Thirty-five
It was Fran’s last day working at Martin’s tennis centre. She was going home to have the baby in Norfolk. Emily had the day off, and the women were slumped in chairs on the terrace. Emily was drinking lemon water from the bottle, wondering why Mark had been so furtive this morning. The very second the dishwasher was on, he’d snatched up the car keys and left. She heard the door slam, and the gates squeak open. Emily didn’t know where Mark was going, why, or how long he would be. What was he hiding from her?
Fran nibbled at a chocolate muffin, a piece of paper in her hand, each mouthful of muffin interspersed by a snort of laughter. ‘I don’t believe this,’ she carped, slapping the page against her leg, then saying in a high-pitched voice, ‘Individual cheese soufflés with a parmesan crisp. Where did he dream that up from, and wait’ – she giggled at Emily – ‘what about the rillettes of salt cod with a black squid ink reduction?’
Emily laughed back. ‘If you want a real treat, cast your eyes over the list of desserts!’
Fran put the page down. ‘You don’t think he’s being serious, do you?’ She squinted at the older woman. ‘We are talking about a man who, this time last year, didn’t know how to cook a sausage?’
‘I don’t want to discourage him. He’s only cooked simple food so far, and the guests love the idea.’ She finished her drink. ‘He is a bit of a prat, though, isn’t he? He’s my prat, and I love him, but he’s gone way over the top here, hasn’t he?’
‘If I were doing this, I’d offer comfort food. After a week of posh dinners, don’t you long for a decent fish pie?’ said Fran, crossing her arms over her chest.
‘Or he could do something alternative, maybe Ottolenghi style with all the seasonal fresh vegetables from the markets?’
Fran tugged an earlobe, then started to nibble a fingernail.
Emily watched her friend. ‘Everything will be fine, you know. The NHS will be there for you and the baby, and I’m sure your mother will help too.’
Fran looked startled. ‘I’m not worried about having the baby!’
Emily smiled across the table. Fran attempted to return the gesture, but it was only a crease in the girl’s face that didn’t quite reach her eyes. Was there something her friend was hiding? ‘You’ve got something to tell me, haven’t you?’
Fran blinked furiously, then looked away. ‘I’m torn. I’ve replayed this moment so many times in the last twenty-four hours.’ She paused. ‘I don’t want you to get angry.’
Emily’s heart was beating faster. ‘Tell me,’ she urged.
Fran closed her eyes and dropped her face into her hands. ‘The baby is Mark’s.’
Emily waited until the guests were seated in their hire car. She’d booked them into Monica’s, drawn them a map, recommended the tapas, all with a grin pasted on her face and her stomach roiling with the memory of Fran’s confession. She should’ve guessed herself; Mark was still behaving like he’d developed a sudden crush on Emily, offering to come on dog walks, cooking dinner, cups of tea in bed. Emily wasn’t going to become a stepmother, no matter how much she liked Fran. The outcome of Mark’s actions was non-negotiable, but in her opinion, there were two wrongs here: he shouldn’t have slept with someone else, but worse, he should not have been duplicitous. He knew he was the father – the DNA test confirmed that – so, just when was Mark planning to bring his wife into this sorry loop?
She placed a hand either side of the kitchen doorway, steadying herself. ‘Mark, a word,’ she said testily.
He trotted to the hob, used his fingers to slide diced onion into the frying pan, and stepped back. The pan sizzled and popped. ‘Be with you once these are caramelized,’ he said, shaking the pan.
‘Now.’
His eyes darted her way, and she averted her own. She couldn’t face him.
He wiped his hands on a tea towel and turned off the gas. ‘OK, what’s this all about?’
‘I think you know,’ she said coldly.
He inhaled deeply and blew out a long sigh. ‘Who said what?’
‘Fran told me everything.’ Emily couldn’t contain her disgust any longer. ‘You promised me after that American lawyer you wouldn’t stray again.’ Her voice rose as she thought about the heartlessness of what he’d done. ‘I can’t believe you’d do this to me. To us . Just when we’ve got everything back on track!’
His shoulders sagged, and he chewed at a thumbnail.
‘Have you got nothing to say? I hope you won’t try telling me this is temporary !’ she yelled, emphasizing the last word. ‘And do not claim you can sort this one out if I just give you six months.’ She shook her head. ‘You, of all people, know how important it is for a father to be there for a child.’
‘Can I—’
‘No, you can’t. I don’t want to hear your sordid little story. I want a divorce!’ she shouted.
Mark watched the Fiat 500 disappear and walked back inside, closing the door behind him. He poured himself a glass of cold water, adding ice from the freezer, and took it outside, the cubes clinking together as he walked. The oleander hedge, the sole survivor of Miguel’s drastic reshaping of the outside area, was in full flower. The new border was backed by waist-high ornamental grass with dark purple stalks and long caramel-coloured grass heads, which bobbed and swayed in the breeze as if waving at him.
Could he blame Emily? He may be cock-a-hoop the child wasn’t his, but she was right, he’d broken his promise of fidelity a second time. She had every right to demand a divorce.
