Chapter 12
What Claudia didn’t say was that after she had read Damien’s cards, he’d confided in her. Said that he’d never been in love since his wife, Laura, took her life.
They’d met at Oxford: Damien had read English and she, history. A glass of wine together and Damien was caught. He was intoxicated by Laura’s brilliant mind, and she with his. He had pursued, wooed and won her, and after university they were married. This was followed by a honeymoon in Capri, which was not as it should have been.
That first night, after dinner, they sat on the vast terrace of their suite, gazing at the magenta starlit sky, with the moon illuminating the Mediterranean below. The gentle waves washed in and out of the shoreline with a whispering sound, like the sweep of mermaids’ tails.
‘Laura,’ Damien said softly. He traced her profile with his finger. ‘I love your sweet nose. What are you thinking?’
‘Please, just give me a moment.’ The beauty of the night had eluded her.
Her mind was somewhere else.
He waited and then she turned to him.
‘I’m ready now,’ she said.
Damien swept her up in his arms and carried her into the bedroom.
He slid the straps of her oyster satin dress down her shoulders and kissed her neck. Brushing aside the gossamer curtain that veiled the baroque four-poster bed, he lay her on the silky sheets.
Here he was with the love of his life – his virgin bride. He was about to bless their marriage with a sacred consummation.
He tried so hard to please her but as soon as he became aroused, she pushed him away as if he were a stranger.
‘No, Damien – stop! I need more time,’ she said.
But time didn’t change her.
Yes, in the months that followed, she placated him. Gave him as little as she could to appease him. Allowed him a swift thrust that she accepted and endured which left him lonely and confused.
‘Laura,’ he said one night as she lay beside him, her face implacable, eyes glazed, far away. ‘Where are you?’
And she looked at him and sighed. ‘Damien, why do you love me? I don’t deserve you.’
Until one day she gave him a platonic hug and said, ‘You love me too much. I’m sorry I can’t give you what you need.’
Damien looked at her pale, tortured face and wondered why she’d married him.
‘This is crazy, Laura. I thought that we were soulmates. But you’re ice cold in bed.’
‘I can’t help it,’ she said. ‘I’m locked in my head. I do love you. But my body just shuts off. I feel physically numb.’
She looked up at him and for a moment he saw something else. An arrogance. As if to say, ‘You don’t know how to please me.’
There were no more conversations. Damien stopped trying. It hurt less.
Frustrated that his manly needs were unrequited, he sought other willing beauties who were simply delighted to oblige.
The sensational response to his debut novel, The Empress , had prompted his publishers to send him on a book tour to the States: LA, Miami and New York.
‘I was in full throttle, Claudia,’ he said. ‘I just couldn’t stop. Laura made me so angry. Every time I had sex with another woman, I wanted her to know. I was glad the paparazzi took pics of me with gorgeous actresses and models. I wanted to hurt her – to humiliate her, like she did me. And why not? She didn’t want my body, she just wanted my soul. What kind of marriage is that! So I was happy to go on tour and have my ego stroked by my adoring fans. Laura cried when I said goodbye.’
‘Well then, she must have cared about you,’ Claudia said.
‘Don’t think so. More like crocodile tears.’
Claudia passed him a glass of water. He took a sip.
‘I had lost the sense of who I was with her,’ he continued. ‘She made me feel useless – a failure. But, luckily, on the plane to LA I met a gorgeous girl called Lilly, sitting in a first-class seat next to me. I was back in the game.’
‘And what was her story?’ Claudia asked.
‘Well, she was getting married to a wealthy Greek man, twice divorced and pushing sixty.’
‘How old was she?’ asked Claudia.
‘Twenty-three. It was a huge age gap. I asked her whether she was happy with that. Lilly said that at the time it didn’t cross her mind. He just swept her off her feet. She said that they’d met in Paris a year ago when he came to a fashion show. She was on the catwalk modelling Givenchy and afterwards he waited for her. And every day for a month he sent her flowers and took her to the finest restaurants. He treated her beautifully and didn’t ask to sleep with her. Until he took her for a weekend to St Tropez.’
Now he had pushed Laura out of his mind, Damien coasted along. He enjoyed talking about his exploits.
‘We were both getting a bit tipsy by then. I asked her whether her husband was a good lover. She said he was good technically, but he was selfish, and that once he’d had his fun, he fell asleep. And that’s when I knew I had her. We needed each other. We were both fired up. It was so erotic playing under the blanket while the other passengers were asleep. And that rush…’
Damien looked at Claudia, his eyes drawing her in. ‘Feeling each other’s heartbeat rise.’ Just thinking about it, Damien was up there with the gods flying.
