Good Husband Material (17 page)

‘Why? He’s never given you the least help other than a start in the firm.’

‘It’s a family thing – you wouldn’t understand. I went to Eshington School, and so did Dad, and so did Uncle Lionel … and so will my sons.’

And Horrible Howard too, until they threw him out for a misdemeanour unspecified!

‘Your half-brother Robert hasn’t gone there, has he?’

‘He’s still very young. After all, Dad didn’t remarry until just before we did, and his wife is not much older than you.’

‘It’s funny to think you’ve a stepmother and half-siblings you’ve never seen. And I’ve never even met your father!’

‘He talked about coming over to visit in his last letter.’

‘He always does.’

We had rather got away from the subject in hand, but I let it go for the moment. I needed to think this one out, it was another new aspect of James I hadn’t expected and didn’t particularly like.

When I got back from taking Bess for her evening walk, I could hear James’s voice on the phone, but as soon as I came in he put the receiver down.

‘Howard again?’ I enquired.

He nodded. ‘Just a chat, nothing important.’

‘Not been caught moonlighting again, then?’

‘Moonlighting?’ he echoed, as though he’d never heard of such a thing.

‘Yes, moonlighting. Isn’t that what he wanted to ask you about last time he rang?’

‘Oh, yes. No, it was just – a chat,’ he said, but he looked decidedly shifty.

I hope he and Howard aren’t plotting something.

The astounding and therapeutic amount of money I spent on an emerald silk shantung trouser suit with a long Nehru jacket for the SFWWR dinner was worth it, and my newest jeans and good silk shirt would just have to do for the Working Breakfast. I’m glad Vivyan will be present.

James went sulky when I reminded him that he’d have to get home early on Friday in order to feed and exercise Bess, and didn’t answer at all when I explained what I’d left in the freezer for him to eat.

He might just find Bess had deposited a little Welcome Home present for him, since she looked decidedly worried when I left with a suitcase (late, because the postman arrived just as I was leaving).

I took my mail with me to read on the train, but there was nothing of much interest until I came to a bulky brown envelope containing a big, folded sheet of paper. When I opened it out, I found it was one of those huge photocopies, only of
what
I was unsure. I tried it different ways up and the only thing it reminded me of was …

No.

It’s like that ink-blot test where your subconscious makes you see things that aren’t there, like butterflies, when it’s just a big blob. Big blobs and a long thing, in this case …

James’s office has a big photocopier, for plans and documents.

No, it must be a mistake, sent to me in error. I checked the envelope again: definitely addressed to Mrs L. Drew.

Then I tried holding it the other way up again, but it made no difference because the more I looked at it …

And didn’t Vanessa phone just after we moved to Nutthill with some inane news about a photocopier? The big photocopier was back in working order, or some such thing?

The man opposite was looking curiously at me over the top of his
Times
. Slowly I folded the sheet up and put it back in its envelope.

Vanessa?

He wouldn’t – would he?

But I’m sure she’s been chasing him and, as Mrs Deakin once said of men, their spirit may be willing but their flesh is weak, especially if tempted.

No – he wouldn’t.

But I
could
just pop casually into the office on the way to the hotel and show him the photocopy, because once I’ve seen that he’s just as puzzled by it as I am, I’ll feel a lot better. Back to gritty reality again.

Not that James is gritty – more crumbly, lately. But he might be pleased to see me even though he’s never encouraged me to drop in at the office. (I don’t usually want to – it’s all dark and gloomy, and the receptionist is a snooty bitch who knows where to put her make-up.)

I took a taxi from the station and we were almost at the turn to the quiet cul-de-sac where Drew, Drune and Tibbs hung out, when I spotted Drew Junior walking along the crowded pavement towards me on the far side of the road.

Only he
wasn’t
alone.

A small blonde nestled in the shelter of his arm and their heads were close together. I couldn’t see her face, but it was Vanessa the secretarty. I
knew
it!

As the taxi slowed outside the offices, I leaned forward and said quickly, ‘I’ve changed my mind – don’t stop here after all.’

‘Where to, then?’ the driver asked, executing a quick turn and setting off again. There was no sign of James this time.

