by Sarah Duncan
Would she like dinner? She looked at Adam.
'Dinner would be lovely. Thank you. Oh -'
'What's the matter?'
'I'm not sure I should. You see, I promised myself that I'd never go out with my employer again. And, well,' she could feel herself going red. 'Dinner's going out, isn't it? So I ought to say no.'
'Mmm. I have to admit I did set a company rule when I started that I would never go out with an employee.'
'I wouldn't want you to break a company rule.'
'I had forgotten about it. To be honest, I haven't had any desire to break it. Until now.' He looked at her, and she felt herself flushing again. How strange this was, after all those years. But nice. She smiled as her heart started racing again. Oh yes, it was nice.
'But there's my promise to myself. And I don't want to break that. It's important to me.'
'I see. Well. It was just an idea.' He turned to go and Isabel suddenly felt if she didn't seize the moment it would never come again.
'No, Adam, wait.' Isabel found a bit of paper and quickly scribbled on it. She handed it to Adam, who read it.
'What's this?'
'My notice. 'I'm going off to be a student.'
'Not for a while, surely?'
'October.' She looked at him sideways. 'But I'm sort of not your employee now, am I?'
'I suppose not,' Adam said, a grin spreading across his face. He turned and faced her. 'So, Isabel Freeman, would you like to come out to dinner with me?'
'I'd love to,' she said, beaming. 'I'd love to.'
The shop doorbell rang and Angela came in, arms stretched with heavy shopping bags. Adam went to help her, but she shook her head.
'No, I'm fine, Adam dear, I'm all balanced. That supermarket gets busier and busier. You'd think they'd put more people on the tills at lunchtime, wouldn't you? I'll just put these downstairs and then I'll be back up.' She bustled past them and as she went past, Adam stepped back and his hand brushed Isabel's, warm and alive.
Angela came back up the stairs, patting her hair. 'That's better. Now, did anything exciting happen while I was out?'
Adam, busy tidying up the credit card slips into no particular order, looked sideways at Isabel. 'Maybe,' he said casually. 'What do you think, Isabel? Did anything exciting happen?'
Isabel pretended to be alphabetically sorting through the order forms, although the words were dancing in front of her eyes and making no sense at all.
'Maybe,' she said, smiling to herself because suddenly she realised the world was wide and she could go where she chose to go and when and with whom. And while that might be frightening, it was also exciting. 'No, not maybe. Make that definitely.'
The End
About Sarah Duncan:
Sarah Duncan is a best-selling novelist and experienced creative writing tutor. She ran the Fiction Writing Workshop for the University of Bristol for over ten years and is currently a Fellow of the Royal Literary Fund. She has a bolt hole in the Georgian City of Bath, but spends most of her time on the Cornish coast in a restored Wesleyan chapel.
Author's Note on Adultery for Beginners:
"I began writing Adultery for Beginners in May 2001 and ten frantic weeks later I had a first draft that was rejected by all who saw it. After six months of sulking I spent the next year or so re-writing, a process that ended up with ditching 90% of that first draft. It also ended up with publishing deals around the world! Adultery for Beginners was first published in the UK in 2004.
Going back over the book I was amazed at how much technology has changed in such a short space of time. When I wrote it, most people I knew didn't have mobile phones, or computers at home. The internet was around, and my friends and I used email, but connections were made over the phone lines and cost. There were rental shops for hiring videos - DVDs hadn't been invented. Neither had digital cameras, or social media. Books came from bookshops, and most middle sized towns had one.
At first I thought I would up-date the whole book, but it soon became apparent that that would be impossible without making substantial changes. It wasn't just the technology that had changed, but attitudes as well. To work or not to work was a burning topic for most women with young children, with the default being to stay at home, whereas now the default position is to work. House prices were just starting on their extraordinary rise - I dread to think what the rental income would be now on Isabel's father's house in London, although I think it would have been enough so up-dated Isabel wouldn't have to worry about university tuition fees, which didn't exist at that time.