‘And then the calm,’ he said. ‘We held each other and kissed. Intimate strangers who would probably never meet again.’
In LA he said the starlets had clamoured for his glamour. An endless queue of pretty misses were ready and willing to allow him any pleasure he wished, and basking in their adoration he’d had no hesitation in taking all he could. TV chat shows, meetings with moguls eager to option the book, movie-star parties. Damien loved the glitz.
‘What better than to be an Englishman abroad? Especially in America, Claudia,’ he said.
Next there had been a quickie in Miami. He made small talk and signed books in the day and in the evening after dinner, to satisfy his appetite further, Damien paid a visit to the 10 Den, his favourite haunt. It was a downtown dive where the girls rocked and rolled on poles, fake breasts harnessed in leather straps, shimmying their perky-thonged bottoms in the air and inviting guests who sat on the periphery to flutter banknotes on their favourite body parts.
Sweaty men laughed and leered while their women, some dressed like Arkansas housewives, wearing high-necked frilly milkmaid frocks with their hair held neatly with plastic barrettes, patted the girls’ bottoms with the green notes, in exchange for a cheap thrill.
Damien, among the diverse clusters of night owls milling and drinking, spotted a pretty girl who took his fancy. Yes, she was ready for his pleasure.
Then he went to New York, where there was a more serious affair. A Manhattan party in the Museum of Modern Art.
A cool brunette with her hair slicked back in a ponytail, wearing a black polo neck and jeans, slid up to him.
She looked like a fifties beatnik. Damien liked her style.
‘It’s such a pleasure to read a thriller that digs deeper into the characters,’ she said. ‘I find your empathy with the somewhat deviant villain very refreshing. Exploring the grey areas always draws me in.’
‘I find it more interesting than writing stereotypes.’ Damien noticed she had a serpent wrapped round a rose tattooed on her index finger.
‘The symbol of temptation?’ he said. ‘But you look so sweet.’
‘Yes, we all have our dark sides,’ she replied, and gave him an impish look. ‘Anyway, I would love you to sign my book.’
‘Of course. Your name?’ He took out his gold pen.
‘Desiree.’
‘Beautiful.’
‘…and perhaps after the party you might like to come to a nightclub in the village.’ She was enjoyable. He’d go.
When they arrived, the smell of dope hit him. They sat and smoked a spliff and danced close, and afterwards she took him back to her place. She was great, and for once Damien was happy for her to take charge.
‘My reputation as a lover almost matched that of writer,’ he said to Claudia with just a hint of conceit. ‘When I arrived back in London, Laura was beside herself. Everybody seemed to know about my peccadilloes. I said I was sorry, that I knew I’d been a bastard but… did she expect me to live like a monk? And that’s when she told me we both needed therapy. And I said, “Why we ? There’s nothing wrong with me.” She begged me. “Maybe,” I said to placate her, but I knew I wasn’t going to go. I spent nights and days away from her. Lied to her. My capacity for deception was immense. I slept with a different woman every day. Sometimes two or three.’
***
Sadly, the long weekend in Venice that Nicholas had planned was a washout.
He’d booked a suite at the Cipriani Hotel and, as luck would have it, that first night whilst he and Sophie were sitting on the terrace sipping aperitifs, entwined, her head on his shoulder, his arm round her neck, they were observed.
Charles Lane, an art dealer whom Nicholas had known for years, came and sat at the table next to them. A few moments later he was joined by a beautiful young woman with long, dark hair and honey-brown eyes. She wasn’t his wife, either.
The two men smiled at each other, but neither spoke.
‘Who’s that?’ Sophie asked as she sipped her Bellini. ‘He looks dangerously attractive.’
‘Someone I’ve met a few times at auctions. Now just drink up and let’s go.’ He swigged his whisky down and caught the waiter’s eye.
‘The bill,’ he said without his usual smile.
Sophie hadn’t seen this side of Nicholas before. The silky charmer had disappeared, replaced by a stony-faced stranger.
He didn’t even look at her. He drummed his fingers on the table and stared at her glass.
‘Aren’t you going to finish your champagne?’ he asked.
‘Why?’ she replied. ‘There’s plenty of time. I thought you said you booked the table for nine? It’s only seven thirty.’
Sophie knew what was going on. Nicholas was stewing about being caught in this compromising position . She watched him look askance at the good-looking man, who was far more relaxed than he was.
