But Chetwood had gone all right. He had gone with Jenna.
Making his way back to the office through the December darkness, Joe relived the heat of the summer day nine years ago when the sun had been too strong, the air too close, and his chest so tight he could barely breathe. He was with Jenna, and they were climbing the side of the Cheddar Gorge. He had planned to take her to Cadbury Castle and Queen Camel, both claimed to be the site of Camelot, but in his jealous misery he had lost the stomach for romantic legend, and on the spur of the moment they had set out for Cheddar, without much of a plan, certainly without anything as practical as water or sunblock or hats. Arriving at the foot of the steps, they had found most of the county already there: rows of parked cars, chattering groups, and a chain of bobbing figures zigzagging up the steps above them. If Joe’d had any sense he would have suggested they turn back, but his sense had been lost under the weight of aching pride.
They walked single file, occasionally forced to halt as people bunched up ahead. By the time they reached the top of the ridge with its far-ranging views over the Somerset Levels, they were hot and thirsty and blind to any view, spectacular or otherwise.
Joe led the way across the grass, to a clump of gorse which offered precious little shelter, not from the sun, and not from the pain of their disharmony. The moment they sat down, the heat seemed to pulse down onto Joe’s head and the tension to claw at his heart.
Jenna groaned, ‘It’s baking.’ She sat with her forearms draped over her knees, funnelling air up through her lower lip over her face. ‘No chance of an ice-cream van, I don’t suppose?’
He stared doggedly out over the hazy landscape.
Speaking into his silence, she sighed, ‘Joe? What is it, pleaseY Then, in a murmur, ‘For heaven’s sake…’
And still he couldn’t speak.
‘I shouldn’t have come. I had no idea … It would have been far better if I hadn’t come.’
‘No, I wanted you to come.’
Joe had been planning the weekend for months; the thought of it had carried him through the drudgery of revision and the exhaustion of finals: it was to be a celebration of everything that was to come.
‘You’re cross with me,’ she said. ‘I’ve done something, or not done something.’
He could only gesture tightly.
‘Not the holiday? I’ve said I’m sorry. I had no idea you were fixed on it. I had no idea you’d booked it.’
‘I hadn’t booked it. How could I book it?’ For years they had talked about walking in the Lakes. In the spring, Joe had got as far as buying maps and walking guides and listing the best hostels.
‘You do understand, don’t you?’ Jenna cried. ‘I can’t turn down the opportunity of working with Sherer. She hardly ever gives master classes, and all of the most important agents will be there,’
‘Of course I understand. Of course.’
After a while, she sighed, ‘Well, what then?’ They were sitting side by side, and she dropped her head to try and see his face better. ‘Not that thing with Chetwood again?’
His silence was her reply. ‘
‘For heaven’s sake, Joe, I’ve already told you - you’re making something out of nothing.’
He found his voice at last. ‘You start seeing a friend of mine without telling me and you call it nothing?’
‘Perhaps I didn’t tell you because I just knew it would be like this, I just knew you’d get the whole thing out of proportion!’
‘What proportion am I meant to get it in, then?’
He heard her suck in her breath, like someone needing a heroic level of patience. ‘I told you - Chetwood just appeared.
He turned up and asked if I’d like a glass of wine. So we went to a wine bar and had a glass of wine. And that was it. End of story. I’m not going to see him again and I don’t know what makes you think I am.’
‘He turned up unannounced in Manchester? No one just turns up in Manchester.’
‘How should I know why he was there, Joe? It was none of my business.’
‘But he must have said why he’d come.’
‘He may have said something about a business meeting.
But quite honestly, I didn’t pay much attention. I didn’t realise I was going to be interrogated on it afterwards.’
‘And after this one glass of wine he wants to take you to Eddie’s party.’
‘And I’ve said no.’
‘Well, he seems pretty damn sure you said yes.’
She touched his arm. ‘Listen to me, Joe.’ She waited until he half turned his head towards her. ‘I’m not going. Okay? I can’t put it any plainer than that.’
