by Maeve Haran
And Liz need never know. Britt had plenty of experience in discreet affairs, after all. And David looked as though he needed cheering up. She watched him drain another glass of wine and realized something that Liz had not: that though he would never ask for it, what David needed was reassurance.
‘Do you know, David, it’s more than fifteen years since I last went out with you,’ Britt said softly, leaning up towards his ear, ‘and I still fancy you something rotten.’
He looked up, clearly wondering if he’d heard her right. ‘Do you? Thank you. Unfortunately Liz doesn’t seem to any more.’ Britt could hear the bitterness grate in his voice. ‘I’m pretty low on her list of priorities at the moment. First there’s Metro, then there’s the kids. I make a pretty poor third.’
Ah, self-pity, thought Britt. Men, poor dears, needed to be the centre of your universe. Ludicrous really, yet you ignored it at your peril. Oh Liz, what a silly girl you are.
‘David, there you are.’ Liz appeared out of the throng. ‘I promised Susie I’d be back by nine-thirty. She’s going to a party. Are you coming?’
David looked up in irritation. The only thing that had got him through this godawful party was the thought of dinner. Until he’d bumped into Britt.
He gulped the remains of his wine, thinking about what Britt had just said. ‘No, love. I’ve just remembered I’ve got to go back to the paper.’ It was a lie and he wasn’t even sure why he’d told it. He didn’t usually lie to Liz.
She kissed him on the cheek and fought her way back through the crowd.
David lurched slightly drunkenly towards Britt. ‘Did I say I was third on the list? Pardon me. I meant fourth. I’d forgotten the bloody nanny.’
Slowly Britt smiled at him. ‘Poor David,’ her voice soothed and caressed, ‘why don’t we go and have a drink and you can tell me all about it?’
Damn! Liz was just grabbing her coat and bag from her office when she remembered she’d promised Conrad a breakdown of the shooting costs for the Agatha Christie series tonight. She’d just slip it under his door on her way out.
Bending down to push the file through she realized that the door of his office wasn’t locked after all, it was very slightly ajar and there were some very strange noises coming from inside. The whole floor was in darkness, and for a moment Liz wished she’d put on the light, but the layout of the switches was so stupid she could never find the right one.
Very slowly she opened the door a few inches and groped for the cord. There were sudden rustlings and scramblings from inside the office and Conrad’s voice informed her that the office was occupied.
For a split second she stood transfixed, and then, almost unconsciously, she pulled the cord. Blinking in the bright light was Claudia, her La Perla panties round her ankles and Conrad, hastily adjusting his flies. In her panic Claudia picked up a waste-paper basket and put it over Conrad’s head.
Unable to stop herself, Liz burst out laughing as cigar butts, plastic cups and screwed-up paper fell gently on to his shoulders. ‘Oh Claudia, how gallant!’ she giggled. ‘You should have put it over your head. I’d recognize Conrad’s prick anywhere!’
When she got in Susie was waiting in the hall for her. And as soon as she saw the girl’s mutinous face she knew that Susie didn’t want to go to a party at all, she wanted a showdown.
‘I’m sorry, Liz, but I can’t stand it any more. You said things would improve once Metro was on air but they haven’t,’ Susie accused, even before Liz had time to take her coat off. ‘I’m sorry I talked to that dreadful woman, but it hasn’t made any difference. I mean you’re still never home!’
Liz tried to keep her temper. Blackmail, that was what it amounted to, and Liz was damned if she was going to stand for it. Susie obviously wanted more money. Well, why didn’t she just say so?
‘Susie’ – Liz just managed to keep the irritation out of her voice – ‘if you feel we ought to be paying you more, for goodness sake let’s talk about it tomorrow.’
‘Sorry, Liz, but it isn’t the money.’
‘If it’s the hours, then let’s talk about that too.’
‘No, Liz, I’m sorry.’
Bloody hell! Her twenty-year-old nanny was sounding patient and patronizing – as if she were the grownup and Liz a wayward child.