What’s your problem, Nicholas Morley? Why would a sophisticated player like Charles Lane be the least bit interested in the love life of a small-time antiques dealer from Bournemouth whose big night before he met Sophie was playing poker with the boys?
Sophie could see him thinking that even though he and Lane were in the same boat, someone else he knew could turn up.
He sneakily edged his chair away from Sophie.
She looked at Nicholas and felt sorry for him.
He wasn’t the sort of guy who took an affair in his stride.
Go easy on him, Sophie. You knew the score when you seduced him. A married man would never be an easy catch.
‘No need to pretend, Nicholas. I get you,’ she said. ‘Spotted with the mistress; how unfortunate. Well then, let’s put you out of your misery, Mr Morley. I’m going to the loo while you pay the bill, and off we go.’
As Sophie passed the art dealer, she winked at him. He winked back.
After that evening, they didn’t see him again, but it was fair warning. For the rest of their stay, Nicholas made sure that he didn’t hold Sophie’s hand in public. Any lovers’ gestures remained strictly under cover.
And so it continued back in England – grabbing days and nights here and there, midweek visits and the occasional weekend together when he went to an art fair in the country.
Nicholas and she had been going strong for six months, but when it came to the crunch, he didn’t want to leave his wife.
Sophie was becoming increasingly impatient. The more she saw him, the lonelier she became when he left.
A mistress’s life just didn’t satisfy her. She yearned for domestic bliss.
It was on Valentine’s Day that things finally came to a head. Nicholas had managed to slip away from Kate to spend the night with Sophie. He bought her red roses and a pretty diamond necklace, and she made him his favourite: lobster zucchini noodles.
She loved watching him eat. The way he sighed when he forked the juicy lobster meat and slipped it in his mouth.
‘Oh, Sophie. This is sublime.’
‘More wine?’ she said.
‘Yes, please,’ he said.
She brushed his shoulder with her breast as she poured him another glass.
He slipped his hand under the straps of her red silk dress.
‘Not now.’ She gently moved his hand away. ‘I want you to wait.’
That’s it! Make him so hot that he forgets he has a wife. Get him to the point where he can’t live without you. Give him the time of his life and then withdraw.
‘How do you want me?’ she asked, teasing his mouth open with a strawberry dipped in Chantilly cream. ‘In bed or on the sofa?’
She undid his shirt and rubbed her palm against his nipple.
‘Oh my Lord, here we go again.’ Nicholas could hardy speak. ‘Bed’s good, but I’m bursting for a piddle.’
Damn him. Why was she besotted with this man-boy? What did he want from her? He didn’t even care if they had sex. And yet he was such a wonderful lover. He was so controlled. Heated her up to boiling point and then cooled her down. Watched her as he got her all steamed up again and just as she was ready to blow a fuse he melted her.
She could hear Evelyn’s voice.
‘Sophie, keep a man dangling. Don’t let him know what you’re thinking. And only when he’s worked for it, give him what he wants. And then it’s important you retreat, pull the rug out from under his feet, until he’s on his knees begging you to be with him forever.’
But after they made love Sophie just couldn’t help herself. Instead of being mysterious and cool she immediately persisted with her post-coital nag.
‘Nicholas, we’re going nowhere,’ she said. ‘I’m fed up with being a secret.’
He crossed his arms and stared at the ceiling. ‘What do you expect me to do? Just up and go? Kate’s given me no reason to leave her.’
‘Thanks very much. Where does that leave me?’
‘Sophie, you were the one who turned me on. I was happy to keep it platonic.’
‘I thought you loved me. You said that you’d never felt a connection with anyone as you did with me.’
Sophie hugged her silk pillow.
Nicholas hadn’t signed up for this. Feisty was fine, but her childish whining made him wish he was back in Bournemouth, sitting on the sofa, the dogs at his feet, with a good book and a glass of wine, listening to Classic FM.
‘I do.’ He sighed. ‘But you marry a life, not just a wife. And what about the dogs? Who will take them for walks every morning?’
‘You’re pathetic. Happy to settle for less than any husband expects. You pay for everything and she can’t even be bothered to put a pizza in the oven when you get home. And, worse than that, now she won’t even let you come near her. When was the last time you had sex?’
‘Really, Sophie, I don’t want to talk about it,’ Nicholas said. ‘It’s late. Let’s go to sleep. I made up a very elaborate fib to stay here tonight. Said I was looking after a friend’s dog because he had to visit his dying mum in hospital and he was staying overnight.’
