Never Too Late (46 page)

The wedding … you know,’ she said, just in case Simon

hadn’t got the message. ‘I hope there isn’t another one

being held here on the same day,’ she added cleverly,

knowing that nothing got his mind working faster than the

notion that he was somehow being cheated by the powers

that be. The idea of two bridal parties should do it.

‘Lord, I hope not!’ he said in alarm. ‘I never asked in the

first place. We should do.’

Evie nodded encouragingly. ‘Yes, you’d better.’

While Simon hotfooted it in search of a wedding

co-ordinator, who was probably at home glued to EastEnders

by that hour of the evening, Evie enjoyed the bliss of being

alone with her thoughts.

A young waitress brought their aperitifs and Evie gratefully

sipped her Campari and soda. She glanced at the

other couples out for a meal in the quiet restaurant, people

who seemed for the most part happy in each other’s

company. Nobody else looked like they’d spent years

wishing for a husband and, now that they were on the

verge of marrying one, wished he’d vanish into thin air.

No, no, she didn’t mean that. Evie didn’t want Simon to

disappear. She loved him, cared deeply for him. But she

didn’t know if she was in love with him anymore. How did

you know? she wondered.

Up until ten days ago, she hadn’t known there was a

difference. Loving and being in love were pretty much the

same things. But it had all changed in the blink of an eye.

Simon sank down into the chair opposite her.

‘Sweet Mother of God, I thought we were in trouble

there,’ he said, wiping imaginary beads of” sweat from his

forehead.

‘Really?’ Evie said, desperately trying to sound interested.

‘Only

kidding,’ he said jokily. ‘The deputy manager

explained that they only have one wedding party at a time.

Bit of luck, that.’

‘Yes,’ she replied faintly. ‘Bit of luck.’

An hour and a half later, replete after a meal she had no

real memory of tasting, Evie sat woodenly beside Simon as

he drove her home. They reached the junction on the

Stillorgan dual carriageway where they’d turn left if they

were going to Simon’s house and right for Evie’s. Suddenly,

it was important that they went to bed together, that they

made love. It might exorcise the thoughts in her head, Evie

thought a little frantically.

She touched his arm. ‘Let’s go to your place for a while,’

she said abruptly. ‘Just an hour.’

She couldn’t see his eyes because he was concentrating

on the road, but Evie know he was pleased at the idea from

the way he cleared his throat and patted her knee as he

daringly swung the car into the left-hand lane.

In his house, she went into the immaculate kitchen

while Simon was pulling the sitting-room curtains and

switching on the lights.

‘Could we have a drink, love?’ she said, going straight to

the cabinet where Simon kept the booze. She wanted a

drink for some reason. Something to blank out the things

short circuiting all the sensible thoughts in her mind.

If he was bewildered by this sudden and unusual desire

for a nightcap, he didn’t say anything.

Evie poured herself a generous vodka and topped it up

with orange juice. She’d seen Cara have one of those once.

Not really used to drinking spirits, she liked the fact that

the sweet juice masked the harsh bite of the vodka. She

gulped back half of it and turned to Simon, kissing him

while still holding her glass in one hand. He kissed her

back, then pressed his body against hers, proof that they

hadn’t made love for at least ten days evident in his sudden

erection. He groaned and moved even closer to her, pelvic

bones grinding.

Evie pulled away. ‘Let’s go upstairs.’

‘Yes,’ he said thickly.

He ran ahead of her, probably to make sure the impossibly

tidy master bedroom was still as clutter-free as it had

been that morning, Evie thought. She finished her drink on

the way up the stairs, wincing as the last, least diluted bit

of the vodka hit the back of her throat with a kick.

Simon was eagerly unbuttoning his shirt when she

entered the room. Evie unsteadily put down her empty

glass and began to take off her cotton jumper, feeling about

as unsexy as was humanly possible. Amazingly, Simon

didn’t seem to notice her lack of interest, even though

she’d been the one to suggest bed.

He ripped off his trousers, pulled his socks off and then

carefully put his clothes on the back of a chair, making sure

to get the trouser creases just so.

Max wouldn’t have done that, she thought irrationally.

He would have been so mad to touch her that he’d have

taken her as soon as they’d got inside the front door. He

couldn’t have waited. He’d certainly never have let her

take her own clothes off. He’d want to slowly strip every

item from her body, gazing at her with those hungry eyes

as he did so.

Mindful of the lights, Simon left his underpants on while

he pulled down the striped navy duvet and slid under it,

patting the side of the bed invitingly Evie overcame the

desire to back out of her side of the bargain. It’d been her

idea, after all.

Still clad in her bra and pants, she automatically

switched off the overhead bedroom light, plunging the

room into darkness only relieved by the street light shining

in through the thin pale blue curtains. Simon was a hump

in the bed.

She climbed slowly in beside him and his bare arms

wound themselves around her, his mouth reaching for her

shoulder, sliding down to her breasts immediately.

As his lips fastened voraciously on her nipple, Evie lay

back against the pillows. For the first time in their relationship, she found herself merely enduring his caresses instead

of enjoying them. His body, the one she’d been getting

used to after years of celibacy, felt alien to her. His familiar caresses felt awry, almost improper. As if she shouldn’t be

doing this at all.

Furious even to he thinking such a thing, Evie pulled

Simon closer to her and found his mouth with hers. She

kissed him with fierce abandon, desperately trying to

obliterate traitorous thoughts. She wouldn’t think about

Max Stewart, couldn’t.

Encouraged by Evie’s renewed passion, Simon couldn’t

control himself any longer. Fumbling briefly under the

covers, he removed his underwear and hers, struggling as

usual with the clasp of her new Dunne’s lace bra. He

pushed himself inside her, groaning heavily into the pillows

as he did so. Evie’s hands roamed up and down his back on

auto pilot, stroking him as he moved because it was what

she’d always done.

