A Perfect Home (23 page)

It was not impossible.
People do it all the time
, she told herself, thinking of Sally who was behaving as if separating from Gareth was the best thing that ever happened to her. She had spent the whole of Saturday in Claire's kitchen extolling the joys of being a single woman.

‘Good for her,' William said to Claire after she left. ‘She deserves someone better than that layabout.'

‘I always liked Gareth,' Claire said, ironing a dress she planned to wear the next day. ‘Remember all the help he gave me with the Emily Love website?'

William shrugged and flicked on the evening news.

Claire drove down the long, high-hedged roads too fast. She needed to be with Stefan as soon as possible. The weather had been dry all week; the bushes and trees looked parched and dusty. Most of the hedgerow flowers were over and the hay was piled in neat blond blocks across the close-cropped fields. She hardly noticed the scenery. Her mind was focused on the destination and the excitement of seeing Stefan again.

Claire needed to ask him questions, to find out more about who he really was. He had spent two days with her, observed her daily life, seen her home in detail. He knew where she spent her working day: where she woke up, where she ate her meals, where she brushed her teeth. She had no idea what his flat was like, where or how he spent his time. She wanted to know about his friends, his sister, what he watched on television, his favourite beach, mountain, castle. All this information seemed somehow vitally important. But most of all she just wanted to be with him again, existing in his space, even if they didn't talk at all.

She had only had one text from him since Thursday.

Might be held up. Could we make it 2.30?

As her car crunched onto the gravel parking area, Claire could see immediately that his car wasn't there. She looked at her watch. She was five minutes early. She got out and waited, leaning against the warm body of her car. She looked at her reflection in the tinted window of the Mercedes parked beside her.

Her hair was loosely caught up in a clasp at her neck; wisps fell down in curls onto her shoulders and blew gently on the light breeze. She had on a broderie anglaise shift dress that she hadn't worn for years, the short, capped sleeves showed off her smooth, sun-browned arms. The fit was perfect – lightly skimming her hips and ending just above the knees. She had bought it from Portobello market before any of the children were born. Teamed with her new sandals, a pair of large sunglasses, and the necklace Stefan had given her, she felt particularly pleased with how she looked.

She willed herself not to look at her watch. The time came, then passed. He was late. He hadn't been late for her before. She touched the necklace, the smooth, round buttons reassured her. He would surely come soon. After twenty minutes she decided to go into the hotel. The manager recognised her at once.

‘You are Stefan's friend,' he said, coming round from behind his desk to take her hand and shake it enthusiastically.

‘I'm supposed to meet him here,' she said.

‘Yes, yes, he made a booking. A table for two on the terrace,' said the manager, consulting a big red book on his desk. ‘He should be here now. Come with me.'

He took Claire by the arm and gently directed her through the dining room, onto the terrace, and to a table beside the balustrade around the edge. White teacups and silver spoons were already set out neatly.

‘Do you like it here, in the shade?' the manager asked her, pulling out a chair. ‘The shade is nice on a hot day like today.'

‘Yes, thank you. It's lovely,' she said.
Where was he?

‘Don't worry. He will be here soon,' said the manager, as if reading her mind. ‘I expect the traffic was bad getting out of London.' He shrugged his shoulders. ‘Would you like a drink? Wine? Coffee?'

‘Could I have a glass of water?' Her mouth felt dry, her stomach tight.

‘Of course.'

He left her on her own.

She tried not to watch the wide double doors leading out from the hotel's interior. Instead she looked at the other people seated on the terrace: families finishing their Sunday lunches, couples lingering over coffee, and the odd lone customer reading a paper or talking on the phone. They all looked so self-contained and happy.

Claire felt anxious. Supposing he'd had an accident or suddenly been taken ill? She noticed the single dark crimson rose in a small vase on the table – in flower language dark red roses were for mourning. Now she really was counting the minutes. Each one seemed like an hour.