And still Joe couldn’t stop himself. ‘You’d go if it wasn’t for me though? You’d say yes all right?’
‘For what it’s worth, Joe, I don’t think so. No.’
‘Well, you gave a good impression of thinking he was pretty damn fantastic. Laughing at all his jokes.’
‘So he makes me laugh. So?’
‘He was putting on an act.’
‘Well, all right then, his act made me laugh, but that doesn’t mean—’
‘He was just trying to impress you.’
‘People are always trying to impress each other, Joe. It’s what people do. It doesn’t have to mean anything.’
She was pulling at the grass and shredding it in her fingers.
He noticed the smoothness of her forearm and the light covering of down that glinted gold in the sunlight.
‘Well, whatever happened, he thinks you’ve agreed to go to the party with him.’
‘It simply isn’t true, Joe. How can I get through to you?
He’s not my type.’
‘You could have fooled me.’ The childish jeer made him wince inwardly; he would have taken it back if he could.
‘Joe. Joe. I don’t know what to say any more. You’re my best friend. You always will be. But … oh dear, I didn’t want to have this conversation, not this weekend, not when you’ve gone to so much trouble. But, Joe … we’re friends, aren’t we?
I mean, isn’t that where we are at the moment? Friends.’
His head was aching from the sun and from the knowledge of what was to come. ‘Ah, friends.‘1
‘Maybe we’ll see more of each other one day. If that’s what we both want. But not now, Joe. I’ve still got another year at the Royal Northern. I need to concentrate on my music.’
‘So it’s not possible to do both?’
‘I really don’t think so, Joe.’ She laid her hand on his arm and her voice was sweet and kind. ‘Not with someone like you. You’re an all-or-nothing person, Joe. A real romantic. I never dreamt you’d go to so much trouble this weekend.
Dinner last night. The trip to Camelot. Camelot, Joe. I realised then …’
She shook her head. ‘I thought we were just going to have a bit of fun this weekend, go to a few parties. I had no idea it was going to be like this - just the two of us. It shows the sort of person you are, Joe. Lovely. Thoughtful. Romantic. But if we started going out together you’d expect it to be like this all the time. You’d want us to see each other every weekend. And it just wouldn’t be possible, not when you’re going to be in London and I’m going to be in Manchester.’
Where her hand lay on his arm, there was an unbearable heat. He felt the sweat on his body like a river.
Finally he looked at her. Her face was flushed from the climb, sweat shimmered around her nose, and strands of hair clung damply to her forehead, yet looking into her wide-set eyes, seeing the upturned mouth, he thought he’d never seen her more beautiful or more desirable.
He said, ‘Other people manage to have long-distance relationships.’
She took her hand away. ‘Well, maybe I’m not as clever or well-organised as other people. It would be another pressure, Joe, and I don’t think I could take more pressure at the moment. It’s hard enough getting through the course, achieving the grades, without feeling responsible for someone else’s happines
s.’
He forced a laugh. ‘But you wouldn’t be responsible for my happiness!’
‘Oh yes, I would, Joe. With you I would. And you’d feel responsible for mine, because that’s the way you are. And it wouldn’t work.’
He stared into the distance again, and the heat pricked at his eyes. ‘So, on the same basis, you won’t be seeing anyone else?’
‘Joe, I can’t say I’m not going to see anyone at all. That’s just not realistic. I’m going to go out now and again, of course I am. But casually, without getting serious.’
‘I get the idea.’
She sighed wearily. ‘Oh Joe, Joe… it’s far too hot to talk about this now. Can’t we leave it alone?’
He stood up. ‘I think you should go to the party with Chetwood.’
‘Don’t be silly.’
‘Why not? I’m not going to go. You might as well. You’ll enjoy it.’
‘Joe, don’t do this. Please.’
‘No, I mean it. You want to be free. Well, then, of course you must be free. Totally free. I wouldn’t want to stand in your way. God forbid.’
He walked off a short distance to catch his breath. After a time she came and stood a few feet away.
