A Perfect Home (24 page)

The waitress put their drinks on the table and quickly walked away.

‘It's not as if I have some sort of idyllic marriage,' Claire said, her fingertips touching the ice cold glass in front of her.

‘I know,' he said. ‘I know you're not happy, but it's up to you to sort things out. You have to decide what happens between you and William.'

‘Would you wait for me to make a decision?' Claire asked.

Stefan flipped his lighter over and over in his fingers, concentrating on it silently.

‘I see,' she said. ‘Fine. I understand.'

She stubbed her cigarette out in the ashtray, stood up, and picked up her bag.

‘I'd better go.'

‘Don't,' he said, suddenly flinging down the lighter so that it skimmed across the table. ‘Don't go yet. You haven't even started your drink.'

Claire stood still. She knew she should just turn and walk away across the terrace, get in her car and leave. She sat down again and took a sip of her gin.

‘This doesn't make me at all happy,' he said, looking across at her.

‘It doesn't make me happy either,' she sighed, ‘but maybe you're right. I just don't know how you can suddenly be so detached from your emotions.'

He shrugged. ‘You are so lovely, Claire,' he said, taking her hand in his. ‘I want you to know this isn't easy for me. I feel awful about it.'

‘But you've made up your mind?' She looked at him; he had a look of resigned decision on his face that reminded her of a parent determined to not let a child have another biscuit before dinnertime.

‘Yes, I've made up my mind. I can't see you again.'

Claire felt as if everything was crumbling in front of her. She didn't know how she could cope with this loss, this rejection. Despite the warmth of the afternoon she suddenly felt cold. She picked up her drink and took another sip.

‘There's something I haven't told you,' said Stefan, lighting another cigarette. ‘Something that might help you to understand me a bit better. Understand me or maybe even hate me.' He shrugged.

Claire took another cigarette as well. ‘Tell me.'

‘I've been in this situation before.'

‘What do you mean?'

‘I mean I've been involved with a married woman before.'

She looked at him and then past him, down the valley, through a thick copse of trees. She wasn't sure she wanted to hear Stefan's story after all. She imagined kicking off her high heels and running across the hotel lawn, into the woods, and losing herself in the dense summer foliage.

‘It was when I was in Australia.' He took a drag on his cigarette.

‘Go on,' she said cautiously.

‘She was the wife of a wealthy business man – he'd made a fortune buying up land around Sydney. He had a luxury yacht that they lived on. I was asked to photograph it for a magazine. That's how I met her.'

‘Oh,' Claire said. ‘You really have done this before.'

‘No, it was different. I don't want you to think I make a habit of picking up married women when I photograph their homes.'

‘Only twice then?' She gave him a quick, ironic smile.

‘Yes, only twice.'

Their drinks were finished. The waitress cleared the glasses on to a tray.

‘Two coffees,' Stefan said to her. He glanced at Claire; she nodded. The waitress seemed to melt away.

‘So what happened?' Claire asked.

‘She'd only been married a few months. Things weren't working out the way she'd hoped. He'd made her leave her job, he was out all day. I suppose she was lonely when I met her. We had an affair.'

‘For how long?'

‘Three years.'

‘Three years!' she repeated.

‘She kept promising to leave her husband. We'd make a plan for the future and then she'd always back out at the last minute. My coming home to England was part of the last plan. I told her I'd had enough. I was going home and if she was serious about me we could meet at the airport and she could come with me. I remember sitting in the departure lounge and slowly realising she wasn't going to show up. I so nearly walked out of the airport and went to find her.'

‘But instead you got on the plane?'

‘Yes, I got on the plane, came home, found a flat, a job. I had a few short-lived relationships …'

‘And here you are,' said Claire. Jealousy, anger, hurt, betrayal: it all seemed to be filling her up, oozing out of every pore. What a fool she'd been.

‘I don't want you to think that I still have any feelings for her,' Stefan continued. ‘I realised now how shallow my relationship with her had been. How little we had had in common. I never felt the way I feel about you. It never felt so overpowering, so intense.'