‘Where to?’ he repeated.

My mind went totally blank. Where? Where was I? Where was I going?

‘Could you just sort of drive around for five minutes please, while I decide?’

He shrugged and pulled out into the main road.

There are lots of good reasons why James might be in such a position – very good reasons … It was just seeing them – and then the photocopy and … I trusted him!

No, of course he isn’t seeing someone else, he simply isn’t the type! It’s stupid to feel the foundations of my life are crumbling and bubbling like quicklime.

‘Made your mind up yet?’ enquired the driver who had, I now noticed, a face like a prize-fighter. But since he was sporting a small gold cross in one ear I expect he was a nice man really.

‘Yes. Fitzroy Tower Hotel, please.’

Thank God I’d remembered where I was going.

I just had time to check in, change, and meet Vivyan in the bar for a quick pre-prandial drink – very quick, in my case, because I downed it in one.

‘You look under the weather,’ he commented kindly. ‘Pale and interesting.’

‘I’m OK really, Vivyan, it’s just that I’ve had a bit of a shock. I – I’ve just seen my husband walking down the street with his arm around his old girlfriend.’

‘The bastard!’ he said comfortably.

‘Oh, no,’ I smiled weakly. ‘He’s really not like that at all. There must be a perfectly reasonable explanation.’

‘Of course there is. Have another drink.’

As the second drink hit the cold, empty chasm of my stomach, I began to feel a lot better and sure I’d jumped to the wrong conclusions. I decided I’d worry about it tomorrow.

Then Vivyan leaned across and whispered conspiratorially, ‘Here’s something to bring the colour back to a maiden’s cheeks. Fergal Rocco will be making a surprise appearance tonight.’

‘What? But I thought he was in Japan.’

‘He’s supposed to be – he’s flying back there early tomorrow morning. Excited?’

‘Delirious!’ I replied weakly. That was
all
I needed.

Fortunately Peggy and I were a long way from the top table (much to her disgust) and Peggy is large enough to hide behind. (Rubens would have loved her.)

Not that Fergal could have spotted me anyway, in such a dark corner, and I intended leaving the minute I could.
I
could only just see
him
, hemmed in by the Illustrious, but Peggy gave me a running commentary on his finer points.

We shared a bottle of wine with dinner, and I began to feel even better about things. Well, perhaps not
better
, more numbed.

Peggy
would
go and try to meet Fergal afterwards (along with about ninety per cent of the other women present) so I said I’d see her in the bar when she could tear herself away, and scuttled off.

‘That man,’ she said dreamily when she joined me some time later, ‘has the sexiest voice I’ve ever heard. It’s positively knicker-quivering!’

‘Peggy!’

She eyed me thoughtfully. ‘And to think you once had all that within your grasp! I’m seeing you in a different light.’

Red, probably.

It was a mistake to try to match her drink for drink – she has hollow legs – for the next thing I knew, Vivyan had taken her place and was suggesting that I got a good night’s sleep, since I was going to meet the Lovecall editor in the morning.

When he added that Fergal Rocco was also spending the night – or part of it – at the hotel, all my instincts said: ‘Run for cover.’

Lurch for cover proved to be the best I could manage.

The journey to my room was a bit surreal – trying not to slide down the side of the lift wall – the corridor undulating as I walked along it – the dark, menacing shadows outside my room …

As I fumbled with my key, one of the shadows detached itself from the wall and loomed over me. I gave a strangled shriek and my knees gave way.

‘At last!’ said the husky, familiar voice that Peggy had just described so aptly to me. ‘I thought you were never coming. I want to talk to you.’

A hand like a vice closed on my arm, the key was wrested from my nerveless fingers, and I found myself inside my room with Fergal Rocco.

It occurred to me as I gazed with mesmerised fascination at his angry face (and why he should be angry I’d no idea) lit by alternating bands of colour from the signs outside the hotel, that there must be few women who wouldn’t like to find Fergal Rocco in their bedroom; but if talking was what he wanted, I didn’t think I was capable of it. My mouth has a tenuous connection to my brain at the best of times, let’s face it.