‘What a wonderful guy you are to risk life and limb for li’l ol’ me.’
She gazed at him with goo-goo eyes and gave him a syrupy smile.
‘That’s refreshing. At least now you recognise the risks I take to be with you.’
‘You’re joking, aren’t you, Nicholas? I don’t give a monkey’s toss how you managed to get here and I don’t care what you said. I want to talk about your boring marriage…’
‘Talk away, Sophie dearest, but don’t expect me to join in.’
‘…and another thing, even if you’ve forgotten when you had sex with her, I remember.’
Go on – let him have it. The final slam-dunk.
‘You told me about a year ago, and that was only because she was drunk. For heaven’s sake, Nicholas, get real. You don’t have to be Sherlock Holmes to work out that she’s been having an affair. Suddenly, after years of not caring about how she looked, you said she started wearing make-up and going to the hairdresser. And what about the nights she didn’t come home? Told you she was staying at friends, needed a break. But here’s the strange bit, I think you’re being followed. Which puzzles me, because you’d think she would be pleased to have you out of the way.’
Sophie swung her legs out of bed and opened the curtains. ‘You see that black Fiesta on the opposite side of the road with the man at the wheel? It’s been there all night. I spotted it when you arrived. Last week too, same car.’
‘It could be your imagination, Sophie.’
He stared at the car outside the window tapping his forehead rapidly with his index finger. Think, Nicholas, think. What are you going to say? Be clear. Give Sophie your best shot. Tell her what she wants to hear. Give her hope.
‘I can tell you one thing, Sophie, if she is having an affair that would be a different matter. I promise you, Sophie, if that happens, there’ll be no way of stopping me. I’ll be knocking at your door with my suitcase. But if she isn’t, I am not going to jump ship. For one thing my children will never forgive me.’
‘Children!’ Sophie threw the silk pillow at him. ‘That old chestnut. If they’re old enough to smoke a spliff, they can mind their own business and let you get on with your life.’
***
The next time he came home late, Kate was waiting. For, despite her own betrayal with Rick, the prospect of confronting Nicholas with videos and photos of his comings and goings with Sophie gave her a venomous thrill.
Oh, to see Nicholas squirm, watching the telescopic details filmed through the chink in the curtain of him astride his filly, a glorious exultant ride to the finishing line.
‘Actually, I was amazed,’ Kate said. ‘Didn’t think you were up to it.’ Her mouth slipped into a spiteful smile. ‘So, what have you got to say for yourself?’
‘What do you expect?’ Nicholas replied. ‘When was the last time that we slept together? Do you think I’m a fool?’
‘What do you mean?’ She stared at him defiantly.
‘Come clean. You’re a hypocrite! You think I haven’t noticed silky knickers hanging out to dry on Friday after bridge night? So tell me, who is he?’
‘Okay, I admit it. Yes, I have a wonderful lover. He’s called Richard Delaney and for six months he’s been my saviour. I met him in the garden centre. He woke me up! I never thought I’d be interested in sex again. So many years of pretending, frozen stiff, waiting for it to be over.’
‘Then why don’t you leave me?’
‘I don’t know. Maybe because you’ve been around so long that I don’t have to pretend. I can be myself. Anyway, I suspected all along that you were also having a fling, but to be honest I didn’t care. As long as Rick was happy, it suited me. But now that he wants more, I’m not sure. We’ve been a family so long…’ Her voice trailed off. ‘I didn’t want to break us up.’
‘Then why did you have me followed?’
‘Because I could see how happy you were when you came home from your so-called business trips. And one day when you were up in London, I found a condom in your shaving kit. That’s when I found the private eye.’
For the first time in a decade, Nicholas and Kate locked horns. No distractions. It was exciting. Kate’s mask-like face was moving again. There was a glint of hope in her dull eyes. A vestige of life.
‘Why didn’t you confront me? You already had the evidence. I couldn’t lie to you. And maybe we could have worked things out there and then. Instead of you going to a private dick? We could have had counselling.’
Trembling, she clenched her fists. Stealing herself. Ready to let rip. Secret thoughts, buried in the depth of her mind, locked away.
Pandora’s box flew open.
‘Because I wanted to know what you were like with another woman. You obviously did the trick. She was on another planet.’
‘So what about Rick?’ Nicholas asked.
‘I can’t think at the moment,’ Kate replied. ‘I’m very confused. Watching you making love with another woman turned me on. She was so sexy I wanted to make love to her too.’ After an everlasting pause Kate said tearfully, ‘Shall you and I try to make things work? I want the Nicholas in the video to ravish me like he does with his Sophie. I’ll tell you what. If I stop seeing Rick, would you stop seeing her?’
