Stephen looked as if he might argue, so I said in a bright voice, ‘We’ve been dancing for ages and it’s not fair on Liddy to leave her alone for too long, is it?’
‘If Liddy’d dance she wouldn’t be alone, would she?’ he said with, I felt, a certain amount of justice, but he slowly let me go and made his way over to her with admirable steadiness, considering, while I pulled down my dress which had become alarmingly rucked up at the back. I looked up at Hamish’s unsmiling face and for some unaccountable reason felt like bursting into tears. Why couldn’t he want to dance with me for its own sake, rather than because he was doing Liddy a favour? I must be very tired to mind so much. To offset any danger of weepiness, I scowled at him crossly and said, ‘It is normal to ask a girl if she wants to dance, you know.’
His eyes glinted as he said, ‘I wasn’t aware I’d said anything about dancing, merely that Stephen was taking up too much of your time.’
I stared at him open-mouthed. Oh, well done, Susie! Talk about hoisting yourself with your own bloody petard.
‘But we can have a dance if you’d like,’ he added kindly.
Any lachrymose feelings were wiped by an almost overpowering urge to kick him on the shin. I reminded myself I wasn’t nine any longer. I smiled at him sweetly. ‘Well since you’re so insistent we can have just one.’
He nodded. ‘Just one. I’m on my way home. I only stopped to say goodbye.’
I was tempted again to do violence, then reluctantly giggled. ‘You are the most ungallant, ungentlemanly, condescending, graceless, off-hand, uncivil, ungracious, unmannerly . . .’
Hamish held up his hands in a gesture of surrender. ‘Do you go to bed with the thesaurus each night?’
It was a good thing he’d stopped me. I’d run out of adjectives. ‘No, it’s just you inspire me to depths I didn’t know I had.’
He smiled at me slowly. Something very odd happened to my heartbeat. ‘I’m glad I inspire you to something, even if it’s only to insults. Come on, let’s have our dance.’
I nodded, not capable of saying anything. He put his arm around my waist and led me to the centre of the floor. I felt like Stephen, I needed support, only I didn’t dare do anything other than rest my hands very lightly on Hamish’s forearms. Otherwise I might give into the temptation to cast my arms around his neck and hang on like a limpet, and hadn’t I already made enough of a fool of myself in front of Hamish in one way and another without adding flinging myself at him in the most blatant manner to the list? I kept myself rigid, concentrating on the view over his shoulder, resolutely ignoring the heady scent under my nose, a mixture of warm skin, aftershave and fabric conditioner, and the prickles that shot down my spine as his breath tickled the back of my neck. I reminded myself of Merial every five seconds or so, otherwise I’d have found myself getting closer, closer… With her around I didn’t have a chance and I’d better remember that or it was rejection city here we come. How could I have fallen out of lust with one man and into lust with another all in the space of one evening? What sort of trollop did that make me? One with much too vivid an imagination, I realised ruefully, as I visualised all too clearly that normally trollops do a lot more than dance with a man, and my knees began to shake all over again.
What was happening to me? I had an urge to stroke the back of his neck where the short hairs grew. I wasn’t like this. I don’t have urges to fondle any man who crosses my path. Except that Hamish wasn’t any man… And I had no desire to fondle any other man.
I went cold. I was about to go home with another man, wasn’t I? Another man who had every right to presume we were going to pick right up from where we’d left off before, like the familiar lovers we were, like we’d always done in the past. But everything had changed. What sort of mess had I got myself into now? I couldn’t pretend to Arnaud that everything was as normal. Even if I could have brought myself to do it, he wasn’t stupid. I closed my eyes in despair. He was going to be furious about this.
CHAPTER 16
Arnaud was. I couldn’t blame him. I wouldn’t have been too happy if I’d gone to see him in Paris only to be told once I’d got there it was all over. What he couldn’t understand wasn’t that I might have another boyfriend - and he was convinced I must for there could be no other explanation for me jettisoning a perfectly good relationship, but that I couldn’t adopt his cheerful amorality for this one night.
