The Woman Who Knew What She Wanted (24 page)

‘I wonder,' I said. I was looking at Hugh, but I was directing my comments to the whole table. ‘Is it something that happens with middle age – do you come to sleep with every single person that you fancy? I mean, obviously you know within a few seconds whether you fancy somebody. But most of the time, one of you is tied up.' I shrugged and drank more wine. ‘But you keep them on the back-burner, don't you – so that when you're both single, or perhaps not so single, you can finally get together. And so long as you're prepared to play quite a long game, then in the end you'll have slept with every person that you've ever fancied. Am I right? Is that right?'

The men looked at me and looked at each other, some sheepish, some not so much.

Cally addressed me. ‘Kim, could you stop talking about that now, please?'

‘Why stop talking about it?' I said. ‘Since everyone's so keen to discuss my love life, your love life, why don't we open it to the floor –
why don't we go into the minutiae of everyone else's sex lives?'

‘Kim dear. This is my party – this is my night. And I'm asking you, in the nicest possible way, to move on. Please.'

‘You're right,' I said. ‘I think I will move on.' I downed the rest of my wine and got up. By now I had managed to silence not just the table but the entire restaurant. All those smart couples, talking about what it is professionals talk about with their spouses, and there in front of them this drunk young man who was creating a scene.

I couldn't get out from the table, as I was hemmed in on either side. Instead, I stepped onto my chair and stood on the table; I doubt the Caprice had seen such ill-mannered behaviour in a long time. As I jumped off the table and onto the floor, I clipped Hugh's glass; it flopped into his lap.

‘Sorry about that, old cock,' I said.

‘Please go,' Cally said.

Greta gave one last turn of the screw. ‘That's boys for you,' she said.

How I hated her. I surveyed the room, the table.

‘Of course I'm going,' I said. Greta was nodding comfortably at me, delighted at how things had turned out. ‘I'm sure there are any number of men here – as opposed to boys – who will be more than happy to take my place between the bed sheets. They'll still be warm but, hey, Hugh, I don't suppose that's ever stopped you before.' I clapped Hugh over the shoulder and gave a wave to the table. I blew a kiss to Cally, and without a backward glance I picked up my knapsack and left the restaurant.

The air was brilliantly cold on my cheeks and I breathed it in deep to the bottom of my lungs. After the smug warmth of the Caprice, it was heaven to be outside. I was walking aimlessly, pounding out my rage on the pavement; I thought about getting a drink or going back to my parents' house, and for a while I even toyed with staying at Claridge's, but I wasn't remotely in the mood. I checked my watch. If I moved fast I'd make the last train back to Wareham. The ferries would have closed by then, but I'd just get a mini-cab the long way round to Studland. Hell, I was so steamingly angry that I could have walked through the night and would have still found room for my fury. How dare Cally try to shut me up? How dare she boss me about in the Caprice? And how could she have slept with Hugh and Martin, and God knows who else.

As so often happens after a spectacular row, I was burning with righteous indignation, but it was mostly just young hurt at being so soundly put in my place. Greta had played me like a fish; had caught me, landed me, gutted me and then merrily hung me out to dry. Cally, she was not much better. Did she say one word to defend me? Far from it – all she'd done, repeatedly, was to try and shut me up.

I just caught the train, leaping on as the last doors were slammed shut. I bought six small bottles of red wine and chugged them neat from the bottle. Over and over again, I went over what had happened that night. From the very moment that I'd stepped into the gallery to the moment that I'd left the Caprice, it had been a disaster.

I remembered the insults that I had hurled at the other guests, and they felt good. They must have stung for I knew, even at twenty-three, that there was some truth in them.

I didn't walk back from Wareham, but called up a cab, which deposited me outside the Knoll House close to two in the morning. I went to bed, still steaming, still hurting, only now also a little ashamed at how I had behaved like a spoiled brat.

The next day I was faced with that hideous combination of a hangover tainted with the knowledge that I had been well out of order.