‘I would,’ said Nick. ‘We’ve lost each other over the years. Too much domestic stuff and not enough romance. Why don’t we go to Paris for a weekend? We could take the Eurostar.’
‘I’d love that,’ she said, and kissed him on the cheek.
It would be a litmus test. A holiday with Kate. Just the two of them. After all those years of camping with the kids, would they get on?
***
The weekend wasn’t great, but neither was it a tragedy. Kate complained about the bed in the little boutique hotel on the Left Bank. Said it was too soft, gave her backache, not like her orthopaedic mattress. But, still, she and Nicholas made love which was as it had always been – not exactly thrilling, but perfectly adequate.
Afterwards, the street lamp cast a light on Kate’s face through the window and Nicholas saw a glimpse of the young bride that he’d married. Yes, he could see why Rick had wanted her. She had a sweet face when she wasn’t being tortured by the weight of her responsibilities.
‘So, Nicholas,’ she said, ‘how are we doing?’
‘I think we’re doing okay,’ he replied. But what he really wished for was to stay with Kate and have Sophie on the side. Just to give his life some fizz.
A few hours later, they made love again with comfortable familiarity. But when they slept, Nicholas dreamed of Sophie, whilst Kate dreamed of Rick.
***
Months went by and Nicholas tried surviving his boring life at home by texting Sophie whenever he was alone.
However, his visits once a week were brief and seldom satisfying. Any fun they had was overshadowed by Sophie’s demands. She was not prepared to spend her life waiting for him.
Tired of stolen moments governed by train timetables, Sophie booked a trip to an art retreat in Bordeaux.
‘That’s a very good idea,’ Evelyn said over lunch at Romano’s, the Italian restaurant she had frequented at least once a week for twenty years, save when she was abroad.
‘I hope the break makes you realise that there’s more to life than being a snack for a married man.’ She dipped a piece of bread roll in her glass of Chianti and popped it in her mouth.
‘Please, Mother, don’t start. There’s more to our relationship than that.’
‘But it’s not going anywhere! Can’t you see? You’re skipping down a blind alley. Eventually you’ll crash into a wall.’
The waiter arrived with the dishes. Evelyn plunged her fork into a large portion of gooey lasagne, whilst Sophie pecked at her Caesar salad. How her mother, a tiny sparrow of a woman, could eat more than a burly man and still have an appetite for dessert had always amazed Sophie.
‘Come on, eat up.’ Evelyn swirled her fork in the air. ‘What’s happened to your appetite? You’re not getting any younger. You need some flesh on your cheeks. In a way, Anna’s luckier than you. Her face stays put because of her bone structure. But you have a round face, more like your father. So when you don’t eat properly everything drops.’
‘Really, Mother, I don’t need this now.’
‘Well, you’re looking haggard,’ Evelyn persisted. ‘You need to find a man before it’s too late. At least now you have more of a choice. Wait any longer and the field will narrow. Especially if you want children.’
‘I can freeze my eggs if I want a child.’
‘Have you gone mad? Why would you want to do that? Surely a beautiful woman like you can find a husband. I can assure you, if you hadn’t wasted your time with that Nicholas man, you’d be married by now. What happened to that gorgeous writer Damien Spur? You seemed to spend a lot of time with him.’
‘We’re friends – it’s just platonic.’
‘But why aren’t you interested?’ Evelyn said. ‘I saw that interview with him on Night Owls . Not only handsome as a god, but that deep, gravelly voice; so sexy.’
‘Anna is crazy about him and I don’t want to tread on her toes.’
‘How noble of you! Fat chance she has. Too needy. Really, Sophie! It’s time to take stock of your life, before it’s too late. Who wouldn’t want a man like Damien Spur? I can tell you one thing, if I were your age and single, there would be no stopping me. Don’t be so protective. Just open yourself up to a new opportunity. What are you doing chasing a married man’s trousers? It’s time to take stock of your life, before it’s too late.’
Sophie wanted to leave. Evelyn had a way of turning any conversation with her into a lecture.
‘I really don’t need you to pressure me. Maybe I don’t want a family anymore.’
‘Why not? Wouldn’t you like to have company? Even when William was away on business, I had you two girls to keep me busy.’
‘And I had Mikey.’ Sophie pushed her plate away and got up from the table. ‘Really, Mother, I can’t take this anymore. Let me remind you that I had a wonderful husband and child and that I couldn’t have had a happier life.’