‘He is going to think we are sleeping together tonight anyway, so what is the point of making me sleep in the spare room?’ he asked with maddening reasonableness (from his point of view at least). ‘We can have one last night to remember,’ he added, flashing me one of his most beguiling smiles.
I was tempted. As he’d said, anyone who cared to think about it would probably presume we’d be at it all night, making up for lost time, so what harm would there be? Especially if it meant we could part on better terms. And despite everything I was still very fond of him. Completely platonically. That part of me which had thrilled to his touch had switched off, permanently. But since I hadn’t wanted to really wound him by spelling out that it wasn’t only scruples keeping me from falling into bed with him, I’d sort of skirted around the subject. Maybe I could use memories to whip up some desire. But cheerfully selfish as he was in many ways, Arnaud wasn’t selfish in bed, he’d know I was faking. That’d be even more humiliating for him in the long run.
I shook my head. ‘I’m sorry. . .’
Once it really sank in I meant it and wasn’t going to change my mind he didn’t take it graciously. I suspected he’d had the idea that if our liaison ever came to an end for any reason other than inertia it wouldn’t be him on the receiving end of the boot; probably hurt pride shared the responsibility with frustration for the major attack of bad temper that followed. I let him rant at me for a while - after all, it was the least I could do after the way I’d treated him - and prayed desperately that Mrs Tanner from next door didn’t have a glass pressed against the wall and was listening to every word. If she repeated any of what he was saying my reputation in the village would be in shreds within hours. As he began to wind down I handed him a glass of wine and took a large one for myself. After the character assassination he’d just dealt out I needed fortification. It’s even worse when you feel you’ve deserved it. I sat in a chair opposite him and took a gulp, the glass shaking slightly in my hand.
There was silence for a minute or two, then he said, ‘I do not mean all of that.’
I smiled wanly. ‘Thank you. I was beginning to wonder why you’d bothered with me for so long if that was what you’d really been thinking of me all this time.’
‘You know why, we are good together,’ he said matter-of-factly. ‘And I think you are stupid. This small-minded English morality, I thought I had taught you to forget it, but no! I do not see why we should not enjoy each other, even if you have the other boyfriend. This is what makes me cross.’ Hopping mad would be more accurate. It was a good thing he didn’t know there wasn’t another boyfriend; he’d have been even more furious if he realised I’d turned off him because of a passion destined to remain unrequited. He drained his glass and stood up. ‘I think,’ he said with dignity, ‘it would be best if you take me to the station to catch the first train. Since you are being so moral –‘ he loaded the word with all the contempt only the French can give it and then looked at me hopefully. I stared back wide-eyed, showing I hadn’t changed my mind - ‘there is no point being hung for the lamb when it could have been a ship.’
It took me a few seconds to get my brain around this convoluted and mispronounced sentence. ‘Oh Arnaud, you don’t have to worry about what people think of me,’ I began, once I’d worked out what he meant, heart warming at his consideration.
‘I do not,’ he said tersely. ‘Fanny does not know that I am seeing you. I told the hotel to say I was asleep if she rings. But this way I will return in time to answer the telephone myself.’
‘Fanny?’ I repeated. ‘ Fanny? The Fanny who’s th
e daughter of your parents’ friends?’ I remembered the name, since for obvious reasons it’s not one you hear much in England any longer. ‘The one at the Sorbonne, whose parents asked you to keep an eye on her?’
He shrugged and looked at me defiantly. ‘So?’
If she was ringing him at his hotel she must be a fairly serious item. Arnaud didn’t allow himself to be bothered unnecessarily by his women. Especially students he was merely ‘looking after’. Just how stupid had I been to fall for that one? As far as I could recall, Fanny was an only child and her parents had a pretty little château near the banks of the Loire. I wouldn’t have called Arnaud mercenary, well not precisely, but there’s no doubt he believed in the old adage of not loving for money but making sure you love where money is. No wonder he’d been so nice to me when he arrived, he’d probably been gearing himself up to give me a Dear Jeanne, after we’d had an extensive session of ‘enjoying’ each other, of course. Though, knowing Arnaud, maybe not. It was more likely he’d been intending to wheedle me into agreeing to a very discreet liaison indeed, one that involved no telephone calls to his appartement or birthday cards, just me hanging around in a diaphanous nightie, waiting for him to call. And he’d had the nerve to take umbrage and tear me to shreds.