‘Perhaps it would be best if I went back to Manchester tonight,’ she said.
‘If you want to.’
‘I don’t want to, Joe. I just think it would be best.’
‘Fine.’ He began to walk back towards the steps, fast, and she had to hurry .to keep up.
‘Joe, this is crazy. Why am I feeling bad about something I haven’t done, something I haven’t any intention of doing?’
‘Only you can answer that.’
Angrily, she pulled on his arm until he stopped and turned to face her. ‘What are you trying to do, Joe? What are you trying to achieve? Because if you’re trying to make me mad with you, you’re really succeeding. At this rate, I’m going to go to the damn party, with or without you.’
‘You can do what you like, Jenna. I don’t care too much either way.’
Time is meant to heal most things, but it seemed to Joe that it did very little for the torment of self-inflicted wounds. As he met the stream of people leaving the Merrow building, he felt a fresh shiver of shame and mortification.
Anna must have been watching for him because she shot out of her cubicle the moment he walked onto the floor. ‘I thought for an awful moment you’d gone home. Harry’s been screaming for you. Calling your mobile every two seconds.’
Joe reached for his phone and looked at it. ‘The battery must be flat.’
But Anna was already wearing the stern expression that told him this excuse wouldn’t wash. ‘He’s waiting for you.
He’s held off going to some important bash.’
Harry’s door was open. He was sitting at his desk in his shirtsleeves, bent over a thick document. Without looking up, he grunted, ‘Where have you been?’
Joe sat down. ‘At a meeting.’
Harry took his time finishing his reading. Usually he was gone by seven. If he had work to catch up on, he came in early, before eight. He had an ex-model wife who spent her mornings in Harvey Nichols and her afternoons on fundraising committees.
According to the rumour mill, they went out almost every night.
‘Ritch is seriously pissed off,’ Harry said, still without looking up. ‘You’re going to have to go out there and whisper sweet nothings in his ear.’
‘What, before Christmas?’
Harry’s eyes rose at last and seemed to bulge a little. ‘Yes, before Christmas. That’s not a problem, is it, Joe?’
‘No.’
‘Christmas is still on the twenty-fifth, isn’t it? Or have I got my arithmetic wrong?’
Joe chewed his lip.
‘So what’s the issue?’
‘It’s not an issue. It’s just that I’ve got a Basis of Claim to do before Wednesday for GPG, and a—’
‘Good.’ Harry gave a shudder, as if to throw off superfluous talk. ‘Ritch is expecting you tomorrow morning, bright and early. I suggest you use the flight to prepare your pitch.’
‘I’m not sure the flight’ll be long enough.’
‘Well, perhaps it’s your attitude that needs the work, Joe.’
‘I’ll have a go at that too, then. On the flight.’
Harry heaved the document closed. ‘Joe, it’s no good getting faint-hearted in this game. Not if you’re going for the long haul.’
Joe supposed he was talking about a partnership.
‘Sometimes you have to tough it out with the client, lay it on the line, take no nonsense. Sometimes you have to treat them like kids, hold their hands, pat them on the head. Other times, well, you have to treat them like a lover’ — warming to the analogy, his eyes narrowed conspiratorially - ‘fuss over them, take them out for a nice meal, listen to their problems, tell them all the things they want to hear.’
Joe muttered under his breath, ‘Like a gigolo.’
He must have said it louder than he’d intended because Harry snapped, ‘For Christ’s sake, Joe!’
‘I know. My attitude. I’ll work on it on the plane.’
Harry shook his head with an appearance of genuine concern. ‘What’s got into you, Joe?’
‘Perhaps Anna should have gone instead.’
‘No, you’re the right person, Joe. Of course you are.’ He stabbed a finger at him. ‘You’re the man.’
Joe laughed aloud. ‘You have been talking to Ritch, haven’t you?’
‘What?’ Harry didn’t get it. He finished rather crossly, ‘No, your work’s been fine, Joe. It’s just on the presentation side that you seem to have lost your edge.’