‘Oh dear! Sit down. I’m sorry.’ Evelyn grabbed her daughter’s wrist.
‘No!’ Sophie yanked away her arm. ‘I want to pay the bill and go. I don’t need your treats.’ She flagged the waiter, who had diplomatically ignored the altercation.
Luckily, it was closing time and the only guests left were the Japanese couple at the next table, who were mesmerised by the warring females.
‘Please don’t make a scene,’ Evelyn whispered. ‘I won’t go on any more. Please, Sophie, forgive me.’
At last a chink of light. Sophie usually had to fight to be heard. Very rarely did her mother listen to anyone but herself.
But Sophie had pulled her up this time. Stopped her short.
Little Mikey had been the apple of Evelyn’s eye. Her grandchild. The only one. And she’d adored Daniel. He’d been a lovely man and a good father.
Sophie sat down. Better give her mother a chance to redeem herself. Essentially, she meant no harm, but why did she have to interfere with the very fabric of her life? Nicholas wasn’t her business.
Evelyn fiddled with her pearl brooch. Of course she remembered Mikey and Daniel. And then, surprising Sophie, she burst into tears.
‘Oh dear, oh dear, what a poppy show I’m making of myself.’ Trying to be discreet, she took out her hanky and dabbed her eyes. ‘I’m so sorry, darling. Please forgive me. I just don’t want you to be lonely. It must be so terrible for you. One moment you have a wonderful husband and son and the next they’re gone. I miss them so much too.’ She took a shaky breath. ‘But now you’re punishing yourself with a married man who I’m sure if he left his wife, you wouldn’t want anymore. It breaks my heart.’
Sophie held her mother’s hand and at that moment the only thing that mattered was their love for Mikey and Daniel.
But ten minutes later, after she’d eaten tiramisu accompanied by a digestif, Evelyn had retrenched. ‘May I just say one more thing? I don’t think you should put your eggs into one basket. When you’re in Bordeaux, just be open to meeting people. You’re stunning. You’ve been married. Always a good thing when a man knows you’ve been loved.’
‘I’ll bear that in mind,’ Sophie said. ‘But don’t you worry about me. I’m going to have a great time, with or without a man.’
***
When Nicholas rang, Sophie had just finished packing. ‘Wanted to wish you a safe journey,’ he said.
‘Thank you.’ Why did she answer the phone? She was meant to be moving on.
‘…And…’ he said.
There was always an “and”. Just a little opener to start the ball rolling, keep the chat alive.
‘…And I also wanted to say that there’s no need for you to feel guilty.’
‘I’m sorry? What do you mean?’ she asked.
‘I bit the apple, Sophie. My choice. After the drought, you came along and offered me so much…’
‘Look, Nicholas, this isn’t the time for a heart to heart. I’m leaving in a few minutes.’ Don’t you churn me up again, with your flattery. ‘My flight’s at ten thirty. Damien’s taking me to the airport.’
‘Oh. I would have taken you. Why didn’t you ask?’
‘Don’t start that nonsense. I can hardly imagine you driving up to London just to give me a lift.’
‘Maybe you’re wrong.’
‘Be a good chap – let’s drop this one.’
‘Why are you so angry with me, Sophie?’
‘Because you’re selfish. I’m a distraction when you need a boredom fix.’ She opened the zip of her bag. Passport, keys, credit card, yes.
‘How can you say that? I have always been there for you. Drove up from Bournemouth in the middle of the night when you burnt your hand. Took you to the hospital and didn’t even bother to hide it from Kate.’
Sophie hesitated.
‘True,’ she replied almost apologetically. ‘I was very surprised.’
But why should she be surprised? Isn’t that what you’d normally expect from someone who’s a dear friend? Next, he’ll be totting up the presents he’s given you.
She glanced at her face in the mirror. She looked so confident. On top of things.
Go on, Sophie, tell him what you really think.
She started well enough.
‘Yes, you tipped up in an emergency,’ she said. ‘Nicholas to the rescue. That was very good of you. But here’s the thing. You’ll never be around on Christmas Day. Wild horses wouldn’t drag you away from your family. Of course, that’s how it should be. But it’s not good enough for me. Waiting for the holidays to be over, so I can see you again.’
She paused. Oops! Too much information. Okay, stop now! You sound like the pathetic, self-pit ying mistress you are.
‘Darling, please! I don’t want to lose you. I need your friendship… I can talk to you. Say what I feel…’
‘Great for you.’ Her mouth was dry. It was getting late. She needed to go.
