A Rural Affair

by Catherine Alliott

  ‘No!’

  ‘We thought you’d passed out in there and Sam went to find you. You bundled him in and locked the door. He had to stop you swallowing the key.’

  I got up, horrified. Stared out of the window at the back garden. Then I swung back to her. ‘Oh God, I was thinking of moving to Clapham, but that’s not far enough,’ I whispered. ‘It’ll have to be Sydney.’

  ‘That’s where Simon’s going, apparently,’ she said conversationally, as if we were discussing popping to Ikea. ‘Jennie had a long chat last night. He’s been offered a job, wants to make a fresh start. Getting a divorce too.’

  Angie had clearly done the rounds this morning.

  ‘I’ll look into flights,’ I muttered, tottering across to the computer. Ryanair. Quite testing at any time. Particularly now. On second thoughts … I felt my way back to the table, holding on to the furniture.

  ‘Oh, don’t be silly, everyone drops a bollock now and again. It’s very refreshing. Can’t bear those who don’t, actually. Pious twats. And he is very attractive, Poppy, it’s not your fault.’

  ‘Whose fault is it, then?’

  ‘God’s,’ she said firmly, after a pause. ‘He’s no business making men like that. Tom’s back,’ she said, apropos, clearly, of attractive men. She reddened. ‘Or at least, he was last night. Whether or not he’s still there now is another matter. Perhaps I shouldn’t have given in so easily.’ She looked at me anxiously. Ah. So that’s what this was all about. Ashamed of her own behaviour, she’d come round wanting to remind me of mine. But why should she be ashamed of sleeping with her husband?

  I voiced this and she gripped my wrist across the table. ‘D’you really think so? I felt so cheap this morning, such a pushover, so I slipped out to see you and Jennie. Didn’t want to seem un-busy. Told him I was going out for lunch, in fact.’

  Hence the pink suit. ‘Leaving him doing what?’

  ‘Well, kicking his heels at home for a bit, then going back to his cottage, I suppose. Thinking how horrid and poky it is, hopefully.’

  I sighed. ‘Angie, he wouldn’t be back if he didn’t mean it.’

  ‘You don’t think?’

  ‘Of course not. It’s too public. For God’s sake, go home. He’s the one that’s made a fool of himself, not you. If you’re quick he’ll still be there, and if I were you I’d sit down at the kitchen table with a pot of coffee and some Hobnobs and iron a few things out. Then book a holiday.’

  She gave this some thought. After a bit she got slowly to her feet, replacing the chain of her Chanel bag on her shoulder. ‘Maybe you’re right. D’you know, you’re quite wise, sometimes, Poppy.’ She peered at me, surprised.

  ‘It’s always easy to be wise about someone else’s life,’ I told her gloomily.

  ‘Ain’t that the truth,’ she agreed. Then she hesitated. ‘And I’m sorry I came round to, you know … ’

  ‘Gloat.’

  ‘You didn’t really lock him in the loo.’

  ‘Didn’t I?’ I breathed, relieved.

  ‘Nah. Just chased him down the corridor. You know how these things get exaggerated.’ She grinned.

  I tried to grin back but my muscles wouldn’t quite make it. Angie gave me a quick kiss before exiting, rather speedily, through my back door.

  Later that day I ventured to the shop for bread. One or two people smiled knowingly at me in the village. I smiled thinly back. Someone even hummed ‘Edelweiss’ behind me in the queue for the post office. I wondered if this was a family thing? That just as my father thought he was Elvis whilst under the influence, I became Julie Andrews. Interesting. A psychologist would have a field day. Perhaps even suggest a nunnery. And wouldn’t a habit be handy? To hide behind? I tiptoed home.

  Three days later I got a message via email from Janice.

  Dear Poppy,

  I hope you and the children are well. I so enjoyed looking after them. And I hope you’re feeling better.

  I cringed, toes curling in my trainers.

  Sam has asked if you’d come in and sign some papers. He’s away this week, but doesn’t need to be here, apparently. I wondered if you could pop in tomorrow?

  Away. I got up quickly from the computer. Well, obviously he was, miles away, if he had any sense. What papers, I wondered. I gazed above the screen to where the patch of damp had spread across the wall, flaking the paint. I picked at a bit and a whole sheet came off in my fingers. I could fix that now, of course. Easily. Build a new wall. Not that the thought afforded much pleasure.

