Second Chances

by Minna Howard

  Robert said, ‘Freya showed me the article. Well done. I must say, it was a very glamorous picture.’

  ‘Airbrushed.’ Sarah concentrated on spearing the string beans with her fork.

  ‘I don’t think so,’ he said. ‘So, when will you go?’

  His question was loaded. Once he knew when the house was to be empty, he could make plans. Perhaps aided and abetted by Dan to take it over. The thought of what he might do when she had left ruined her excitement. ‘It hasn’t been settled. We just need to meet the right people and then I suppose most of it can be done on line, I’m not going to move there.’

  ‘I’m off to Paris the day after tomorrow, can’t believe I’ve been here almost two months,’ Freya said. ‘A friend has found me a flat and hopefully someone to look after Pierre, so I can go back to work.’

  Sarah suddenly wondered why Polly was still at home. ‘Aren’t you meant to be back at uni, Pol?’ she questioned her. ‘I’ve been so busy I’ve lost track of the date.’

  ‘I’ve got essays,’ Polly answered vaguely, ‘but I’ll go back in a day or two. Will is coming back soon. I’ll have to be here for him.’

  Her children had their own lives, and anyway they should be working hard at their studies – she could not expect them to guard the house for her. She sensed Robert’s eyes on her, but she would not look at him. She felt his leg push gently against hers. He might as well have shouted it from the rooftops – when the girls had gone they would be alone, each in their own house, side by side. It was an intoxicating yet terrifying thought.

  The girls began to clear the plates. Sarah moved to help, to escape Robert, get into the safety of the kitchen.

  ‘Please don’t, thanks all the same,’ Freya said, whisking the plates away from her and carrying them out.

  Robert said, ‘And your essays, Sarah? Have you done one on the Egyptian way of death? Or,’ he paused and, like tossing a coin into a pool of water, causing circles of ripples, he added, ‘or way of love? Have we learnt about that? Perhaps you did when I was away.’

  ‘No, we have not. I won’t have time to go any more, I’ve got all these designs to do and go to the States so I won’t be here, will I?’

  ‘I suppose you won’t.’ Then he said more softly, ‘I’m not going to the course any more either; she was such a bad tutor, so dull. I’d rather go to the lectures they have at the British Museum.’

  She looked at him sharply. ‘Why did you keep going, then?’

  His eyes held an amused tenderness that she found disturbing. ‘I heard you telling Polly, when you were both in the garden, that you were going to take up Egyptology as your son made it sound so fascinating you thought you’d do it as something to occupy your mind. It interests me too and I thought it was a good way to meet in a civilised fashion.’

  He was lying, surely he was, yet why did her heart insist on doing these cartwheels? Poor, sad woman that she was, she was letting herself be drawn in to his trap. He was spinning a web round her, and when he had caught her he would kill her with his derision.

  To her relief, the girls came back into the room with the pudding, apple and pear crumble with thick cream. Freya took over the conversation, and she and Polly with their youth and high spirits carried the rest of the evening.

  Soon after the coffee, Sarah got up to go home. She had a design to finish before bed, and she was almost falling asleep in her chair by the fire. Robert said he’d walk her home.

  ‘It’s one step,’ she said. ‘Please don’t.’

  She thanked the girls for the dinner and praised their cooking. Robert came with her to the door, picking up the case of wine which he carried to her door and she had no option but to open it and let him put it in the hall.

  ‘I want to make love to you,’ he said in her ear. ‘We can’t with our daughters here… but when they have gone.’

  ‘Goodnight,’ she said, as firmly as an elderly virgin. ‘Thank you so much for having me.’

  ‘I wish I had.’ He laughed. ‘Oh, how I wish I had.’

  She blushed furiously. Her words had been automatically dredged up from some reserves of manners taught at home long ago. Trust him to exploit them. She pushed him out of her door and he went into his house, his laughing ringing in her ears.

  She hardly slept that night, tortured by the feel of his body, his soft yet urgent kisses burning her mouth. When the girls both went their separate ways, perhaps she should move – in any case sleep in Celine’s house until they went to the States and she got over this ridiculous craving for him.