I hitched a lift into Swanage and leafed through the papers as I waited for a vast fry-up. I hadn't eaten since the previous afternoon.

I mooched along the coastline, wondering what to do next and if there was any way that I might be able to make amends. At that stage, I was not really ready to give the full and handsome apology that was due to Cally; but I was certainly prepared to open the lines of communication. I called her in London and in Dorset and, as ever, I got hold of her answerphones. ‘Hi, it's Kim here,' I said. ‘I'm sorry about what happened last night. I wondered if we could talk.' I hoped that I had set the right note of contrition.

That afternoon, I had a game of pitch and putt with Anthony and in the evening I drank in the pub and waited for my friends to join me. We drank, we talked, and I carefully avoided the small delicate matter of what had happened during my trip to London.

By the next day, I think I had left another two messages for Cally, but she still hadn't picked up or, indeed, left any sort of note.

The day after that, I went round to her house. The stable girl was there sorting out the horses; she didn't know when Cally would be back. I left Cally a scrap of a note and returned to the hotel.

It's an odd thing about contrition and forgiveness. You can know that you've done wrong, and you can be very willing to apologise and make amends. But if your apology is not accepted, and if the forgiveness is not forthcoming, then how quickly your heart can turn the other way. And that, in a small way, was what happened to me. After three days of not hearing a word from Cally, I had started to become a little tetchy.

By now, it was a full four days since I had seen Cally, and my moods were fluctuating wildly. On the one hand, I was desperate to see her and to kiss her and to do all the other things that we so loved to do; on the other, I was becoming more and more punchy. What did I want to carry on seeing Cally anyway? She was in her forties; she was another generation. And what about those appallingly starchy friends of hers?

That night after dinner, I went to the pub with Roland. It was just like old times; we were two single men about town.

‘Where's Cally?' Roland asked as I got the drinks in. ‘She's been away a long time.'

‘Sorting out some stuff in London,' I said.

‘And while the cat's away…' He nodded over to a table tucked away in the corner. I looked and I stared, and I realised that it was Louise, she of the long legs and the imminent career as a solicitor. She was having a drink with her sister, Julienne, and the very moment that I looked at her, she saw me. She smiled and she waved.

‘Ladies, ladies, ladies,' I said. ‘May we join you?'

‘By all means,' Julienne said. I kissed the women on the cheek. Louise looked pleased to see me. I sat down next to her.

‘So how was South America?' I asked. ‘Have you started at the Guildford Law School yet, or did we manage to dissuade you from becoming a solicitor?'

‘I'm afraid you did not,' she said. ‘I've just started at Guildford.' She was so pretty. I loved her skin and I loved her hair, and I glanced briefly at those endless lush legs. Then and there I could have kissed her.

‘How very dull of you,' I said. ‘And you never even gave the Knoll House a chance!'

‘I was tempted,' she said. ‘Very tempted.' Her knee touched against mine, a very light touch, and then proper, solid contact. Our feet pressed together in silent acknowledgement of our desire. I liked that.

‘Well, let's look on the positive side,' I said. ‘Even if the world is blown to kingdom come, we're still going to need the lawyers!'

‘Are we?' Roland said.

‘They're like the rats and the cockroaches,' I said. ‘Somehow they'll always find a way to survive.'

But talk of the law was the very last thing on Louise's mind. I could feel her hand stroking my thigh. Without even a thought, I took her fingers in mine. We sat holding hands underneath the table.

She drank her white wine, her eyes never leaving mine. Roland may have been chatting to Julienne, I wasn't really aware.

‘Oh!' Louise said. ‘I've got something to show you. Come with me.'

Directly she stood up and, still holding my hand, she led me off to the snug. Julienne had Roland's charms all to herself.

The snug was empty, as snug as ever, with a stub of candle burning on the table. I hadn't been in the snug since my first night at the Knoll House; since that first drunken snog with Janeen. All was just as it had been before.

We eased our way around the table and sat on the banquette, legs tight together and now our hands about each other's waists. Now that we knew that a kiss was inevitable, we seemed to have all the time in the world.