  On the appointed morning, Jennie had the children for me and I duly drove into town. The first snowflakes of the year were falling, swirling down onto my windscreen, melting softly on impact. November. Soon it would be Christmas, my first one alone, I realized. I swept the snow away efficiently with the wipers, wishing I could swipe away so much else. Start again. With a heavy heart I parked, put my head down against the gathering blizzard and with a bitter wind sneaking around my neck, trudged up the high street in my old brown coat. Pushing open the familiar door I realized I hadn’t accounted for this: hadn’t factored in the memory of this place causing melancholy to sneak over my soul, a lump to form in my throat as I mounted the stairs. I wondered if I’d need oxygen when I finally achieved reception. Or a hanky? Instead I plastered on a smile and handed my plant to Janice, hoping this wouldn’t take long.

  ‘Oh, you shouldn’t have.’ She took it, smiling.

  ‘Nonsense, it’s the least I can do. It was so kind of you and I didn’t even thank you at the time.’ Dad had obviously done that, when he’d belted up the stairs to spring the children from their beds, but still.

  ‘I got terribly drunk, as you probably heard.’ Bare-faced honesty, I’d decided, was the order of the day.

  ‘I heard you had quite a party.’ She grinned.

  ‘To be honest I don’t usually drink that much. My husband didn’t, you see, so the odd tipple I had was on a night out with the girls, which wasn’t that often.’ I shrugged. ‘It’s no excuse, I know, but whatever the hunt was serving that night surely went to my head.’

  ‘Oh, I couldn’t begin to drink one of those, let alone four or five as I gather you did. Go in, love, he’s waiting for you.’

  I gaped, not at the four or five, but … ‘Waiting for me? I thought he was away?’

  ‘He was, but he’s back.’

  Janice’s grin was widening. She was also ushering me across to his door; not exactly propelling me, but exhibiting the same sort of enthusiasm she had when she’d shooed me down to the party the other night, so that before I had time to think about it I was in his room, the door shutting behind me. I do remember wishing I hadn’t got my old coat and boots on, and that my hair wasn’t slicked quite so damply to my head.

  Sam wasn’t in a suit at his desk, he was over by the window with his back to me. He was wearing a dark red jersey and jeans, looking impossibly young and handsome even from behind. My heart was beating fast.

  ‘Hello.’ He turned. Smiled.

  ‘Hello. You’re not supposed to be here.’

  ‘I know. But I didn’t know how else to see you. And since I’m your solicitor, I thought a few papers to be signed in my absence might be just the ticket. Wasn’t sure you’d come in so readily if you knew I was here. Thought you might be embarrassed.’

  ‘There are no papers?’

  ‘No papers. Or at least – not yet. There may be later, to do with getting rid of me.’ He shrugged. ‘Depending on how you feel.’

  ‘Getting rid of you? Why would I want to do that?’

  ‘Oh … a number of reasons.’ He looked hesitant a moment. Surprisingly unsure of himself. He crossed to his desk, walking around it, trailing his fingers on the green leather, eyes down. When he finally raised them, they were heavy with something I couldn’t quite place. He gazed at me a long moment, appraisingly. Then massaged the blotter with a frenzied fingertip.

  ‘I’d forgotten. You are … very lovely, Poppy.’

  I felt
the breath rush out of me. Not what I was expecting at all. I waited, every nerve strained, every sinew tightening. But then he did an extraordinary thing. He continued around his desk to his chair and sat, which left me standing on the other side. I was dumbfounded. Surely after such a sentence, baffling or otherwise, a tumble towards each other, arms outstretched, was pretty much mandatory? Had I misheard? Had he perhaps said, ‘You are very lonely, Poppy’? Ipso facto a loser? No, I was sure he hadn’t. Nonetheless I couldn’t stand in front of his desk like a fourth former, so I sat, in my usual chair, heart pounding. He sat too, in silent contemplation, it seemed, of his blotter, which he drummed lightly with his fingers. It was as if we were miles away from each other, and not just geographically; not just the vast leather-topped desk between us. The air seemed heavy with portent.

  ‘Sorry about the other night,’ I blurted, the first to blink. ‘Getting so pissed and everything, chasing you down corridors. Singing. I don’t remember much about it, to be honest. I don’t drink a great deal and I clearly overdid it.’

  He looked up and smiled; it reached his eyes. He sat back in his chair and looked at me properly, still retaining the crinkly eyes. ‘I liked it.’

