Adultery for Beginners

by Sarah Duncan

  'She is.'

  'And as you have pointed out to me on many occasions, there is nothing between us beyond what goes on in the office.' She could hear her voice was brittle, and looked around to see if anyone had noticed, but they all seemed deep in conversation.

  'I'm sorry.' He ran his hand through his hair. 'If I'd known you'd be here I would have said something. I didn't expect -'

  'Obviously.' She felt herself bristling and glared at him. He looked down at her, his lips twitched and involuntarily she almost smiled back at him. But he was aware of the internal smile, and smiled broadly himself.

  'Oh, Isabel, what shall I do with you?'

  He made her sound like unwanted baggage, she thought. She hung her head, not wanting him to see how aware she was of his presence, the very scent of him, his warmth beside her. She felt confused at her emotions - anger, jealousy, love swirling round together like primeval soup - but knew that she must control them. No one must know how she felt. She straightened up.

  'Hadn't you better introduce me properly to your girlfriend?' she said.

  'If you wish.'

  They crossed the room together, Isabel careful not to let her hips sway and bump into him accidentally, as once she would have done deliberately. Justine's eyes flickered over Isabel as she and Patrick joined her and Victoria.

  'I feel I haven't seen you for ages,' Justine said.

  'Not since the PTA meeting,' Isabel answered, proud that her voice was steady. 'I'm so pleased to meet you at last,' she said to Victoria. 'Patrick has a lovely photograph of you in his office.' She sensed Patrick react to that although he said nothing.

  'Patrick, I'd no idea. That's so sweet of you,' Victoria said, wrinkling her nose and blowing him a kiss. Old friend my arse, thought Isabel.

  'Now, Patrick, I can't let your ego get even bigger by having three adoring ladies surrounding you,' Justine said gaily. 'I'm off to seduce your husband, Isabel.'

  'Be my guest,' Isabel answered, equally gaily.

  'Which is your husband?' Victoria asked, following Justine with her eyes.

  'The one talking to Richard. You know Richard, I expect.'

  'Gosh, yes. I adore Mary and Richard, don't I, darling?' Victoria slipped her hand around Patrick's arm, clearly staking her claim and warding off intruders. Patrick looked harassed, Isabel realised with amusement, slightly surprised that she could feel amused in the situation. Poor Victoria, she thought. If she's only half aware of Patrick's reputation she probably feels every woman she meets must be either a past, current or future mistress of his. Perhaps that's why she's so clingy.

  Helen saved her from having to make any further conversation by coming in and announcing that dinner was ready. They all trooped through to the candle-lit dining room. Helen had even gone as far as to put copperplate place-name cards in little silver apples and pears around the table. Isabel found her place, sandwiched between George - at the head of the table of course - and Quentin, who seemed to have wilted after Mary's monologue. Directly opposite her was Mary, with Patrick on her right and Justine to his right.

  Isabel pushed burnt Coquilles Saint-Jacques around her scallop shell. She glanced round the table. The men were eating solidly, shoving forkfuls in their mouths. No burnt bits for them. Or for Mary. She thought that Justine's and her own piped mashed potato were equally burnt, while Helen had given herself the most squidged and burnt one. She couldn't see what Victoria, on the far side of Quentin, had got. Isabel smiled to herself. It was interesting to know that Helen ranked her as equal status to Justine in the burnt food stakes. Either that or Helen thought she would be less likely to mind.

  'This is delicious, Helen,' Justine said, leaning forwards so she could smile sincerely at her. Helen looked flustered but pleased.

  I'm afraid it got a bit burnt.'

  'Oh, no, it's wonderful to have something hot to start with, especially now the evenings are drawing in. I don't know how you manage with so many people.'

  There was an echoing chorus of congratulations. Isabel asked Quentin what he did.

  'I'm a dermatologist. That's skin problems. Eczema, psoriasis and so on,' he explained. 'The skin's the largest excretory organ of the body, you know.'

  'Really?' Isabel said, looking at her scallops and trying not to think about excretory organs. 'Fascinating.'

  Encouraged, Quentin started to talk about dermabrasion, the new PUVA light treatments available and Chinese herbal medicine. It must have been murder for him to have to listen to Mary's monologue. Isabel nodded and interjected a suitable word every now and again. She could see why Helen hadn't put Quentin next to herself when she did her seating plan. George joined in, asking serious questions about acne treatments.

