normally avoided, except with Elizabeth. To be onstage without a break for forty-eight hours with an unfamiliar partner could be overtaxing, and he was too old to see anything intrinsically romantic about sharing a bed or a bath. But she had somehow made him feel he owed it to her before she went away to college, almost as if there were something sacramental about sleep.
He said, ‘Did you make your phone call?’ remembering she had been worried about it.
‘They asked about the weather. I said it was a bit mixed.’
‘Well, that should cover everything.’
‘I’m so bad at lying. I hate it.’
‘Just think of it as a game.’
‘Pig. You’re so practised.’
He kissed the top of her head. ‘Isn’t that part of my charm?’
‘What charm?’
‘Now you sound like your mother.’
‘You beast.’
‘I’m only teasing.’
They wrestled playfully and ended up embracing.
‘God, you’re so strong,’ he said. ‘I’m putty in your hands.’
She laughed and kissed him. The scent of her skin made him want her all over again, as if she were new. He held great handfuls of her hair like heavy silk between his fingers. What it was to be eighteen.
‘Did you bring my clothes from the flat?’ she asked. ‘I love the stuff you buy me and I hardly ever get a chance to wear it.’
‘No. I got you something new.’
‘Oh, Felix.’
He was warmed by her childish excitement. That was how it should be. Presents were fun. ‘Hang on. Just let me out of your vice-like grip and I’ll find it for you.’
She let go and he produced a smart carrier bag from his suitcase. She sighed with joy and opened it to find a very slinky black dress in silk jersey, really one of his best choices and in a sale, too; he had been lucky. She said, ‘Oh, Felix,’ in tones of positively sexual rapture. She said that often but he never tired of it and it always turned him on, making him feel he was magic. ‘God, it’s wonderful. It’s exactly the sort of dress I’ve always wanted.’
‘I was hoping it might be.’
She kissed him several times. ‘You’re absolutely brilliant.’
He was and he knew it. He had turned buying women’s clothes into a fine art and he was justifiably proud of himself.
‘I do my best.’ He watched appreciatively while she put on the dress, watched with confidence, without anxiety, knowing it would fit and suit her. It was slightly too old for her, of course, but that was part of its charm and what they both wanted. It made her look ever so slightly sluttish.
‘God, it’s fantastic,’ she said, admiring herself in the mirror with just a touch of awe, as if she could not quite believe how beautiful she was. She had great legs. When he could drag his eyes away from her tits, it was her legs he looked at, every time, and he had trained her to wear stockings and suspenders. He wondered if Richard lusted after her. It must be almost impossible not to, but no doubt he would never admit it.
‘Now it’s got you inside it, yes, it is. And the sooner I get inside you the better.’
They kissed again. The kiss went on and on.
‘Come on,’ he said, knowing her adolescent appetite. ‘Or we won’t get any dinner.’
‘You’re so practical.’
‘Got to keep up my strength. Don’t want any complaints, do I?’
‘Fat chance,’ she said lovingly.
They went downstairs. He was proud to be seen with her; he could feel the lust and envy in other men’s eyes. At the same time he was careful not to look at other women when they were together, although as luck would have it there was a French woman of about thirty-five in the bar whom in other circumstances…
Champagne, he thought. It would have to be champagne tonight.
* * *
Like most women he knew, Sally took ages in the bathroom, so Felix put in a quick call to Elizabeth while he was waiting. She sounded resolutely cheerful yet somehow plaintive, her usual tone when he went away without her. They talked about the weather and the hotel and she asked who was at the conference.
‘Oh, the usual crowd, you know. It’s a bit dull really. No wonder we all turn to cr
ime.’
She laughed obediently. ‘Missing you,’ she said.
‘Are you? Me too. Well, must go, darling, I promised to have a drink with John and Lorna before I turn in.’
‘Give them my love,’ she said. She probably remembered more about them than he did.
‘I will.’
‘How are they? Happy?’
‘As far as I can tell. They seem OK.’
‘All those children,’ she said thoughtfully.
Not a subject to get into now. ‘Night night, love. See you Sunday.’
He fell back on the bed, inspecting his body for signs of middle age. So far it was holding up pretty well but no doubt he should take more exercise, cut down on booze. The media were always droning on about it. Some day perhaps.
Sally came at last out of the bathroom wearing a négligé he had given her, her face beautiful but oddly serious, her hair brushed out loose the way he liked it. She walked slowly to the bed and stood looking down at him.
‘Hullo, my lovely. You look very solemn.’
‘I was thinking how much I love you.’
She got into bed. A faint sense of duty intervened for a moment: now he was obliged to take pleasure in what had been pointlessly postponed all day. Then the smell of her skin and the abundance of her hair worked its usual magic: simple lust took over, fuelled by a curious, slight, almost virginal reluctance about her which he found exciting. Sucking her, fucking her, playing with violence in a sort of rape fantasy game that they both enjoyed sometimes, all gave him a feeling of mastery, as if she were a new conquest. In the end it turned out to be one of their best, and she even cried a little after they had both come. He cuddled her till she fell asleep, then turned over carefully (he could never sleep facing anyone) hoping he would wake with a hard-on, hoping he wouldn’t snore.
A Sense of Guilt Page 11