Claire said nothing.

‘Do you despise me?'

Claire shook her head.

The waitress appeared with their coffees. Claire slowly poured milk into hers and took a sip.

She knew that now it was time to leave, but she felt unable to move, weighted to her chair by sadness.

‘Do you understand why I don't want to get into that situation again?' asked Stefan, looking into her eyes.

He leant forward and kissed her lips. His mouth felt velvet soft. She wanted more, and kissed him back, unable to stop herself, then pulled away.

‘I'm going home now.' She stood up and started to walk away. Stefan followed her.

With every step they took together across the terrace, through the hotel restaurant and lobby, Stefan became more distant. A barrier had come down between them.

By the time they reached the car park Claire knew she had lost him completely.

‘I'll be in touch,' he said.

‘No,' she said. ‘Don't. I don't want any room for hope.'

‘Are you all right?'

‘I'm fine.'

‘Good.' He took his car keys from his pocket. ‘You'd better go now or you'll be late.'

Claire turned and opened the door of her car. She looked back at him.

‘You never told me why your car is called Claudia,' she called.

He was already walking across the gravel to the small blue hatchback parked on the other side of the car park. He stopped and walked back to her.

‘Was that the name of the woman in Australia?' Claire couldn't stop herself from asking.

‘No.' He touched her cheek. ‘Claudia was one of my primary school teachers. Mrs Casanovas. My very first love. When my parents split up and we had to move leaving Mrs Casanovas upset me most of all.'

‘So you were into married women even then,' she said with a tight smile.

‘This isn't about some married-women fetish.' Stefan's face was serious. ‘I wish with all my heart that you were single.' He turned and walked away.

Blinking back tears, Claire got into her car and quickly started the engine. She tried to make her mind blank, tried not to think about the ache that throbbed in her heart as if she had been physically beaten.

‘Just drive,' she told herself, and slowly pulled away across the car park. She didn't look at Stefan's car as she passed it, and she didn't look behind her as she drove down the long drive back into the maze of country lanes that would take her home.

‘Ben turned the hose on and made a huge mud puddle in the flowerbed,' said Emily, running to the car as Claire opened the door.

Oliver ran after her. ‘Then he sat in it and rubbed himself all over with mud,' he told her eagerly.

‘Daddy was really cross,' said Emily.

‘Where is Ben now?' asked Claire.

‘Over there,' they chorused together, pointing to a completely mud-encrusted Ben happily jumping up and down on a mini trampoline. Bits of dried mud flew off him with every bounce.

‘Where have you been?' William came through the front door wiping a large paintbrush with a spirit-soaked rag.

‘I've only been as long as I said I'd be,' said Claire defensively. ‘Why haven't you given Ben a bath? He's filthy.'

‘I've been trying to paint the wall on the landing. The last thing I need is him coming in and getting mud all over the wet paint.'

Claire sighed. She wasn't capable of getting cross. She looked at Oliver and Emily and held out her arms to them. They cuddled into her, and she hugged them tightly.

‘Was it worth it?' asked William.

Claire looked up from the children. ‘Was what worth it?'

‘The shop. Did they order anything?'

‘Oh,' she said. ‘I don't think I'll hear from them again.'

‘A waste of time then,' he said and disappeared back inside.

‘Yes,' said Claire quietly. ‘A complete waste of everything.'

Chapter Twenty-two

‘The master bedroom reflects Claire's love of simple country style. “I wanted this room to feel as peaceful and tranquil as possible
,
” she says.'

Dear Stefan.

It was four thirty in the morning. Claire had lain awake all night, her body physically aching with sadness and loss. At about three o'clock, as William sweated and snored beside her, she began to compose an email to Stefan in her head. When a thin line of grey appeared between the shutters she got up. Silently, she went downstairs into the study. The computer whirred into life at her touch. Claire sat down and started to type.