Then the ridiculousness of the whole situation struck me, a half-decent playwright could turn this into a Whitehall farce in no time at all. I smothered a smile, even if I didn’t have the upper hand, at least I wasn’t still in the position of grovelling on the floor. ‘I hope you’ll both be very happy,’ I said.
‘There is no question of that yet,’ he said quickly, eyeing me warily. It must have occurred to him that it was my turn to make a scene, especially considering the number of times he’d made it kindly, but firmly, clear there was absolutely no question of our getting married, because he wasn’t the marrying kind. Well, it seemed he was the marrying kind, just not to me. Though the idea of being married to a man who would be faithful only if you handcuffed him to the bedposts had begun to lose its charm some time ago. I grinned at the thought. He’d probably have found a way around that, and enjoyed himself enormously in the process too.
‘Is she pretty?’ I asked.
‘Yes,’ he said promptly. ‘Very.’
And rich. And I was prepared to bet that she had ingrained chic, always remembered to use scent, hung up her clothes at night and would learn how to give those terrifyingly smart Parisian dinner parties. I smiled. ‘Lucky you. I expect she’ll suit you perfectly.’
Did I detect a touch of chagrin mixed with the relief that I was taking this so well? ‘I don’t think either of us are really in a position to throw stones at each other, do you?’ I asked, as I fetched the bottle of wine and refilled his glass. ‘So shall we cut out the recriminations?’
He considered this. I could see that he still reckoned that right was on his side, after all he’d been generously prepared to continue letting me have a small part of his time, but I think that, like me, he wasn’t keen to let five years end on too bitter a note, so he nodded without much warmth. I made us both coffee and we talked about jobs, flats, the cottage, anything rather than our respective love lives. When I glanced at my watch, wondering how long it was before we had to leave for the station, I saw to my surprise it was nearly time to go. The dawn chorus was already starting up in the most infuriatingly cheerful way, and the sky was tinged with gold as the sun rose over the fields at the back of the cottage.
We were both silent on the journey, we’d said enough already. As I drew up in the deserted station, the only car in the quick put-down and pick-up section, Arnaud turned to me and, leaning over, kissed me on the lips. ‘Keep safe, Susie, and good luck.’ He drew back, holding my face in his hands. ‘I still think you are foolish. It is possible to have your gâteau and eat it, you know.’
‘For you maybe,’ I retorted with a faint smile. ‘Think how nice it’s going to be to talk to Fanny later this morning with a clear conscience.’
He raised his eyebrows. ‘But what would I have a conscience about?’ he asked with perfect seriousness, and got out of the car.
I watched five years of my emotional life walk away, a huge lump in my throat, so bereft that for a moment I was tempted to call him back. But it was no good, that chapter of my life was closed. He might not even come if I were to call. I blinked away a few tears, put the car into reverse and drove off, wondering if I’d just made an enormous mistake.
‘Gosh, look who’s had a very active weekend,’ said Amanda suggestively on Monday morning. She winked broadly. ‘Did he let you have any sleep at all?’
I sighed wearily as I headed for the coffee machine. I knew exactly what one night without any sleep at all and another spent tossing and turning, deciding I was completely mad on several counts, had done to the bag quotient under my eyes. I was so tired that I could hardly put one foot in front of the other. It was a toss-up between falling asleep over the computer or waking myself up by giving my nerves a caffeine overload so large that Martin would be in a severe danger of having my letter-opener stuck in him if he made a single unpleasant remark. I decided to let Martin take the risk.