In the end I decided it had to stay in its time, and hope the reader wouldn't find the reading experience spoiled by the differences between now and then."
Connect with Sarah Duncan:
Twitter http://twitter.com/sarahduncan1
Website http://www.sarahduncan.co.uk
Blog http://sarahduncansblog.blogspot.com
Other books by Sarah Duncan
Kissing Mr Wrong
- short-listed for the Romantic Novelists Association "Romantic Novel of the Year"
A Single to Rome
- long-listed for the Romantic Novelists Association "Romantic Novel of the Year"
Nice Girls Do
Another Woman's Husband
Opening Chapters of Kissing Mr Wrong
Short listed for the Romantic Novelists Association
"Romantic Novel of the Year"
- 1 -
'The trouble with men is...oh, where do I start?' Lu said, balancing the box of wine glasses on the edge of the table as she cleared a space free of paper napkins and plastic trays of supermarket smoked salmon party nibbles before pushing the box onto the table properly with her left hip.
'Knowing you, you've probably got a list,' Briony said, puffing as she dumped a case of sparkling wine next to the glasses.
'Not a list exactly,' Lu lied, busy taking wine glasses out of the box and lining them up neatly along the table. 'You wouldn't have thought it would be difficult to meet a man without major hang-ups, but it seems impossible. They all have masses of baggage - if it isn't their ex-girlfriends, it's their mothers - or they're controlling or workaholics or alcoholics or -'
'Sexaholics?' Briony began arranging the bottles, but was then distracted by one of the paintings hanging on the gallery walls. She adjusted its position.
'At least there would be fringe benefits,' Lu said, laughing. 'It needs to go a bit up on the left.'
'Like this?' Lu gave her a thumbs-up. 'So, no date for tonight?'
Lu shook her head in response. 'Maybe I'll meet Mr Right tonight,' she said, but not seriously, and began ripping the packaging off the plastic trays ready to lay the smoked salmon parcels out on plates. 'You never know. Maybe even now he's ploughing through his afternoon's work, thinking about going to this fabulous private view and meeting the woman of his dreams.'
Briony was still squinting at the painting to see if it was level. 'What sort of work does Mr Right do?'
'Something serious. A lawyer maybe, or a doctor. Or someone in business.' Lu contemplated the smoked salmon parcels. Circles, she thought, and began to lay an outer ring around a plate. 'A banker perhaps.'
Briony snorted. 'You mean, someone like no one you've ever gone out with before.' She left the painting and peered out of the gallery's front window.
'Exactly,' Lu said, delighted that her friend understood. 'I realised the other day that that's where I've been going wrong. Everybody I've been out with before has been a creative of some sort - artists, writers -'
'Bricklayers?' Briony turned, and raised her eyebrows at Lu.
'Phil was a mistake,' Lu conceded. 'But you know, bricklaying can be quite creative, in its own way.'
Briony laughed. 'I expect bankers and lawyers say the same thing.'
'I shall find out, and report back.' Lu paused from arranging salmon parcels in neat concentric circles. 'I fancy a man in a suit who talks to me about stuff I can't understand, who works regular hours doing some
thing unbelievably important -'
'Well paid?'
Lu waved a salmon parcel in the air. 'Goes without saying. Certainly enough so I can give up flat-fee illustration and do nothing but the best creative work on the most beautiful picture books.'
'And let me guess - he's also devoted, caring, sensitive, understanding, intelligent, listens to you, cherishes you...'
'Of course.'
'An amazing lover?'
'Naturally.'
'Incredibly good-looking?'
Lu put her hands on her hips in mock outrage. 'Are you calling me shallow?' She pouted, then laid both hands on her heart. 'Of course he's devastatingly good-looking and unbelievably attractive, but that isn't why I love him. I love him because he's Mr Right.'
'Ahhh, that's so romantic,' Briony said, coming back from the window and joining Lu. 'And you haven't even met him.'
'I will, just give me time,' Lu said, glancing at her watch. 'Speaking of which, we ought to get a move on or we'll never finish putting out this stuff before people start turning up.'