Just finish it. Now, Sophie, now!
‘How did I ever get caught up in this half-cooked relationship? I know I’m culpable too, but it was up to you to stop it if you weren’t going to leave your wife. Not keep me hanging on. The truth is that you’re weak. Why bother to make waves? Better to stay in your comfort zone, especially if you can get your kicks from someone else without any consequences.’
There was a silence on the phone… She could hear him take a deep breath for the next round of blarney.
Oh no you don’t. I won’t let you reel me in.
‘Anyway, I really have to leave, Nicholas. Please let me get on with my life.’
She didn’t wait for him to say goodbye.
***
Damien arrived a few minutes later.
‘It’s really kind of you to take me to the airport. You really didn’t have to,’ she said.
‘Don’t be silly. Why not?’ He wheeled her suitcase to the front door. ‘That’s what I’m here for.’
Bit smarmy , said the Voice.
‘You’re such a charmer,’ said Sophie.
There you go – she liked it , Damien said to himself.
Okay , the Voice replied . But you need to say something sensible. Make her feel comfortable and secure.
Damien opened the boot of his navy-blue Jag and placed her case next to his sports kit and tennis racquet.
‘Love tennis,’ Sophie said. ‘Would be great to have a game when I get back. Since I’ve been with Nicholas, I haven’t really been playing that much.’
‘Good idea. I’m looking for a mixed-doubles partner.’ He shut the boot and, sweeping round to the passenger side, opened the door for her.
She sat on the seat and swung her legs inside. Damien stole a quick glance at her graceful limbs. She was wearing leopard-skin ballerina shoes.
Better not start.
‘To be honest,’ he said, ‘it’s a novelty for me to have a female friend who’s not a lover. And I must say I enjoy it. There’s a lot to be said for a platonic relationship between a man and a woman. No sexual tension. No jealousy.’
‘I agree,’ Sophie said. ‘No expectations.’
It was Sunday and the traffic wasn’t too bad. Damien kept an easy pace. No point in rushing. More time to chat.
‘I really hope you have a great time in Bordeaux.’ He patted her hand in a friendly sort of way. ‘Get Nicholas out of your mind. Maybe meet someone else. You deserve it.’
That’s a good one , the Voice said. I didn’t mean you to go that far. Who are you trying to kid? You know that Sophie Fox is just up your street.
Damien wasn’t sure how he was going to temper his feelings. But the noble part of him was ready to help her.
And she trusted him.
On the way to the airport, Sophie spilled the beans about Nicholas and Damien listened.
‘He just manages to manoeuvre me. Brings out my lust. He’s never had an affair before. Little innocent Nicholas, I’m the one who corrupted him. And then after we make love, he feels guilty. Talks to me about his wife as if I’m his therapist. Says it does him good. Even offered to pay me! I think if I’d said yes, he would even have taken me up on it.’
Damien shot her a horrified glance. ‘Sophie! Do you know how lovely you are? Why are you punishing yourself?’
‘Because I’ll never get over Daniel,’ she said, and burst into tears.
‘I’ll stop at the next lay-by.’
‘It’s okay. I’ll be all right. I need to get on with my life. Thank you for being so kind to me. You’re such a good man.’
Damien paused. He gulped.
‘No, I’m not. I was a bastard to my wife. My life’s been such a mess. Laura’s death, my addiction to the dark side.’
Damien looked at her black-rimmed eyes.
‘You look like a panda,’ he said. ‘A very beautiful panda.’
Sophie laughed.
‘There’s a packet of tissues in the glove compartment,’ he said, reaching over to open it.
She took one and dabbed the smudged mascara.
‘I just hope Daniel isn’t up there watching me make a fool of myself. How could I have fallen for such an ordinary man? Maybe I’m glad he won’t leave his wife.’
‘What are you trying to say?’
‘Perhaps it’s a way of me staying faithful to Daniel.’
‘You deserve more than being locked into a hopeless relationship. Why don’t you go and see an analyst?’
Or why don’t we both get soused and see what happens? he thought.
***
Sophie wasn’t sure what life had in store for her, but her visit to Bordeaux might be refreshing.
Days spent painting the beautiful scenery, happy to be distracted. Relieved to be with strangers who didn’t pry into her personal life.
And in the evenings, it would be peaceful to dine al fresco with her fellow guests and watch the setting sun fall into dusk.
When Nicholas rang on Wednesday morning, she didn’t answer her phone. It was early, 7 a.m. The voicemail pinged a few seconds later.