  Isabel tried to switch off, repulsed by the thought of George's teenage problems. Instead she watched Mary and Patrick across the other side of the table. Mary was talking, and judging by the mulish look on Patrick's face she was telling him off. He prodded a bit of scallop around his plate, then looked up and saw her watching him. His face went from miserable to happy in one second and despite herself Isabel's heart contracted with longing for him. Mary sensed his change and turned her head swiftly as a striking hawk. Isabel felt herself blush and turned back to Quentin.

  'What an interesting area of medicine,' she said faintly. 'I had no idea.'

  'I certainly enjoy it. Aside from the work, it has its advantages.'

  'Really?' Isabel said, thinking 'Private practice' and wondering if money would make up for him being a bore with such creepily smooth hands. She found it hard to believe that Justine would think so.

  'You get to work fairly regular hours, and not much at weekends,' Quentin carried on. 'Unlike so many of the other specialisms, you don't get paged when you're off duty.'

  'Mmm. I can see that you're not going to be dragged out of bed in the middle of the night over a case of raging pimples.'

  'It's a most important area of medicine.' He looked affronted.

  'But it's not exactly ER, is it?' She saw Helen pick up her plate and clutched at the chance of escape. 'Can I help you take things through?'

  'No, no, sit down,' Helen responded. Isabel slumped back in her seat. She wanted to go home and be safe from all the undercurrents. She felt confused. She knew what Patrick would say: You have a husband, what's wrong with me having a girlfriend? She shifted in her seat. She didn't like being deceived herself, but she was deceiving Neil without too many qualms. Wasn't this what she deserved? And what about Victoria? Funnily enough, she felt as uncomfortable about deceiving her as she did Neil. Neil was content, as far as Isabel could see. He had no idea about her affair with Patrick. Yet there was something desperate about Victoria, clinging onto Patrick. She winced at the idea that it was somehow all right to cheat Neil. She knew it was wrong, that Neil deserved a good and faithful wife who was loyal to him alone. Oh Patrick, she thought. Life was so much easier before you kissed me.

  He was now having a conversation with Neil and Richard, something about a mutual acquaintance, and a deal involving preference options. Patrick was animated, while Neil seemed slightly withdrawn.

  'You've got to admit he sailed pretty close to the wind,' Neil said.

  'All perfectly legal,' Patrick shrugged. 'And think of the profit margin.'

  'He made a lot, certainly. But as for being perfectly legal...'

  'Maybe a little bending of the rules. But hey, what are rules for if not to be bent a little from time to time? After all, if God didn't want them to get fleeced, he wouldn't have made them sheep.' He leant back on his chair and grinned across at Neil, his face brimming with mischief. Isabel found she was praying that he wouldn't say anything outrageous.

  'They said that after Lloyds, and I don't think many people found it funny then either,' Neil said quietly.

  'Hear, hear,' Justine said, and Patrick flashed her a look of annoyance. Isabel felt annoyed with Justine too, for showing her up. It should have been her backing Neil, not Justine.

  'Lloyds
is still a sore point round here, Patrick, old boy. As you well know,' Richard said heavily. 'We shouldn't talk business anyway.'

  'The first rule of civilised behaviour, I've been told,' Neil said. Patrick looked as cross as a cat when it's been caught out doing something stupid.

  Richard swivelled his attention to Neil. 'I understand you have children at St Joseph's too. How are they finding it? Settling in all right?'

  'Yes, thanks to Rachel,' Neil said, to Isabel's surprise. She wasn't aware that Neil had known anything about Justine's daughter. She supposed Katie must have told him. He added, 'Those girls seem to have hit it off from the first.'

  'How nice for her,' Victoria said. 'School can be hellish without a friend.'

  'Send 'em all off when they're seven, if not earlier,' Patrick said leaning back on his chair.

  'You don't really mean that,' Victoria frowned.

  'Sure, why not. Get rid of the ankle-biters until they're old enough to appreciate a good Burgundy and have a decent conversation.'

  Justine smiled very sweetly at him. 'Perhaps you say that because you don't have any children.'