  ‘You did?’

  ‘Yes, I hoped it was in vino veritas. Some indication of how you felt. It’s certainly how I’ve been feeling, although obviously I couldn’t express it.’

  ‘Obviously,’ I whispered, thinking: why not? Why? In some senses this was hugely encouraging, but … was there another wife, I wondered wildly? Not just the one? Would number two spring from that cupboard by the door any minute now, head to toe in Chanel?

  ‘Poppy, I’ve made a terrible mess of my life so far,’ he said softly, and all at once I knew. There didn’t have to be another wife. One was enough. Hope was at the bottom of this. ‘I got married very young, fell madly in love, and it all went badly wrong. I got very hurt.’

  I nodded. ‘You’re still in love with her.’

  ‘Oh, no.’ He looked astonished. ‘I’m in love with you.’

  More breath left my body. I’d be completely deflated soon, in the less than usual sense. And I itched to go to him. ‘Sam,’ I ventured, ‘must we sit here like this? Discuss … things like this, as if we’re in a board meeting?’ My eyes darted to his armchair in the corner. Not exactly a couch, which as we knew was the perk of the senior partner; and cluttered with papers, sure, but I could clear it very quickly. With one sweep of the hand, in fact.

  ‘Yes, of course we must,’ he said, quite briskly. Sternly, even. ‘Hear me out, Poppy.’

  I nodded. Weird. Thrilling. Lovely, in fact. But weird.

  He glanced at his blotter, then up at me, this time with an abrupt, defensive air. ‘Hope had an affair about ten months or so into our marriage. I found out and was devastated, naturally, but I reasoned that she was very young. And she was so sorry, assuring me it would never happen again, so I forgave her. Then less than a year later, she had another affair. With someone else. He lived next door.’

  ‘Good grief.’ I was fascinated in spite of my own inner turmoil.

  ‘So I left her. Knew it was hopeless. That’s when she hooked up with Chad.’

  ‘While you were married?’

  ‘No, no, we were divorced by then. Chad wouldn’t do that to me.’

  ‘Did he know about the other men?’

  ‘Yes, I’d obviously confided in him at the time. He was my best friend. Is my best friend. He knew everything. God, I’ve sobbed on his shoulder often enough. But men are wired differently, Poppy. We have astounding arrogance when it comes to women. Think we can be the one to make a difference, make them change.’

  ‘Not just men.’ I thought of Phil. How I too had hoped for change.

  ‘And Hope is … mesmerizing. Very beautiful, very charming, very captivating. If she sets her cap at you, if you’re under her spell … well, I was lucky. I was captivated for quite some time, but I got away. Chad has not been so fortunate.’

  ‘She’s having an affair with Pete the farrier,’ I told him, as it suddenly dawned on me. ‘I saw them together, in his jeep in the field.’

  ‘Yes, she is. I saw them too. It’s been going on a while.’

  Which was why Angie’s advances had been rejected, it occurred to me: Pete already had somewhere to go after shoeing the horses of the village. And of course he and Hope had met at the book club. I remembered Hope appreciating his looks.

  ‘Does Chad know?’

  ‘I’m sure he suspects. But I haven’t told him. I did tell Hope I might, though, if she doesn’t watch out. If she doesn’t mend her ways.’

  My mind flew back to Sam standing in his great hall by the window at the dance; Hope blushing at the floor, looking up at him through her lashes. No doubt agreeing she’d try.

  ‘She’s amoral, Poppy, so fat chance. Some people just are. A lot of men, but a surprising number of women too. And I mind very much for Chad. I got out, but I don’t think Chad ever will. And Hope hates that I’ve escaped. I wouldn’t go so far as to say that’s why they’re here, but a bit of me thinks Hope brought him to England, to this area, knowing I was bound to come back. She’d like us to be in an eternal triangle for ever, killing everyone softly. But I’m not playing that game. I have to see her because I love my friend dearly, but I despise her now. And that took a long time. For a while I couldn’t stop loving her. Was very hurt.’

  I swallowed. Felt very brown-coated suddenly. Very unmesmerizing.

  ‘Why are you telling me this?’

  ‘Because this is the first time I’ve felt anything again. When you first burst into this room, Poppy, with your baby son in your arms, struggling up the stairs with your pushchair, I felt something stir. Something inside me relax and unwind, and each time I see you, it’s with the same gathering excitement, the same surge of pleasure, and each time you go, I wonder when I’m going to see you again. You, with your sweet smile and your slightly chaotic way of tumbling through life.’