Don’t listen to it. He’s doing his number, keeping you on the hook.
She drew the blue-and-white chintz curtains and stepped onto the balcony. Such majesty. The stone path, flanked on either side by smooth grass and perfectly manicured topiary, led down to a large lily pond.
The light was so gentle that it spread across the landscape, stroking nature’s colours with a misty glow.
Time for breakfast in the courtyard with the other students, and then to paint.
‘We’re going to the meadow near Margaux today,’ said Marie, the teacher and owner of the chateau.
Morning glory. The pastel field of wildflowers – pink, lavender, lemon peeping through the grass – and in the distance, a dark silhouette of cypress trees edging the horizon. Sophie was happy. Nature had lifted her spirit.
Marie guided her students, weaving in and out between their easels. ‘That’s good, Charles. Don’t be so tentative with your brush strokes.’
‘Rosie, keep the paints flowing. Let the colours bleed into each other.’
And so she continued quietly appraising each student.
Sophie had set up her easel far away from the others. She wanted to be alone. To listen to the air moving softly across the field. It was her meditation, her eyes free to wander across the beautiful tableau and create her own vision.
Marie stood behind her. For a moment she was silent, her eyes darting across the canvas.
‘That is so lovely,’ she said. ‘You use your palette beautifully. Your colours sing. And the sun, sending swathes of light across the fields, I really like that. And those cypress trees, tall and proud. Gives the impression that they are standing guard. Fine work, Sophie.’
***
‘Any news?’ Evelyn’s voice crackled down the phone. ‘Have you met anyone?’
‘I can’t hear you properly,’ Sophie replied. ‘It’s very bad reception here. You’re cutting in and out.’ She moved out of the bedroom onto the terrace.
Evelyn raised her voice. ‘I said are there any nice men? Can you hear me now?’
‘Yes, Mother, loud and clear.’
‘Well?’
‘Is that all you rang to ask?’ Sophie sighed. ‘I’m here to paint. Not to find a husband.’
‘But why not? Wouldn’t it be nice to meet someone with the same interests?’
‘Yes.’
‘It’s a perfect opportunity. I did a little search on the internet about the woman who is running the course. Her name’s Marie Fournier, isn’t it?’ Evelyn didn’t bother to wait for an answer. ‘She’s old money, owns the chateau. Her family tree is impeccable. She must know everyone.’
Come on, tell her. At least it will give her something to dream about.
‘I think she does,’ Sophie replied. ‘In fact, if it makes you feel any better, just so you don’t think the trip is wasted, she’s invited me to a soirée at the neighbouring chateau this evening.’
Evelyn sounded as if she’d been gifted a diamond. ‘That’s wonderful, darling! Probably the word has got round that there’s a pretty woman in the group. Or maybe a sighting at the local village? So they asked Marie if she could bring you to the party. I am so pleased. A good old-fashioned introduction to Bordeaux society. How exciting!’ Evelyn raced on.
Sophie held the phone away from her ear.
‘I’m sure there are lots of rich men who own the vineyards. I might even know the winery. Happy to do the research if you need me. Sophie? SOPHIE! Can you hear me?’ she shouted.
‘Mother, stop. It’s not your life – it’s mine. You’re making me feel desperate.’
‘Sorry, yes. But you know me. I’m a romantic. Want to see you fall in love again. Or at least find someone who can look after you. Okay, I’ll let you go. I’m sure you’ll want to get yourself scrubbed up for the party. Is there a hairdresser in the village?’
‘I don’t know. Haven’t looked for one.’
‘Well, do tell me what happens.’
‘I will, Mum.’
‘Thank goodness that you’ve left that other chap,’ Evelyn said.
‘Other chap presupposes I have a new man,’ replied Sophie.
‘I just know that someone is going to come into your life. I have always been psychic. So glad that you’ve finally come to your senses. Now you’re free of him, you’ll see how much better your life will be. No more hiding… like that Venice trip.’
Sophie looked at her watch: 6 p.m.! Her mother had been talking for an hour.
‘I’ve really got to go. We’re leaving at 7 p.m. and I’m not even dressed yet.’
‘Would love you to give me a quick call after the party to tell me how it went.’
‘No, Mother. Just let me have a break. I need to concentrate on my painting. I’ll ring you when I’m back in London.’
‘All right. Have a lovely time at the soirée, but remember don’t drink too much wine. You know what you’re like when you’re tipsy.’
Sophie laughed. ‘Runs in the family. Goodbye, Mother,’ she said, and rang off before Evelyn could have the last word.