A waitress brought her a clinking glass of iced water. A different waitress from the one who had colluded with Stefan to present her with the painted cup.

‘Thank you,' she said and took a sip. Then, at last, Stefan was walking towards her.

He looked beautiful in a pale cream linen jacket and white shirt – more tanned than when she had last seen him. She saw a woman look away from her lunch companion to watch him as he passed her table. Claire's heart soared as he approached, suddenly excited. She had to resist the urge to get up and run to him.

‘I'm so sorry,' he said, leaning over and kissing her cheek. ‘My car wouldn't start. I ended up having to borrow a friend's.'

‘Oh dear. The beautiful Claudia. Will she be all right?'

‘Yes.' He took off his jacket and draped it over the back of his chair. ‘I know a very clever mechanic who does wonders with old cars.'

He sat down, and they were silent for a moment. There was something about him that made Claire nervous. He seemed detached from her; distant. The softness was missing from his eyes. He wasn't smiling.

‘I've missed you so much,' she said, putting out her hand, touching his. He didn't take it. She withdrew and took another sip of her water.

‘I'm so sorry about my behaviour when I last saw you. When I heard that Ben had had an accident I was just so frantic with worry. I know I must have seemed very rude.'

He shook his head as though it didn't matter and at her with a serious expression.

‘Claire.' From his tone she knew he was beginning something she didn't want to hear. ‘This isn't going to work, is it?'

She was silent; she couldn't reply. She felt as if he had physically hit her. Part of her wanted to get up and walk away immediately. Go home. But she sat very still and stared at him.

‘You know it as well as I do, don't you?' he said, looking at her across the table. He shrugged his shoulders slightly, as if waiting for a response.

‘Why?' she asked quietly.

He sighed. ‘Because it's an impossible situation, you and me. You're married with children. You have a life with someone else. You don't want to hurt your children, to destroy your home. So what are we doing?'

With her eyes she studied the lichen on the stone balustrade behind him, yellow and white and grey. It looked like a landscape – trees, bushes, hills – as if someone had painted it on to the stone for decoration.

‘But I thought …' she said, but couldn't find the words to continue.

‘What?'

‘I don't know what I thought. I thought it could work, that I couldn't feel the way I feel about you and it not work. I thought you felt the same. What you said when I met you in London? All your texts?'

‘I know, I know,' said Stefan, running his hand through the dark waves of his hair. ‘I meant what I said. About the way I felt about you.'

‘And now, suddenly, you don't feel like that?' she interrupted. ‘How can you have changed your mind so quickly? Did you see me again as you walked through the door and decide that actually I wasn't quite as attractive as you remembered, not quite so desirable?'

‘No,' said Stefan, taking her hand in his. ‘No. I walked through those doors and saw you and you looked more beautiful than ever, so lovely in that dress. I knew it was going to make it even harder to say this – to do this – but I have to. I've spent the last two days trying to decide what would be best.'

‘I don't understand,' she said, looking at the cubes of ice melting in her glass.

‘I can't destroy your life. I've seen it, photographed it. Your home. Your children. William. It's perfect. I can't destroy that. When I think of you so distraught about Ben I realise I could never destroy your family. You'd never forgive me; I'd never forgive myself.' He let go of her hand.

‘But the things you said? The way you said you felt about me?' said Claire, still looking at her glass. ‘Why did you bother saying anything at all if this is how you feel?'

‘I wasn't thinking properly. I was being selfish. I was only thinking about myself and how I felt about you; what
I
wanted. Now I realised how impossible this is. You don't really know me. You don't know what I can offer you. I don't know what I can offer you. You've got three children. I don't know anything about children. I can't even fit them in my car. What would it do to them if your marriage broke up? I know what my parents' divorce did to me and my sister. You told me how you felt when your father divorced your mother. You don't want to have an affair. I don't want you to have an affair – all the deceit, the lies, the guilt – so what would we do?' He sat back in his chair and looked at her.