  It was only her being alone and feeling so lost and rejected after Dan’s desertion that made her feel this way. But she didn’t tell Celine about Robert – somehow it never seemed to be the right time.

  Twenty-Three

  Freya hugged Sarah warmly as she left to go back to France.

  ‘You saved my and Pierre’s life, how can I ever thank you?’ she said dramatically as she left in a taxi to the Euro star, weighed down with the baby and all his baggage. ‘I’ll keep in touch through Daddy – see you keep him in order.’ She laughed as she said this, but Sarah felt she meant it seriously. To her relief Robert was not there to witness her remark.

  Obviously bored after her new friend’s departure, and with Sarah’s total immersion in her work, Polly left soon after Freya to go back to university and get some work done before Will came back in a few weeks.

  Now she and Robert were alone, living here side by side. She would not allow herself to be enticed by his flattery into giving him his own way. He wanted her house more than her, she told herself, she must never forget that. She would maintain a friendly but distant relationship with him, as she would with any other man who lived in the street.

  Yet sometimes the memory of his lips on hers, his arms around her as they danced that ridiculous waltz, reared up to taunt her.

  But such thoughts were sentimental madness. She spent the first evening after Polly had gone back with Celine, the next with another girlfriend, coming back late and creeping into her house so as not to disturb him. She felt rather foolish doing it on the second night, as his house was in darkness and he was obviously not there; probably away at his glass works in Scotland.

  She realised that she was in danger of letting Robert rule her life What a relief that she was going away soon and could forget all about him.

  She was woken up early on the Saturday morning by the sound of a lorry arriving and men’s voices in the street. A minute later, she heard a strident ring on Robert’s doorbell and he answered the door. There was further clattering and voices, then all was quiet.

  Damn him for waking her up so early on a Saturday, she fumed, snuggling back into bed and pulling the bedcovers over her as if to shut him out. But however hard she tried to go back to sleep, she could not, and in a thoroughly bad humour she got up and went downstairs in her dressing-gown. She went into the kitchen and put on the kettle for some coffee, and heard men’s voices in her garden.

  She shrank back by the door. She had not drawn the curtains and peering round she saw to her horror a workman, pulling down the trellis. How dare they intrude on her privacy? What if she’d had nothing on? She flew back upstairs and pulled on her jeans and a jersey, then ran outside.

  ‘What are you doing? You have no right to be in my garden!’ she cried at the startled man, who, armed with a screwdriver, was fiddling about with her wall.

  ‘Ooh, sorry, love, just obeying orders. Got to come round this side to take the trellis off, like.’

  ‘I don’t want it taken off; you are to leave it alone!’ she barked at him. ‘Now, go back over that ladder and stay in Mr Maynard’s garden.’

  Another man popped his head up. Then Robert, obviously alerted by the commotion, appeared from inside the house. He smiled at her through the leaf-encrusted squares of trellis. He smiled in the way one might smile at a raging bull. ‘Sarah, I’m so sorry to disturb you, but they came far earlier than I thought. I was expecting them at lunchtime.
I was going to tell you about it, but you’re never here. We need to replace the trellis after you broke it,’ he said reasonably, yet making her feel that he was blaming the whole thing on her. ‘I didn’t realise they’d hop over the wall to do it.’ He said.

  ‘They’re invading my privacy!’ She stormed up to the wall and faced him through the trellis. ‘You have no right to have people in my garden without my permission.’

  Her instincts had been right. Just because he’d kissed her, sensed her desire for him, he now thought he could take advantage of her. It hadn’t taken him long. Next thing there would be a conservatory filled with orchids encroaching on her garden.

  ‘I meant to send you a text to tell you they were coming, but I’ve been so busy I forgot; anyway I don’t seem to have your details. I was going to knock on your door and explain but they arrived a couple of hours before I thought they would and I didn’t want to wake you, but I’m sorry we have.’ He said, with extreme patience, as though she were simple-minded. ‘Look, come round and have a coffee, and I’ll explain. I’m only replacing the trellis, nothing more, but as you can see, half the bracket is screwed on your side; it needs to be unscrewed from there.’