Dear Stefan,

I feel so sad. I don't want to lose you from my life. I feel so sure we could work things out. I don't think I can go on living with William, especially not feeling the way I feel about you. I know it will be painful and very difficult, but that will pass in time. If you could wait for me to sort things out here, then we could see how things work out between us – just take it slowly, no commitments, no guilt (leave that to me). Surely the way we feel about each other is too precious to throw away so easily? Please don't let this chance of happiness for us both disappear. Maybe we could meet in the week to talk?

I miss you.

Claire x

She pressed ‘send' before she could change her mind and went into the kitchen to make a cup of tea.

Claire stood outside, her feet bare on the damp grass. In her hands she nursed her mug of steaming tea; in her heart the sadness started to lift a little, to be replaced by hope. What time would Stefan wake up? What time would he look at his emails? How long would he take to answer? What would he say?

She wondered if she'd sounded too desperate. Could she really leave William? In the darkness of the bedroom she had suddenly felt so sure she could, so sure she would, but now as the sun started to rise behind her she thought of her children and felt a stab of pain. To put them through this tangle of adult emotions, adult complications and confusion, seemed cruel and selfish. To make them divide their time and love between her and William, to introduce a complete stranger into their lives – how could she do that to them? But then she thought of Stefan.

‘Mummy, what are you doing?'

Emily was crossing the lawn towards her, sleepily rubbing her eyes, her cotton nightdress creased and crumpled.

‘Mummy!' A cry from the kitchen door as Ben appeared, hair on end, his arms held up towards her. ‘Cuddle me,' he pleaded.

Claire walked towards them. She hugged Emily and picked up Ben and squeezed him tightly.

‘Would you like to go for a walk before breakfast?' Claire asked. ‘We could take some jam sandwiches and juice and have a picnic in the woods.'

‘Yes please,' said Emily excitedly. ‘Shall I wake up Oliver?'

Wild fuchsia and honeysuckle jostled for space in the shaggy hedgerows that lined the lane from their house. Bees and hoverflies buzzed above them. Claire walked holding Ben's hand as Emily and Oliver ran on ahead picking and blowing at dandelion clocks in the early morning sun. She had left William sleeping. The alarm clock hadn't yet gone off. In the kitchen she had laid his bowl and spoon on the table and beside them his breakfast cereal and a small glass of orange juice. In her mind, Claire formulated a plan of action. She would talk to William tonight; tell him she wasn't happy with their marriage. She would make an appointment to see the solicitor Sally had seen to find out exactly what would happen if they got divorced. She thought about the house; she couldn't deprive William of his beloved house. It was beautiful, but in so many ways it had never felt like hers. Could she move? She thought of the pretty Georgian houses in the town. Some had lovely gardens.

She tried to think of herself and the children in a different environment. Meals in a different kitchen, the children getting used to different bedrooms. Not so much space. It would be a challenge. It could be fun, liberating; her own home – maybe Stefan's home too? She felt sure they could make a home together despite what Stefan had said. They could buy something together, a tumbledown cottage, a house with lots of character that they could make their own.

Her and Stefan decorating another house, furnishing it together, living in it together. Waking up with him every morning.
Her heart leapt at the thought. William would see the children at weekends and holidays. She didn't think he'd want much more than that, though the thought of spending time without them made her sad. The children would be upset, of course, but they'd soon get used to it. Lots of children did. Maybe they could explain it all to them at the weekend.

Her mind raced on and on with plans and dreams, but at the back of it there remained a nagging anxiety.
How
would Stefan answer her email?

When they got home, William had left for work, his breakfast bowl and glass and mug empty on the kitchen table. While the children went out to play in the garden, Claire checked her emails. Nothing. She went into the kitchen to tidy up. She decided to make chocolate fairy cakes for a lunchtime treat. In between greasing the tray, sifting flour, cracking eggs, and melting chocolate, she went in and out of the study constantly to check on the computer. She was just sliding the cakes into the Aga when her mobile phone buzzed. A text. Her heart jumped as she picked up her mobile.