  'Don't intend to either.'

  Isabel was aware of Victoria fiddling with the cutlery. 'Bet you will.' Justine was leaning back in her chair too, challenging him.

  'No,' Patrick shook his head. 'I'm far too selfish.'

  'At least you know yourself,' Justine said.

  'Don't you want to feel that your genetic material is continuing down the line?' Richard asked.

  'Look, my father had six children over three marriages, my mother managed three over two, and most of those children are spawning like newts, me being the exception.'

  'You're the only boy,' Mary said stiffly. 'And I don't consider four children is exactly comparable to a newt.'

  'Whatever. I reckon there's quite enough Sherwin DNA floating around the world without my help.' He shifted in his seat as if bored with the conversation. 'Hey, Isabel,' he called across the table. 'Why don't you get Justine to do her colour thing on you?'

  Isabel froze at the sound of Patrick's voice, caught in the spotlight of attention. Patrick's eyes held hers as they had done once, years ago it seemed, during the thunderstorm. Then it had been dangerous, but she had been a willing participant in the danger. Now he was challenging her, and she had nowhere to hide.

  'Sorry?' she said, stalling for time and suddenly horribly conscious of Neil further down the table. Why did aliens abduct people on deserted country lanes when if they came at moments like this, they'd be welcomed with open arms?

  'Justine does a colour thing - what's it called?' He turned to Justine.

  'Beautiful You,' she said quietly, but her face was alert, eyes darting between Isabel and Patrick.

  'You're kidding.' He laughed then swung back to Isabel. 'Why don't you let Justine turn you into a Beautiful You?'

  'I don't know,' she said, trying to sound casual and thinking wistfully of the mother ship. Everybody was looking at her. Mary was stony-faced. 'I don't think it's my sort of thing.'

  'Quite beautiful enough already,' said Richard gallantly, which made Mary's face go granite.

  Isabel smiled at him. 'Thank you, Richard.'

  'You really ought to have it done,' gushed Helen suddenly. 'It's wonderful. We had a session, didn't we Mary, with Rebecca too - you know, from the PTA - just the three of us and it was such fun. You can really see which colours suit you and which don't, and then you get a little book with all the colours which are right for you so you can go shopping and always choose something that suits you. It was fun, wasn't it Mary?'

  'Yes, I'd certainly recommend it.' It conjured up an image of the three of them having a wonderful time together and Isabel felt excluded.

  'Thank you, Mary,' said Justine. 'I'm glad you enjoyed it.'

  'I bet you didn't get Mary to chuck any clothes out,' Patrick said, and Isabel remembered the ancient sheep sweater.

  'We made a pile to go to charity,' Justine said smoothly.

  'But you're not sure how much will end up there.' Patrick's eyes glittered and Isabel could sense the tension in his body.

  'Thank you for that, Patrick,' Mary said, obviously offended.

  'I had it done in London,' Victoria said. 'Not with Beautiful You, but with one of the other ones.'

  'Did you do the one with seasons?' Justine asked.

  Victoria nodded vigorously. 'I'm a Summer.'

  'Beautiful You doesn't work quite like that; there are more categories so the colours are more subtle -' Justine stopped. 'But I mustn't pitch for business at a dinner party. Isn't that the first rule of civilised behaviour?' She looked towards Neil.

  'That hardly counts.' Isabel couldn't see Neil's face beyond the dumpling that was Quentin's body but she could hear the smile in his voice.

  'Why don't you have it done, Isabel?' Patrick interrupted.

  'Oh, I don't know,' she muttered, hoping he would go no further.

  'You're not very interested in that sort of thing, are you, darling?' Neil's voice, well-fed and indulgent. Isabel wanted to shout 'Yes, I am' although she knew that she wasn't really.

  'Do it for Isabel,' Patrick said to Justine. 'I'll pay.'

  Isabel felt that all eyes swivelled to her. Forget crop circles, she sent her thoughts to the aliens, just beam me up now. But she stayed where she was. What would Neil think? She couldn't see him beyond Quentin and Victoria, but she hoped that he had somehow not heard Patrick's challenge.

  'No. Thank you,' Isabel added, hoping that she seemed at least vaguely natural despite the stiffness in her voice.