‘I really like you and David and after that business with the paper I felt I owed it to you to stay but I’m afraid I just can’t bear it, having to tell Jamie and Daisy you won’t be back all the time.’
My God. She meant it. Liz sobered up instantly, all firmness gone at the thought of really losing Susie. She couldn’t leave! Not at the moment when they needed her so much! She was part of the family. Jamie worshipped her. OK, so she sometimes spoke out of turn, but it was only because she cared! It was a sign of how good a nanny she really was.
‘Susie . . .’ Liz tried not to sound imploring. Nannies, like men, didn’t want you if you wanted them too much. ‘You know how much we all value you. And what a brilliant nanny you are, how much Jamie and Daisy have come on since you came. It would be such a shame to throw all that away. Maybe we could get someone else in to help out. Another nanny they know.’
‘Liz, I’m sorry. That’s not the point. The point is they need to see more of you. I’m sorry. I’ve made up my mind. I really have. I’d like to leave at the end of the month. If you get your ad to The Lady tomorrow it’ll go in next week. The deadline’s three p.m. I phoned them to check.’
My God, she meant it. She really meant it!
‘Susie, I’ve always felt we underpaid you considering all the responsibility you have. What about us putting your salary up to £150?’ It was a fifty per cent increase but who was counting?
Susie gave her the look of the victor at the abject slave begging Caesar for a thumbs up. ‘Sorry Liz, it wouldn’t make any difference. Money doesn’t bother me. It’s their happiness I care about.’
Oh God, Oh God, Oh God, that ought to be her line! Susie was leaving and how the hell was she going to find someone else by the end of the month?
As she heard the door close, Liz dropped her head in her hands. She didn’t feel like being strong any more.
‘Mrs Ward, do you think I could have a word?’ The headmistress of Jamie’s nursery school suddenly materialized out of nowhere just as Liz was dropping him off. What did the old bat want? Surely Liz hadn’t forgotten to pay the school fees again?
The woman sat Liz down in her office and busied herself with some files. ‘I thought it was time we had a chat. We’re rather worried about Jamie. He keeps washing his hands. Six times yesterday. I hope you won’t find this impertinent, but there aren’t any problems at home, are there?’
Liz couldn’t believe it. Jamie washing his hands six times! He never did it at home. She had problems getting him near a sink. He seemed perfectly happy to her. Suddenly panic took hold of her. Of course, Susie leaving. Had she said something to him? Oh God, if he was like this now what would he be like when she left?
‘What about OWN GOAL FOR FOOTBALL ANIMAL as the splash for the football fan who hit his own mate with a bottle? The lads at the World’ll be pissing themselves that they didn’t think of that one! . . . David? Do you want to go with the football fans splash or not?’
The Chief Sub looked at David in surprise. He usually chucked out the first couple of suggestions and came up with something better himself. Today he didn’t seem to give a toss what they put on the front of the paper.
David tried to focus his mind on the news conference. The trouble was, he couldn’t stop thinking about Britt. He didn’t know what to make of her. Nothing had happened last night – they’d just sat and talked. Christ, he was almost embarrassed about some of the things he’d said – things he’d told her about himself and his mother, how he’d had to get away, why he’d wanted to get into newspapers. He hadn’t talked like that in years. He’d even told her about the battle with Mick Norman.
It surprised him what a relief it had been just to tell so
meone, especially someone whose whole future wouldn’t be affected by whether he kept his job or not, and he’d been amazed how easy she was to talk to. He’d always thought she’d become a hard bitch since she’d left university, but she wasn’t really. She was feminine under that tough exterior. And she seemed to understand where he was coming from much better than Liz did. Maybe it was because they shared the same background.
Over the years he’d tried to understand what motivated Liz and why she reacted to things so differently from him. In the end he decided it was class. Her background was strawberries and cream, tennis and tea on the lawn. His was pitheads and unemployment and the fear of the dole. He’d thought it didn’t make a difference. But it did. And Britt knew that.
