“Is it Bob?” he asked simply.
She knew now that there was no turning back. She had no ability to lie, either to him or to herself.
“Yes, it is,” she responded. “I really don’t know whether I’m coming or going, Peter. I have very strong feelings for him, very strong feelings indeed, feelings which I can’t even explain.”
“Are you in love with him?” he asked, knowing already what the answer would be and feeling a deep, yearning ache spreading within him.
“I just feel instinctively that I want to be with him, that we belong together,” she said helplessly, and then, after a pause, “so yes, Peter, I suppose I do. I’m so sorry, my love, really truly sorry. I never looked for anything like this to happen. I’ve been so happy with you.”
There was a long silence.
“How long have you known?” she asked finally.
“I didn’t know,” he replied sadly. “Not until just now. But I guessed. I just hoped I was wrong, that’s all.”
“Oh, Peter,” she whispered, and then tried to say something else but failed.
He reached across and took her hand. He gazed at her fondly as he kneaded it gently in his own, but in his heart was a deep and terrible emptiness, a void too horrible even to contemplate, and one which he knew could never be filled.
She took a deep breath and tried again.
“Well,” she ventured at last, “I’m glad that you know. It makes it easier somehow, or less awful anyway. It’s been such a strain having to live with this.”
“For, Bob, too, I expect,” Peter surmised.
She gazed at him in wonder.
“How can you think about Bob at a time like this, Peter?” she demanded almost angrily. “When you must be hurting so badly inside? Why must you be so bloody decent about everything?”
Now perhaps her tears were tears of rage, rage against the essential unfairness of life, the unfairness of destroying something wonderful without really knowing how, and certainly without understanding why.
He sighed and felt a bitter taste rising in his throat like a blast of hot air.
She gazed at him blearily, choking back a fresh sob.
“So,” she said, with a poor attempt at a smile, “what do we do now?”
GUY FRASER-SAMPSON is an established writer, having published not only fiction but also books on a diverse range of subjects including finance, investment, economics and cricket. His darkly disturbing economic history The Mess We’re In was nominated for the Orwell Prize.
His Mapp & Lucia novels have all been optioned by BBC TV, and have won high praise from other authors including Alexander McCall Smith, Gyles Brandreth and Tom Holt. The second was featured in an exclusive interview with Mariella Forstrup on Radio 4, and Guy’s entertaining talks on the series have been heard at a number of literary events including the Sunday Times Festival in Oxford and the Daily Telegraph Festival in Dartington.
With Death in Profile he begins a new series entitled The Hampstead Murders. The books hark back (sometimes explicitly) to the Golden Age of detective writing, and are very different from the contemporary model of detective novel.
Originally a corporate lawyer, Guy currently teaches at Cass Business School and acts as a board adviser to high growth companies. He has appeared frequently on radio and television and is in demand as a conference and after-dinner speaker.
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