  'In lieu of wages, if you prefer.' He was laughing at her, daring her to respond. 'It might even be tax-deductible.'

  'I hardly think that's necessary.' Neil's voice was firm as he cut across. 'I'm sure Isabel can make whatever arrangements suit her.'

  Patrick shrugged, sitting back in his chair. 'If she doesn't want to...'

  No, I don't want someone rummaging through my wardrobe, Isabel shrieked inside her head, but she could see that Justine was staring down at her plate, shoulders hunched in embarrassment.

  'I'd love to do it, Justine. I've always meant to.' She hoped no one could spot the insincerity in her voice. 'Let me give you a ring and we'll make a date,' she said quickly.

  'I'm sure you'll enjoy it. Although it seems a pity to throw away perfectly good clothes,' Mary said, her interjection defusing the atmosphere round the table.

  'Now, Mary, you know you don't have to throw anything away. Just make sure that everything new is in the right colours.' Justine had perked up. Great, thought Isabel. What have I let myself in for? I could murder Patrick. She looked up and caught him staring at her intensely. He ran the tip of his tongue over the edge of his teeth in a tiny movement. Oh, for heaven's sake, thought Isabel, it's like being with John Malkovich in Dangerous Liaisons. Grow up, she mouthed at him.

  She didn't care if she looked like an alcoholic, she needed a drink. 'George, some more wine, please.'

  George removed his gaze from her cleavage and looked as wide-eyed as Bambi in a panic. 'I'll have to open another bottle.'

  'Great. Carry on. Wield the corkscrew.'

  She realised Patrick was looking at her, his face unreadable. What did he want from her, blowing alternately hot and cold like an erratic April day? He held her gaze for a moment then turned his attention to Justine. Isabel watched him smiling and being his most charming. She became aware that Quentin was also watching Justine and Patrick, the fair hair close to the dark.

  'D'you know him well?' he asked. Isabel knew immediately who he meant.

  'He's my boss.' And my lover, she thought. 'Sometimes I think I hardly know him at all.'

  Quentin looked at her sharply and opened his mouth to speak, then shut it. When he spoke, Isabel got the impression he had changed what he was going to say. He leant towards her and spoke conspiratorially. 'I've heard a rumour Justine's seeing someone here in Milbridge.'

  'I thought you were -' Isab
el was startled into saying.

  'Oh no. I'm Justine's fallback position, you could say. She thinks I don't realise, but I do.'

  Isabel didn't know what to say to that.

  'Justine told me that there's been nothing between them for years,' Quentin continued. 'But you don't suppose...'

  'No,' Isabel said sadly. 'I don't suppose anything where Patrick is concerned.'

  She hardly managed to eat any of her Poussin Provencale, pushing chunks of courgette around the plate. As Helen cleared the plates away she excused herself and slipped out to the loo. She ran cold water over her wrists and wiped the back of her neck with her cold hands. Her face in the mirror was wide-eyed. She flicked water at her reflection, letting the droplets run down her face and blur her features. Patrick was pushing her boundaries, seeing how much she could or would take, but she didn't know why. She prayed that Neil hadn't noticed.

  Patrick was waiting in the hall for her when she came out of the loo.

  'Why are you doing this?' she said, keeping her voice low.

  'What?' he said, his voice caressing her. 'What am I doing?'

  'You know. The colour thing. And Victoria. No, don't touch me,' she said, putting her hand out to ward him off.

  'Don't? That's not what you usually say. Normally it's please, please, please, Patrick, fuck me.' He imitated her voice, his eyes hard.

  She tried to go past him, but he stopped her. 'Why so standoffish, sweetheart? You're normally much more accommodating.'

  'My husband is in the next room. Along with your girlfriend.'

  'Are you jealous?'

  'No,' she said, not looking at him.

  'But I have to share you, so it's only fair that you have to share me, don't you think?' He kissed the top of her head. 'You smell delicious,' he murmured. She could feel his breath hot against her ear. 'When I was little my mother would dress up and go out smelling delicious. I thought it was for me.' He kissed her neck. 'You know, Victoria doesn't make any difference to us.'

  'But -' she started to say, when he stopped her by kissing her mouth. He held her tightly and she clung on to him, even though she knew it was complete madness.