He thought about last night again and felt stirred. There’d been a moment as he was dropping Britt off, when he’d leaned across to open her door and he’d nearly kissed her. But she’d jumped out, brushing his cheek quickly in a let’s-be-friends way. She was Liz’s friend, of course. And a good friend too. And he loved Liz, even if she didn’t have much time for him at the moment. So he was glad, wasn’t he, that nothing had happened they might regret?
He must pull himself together. He was acting like some stupid schoolboy. He hadn’t even heard Bert Smith’s suggestions, so God knows what he’d agreed to for the splash. It would serve him right if they ended up with the same front page as the Sun. For the first time he could ever remember he was deeply grateful when the conference wound up.
Just as he got back into his office the phone on his desk buzzed and his secretary’s voice came on the line asking if he wanted to speak to a Britt Williams. David experienced an unfamiliar lurch of panic, strongly laced with excitement. He hadn’t felt like this in years. Did he want to talk to her? Yes he did, by God, he did.
‘Britt, hello. I’m sitting here feeling an idiot over last night. I haven’t said so many dumb things in years. You must have been bored to tears.’
‘I was. Absolutely rigid.’ The gentle teasing in her voice made the back of his neck prickle. ‘So bored that since I’m coming over your way to a press do at IBM, I wondered if you wanted to have lunch.’
Lunch. Everyone knew lunch was OK. Innocent. Above board. Everybody did it. Lunch. Exciting. Full of possibilities. The first step on the rocky road to bed. Which was it in this case? The former. Of course it was.
As he put the phone down David wondered for a fraction of a second why Britt had bothered to tell him the reason she was coming in his direction. In his experience as a journalist the offering of unnecessary information usually meant one thing: a carefully constructed lie.
Don’t be ludicrous, he told himself, it was ridiculous to imagine that she was making it up because she wanted to see him.
On the spur of the moment he picked up the phone and called IBM. And when he put the phone down less than a minute later he was smiling. They had no record of any press launches today.
At three-forty-five David looked at his watch and thought about getting back to the paper. Any later than four was considered GMT, Gross Moral Turpitude, at the News. Already they’d be waiting for him. But, bloody hell, he was the editor.
Let them wait.
Seeing him glance at his watch, Britt offered to give him a lift back in her Porsche. Had he imagined it or was that a subtle invitation he saw in her eyes? A couple of times during lunch her foot had touched his under the table, and once, as she got up to go to the Ladies, her thigh had brushed his as he helped her out of her seat.
He didn’t know what to make of her. The signals seemed so confused. One minute cool friendship. The next what he would take in anyone else as a come-on. Anyway for God’s sake what was he thinking of? He loved Liz and there was no way he was going to get involved with her best friend. It was just a middle-aged fantasy now that he’d turned thirty-five, and Liz didn’t seem that interested any more. He was obviously looking for reassurance. It was pathetic really. He’d just have to tell Britt tactfully it might be better if they didn’t meet again. He’d do it on the way back to the News.
But once they were in the car the electricity in the atmosphere was almost dangerous. It made him blurt out something he knew he’d regret as soon as he’d said it. ‘You know, last night when you slipped off like that?’ Britt smiled her mysterious cool smile. ‘I didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed.’
Britt said nothing.
It had worked then. Of course it had. It always did. Build the moment, then get out quick. Surrender wasn’t the way to make a man want you, what really whipped up desire was not being able to have you. Especially, like with David, when they hadn’t even known they wanted you in the first place.
Two minutes later Britt drove into the underground car park of the Daily News and pulled in to let David out. For a few seconds the silence hung between them, tantalizing and faintly embarrassing. Then David seemed to come to some decision. Briskly he opened the door and started to get out. As he did so Britt leaned over and stopped him. She turned his face to hers and kissed him, hard and full and unmistakable in its implications, on the mouth.