My knees felt as if they were slowly liquefying, and it seemed like a good idea to stop myself falling down by putting my free arm around him and leaning my head on his chest.

Under my hand I felt the muscles on his back shiver.

‘Tish,’ he said softly, in a changed voice.

Fergal: June 1999

    ‘FERGAL FLIES IN!

    
Hysteria at airport as Fergal Rocco makes

    
surprise visit to receive
Trendsetter
award.’

Sun

I spotted Tish almost immediately, although she was about as far away from me as it was possible to get and still be present at the dinner, and she was also trying to hide behind a large, flamboyant-looking lady. But that unmistakable red-gold hair shining in the light of the chandeliers gave her away.

All through the dinner and the award presentation (a singularly tasteless trophy) I was acutely conscious of her eyes on me, and wondered what she was thinking.

I should have resisted the urge to be here tonight, to see her again, but I didn’t mean to try and speak to her until she positively leaped from the table at the end of the meal and scuttled from the room.

Just because we once went out together, it doesn’t mean we can’t meet in a civilised manner … does it?

Only I found I wasn’t feeling very civilised. I wanted to follow after her and drag her back by the hair.

It was a real effort to be pleasant to the people besieging me, until I spotted the large dark lady clad in flowing cherry red who had been sitting next to Tish among them.

Ten minutes later I was in possession of the information that Tish was actually putting up at the hotel that night, that her friend knew she had once gone out with me, but that she hadn’t thought I would be there that night and didn’t want to meet me. Also that the small sprightly man circling the edge of the group around me was Tish’s agent, Vivyan Dubois.

I was also in possession of the lady’s phone number. She said she really preferred blond men, but was always willing to make an exception in a good cause!

I decided I was going to speak with Tish – be cool and show her that I didn’t mind meeting her – how little she meant to me.

Nothing else, just a ‘How are you, well, nice to see you again’ conversation.

In private.

It took less than five minutes for me to obtain Tish’s room number from her agent: he reminded me of Hywel.

‘Oh God!’ I groaned, starting awake with a pounding heart, throbbing head and dry mouth and staring wildly about the hotel room, empty apart from myself and a scattering of clothes. I felt as if I’d gone three rounds with a grizzly, and the sheets were tied into one big knot.

For a minute I thought I’d just had the lurid dream to end all dreams – and then it all began to come back to me. I
had
gone three rounds with a grizzly, and I had the aches in strange places to prove it.

I went hot from my feet to my head in one giant wave: Miz Scarlett.

What had I done?
Had
I done …? Did I …?

What the hell did I drink last night?

I clutched my head and tried to remember. Vivyan. Wine with dinner. Drinks with Peggy in the bar … trying to stay upright as I walked the undulating corridor to my room.

I’d have been all right if Fergal hadn’t been waiting for me, if when he touched me I hadn’t …

Did I
really
?

He must have
seen
I’d had too much to drink and taken advantage of me … except I have this awful feeling that
I
took advantage of
him
. I remember touching him and feeling that I just wanted to wrap myself in him for comfort, like a duvet.

Some duvet.

I think my body’s wearing a smirk, even if the rest of me is Disgusted, Ashamed and Mortified.

It’s all James’s fault – it was the shock of seeing him with Vanessa that sent me off the rails. But now, in the cold light of day, perhaps I made too much of it. There must be a perfectly reasonable explanation. James is not like that.

But then –
I
am not like
this
. Am I?

Not that infidelity with Fergal really
is
infidelity, since I knew him first … so it sort of doesn’t count. Well, you know what I mean.

But when I apply that to James and Vanessa, it does count – if they are – if they
did …?

I wished my head would stop pounding so I could
think
.

A knock on the door signalled a big pot of coffee, which Vivyan must have arranged, because I’m sure I wasn’t capable of thinking about it last night. I must apologise to him for getting in such a state.

After the coffee, some aspirins out of my handbag and a long shower, I began to think I’d live after all. I even began to wonder if I’d dreamed the whole sorry episode, since there was no sign that Fergal had ever been in the room, apart from the odd slight bruise (very odd). No message, nothing.