‘So?’ Amanda asked expectantly as I poured out a mug of the viscous liquid that passed for coffee in the office. ‘Blast it,’ she muttered, as a truly early bird came in to ask if she could take her to have another look at an empty house nearby. With a big smile for the client and a silent session of eye rolling at me, Amanda hissed, ‘We’ll have lunch. OK?’ and grabbed her bag and the house keys.
I’d been hoping for a nice peaceful day so I could doze over my screen, but as always things didn’t turn out that way. Jenny had succumbed to a flu bug that was going around so I had to take on all her work, several people came in wanting to go over house details, which I had to deal with as Martin was out too, and the telephone never seemed to stop ringing with requests for a brochure detailing a former rectory ‘in need of some updating’ that we’d advertised in the Sunday Times the day before.
‘We’ve had thirty calls about the rectory already,’ I said to Stephen as I took his post in during a brief respite.
‘Everyone likes the idea of having the chance of a bargain,’ he said, taking off his glasses and rubbing them with a red silk handkerchief. ‘Er, did you enjoy that party on Saturday?’ he asked, fiddling with the pens in the large pot on his desk. He seemed curiously ill at ease, looking down at his blotter and refusing to meet my eyes.
‘I’ll certainly remember it,’ I said with feeling.
The pen pot toppled over, sending pens flying everywhere. One rolled under the bookcase, another two fell in the waste-paper basket. I brushed against Stephen as I fished them out for him and handed them back. He jumped like a scalded cat. I looked at him curiously and he dropped his eyes quickly.
‘Er, I hope they made plenty of money,’ he said, appearing to snatch a subject out of the air at random.
‘Getting on for at least two thousand pounds, I think,’ I said.
‘Good,’ he said vaguely. ‘Look I’ve got something to work on this morning, make sure I’m not disturbed, will you?’
‘Of course,’ I said, about to leave, then I was gripped by a nasty sense that I knew exactly what was wrong with him. I could hazard a fair guess that at best he had only a hazy memory of the latter part of Saturday night. But if he could vaguely recall being wrapped in a tight clinch with his assistant, whom he knew perfectly well he didn’t fancy, he’d probably jumped to a seemingly logical conclusion as to why it had happened. He was probably terrified I was about to leap on to his knee, whip off his specs and breathe huskily, ‘My word, but you’re handsome without your glasses, Mr Bailey-Stewart.’ It would be funny if it wasn’t also desperately serious. I couldn’t afford to brush this under the carpet. I took a deep breath. ‘Stephen, what’s the matter?’ I asked directly. ‘Is it something to do with Saturday night?’
His head shot up, and he looked at me with something that seemed very much like alarm. ‘I
was hoping you wouldn’t remember,’ he said to my surprise. ‘I’m so sorry, Susie. I don’t know what came over me…’
‘What are you talking about?’ I asked in astonishment.
‘Liddy says I…I…’ he mumbled. ‘That I made a complete fool of myself and I’ll be lucky to escape a sexual harassment suit.’
‘Rubbish!’ I exclaimed, almost weak-kneed with relief that Liddy hadn’t been saying it was me who’d been harassing him. ‘You were leaning on me like a farmer with a gate, but that’s all. You didn’t even tread on my toes.’
He didn’t smile. ‘Are you sure?’ he asked doubtfully. ‘Because Liddy said…’
‘As I’m the one you were resting on I should know, however it appeared to Liddy,’ I retorted. ‘Look Stephen, I’ve had experience of being jumped by an employer and I can promise you that if you’d even thought about laying a finger on me you’d have been picking up your own pens just now. I’d have stayed down here, out of reach.’
‘Really?’ he asked. I nodded. His face cleared. ‘Thank you, Susie.’ He hesitated. ‘So can we forget it?’
‘Consider it done,’ I said, then just in case he was still harbouring any lingering doubts I added teasingly, ‘Until I want a raise, that is.’
He’d recovered enough of himself to say, ‘I think I pay you quite enough. And I enjoyed our dance very much.’
‘Even though you had to take your second choice because Liddy didn’t want to dance?’ I asked teasingly from the door.
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