Our faces, our lips, were just inches from each other. ‘And what was it you were going to show me, Louise, my darling?' I asked.

‘Something very important,' she said.

‘Oh yes?'

‘Yes,' she said. ‘Look.'

With her head, she gestured towards the table. I looked down. Somebody had been scratching at the woodwork, and in inch-high letters was carved ‘L ♥ K'.

My fingers traced over the letters. It was a good job, carved elegantly and with precision.

‘Oh?' I said. ‘There's the letter K. But what could that stand for? It couldn't possibly be Kim?'

‘It must be.'

‘But what about the L?' I said. ‘Who could that be? Could it be Laura? Or Laetitia? Or Lola?'

‘Or Lyndsey? Or Lulu?' We looked at each other, her lips now mesmerisingly close to mine.

‘Or Lettice?'

‘Or Lakshmibai?'

Our lips so close that she is all but breathing into my mouth.

‘Or could it be…' I wanted this woman more than anything; any thought of Cally had gone clean from my head. ‘Could it be Louise?'

She moved forward, kissed me. ‘I think it might.'

Louise held me close. She was wearing a short skirt, and she cocked her leg over mine; my eyes were shut and I was embracing the moment, loving every second of it, and wondering, also, where it might lead. My hands cupped her breast and Louise let out a low hum of desire. I liked it; I liked it very much. I opened my eyes and in the candlelit gloom I stared at her cheek, her nose, her full lips which were wide, wet and open and gliding against my mouth.

A flicker of movement from outside the snug. I looked up. Staring in at us, staring at me, was Darren. I didn't know how long he'd been there, whether it had been seconds or minutes, but he was standing there, a little smile playing on his face. I did what anyone else would have done in the circumstances. I gave him the finger.

I don't remember much of the rest of that evening. We carried on kissing until we were thrown out. Roland and Julienne were already long gone. Louise gave me a lift back to the hotel. For a while we continued to neck in the car, though nothing much can ever happen in the front seats of a car. Was there ever a greater passion killer than a gear stick and a handbrake?

‘I'm going back to Guildford first thing,' said Louise. ‘Into classes by nine.'

‘We'll be midway through breakfast by then.'

‘I'll write to you at the hotel.'

‘Look me up when you're next down.'

‘Don't doubt it.'

With a last fond kiss I left the car and sauntered back to my room in the moonlight. My mind, my heart, were in flux. I didn't know what I wanted any more. I wanted Cally and I wanted Louise, but I had no idea how it was all going to work out. All I did know was that kissing Louise for an hour had been fantastic.

The next day was a little strange. In the dining room, my mind was not on the job. I was forever thinking about Louise and Cally, and wondering all the while how it would eventually turn out.

I kept trying Cally's phones, but she didn't pick up. There could have been any number of reasons, but the most likely was that I was well and truly in the doghouse.

The power of autosuggestion is an incredible thing. I had spent the whole day thinking about Cally and then, as I was walking past Anthony's office, I thought I heard her laugh, throaty, deep, full of indescribable zest. The door was closed and for a moment I hung there, but then I moved on. Why would Cally come to the hotel and yet avoid me?

Later at supper, just as the first diners were coming into the room, I was staring out of the window towards the sea and I thought
I caught a flicker of her Mercedes. It glided through the trees. In an instant it was gone.

Supper was just the usual flurry of activity, a mad whirl that comes to a sudden and abrupt halt. One of my tables had left two nearly full glasses of wine and Oliver came over to join me. We drank them as we stared out into the night.

‘Where is Cally?' he asked.

‘I don't know, actually.'

‘Is everything all right between you?'

‘Yeah, sure,' I said. ‘Everything's dandy. And you and Annette?'

‘We are thinking of going travelling,' he said. ‘We might go in the autumn, in the off season.'

‘How will we survive without the pair of you?'

‘With very great difficulty, I am sure.'

