Chapter Four #2
I turned and looked down at her sulky face. ‘Look, I really appreciate you coming to see me this morning. And thank you for that delicious cake, and the vouchers, so thoughtful. Tell Henry I’ll thank him in the next day or so.’
‘No rush, he’s not going anywhere. And it sounds like you’ll be very busy once Tamara’s here.’
‘Emma, you’re giving me the feeling I still owe you an apology — this time for something else, although I don’t know what.’
She said nothing, just scowled at me.
I sighed, placed my hands on her shoulders and did a really stupid thing; I bent my head and kissed her.
Not properly of course, just brushing her lips — so full, so soft — with mine.
I’d done it occasionally when she was younger, without a second thought.
But this time it was different. This time, my casual platonic kiss was charged with the knowledge that, at any moment, I could deepen it.
The knowledge that I wanted to deepen it, whatever the consequences.
But my mouth disobeyed my thoughts and the kiss ended safely.
I let go of her shoulders with a relieved smile. ‘Friends?’
She stared at me in silence for several seconds. Then she said quietly, ‘Mark, I can’t imagine not being friends with you.’
And she went out of the room without a backward glance, leaving me to mull over that last remark. Did she mean that she couldn’t envisage us ever being enemies? Or that she couldn’t picture us as more than friends — as lovers, in other words?
Another disturbing thought came to mind: of the three kisses on her card, we were now two down.
One to go.
* * *
~~EMMA~~
I had it all planned out.
I’d give Mark a chance to calm down after our quarrel and let him make the first move. If he hadn’t apologised by his birthday, I would take him a peace offering and see if that did the trick.
But there was no apology; in fact, he was waiting for me to say sorry to him !
Maybe, as he suggested, we should forget we’d ever quarrelled.
But I couldn’t forget those kisses, however brief and insignificant.
Insignificant? To him, perhaps. Not to me.
I knew they were a sign of friendship, nothing deeper; but his friendship mattered more than almost anything else in my life.
Funny, I’d only realised that over the past week or so, when I was afraid it might have gone for good.
So — I didn’t want him as my mentor but I needed him as my friend. And I’d expect any long-term partner of mine to understand that.
I just hoped Mark would expect the same of Tamara.
* * *
~~MARK~~
I drove home from the airport in record time. Tamara felt chilled, so I went straight to the drawing room to light the fire while she had a shower and unpacked. By the time she came downstairs, in just a bathrobe, the room was warming nicely but the Krug was still ice cold.
It was only late afternoon and the evening stretched out ahead of us. We sat on the sofa, drank champagne and chatted for a while about the people and places we had in common.
It didn’t take long.
In the silence that followed, I studied her. Black hair, dark eyes, white skin — despite living in India for years. Everything about Tamara was either black or white. No shades of grey; or woodmouse brown, come to that . . .
‘Like what you see?’ she said, with a provocative pout.
‘What do you think?’ I leaned forward, cupped her face and kissed her hard, over and over again. Blotting out memories of other lips, other kisses. Feeling, with relief, the familiar heat of physical response.
She brought me expertly to heel, coolly detaching herself from my embrace. I watched as she slipped off her bathrobe and spread it out on the rug in front of the fire. Burnished by the glow of the flames, her body beckoned.
‘Come here, Mark. Show me just how much you’ve missed me.’
And that’s exactly what I did.
* * *
~~EMMA~~
On Saturday afternoon Izzy, John and their tribe came to Hartfield. From upstairs, I saw their Volkswagen people carrier arrive and rushed to the front door, just in time for the children to hurl themselves at me.
I laughed. ‘What a noise, I thought the monkeys must have escaped from Chessington Zoo. Now, Grandpa’s asleep and you know how cross he gets if he wakes too soon. Go and hide quietly in the garden and I’ll come and find you.’
The children stampeded off; over by the car, Izzy froze in the act of unfastening Emily from her safety seat.
‘But it’s almost dark,’ she said. ‘What if they trip and hurt themselves?’
John appeared from the driver’s side. ‘Nonsense, it’s light enough and they need to use up some of their energy. Anyway, they know that garden like the back of their hand. Hi there, Emma.’ He made a quick detour to kiss my cheek on his way to unload the luggage.
Izzy gave a heavy, long-suffering sigh and muttered to herself; I diplomatically bent down to fasten my outdoor shoes.