  This was more like me to be sure, and although astonished, frankly I was ready to vault the desk. I sized it up. Only four feet, surely, and I’d done long jump at school. I held myself together, though.

  ‘You had no idea?’ he asked.

  ‘None!’

  ‘Too busy letting that organ-grinder chappie sniff around,’ he said bitterly.

  ‘Luke! How d’you know about him?’

  ‘Oh … I know pretty much everything about you, Poppy, that’s my tragedy. My affliction.’ He massaged his brow, in despair almost.

  I gaped, astounded. ‘But – you’ve given me no indication, no suggestion!’ I finally found my voice.

  ‘I sent you tickets.’

  ‘What tickets?’

  ‘To the ball.’

  ‘You did?’

  ‘Yes, I put them through your door.’

  ‘But … I thought that was Mark! Why didn’t you say?’

  ‘How could I say? Don’t you see how impossible that would be?’

  ‘And – and when I tried to suggest things, mentioned the book club –’

  ‘The book club!’ He spread his hands desperately. ‘How could I come to the frigging book club?’

  I stared. My head whirred. ‘What d’you mean?’

  ‘You’re my client, Poppy,’ he said patiently. ‘There’s a professional code of conduct. I could be struck off. I know everything about you.’

  ‘Well, within reason.’

  ‘I know how rich you are.’

  It came as a bit of a shock. ‘Yes,’ I said after a bit. ‘Yes, you do, I suppose. But –’

  ‘And everyone knows my house is falling down, is badly in need of a huge cash injection. Not that I’m sure I necessarily want it now,’ he said brusquely. Defensively, even. ‘I might sell it, so as not to be tied. I might go away.’ He got up from his chair and went to the window, hands thrust in his pockets, his back to me. My heart began to race.

  ‘Go away?’ I echoed.

  ‘For a while. Paint, pe
rhaps. Do something different. Not be squire of this parish. Master of Foxhounds. Following in my father’s inimitable footsteps. Italy, maybe. I’m told the light is wonderful.’

  ‘I didn’t know you could paint.’

  He turned. Smiled. ‘I didn’t know you could sing.’ I blushed. ‘Rather well, actually. Don’t know why I bothered with a band.’

  ‘It’s a family failing,’ I told him, getting up from my chair. No, I would not sit like this. Would not be still. ‘We sing in our cups.’

  ‘I shall look forward to that.’

  ‘So … there is something to look forward to?’ I crept across the room tentatively. His eyes held me and he moved too, but slowly; we seemed drawn imperceptibly together as if by an invisible thread. He stalled a moment.

  ‘You’d have to fire me, of course.’

  ‘Of course,’ I agreed, halting too.

  ‘And there’s still the money.’

  ‘I don’t want the money.’

  ‘You’re stuck with it.’

  ‘I could give it away?’

  ‘You could. I thought of that.’

  He did? ‘To charity,’ I said wildly. ‘Save the Children?’

  ‘Well, no, your own children. In trust, until they’re older.’

  ‘Oh, yes! How tremendous. And – and Italy. Well, of course I’m hopeless at languages but I do love the sun. And pasta and –’

  ‘No,’ he smiled, ‘it doesn’t have to be Italy. Could be Wigan for all I care. Could be here, if you really love it.’

  We were close now, within feet of each other and I felt myself aching for him. He reached out and took my hands.

  ‘I don’t want to be here.’ As I said it, I knew I didn’t. Knew I wanted to get away. From the house I’d had with Phil, from the village, from the gossip, from everyone knowing my business. Not from my friends. I’d miss them sorely. And Dad too. But they’d still be here, wouldn’t they? When I came back? With Sam, and the children. To visit. And maybe with more children. If my mind jolted with surprise as this rogue thought crossed it, my heart didn’t; it wasn’t altogether astonished at my audacity. Because somehow I knew, having got it so terribly wrong – both of us having got it wrong – we’d now got it so right. I knew Sam knew that too. As he let go of my hands and opened his arms, and I walked into them, I saw the light in his eyes; felt the surprise and delight in both our hearts as his lips came down to meet mine. At length, after he’d kissed me really rather thoroughly, we parted, hearts racing, breathing erratically, holding on tight and gazing at one another, shiny-eyed.