'I hope they do turn up. It's always a worry, the first exhibition in January. Everybody's exhausted from Christmas, and the weather's always dreadful.' Briony pulled a bottle from the case and started peeling off the gold foil cap. 'Fancy one to get us in the mood?'
Lu grinned at her. 'Oh, go on. It's not every day you celebrate ten years in business.' She got two glasses ready while Briony popped the cork.
'To Briony Vickers and the Bath Originals Art Gallery,' Lu said, raising her glass. 'Ten years on, and still in business - thereby proving miracles do happen.'
'Tell me about it,' Briony said, taking a hefty swig from her glass. 'The miracle will be if I'm here in another ten years.'
'Don't worry, everybody will come, bad weather or not. And no talk about recession,' Lu said firmly, topping up Briony s glass. 'Tonight were celebrating your achievement. And it is an achievement,' she added, hugging Briony's shoulders. 'I think you're amazing to have done all this.'
'It does seem incredible,' Briony agreed.
There was silence for a second as they both looked about the gallery. They had met at art school, Lu doing illustration and Briony fine art. After graduation Briony had tried making a living as an artist for a couple of years until a windfall inheritance gave her the money to invest in a rundown gallery near the centre of Bath. Lu thought how much the gallery had moved on from those first days, from the haphazard exhibitions of friends from college shown on peeling walls, to the sleek (replastered) white walls hung with paintings bearing serious price tags.
The exhibition for the tenth anniversary was a mixed show of work by all the artists Briony represented. As Lu looked round, she could recognise paintings by several friends from art college days, but they were now outnumbered by other more well-known artists, even a couple of Royal Academicians and one of the rare artists to have become a Sir. 'You're becoming part of the establishment,' she said, almost in surprise. 'You're growing up.'
'We are grown up,' Briony said, raising her glass to Lu. 'We're in our thirties.'
'Just,' Lu said, sipping her champagne. She looked across at Briony, at her sleek hair pulled into a chignon, like Betty Boop grown up, the beautifully cut dress that exposed her slim arms but otherwise covered her body in origami folds. It would have been made by some famous designer, Lu guessed, hardly conscious of fingering her own skirt, a cheap one she'd picked up from the market and customized with applique roses. The champagne felt cold against her lips, the glass clammy in her hand. 'You won't get too grown up, will you?' she said.
'Course not,' Briony said, giving Lu's shoulders a squeeze. 'Look at me, drinking champagne in the afternoon when I've got a big private view in a couple of hours. That's hardly grown-up behaviour, is it?'
Lu laughed, and they went back to setting out the food and wine ready for the party, but as the evening progressed she noticed that Briony hardly touched her drink, and her glass stayed at the same level, and what could be more grown up and sensible than that? Her best friend was slipping away from her, and she hadn't noticed until that evening.
She looked around the now full gallery, crammed with people talking and laughing and drinking. Briony needn't have worried about the January weather: people were out in force, and some were even looking at the paintings. Lu could recognise about a third of them, some old friends, some acquaintances, but this evening they seemed different, they seemed... She scanned the crowd, looking for faces she knew. There was Saffron, another illustrator from college, now married to a rich farmer and living outside Bath with two kids and a studio in a converted barn; Stephen, who'd given up art and gone into his uncle's advertising firm, with an expense-account stomach to prove it; Abby, who'd ended up with a chain of fashion shops, a souped-up sports car and a Caribbean suntan in January.
As Lu looked at her contemporaries, she realised it wasn't just Briony who was slipping away; it was all of them. They were settled, with partners and houses and children, and successful career paths. Even the struggling artists weren't struggling any more; if they'd stayed in the business this long, they'd either become successful or were teaching regular hours or had a supportive partner.
I was supposed to be one of the best, Lu thought. The one who was going to go far and do great things and change the world of illustration. Instead, she lived alone in a one-bed apartment doing hand-to-mouth flat-fee commissions for the lower end of the illustration market that hardly covered the bills let alone any extras. She now knew what the hare felt like when he'd been lapped by the tortoise. But at least the hare had known he was entered in the race. Lu hadn't realised there was a race until now, but everyone else seemed to be heading for the winners' enclosure while she was still meandering around the perimeter fence.