When I straightened up, I found Emily watching me from her mother’s arms, her lovely little face still flushed with sleep.
Izzy carried her the short distance from car to house and began to download her worries.
‘John has no idea about the dangers that lurk in gardens. And I wish he’d parked nearer the house, Emily’s probably caught a chill being out in the cold air after that warm car, it only takes a few seconds.
’ A pause while we kissed, then an anxious look.
‘Who’s babysitting? John wouldn’t let me ring you to find out.
I hope it’s not that girl with the motorbike, she promised Harry he could sit on it next time she saw him, I’ll be ill all evening just thinking about it. ’
‘I’ve asked Sarah Perry,’ I said, letting Emily tug at my hair.
‘The doctor’s daughter, excellent, I hope she’ll contact her father if she’s got any concerns, any at all, I’ll check she’s got his mobile number. How’s Dad? Is that aloe vera cream I sent him doing any good?’
‘Oh, I shouldn’t think so,’ I said, ‘but it’ll do him good to discuss it at great length with you. Now I’d better go and find the kids before they fall into that pit the gardeners dug the other day.’
Her face was a picture. I extracted my hair from Emily’s chubby grasp and set off after the children.
‘Only joking!’ I called over my shoulder. ‘And John, if you’re taking those bags upstairs, I’ve put everyone in the usual bedrooms.’
It took all of the next two hours to get Izzy ready to go out, not so much physically as mentally.
She grilled me about the babysitter’s IQ, fretted that James was sickening for something and generally convinced herself that she’d return from an evening of self-indulgence to find all her children hospitalised.
She’d just resigned herself to abandoning them, when I happened to mention that Harriet had been off work with a sore throat and wasn’t able to go to Kate’s dinner.
I might as well have announced the arrival in Highbury of the Black Death.
Izzy took a hasty step away from me. ‘Harriet’s your PA, she’ll have infected you before she went off sick.’
‘I’m fine, actually, I never seem to get colds or sore throats.’
‘Keep right away from the children and go and gargle with TCP, just in case.’
I glared at her. ‘I’m wearing Clive Christian No. 1, no way am I smothering one of the most expensive perfumes in the world with the smell of TCP!’
It was very frustrating that Harriet was unwell.
I’d had it all organised: Philip lived on Harriet’s side of Highbury, so I’d asked him to pick her up on his way to Randalls and, of course, take her home at the end of the evening.
It would be the perfect opportunity for him to make a move.
Yesterday, however, I had to tell him that the poor girl was ill.
He made sympathetic noises but, when I asked him if I should give Kate his apologies too, he looked at me as though I had two heads.
Then I remembered my theory that he was lonely and would no doubt enjoy the company, even if Harriet wasn’t there.
So, with Izzy, Harriet and Philip all causing me grief in their different ways, I wasn’t in the best of moods on Saturday evening.
And it got worse. I dressed in a hurry, then kept wondering if my long dark brown skirt was too tight and my gold strappy top too revealing.
All the way to Randalls, Dad and Izzy vied with each other as to who would enjoy the evening least. Finally, although we weren’t late, we found Kate and Tom’s drive already occupied by a little blue two-seater sports car, which I recognised as Philip’s, and a sleek black Mercedes — George Knightley’s car, which Mark was using while he was away.
John had to park the Volkswagen on the main road, which irritated him no end and consequently made Dad and Izzy more nervous than ever.
Looks-wise, John was a typical Knightley — tall, dark and handsome — but he lacked the easy manner of Mark and his father.
I didn’t mind that; I knew him well enough to see his reserve for what it was, the character of an introvert.
No, what I minded was his behaviour towards Izzy and Dad; he often took Izzy for granted and lost his patience far too quickly with Dad, with the result that they never seemed to relax when he was around.
In contrast, Mark brought out the best in them, but dealt firmly with their eccentric little ways.
When it came to me, however, John and Mark were the same. They both treated me like a kid sister, to be fed a wholesome diet of what they called constructive criticism; a diet that didn’t seem as if it would ever vary.
Tom was at the door to welcome us and take our coats, waiting with good humour while I helped Dad remove his many layers of outer clothing.
I was very fond of Tom. He brought energy and enthusiasm to everything he did; and I’d never heard him say a cross word about anyone, a remarkable achievement in four years of insular village life.