David looked at himself closely in the bathroom mirror. Was he really very attractive like Britt said? He wished he could stop thinking about her. Ever since that kiss she kept invading his mind and his fantasies, no matter how hard he tried to keep her out. And he had to admit, he wasn’t trying very hard. But he ought to face the fact that Britt was only a symptom, a very enticing symptom certainly, of the real problem, which was between him and Liz.
With the kids and their jobs they hardly ever made love any more, and when they did it was rushed and automatic. It was his fault as much as hers. For months he’d gone along thinking that maybe good sex didn’t matter, that it was just another of those things you gave up when children came along like Sunday lie-ins and finished conversations. Now he knew he was wrong. He knew with absolute certainty that the strength of his reaction to Britt had a simple root: she was willing when Liz was not.
Wrapping himself in his towelling robe he decided that if he and Liz really wanted to stay together they were going to have to do something about it. Now.
To his surprise, Liz wasn’t in bed. She was still sitting on it, fully clothed, staring in front of her.
‘What’s the matter?’ For a brief moment of panic he thought she’d guessed, that someone had seen him lunching with Britt today. Well, at least it would bring everything out in the open. After all he hadn’t got anything to be ashamed of. Yet.
‘It’s Jamie.’
He might have bloody well known. It wasn’t that he didn’t love Jamie, he did. More than anything he could think of. But wasn’t it always Jamie? Or Daisy? Or even bloody Conrad?
‘His teacher says he’s started washing his hands all the time. Six times yesterday.’ She turned towards him, her tone suddenly urgent. ‘David, she asked me if there was anything wrong at home. There isn’t, is there?’
David looked into Liz’s haunted eyes and felt a surge of suffocating guilt. She was under so much pressure from Conrad at work and Susie at home. Maybe he was being unreasonable to expect her to be Linda Lovelace in bed.
‘Of course not,’ he lied, except that I can’t stop thinking about your best friend.
She stretched her arms out to him and he came swiftly across the room and held her. Under the career woman toughness she was so vulnerable. He held her close for a few moments, surprised and slightly ashamed to find that her vulnerability aroused him. Gently he slipped his hand under the soft silk of her shirt and he felt her stiffen. But not with excitement or the hint of erotic pleasure he longed to give her, but with tension.
‘I’m sorry, David,’ she mumbled, ‘with all this stuff about Jamie and now Susie going, I’m just too strung out.’
David felt all the old familiar bitterness flood back. He let go of her and climbed into bed. Sleep came soon. And with it a powerful image of a slender blonde in a black rubber basque and five-inch heels. This time she didn�
��t have a whip and her arms were open, welcoming him. Very slowly she put one finger in her mouth and began to suck it.
CHAPTER 12
David stood back in the shadows of the underground car park next to Britt’s Porsche and looked at his watch. Seven-twenty-five. Her secretary had said she’d be leaving at seven-thirty. For a moment he lost his nerve. What was he doing here? What if he’d got the signals wrong?
But he knew he hadn’t got the signals wrong, he’d lain awake all night thinking about it and he knew that now. And as he heard her high heels tap-tap on the concrete floor he suddenly knew exactly what he was doing there. What he wanted to do. And what she wanted to do too.
As Britt fumbled for her car keys he stepped out of the shadows and held her from behind, one arm around her neck. As she opened her mouth to scream he turned her round and kissed her long and hard. And for a split second he saw the excitement flash in her eyes in the aftermath of fear. And he realized how long it had been since he had felt overpowering, erotic, animal passion.
Without saying a word they climbed into her car and drove fast towards Canary Wharf.
Liz looked at the clock on the microwave as she heated some milk. David still wasn’t back so she’d promised herself hot milk and the final episode of the television thriller she was addicted to in bed. For weeks now David had been getting back later and later. And when he got back he was so bad-tempered with her and the children that she sometimes wished he’d stayed away. Things must be getting tough on the News.