We drank and we bantered, as men like to do with their friends. Later, we climbed onto the pirate's ship with Annette and drank whisky underneath the stars.

The next day, I served breakfast at the hotel and afterwards, as I was walking back to my room, I decided to give Cally another call. I tried her Dorset number. Almost on the first ring, she picked up. It was almost as if she'd been about to make a call of her own, and had just happened to be by the phone.

I hadn't expected to speak to her. I was momentarily stunned.

‘Oh,' I said. ‘Cally, I… I didn't think you'd answer.'

Cally also sounded surprised to hear me. ‘Hello Kim,' she said. ‘How… how are you?'

‘I'm fine,' I said, and then out it all tumbled. ‘Look, I'm so, so sorry about what happened in London. I was completely out of order and—'

‘It's okay, it really is,' she said, and I think I believed her. ‘Listen, I've just got to sort something out. Can you call later?'

‘Will you be around later?'

‘I'm not sure,' she said. ‘Give me a call.'

‘I love you,' I said.

I heard her sigh, but I didn't know what it meant. ‘I'll speak to you later,' she said.

I stared, unsatisfied, at the phone in my hand. For a moment I stood, locked in position as I replayed that sigh over in my head, looking for nuances, wondering what I had said, analysing the whole conversation from start to finish. I couldn't put my finger on it, but I knew that it would have been better by far if the conversation had never happened at all.

Thoroughly unsettled, I walked back up the concrete pathway to my room. There were small scuffs of bright orange paint outside my room, but I barely paid attention to them. Inside, there were other little dabs of orange on the floor and on the bedding. I wondered if I had trodden in some orange paint and then tramped it into the room.

I flung off my tunic and lay down on my bed, and stared up at the ceiling. What was I going to do?

My natural inclination was to take action, any sort of action; to go straight round to Cally's house and have it out in person. I thought about Cally's voice on the phone; I remembered how downbeat she sounded. It had sounded like she was steeling herself to swing the axe, and if she were, then I wanted to know sooner rather than later. And then there was Louise.

A knock at the door interrupted my thoughts. I tugged at my T-shirt and opened the door.

It was Anthony, very serious; behind him, a police officer.

‘Anthony?' I said. ‘Good morning.'

‘Good morning, Kim,' he said. His eyes were searching my face.

‘How can I help you?' I said.

Anthony hemmed for a moment. I could see that he found the whole thing most unsavoury. ‘I, we, have had a tip that, uh…'

The police officer, who had been standing slightly behind Anthony, stepped in. Shaven headed, peaked cap, middle aged; the plodding face of the law.

‘We just want to search your room if that's all right, son,' he said.

‘Sure,' I said. ‘Be my guest. It's a bit of a state. I wasn't really expecting guests at this time of the morning.'

I stepped aside and the two men went into my room. And as soon as they had entered, I knew exactly why they were there.

I wondered if there was anything I could do, but somehow already knew that nothing could be done. I felt very calm. My heart rate steadied. I was done for and I knew it. I'd been stitched up.

It took them less than a minute to find what they were looking for: a great pile of ten and twenty pound notes stuffed under my mattress. The notes were traced with orange dye.

‘Oh, Kim.' Anthony gave a mournful shake of his head as he quit my room.

The police officer put the notes and a pair of orange-stained socks into a clear plastic evidence bag. ‘You better come with us,' he said.

Anthony led the way and we trooped back to the police car. Waiters and waitresses were craning their heads to look at me: the thieving miscreant who had finally been nailed.

Oliver, though, immediately came over. He walked along with us as I was taken to the police car. ‘What has happened?' he said. ‘Where are they taking you?'

‘Off to the cop-shop,' I said. ‘I'm afraid somebody's done for me.'

‘What do you mean?'

‘Somebody's stuffed a whole load of loose cash under my mattress.'

‘So that's your line is it?' the policeman said. He held open the car door.

‘It's not a line.' I got into the car. ‘I've been set up.'

‘Got a lot of enemies at the Knoll House have you?' he asked.