On the way home, Joe thought about the edge he was meant to have lost, and decided that Harry had got it the wrong way round, that his problem wasn’t too little edge, but way too much.
Sarah called from the kitchen, ‘So you’re expected to go and smooth things over.’
‘I think the word is grovel.’ Joe was rooting through his shelves, looking for the white shirt he had last worn at a funeral and probably forgotten to collect from the laundry.
‘I’ll drive you to the airport, shall I?’
‘That’s very kind, but I’ve got to check in by five. No point in both of us going without sleep.’
‘But I’ve got my flatmate’s car. It wouldn’t be any trouble.
I could go straight on to the office and make an early start.’
He went through into the kitchen. She had prepared a salad and beaten up some eggs, and was cutting smoked salmon into narrow strips.
‘I thought we were having a sandwich.’
‘Scrambled eggs with smoked salmon, and a side salad.’
‘Hey.’ It was more than he wanted or had time for. ‘Look, er … I’m going to have to get down to work straight after supper, I’m afraid.’
‘The thing for tomorrow? The Basis of Claim? Of course.
Do you want me to get it couriered over to your office first thing?’
‘What I mean is, it could take me all night.’
She stiffened. The knife paused for an instant in its journey across the salmon. ‘You mean, you don’t want me to stay?
Well, why didn’t you say so? Hell, you only had to say. It was never going to be a problem.’
‘I’ll work better on my own, that’s all.’
‘But it’s fine. Why wouldn’t it be fine? I’ll leave straight after supper. You only had to say.’ Then, seeming to hear the tension in her voice, she announced in a voice that was unnaturally soft, ‘But I wouldn’t mind some wine first.’
When he handed it to her, she struck a pose, mouth shaped into a flashy smile, eyes in an expression of apparent unconcern, and he thought how badly this role suited her, and how very fragile was her confidence.
‘Oh, I almost forgot!’ She went into the living room and reappeared with her handbag. Reaching into a pocket, she pulled out the envelope from Alan’s birthday card. ‘We have a re
sult.’
‘The postmark?’
She was like a conjurer, spinning out a trick. She brandished the envelope in the air. ‘A city - which covers a large rural area.’ She cocked her head challengingly: it was to be a quiz. ‘No?’ She brought the envelope down with a flourish.
‘Over towards the west?’
He made the effort to play. ‘Cornwall?’
‘Higher up.’
‘Wales?’
‘Not quite.’
He said in disbelief, ‘Hereford?’
She placed the envelope in his hand. ‘Hereford. Or rather, the Hereford postal district, which is large, geographically speaking. Stretches over the border into Wales and halfway to Birmingham.’
Glancing at her watch, she swept a saucepan off its hook and slid it onto the stove. ‘You look doubtful.’
‘Just surprised.’
‘Not a likely spot for your friends?’
‘They used to live near Hereford four years ago. But everyone who knew them there was quite sure they’d left.’
‘Perhaps they chose a more remote spot.’
‘But for no one to have seen them…’
Sarah took a swig of her wine and an equally hasty look at the wall clock. ‘Sounds like they’re doing a good job of keeping out of sight. Look, why don’t you do some more packing while I get on with the food? That’ll save a bit of time.’
Her voice was still a fraction high and a fraction sharp, and he put a steadying arm around her shoulders.
‘The time thing,’ he said. ‘It’s not that desperate.’
‘But you must do your work. Of course you must. I understand completely. Don’t I always understand about your work?’
‘Yes.’
‘Well, then.’ She shot the brittle smile at him again, she leant her head briefly against his shoulder before returning to the food, slicing some butter off the block and lobbing it expertly into the pan.
Five minutes later, she called him in to eat. Ten minutes after that, she was rinsing the last plate and standing it in the rack. ‘There,’ she declared, whipping off her rubber gloves with a snap. ‘No time at all!’
She had picked up her handbag and was halfway out of the kitchen before Joe could say, ‘Hang on!’
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