  ‘I want you to leave it,’ she said firmly. ‘I don’t want it changed.’ Perhaps once it was down he would leave it down, getting one step nearer to taking over her garden. The thought of her coming trip to America filled her with disquiet. He knew she was going away. What would he get up to when she was gone and her house was empty?

  She saw his mouth harden in that defiant manner he had when he wanted his own way. The two workmen looked on with interest. The one in her garden had gone back over the ladder, and the three men stood like spectators at a show, watching her keenly.

  ‘These men have another job to go to, they want to get on with this quickly. They will not be long and I will have the new trellis fixed to my side of the wall so you will not be bothered again. It is hardly my fault you are never here to ask.’ His eyes glittered with impatience.

  ‘You could have pushed a note through my door to warn me,’ she said grumpily. He was insufferable. Perhaps he’d thought she’d gone away already and was losing no time in getting what he wanted?

  ‘What’s the point? You don’t seem to read things that you don’t like. If you’d read that solicitor’s letter properly, you’d have seen I was asking for first refusal should you want to sell or to reduce your garden. Please, Sarah.’ He was fighting with his irritation. ‘Just let them unscrew it, then you won’t be bothered again.’

  The two other men smiled at her encouragingly and she felt outnumbered by them, but furious too.

  ‘I will not be taken advantage of,’ she said defiantly.

  One of the workmen smirked, which added to her anger.

  ‘It is surely plain good manners to wait until your neighbour agrees to your plans before you embark on them,’ she said icily. She wanted to go back inside her house and shut the door on the lot of them, but she knew she’d have no peace. What a fool she’d been to let him kiss her and to kiss him back. She felt hot with embarrassment, as though the image of the two of them kissing was held up for all to see.

  Robert said, ‘Look, it’s ridiculous talking through the trellis like this. I’ll come over and supervise the whole thing. Make quite sure nothing is disturbed on your side.’

  ‘No, thank you.’ She would not give him a single chance to try and get round her by any form of seduction. ‘I will stand here now while it is done. I am very unhappy about it, and I want you to know that this is the very last time you carry out any work that involves my property without my written permission.’

  ‘Thank you, Sarah.’ Robert gave her a maddening little bow, increasing her anger further. ‘Right, Len,’ he addressed one of the men, ‘let’s get on with it.’ He retreated back into his house, leaving Sarah fuming in her own garden.

  ‘It will be all right, lady,’ Len said brightly. ‘I won’t hurt anything.’ He gave her a kindly smile, as though to humour her.

  *

  Later that day, Robert went away, and Sarah felt relieved that she had the weekend to herself. With any luck he would have gone back to Scotland and she need not see him again. The new trellis was up; it was not as high as the last lot, and although the creepers had been wound through it, there were a lot of gaps that she did not like. He should have asked her what she wanted, as it was on her wall too. She wished it was higher – even fencing, to block him out completely – but now it was done she could not face him starting all over again.

  The plans to go to the States were taking a bit of time. Some of the people they needed to see there were away, or going to be away, but slowly it came together, and the date for their departure was set for the beginning of April.

  Sarah found it easier to work on her designs in the shop, staying late after the sewing-women had gone. She sat in the back, in the sewing-room. She told Celine she’d rather work here with the fabrics around her, but she knew she was doing it so she would not have to see Robert. She had heard him return home a few nights ago.

  One evening, she worked until after midnight. It was a wild night, the wind lashing the rain against the windows. She had not realised the weather was so bad, or that it was so late, she’d been so engrossed in her work. She closed the shop and wished she had rung for a taxi, then she saw to her relief the 14 bus trundling down the road.

  Ideas went on spinning in her exhausted brain. She must stay awake so as not to miss her stop. Once or twice she dozed off, then jerked awake. At last she arrived and got off the bus, and struggled through the wind and the rain to her street. She’d forgotten her umbrella, but the teeming rain made her feel fresh, washing away the confines of the day. Though the wind was cold, it seemed to blow away her tension.

  She reached her front door, her key in her hand and Robert’s door opened.

  ‘You look simply dreadful.’ He announced standing beside her, getting wet too.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘Goodnight.’

  He took her arm and pulled her towards his door. ‘You need to dry out, have a drink to warm you,’ he said firmly.

  ‘It’s so late. I want to go to bed.’ She jerked away from him.

  ‘Good,’ he said, ‘so do I.’ He picked her up and carried her into his house, shutting the door firmly behind him. Then he kissed her.

  It was sheer exhaustion, she told herself later, that had so undermined her senses. It was not her fault that he had carried her straight upstairs to his bed, pulled off her wet clothes and made love to her. Her body was very odd the way it had responded to his, as if it had been waiting for him and fitted so perfectly with his. He’d no doubt spiked her drink; only she hadn’t had a drink. But she wasn’t meant to make love to him, not like this, and enjoy it.

  Later, they shared a shower, and they stood tightly together – well, there wasn’t much room if both of them wanted to get under the warm, streaming water.

  ‘You mustn’t catch cold after being out in that wind,’ he said, rubbing soap all over her and then himself, so their bodies slid together, making the soap foam like whipped cream between them.

  She woke late the next morning. When she realised where she was, she sprang up in horror. What had she done? How could she get out of here without the neighbours seeing? Or his cleaner if she was coming. They were the worst gossips, and Robert might use this aberration as emotional blackmail against her. What had he made her say last night? Had she signed over the house or garden to him?

  Robert came into the room. He was fully dressed, she was not, and she hastily pulled the sheet round her. He laughed.

  ‘Why are you covering yourself up? You have the most beautiful body.’

  She blushed, thinking of her bulgy tummy, the sagging breasts. Perhaps lying down on her back in the dark, she didn’t look so bad. ‘Hardly,’ she said.

  ‘It is beautiful,’ he said, and came to sit on the bed. He bent to kiss her.

  ‘I’ve got to go home,
’ she said. ‘I’ll have to go back through the garden, in case anyone sees us.’

  He laughed again. ‘Perhaps you are right. No one will mind, but they might gossip.’ His eyes crinkled with amusement. ‘As you are now so famous, in Vogue and all.’

  ‘Please go and let me get dressed. Then help me back over the fence. I must get to work, and you… shouldn’t you be at work?’

  ‘Not on a Saturday,’ he said. ‘Have you forgotten the days?’

  She regarded him intently. ‘I have. I’ve been working so hard.’ She frowned. ‘Is it really Saturday?’

  ‘I’ll show you the newspaper, if you don’t believe me.’

  ‘I must go, anyway. I’ve lots to do.’

  ‘I thought we’d spend the day together,’ he said. ‘In fact, the whole weekend.’

  ‘I can’t,’ she said, and wondered why she couldn’t.

  ‘You can,’ he said. ‘You can work here if you want to.’

  ‘I’ve got things in my house I need, and I want clean clothes.’

  He smiled. ‘I have a stepladder that I’ll put against the wall. The trellis is not so high; you can step over on to your side of the wall and jump down, or even put a ladder your side, too. We can go back and forth, and no one will know.’

  So that was it, she told herself sadly. He had put in a lower trellis to give him easy access to her garden.

  ‘No,’ she said. ‘We can’t disturb your creeper again, climbing over it. It will never get better. Besides, the children will see and…’ He stopped her protestations with kisses, and even as she responded to his lovemaking, part of her mind warned her to keep guard.

  In the end she agreed to put a ladder on each side, so they could visit each other without anyone else knowing.

  ‘You still don’t trust me?’ His eyes held defiance.

  ‘I want to keep my independence,’ she said, thinking that was where self-preservation lay. If they each kept their own space, there would be less chance of him tiring of her.

  He showed her his orchid room upstairs. He had put in large windows in the back to give the plants more light; there were also blinds on them, so he could control the levels. He reeled off some of their names – Phalaenopsis Follet, Miltoniopsis St Helier – with a tenderness as if they were his children. To her surprise, she thought them beautiful. He did not have any of the ones she thought sinister, with odd markings and long tendrils hanging down as if to ensnare. There was a glorious blue one that hung on the wall, its bare roots getting its nutrients from the air, and wonderful pink ones like huge pansies; others had such intricate markings, it was as if an artist had painted them on.