Mark’s phone rang. He sat in a daze, unable to answer, letting it click into his message system. Should he just sign their remaining assets over to Emily and start a new life? The phone rang again, he glanced down and, seeing who it was, picked up.
‘Hi, Alex, howzit?’ he said, trying to sound interested. He must tell Alex before his mother did.
Mark heard someone inhale then listened to ragged breathing. Mark’s heart started beating a little faster. Not more bad news, surely? ‘Hey, what’s wrong?’
‘It’s not Alex,’ said a tremulous female voice. ‘It’s Jess ... and ... I’ve got some bad news.’
Mark gulped; he’d had enough bad news to last a lifetime. ‘What’s happened to Alex?’ he asked. He heard a cough, a tongue being clicked, a long, strangled sigh. Mark felt his chest tightening. ‘What is it? Spit it out, Jess, the suspense is agony!’
There was another cough, then Jess said, ‘I’m bound by a professional ethics code.’
Mark shook his head. ‘Is that all? Don’t worry about it, Jess. I spent twenty years in the same position.’
‘W-what do you mean?’ said Jess querulously.
‘I guessed you’d want to make that call. I’ve already made it, and ponied up,’ Mark said, switching his attention back to the view, a smile stretching across his face. This was a beautiful country but, after transferring over ￡2 million to the UK taxman, there was no need to live here anymore.
Later that evening, Emily climbed out of the Fiat and walked towards the front steps, flanked by the elephants with their garish saddles. She let herself in and walked through the hallway. She could see Mark sitting on the terrace, his back towards her. She slid open the French windows, and he glanced at her, briefly, over his shoulder. She sat down in the chair next to him – they had to talk this through. There was a child involved.
‘So,’ she said quietly.
He sat up breathing noisily. Good, he was anxious. Maybe she was about to hear the truth. ‘You’ve every right to be cross, but I’ve something to say, and if you still want a divorce when I’ve finished, I won’t challenge you.’
His breathing settled. Emily looked at him. His eyes were closed. He told her about his meetings with Tim and how he was convinced Fran would be horrified when she heard what Tim had tried to pull off.
‘I’m not trying to defend myself for sleeping with Fran,’ he said, waving a hand at her, ‘but honestly ...’ He shook his head. ‘I can’t remember anything about that night.’
For a few minutes the couple sat without speaking. She could smell the sweet smoky scent of meat cooking on a neighbour’s barbeque. Her stomach rumbled; she’d had nothing to eat since she met with Fran that morning.
Mark opened his eyes and looked into hers. ‘I love you, Emily. I admire how you’ve coped with everything I’ve thrown at you. Not just this past year, I mean all our married life. You’ve just got on with things and done your best, even when I neglected you.’
Emily cringed inwardly at the flattering tone. She hung her head, tears pricking against her eyelids. She dabbed her little fingers into the corners of her eyes and cleared her throat. ‘Have I? I’m not so sure.’
She felt his gaze fall on her and peered up, seeing his eyebrows rise. ‘Not true. You fought the battles worth fighting and ignored those you couldn’t win. You chose well! And you always stuck up for Alex. You were a close-knit team of two, you protected him until he found his feet. He was never going to be a beach bum, there’s too much of me in him.’
She reached out a hand, which he grasped, their forearms resting on the tabletop between them.
He gave a single slow nod. ‘What do you want to do?’ he asked. ‘Do you still want a divorce?’
She shook her head. ‘You don’t even remember going to bed with the girl,’ she said. ‘It was your subconscious revenge for me breaking the 90-day rule. A few months ago, you might’ve had a different answer, but I’ve become fond of you again. I admire the way you’ve battled on, tackling all the problems that, when I’m honest with myself, I helped create.’
Her arm was uncomfortable, so she released her grip. Mark patted hers before she withdrew it, sending a pleasurable shiver up her arm.
‘Where do you want to live?’ he asked. She didn’t answer, and he started filling in the silence. ‘We could sell the villa and go back to London. I know you miss your girlfriends, and the shopping, especially Fortnum’s.’
She gave a little start. ‘Fortnum’s?’
His lips creased into a smile. ‘I found all those little turquoise bags. Couldn’t resist, eh? We can’t afford to live the life we used to have or be anywhere near the centre of town. There won’t be any staff, or designer dresses or charity balls.’
She let her eyes travel around her remodelled garden. She would miss the climate, this country, this relaxed way of living, the charming hospitable Portuguese. ‘Strangely, I don’t miss London nearly so much as I used to.’
She turned the question over to him.
‘Emily it’s not up to me,’ he said, rising, and coming to stand behind her. ‘I will live wherever makes you happy.’ She felt his hands massaging her shoulders and gulped down a sob. ‘Do you want to stay in Portugal?’ he asked.
She weighed the options. ‘Can I think about it for a few days?’ she asked in a wavering voice.
Mark stroked her hair, then kissed the top of her head. ‘Yup.’