An arm snaked around her waist. 'Lunabella, where have you been hiding?' Lu turned to see Jerry, Briony's partner. 'Briony keeps saying she's seen you, but it's never when I'm around.'
'I've been working, not hiding,' Lu said, moving fractionally away from him. In the past Briony had fretted about Jerry's wandering eye, but recently that seemed to have calmed down. Still, she wasn't going to give her any reason for suspicion, however unfriendly it might appear to Jerry.
'What is it now? Kittens in coats? Or talking vegetables?' Jerry laughed, flashing a lot of over-whitened teeth. 'Seriously, Lu, when are you going to get some proper painting done?'
'I expect about the same time as you do,' Lu answered sweetly. Jerry painted big, splashy, untidy nudes in sweet-shop colours, which sold well to men with Porsches and brittle-faced blonde girlfriends. He worked to a formula that was so effective it could probably be used to remove built-up limescale as well, and was easily the most successful financially, if not critically, of the class of '96.
'Miaow,' he said, mimicking a cat's paw.
No more than you, Lu was going to say, but was stopped from descending into bickering by the man Jerry had been talking to.
'Have you got any work in this exhibition?' He was a big man, the sort you could imagine on a rugby field or playing mine host at the bar.
'I'm not a painter. Jerry's just being stupid,' she answered, still annoyed.
'I'm Nick,' he said, smiling and holding out his hand, and she suddenly realised that for all his bulk the man wasn't unattractive, a bit like Gerard Depardieu, though no hint of a French accent. 'How do you know this reprobate?'
'Lu,' she said, taking his. Her hand felt small in his palm. 'I was at art school with Briony, but illustration not painting. I mainly write and illustrate children's picture books.'
'Kittens in coats?' Nick looked at her quizzically, a twinkle in his eyes. No, not unattractive at all.
'Afraid so. Not all the time, of course,' Lu added quickly. 'I mean, I do other things. Other animals. Fairies. Whatever.' She inwardly winced. Why had she said "whatever"? That was what bored teenagers said.
'Which explains why Lu lives in a dinky little one-bed flat and not in a palace,' Jerry
butted in like a hyperactive three year old, and Lu felt herself shrivel up inside. 'You ought to go where the money is. Wizards and witches! I know, be the new J.K. Rowling!'
'Shut up, Jerry,' Lu said with a smile she didn't feel. Honestly, she didn't know how Briony put up with him. She was about to ask Nick how he knew Jerry when a woman pushed past her.
'Jerry! What an exciting exhibition! Briony must be so pleased,' she said, large diamond brooch twinkling on an expansive dark navy bosom, as if she'd come dressed as the sky at night. A man trailed in her wake, looking so like a pillar of the community in his charcoal grey pin-striped suit and regimental tie that it was a surprise he wasn't topped with a bit of architrave.
Jerry quickly introduced them as Briony's neighbours, Clive and Fenella, then turned to Lu. 'And Lu writes childrens' books.'
Clive's jowls wobbled. 'Like Harry Potter?'
'No, not at all like Harry Potter,' Lu said, thinking perhaps she ought to get a T-shirt printed with "I am not J.K. Rowling" on it. 'I'm an illustrator really, although I have written a couple of picture books.' It was at least four years since she'd both written and illustrated a picture book, she realised. Four years since she'd believed in what she was doing.
'I've always fancied writing a couple of kiddies' stories. They're not very long so they wouldn't take much time,' Fenella said airily, wafting coral-tipped fingers like parrot claws in Lu's direction. Lu could have stamped on her toes. Just because picture books were short, people always thought they were easy to write. If anything, they were much, much harder because they were so short. 'Clive's written a novel,' Fenella continued, picking a scrap of imaginary lint off his shoulder as if just giving the final dusting to a museum exhibit.