Claire wondered if this was some kind of test.

‘Would you like to order now?' a waitress appeared beside them.

‘What would you like?' Stefan asked Claire. ‘A cup of tea? A glass of champagne?'

‘No,' she said. ‘I definitely don't feel like champagne.' She looked at the waitress. ‘Could I have a gin and tonic please?'

‘A glass of white wine,' he said. The waitress moved away.

‘I still don't understand what made you change your mind so suddenly,' said Claire, looking up at him.

‘I sensed your hesitancy. When you didn't answer my text, I knew that you felt uncomfortable. I'd pushed you too fast into something you obviously weren't happy about and …'

‘Stop, stop!' She was staring at him. ‘What text didn't I answer? What wasn't I comfortable with?'

‘My text on Friday,' said Stefan. He looked slightly embarrassed and lowered his voice. ‘When I suggested that I book a room for us here.'

‘I never got a text about that.' She thought back to the texts that they'd sent each other on Friday morning before Sally had come crashing in with her news. There had been the text she was about to read when Sally arrived. Had she ever finished reading it?

‘And then a few hours later you cancelled the whole thing. I thought you'd decided it would be wrong to see me at all.'

Claire took her phone out of her bag and checked back through all the texts. She hadn't been able to bear to delete any of them. There it was: If Sally had entered a few seconds later she would have had time to read:

… I'm so tempted to book a room for us. What do you think?

Claire let out a little groan of dismay.

‘I never read this. I didn't cancel because I thought what you had suggested was inappropriate or too fast or whatever other reason you've been concocting in your head. I cancelled because my best friend and nominated childminder for that day threw her husband out of their house for cheating with a woman with a boa constrictor.'

‘Hey, now it's your turn to stop.' Stefan laughed for the first time that afternoon. ‘You're losing me. I'm not even going to ask about the boa constrictor but you're saying that you never even saw that text?'

‘I never saw the text. It had nothing to do with why I had to cancel. I had no one to look after the children and I just didn't think it was going to work if I brought them all with me – no matter how many packets of crayons I had in my bag.' Claire smiled at him. She wanted to reach out and touch his beautiful face, trace the laughter lines around his eyes with her fingertips. It had all been a misunderstanding. Now everything would be all right.

She put her arms out towards him on the table, willing him to lean forward. Instead he leant back in his chair and stared out across the valley.

‘I was so looking forward to seeing you. I was desperate to see you, longing for you all the time I was in New York,' he said at last.

‘And now?'

‘On Friday, when you cancelled, it was as if reality suddenly hit me. The bubble burst and I realised it would be wrong. I've spent two days thinking about this. Even now that I know you didn't see the text, I still know that it wouldn't work. The guilt would eat away at us, destroy us in the end.'

‘How can you be so sure?' she asked.

‘I know how I would feel. I can't do it, Claire. I've met William. I can't do it to him. I'd feel awful.'

‘What about me?' she said, suddenly angry. ‘Are you thinking about me at all?'

‘I'm sorry but I've made up my mind.'

He took a packet of Marlborough from his pocket and lit one. He didn't offer one to Claire but left the packet and the lighter beside the vase in the middle of the table. After a few seconds Claire slid a cigarette from the box and lifted it to her lips. Stefan picked up the lighter and lit it for her. She inhaled deeply and then blew out a long stream of smoke. She felt a little better.

Stefan said nothing. His expression seemed impenetrable.

‘To protect yourself,' she said, ‘you're hurting me first.'

‘No Claire,' he said, suddenly looking at her again. ‘I would never hurt you.'

‘That's what you said in London,' said Claire. ‘That's what you promised. But you are hurting me. This hurts.'

‘I'm not doing this to hurt you,' he said, looking upset. ‘I just think of everyone else that would be hurt. It's not what I want. I'm only being realistic.'

‘I can't decide if you're being realistic, honourable, or just a coward,' she said angrily.