Every few moments, he planted kisses on her shoulders

and neck before resuming his fevered thrusting. She could

hear his breathing become rapid and suddenly her eyes

filled with burning tears. Why couldn’t she be happy? Why

was she lying here, enduring this, when she should have

been in raptures with her adoring lover?

‘Evie, are you ready yet?’ he asked, panting. ‘I’m sorry

but I’m so ready for you. We’ll stop for a minute if you

want.’

She knew what he meant: he’d lie beside her and fumble

earnestly between her legs until she was ready to come,

then he’d plunge back in and they’d come together. Well,

that was the theory,

Evie was ashamed to admit that she’d faked it more

often than not. Faked a shuddering orgasm because it

would take about three times as long as they usually

spent on foreplay to give her any satisfaction at all. Simon

was considerate enough to want her to have an orgasm

whenever he did, but sadly not experienced enough to

tell the difference between when she did and when she

pretended to.

‘Will we stop until you’re ready, darling?’ he asked now. Faced with the prospect of even longer in bed wishing she was with someone else, Evie chose the easy way out.

‘No,’ she said, injecting a bit of passionate panting into

her voice. She moaned softly. ‘I’m nearly there. Oooh,’ she

groaned.

‘Darling,’ he said thickly, increasing his tempo.

Evie moaned some more and raked his back with one

hand to show enthusiasm. She matched his moving body,

wriggling as passionately as she could.

Simon was beyond noticing.

With a hoarse cry, his body spasmed and Evie, wishing

momentarily that the Academy Awards people could see

her performance now, did the same. It wasn’t quite Meryl

Streep in Out of Africa, but it wasn’t bad. She moaned

convincingly, injected a little sigh and let her body relax in

time to feel Simon slump on top of her.

‘Oh, Evie,’ he sighed, burying his face in the pillow.

‘Darling.’ she muttered mechanically.

He shifted slightly so that his entire weight wasn’t on

her, and Evie moved until she was linked to Simon only by

one leg and the arm he’d draped over her rib cage. She

could tell by his even breathing that he was on the verge of

going to sleep, but she lay there open-eyed and let the

tears that lay halfway down her cheeks dry.

What have you done to me, Max? she asked silently as if

he was in front of her in the darkened room, standing on

Simon’s rather old-fashioned shag pile and staring down at

the figures in the queen-sized bed. What have you done to

me?

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Zoe’s red head was bent studiously over her desk but she

knew exactly what Cara was up to.

‘I never thought I’d see the day when you were wearing

lip liner, Fraser,’ she remarked without turning round.

Cara jumped guiltily, one hand still holding the tiny

compact mirror she’d bought the previous weekend, the

other wielding the small pencil as if it was a Class A drug

instead of Boots 17 lip liner in Morticia.

‘I’m just looking for my lip balm …’ She started,

jamming the lip liner and compact back into her rucksack

hastily.

‘You’re just looking for lurve with Lurve Doctor Ewan

Walshe,’ Zoe chuckled, finally turning round. ‘You don’t

have to apologise to me, Cara, I’m only teasing you.’

She relaxed with a rueful grin. ‘Arlene gave it to me

when we were all in Ryan’s the other night, insisted I took

it. Said it would “define my mouth”. I haven’t worn

anything like this for years.’

‘It suits you,’ Zoe said, birdlike head angled sideways as

she admired the effect of the lipliner and mauve lipstick

on her friend’s voluptuous mouth. ‘Does Ewan like kissing

it off?’

They both laughed.

‘Yes.’

‘Where are you going for lunch today, 007?’ Zoe asked,

resuming her work at the drawing hoard.

She was referring to Cara’s insistence on meeting Ewan

in out-of-the-way places so that nobody at work would

know they were going out with each other.

Both Ewan and Zoe thought this obsession with secrecy

insane, but at least he was prepared to put up with it on

the basis that he was a very private individual and preferred

it when people didn’t know too much about him.

Zoe, who’d blithely discuss her most personal details with

someone she’d met in the supermarket queue, simply

couldn’t understand her friend’s reluctance to date Ewan

openly.

Cara had tried to explain that she preferred to keep her

private life just that because she’d never really got over

being the butt of jokes once Owen Theal told a couple of

students how she’d thrown herself at him. But Zoe, who’d

pointed out that all that had happened a long time ago,

refused to entertain the notion.

Cara was actually sloping off to meet Ewan on the canal,

guaranteed to be free from all Yoshi Advertising staff

because it was Thursday, or pay day, and they were all

blueing their wages on big, beery lunches of steak marinated

in Guinness.

‘We’re meeting on the canal,’ she admitted grudgingly,

‘in five minutes.’

‘If I was going out with Ewan, I’d have a site on the

Internet telling everyone about it!’ Zoe said, abandoning

any pretence of working.

Cara snorted. ‘So speaks the woman who discusses her

sex life with the woman at the launderette.’

‘Lack of a sex life, you mean.’ Zoe retorted. I’m gagging

for it and you’re getting it every day and won’t tell anyone.

I don’t know why.’

‘Well, you know, dating someone you work with,’ Cara

said defensively. ‘It’s bound to be frowned upon. You know

how difficult Bernard is. He’d fire one of us and it’d be me,

I know it.’

‘Fuck Bernard,’ said Zoe, echoing Ewan’s sentiments.

‘Anyway, haven’t you heard about employment law? This

isn’t a dictatorship. There are laws about hiring and firing

people, you know.’

‘It bloody well is a dictatorship,’ Cara retorted. ‘I was

here till half-ten last night purely because Bernard wants

to throw his weight around, and you were here until nine

the night before.’

‘Yeah, well, I might not be here for much longer,’ Zoe