A Class Apart (7 page)

“Pretty ordinary sort of weekend then really?”

“Mmm.”

Suddenly, before she knew what had happened, Bob had snatched her hat from her head. “Hey!” she cried.

“Who are they? Tell me!” he said, “I’ll challenge every one of them!”

“Not until you give me my hat back!”

“Tell, or I shall throw myself in the river!”

They were both laughing by this time, but Ellamarie held firm. “Never!”

At the sight of her face, fresh and clear in the cold air, and her bright blue eyes dancing, he caught her in his arms and pressed his lips to hers. At first she was startled by his sudden embrace, but then she relaxed against him and began to return his kiss. Her hat was dropped to the ground, forgotten, and her red hair was caught by a gust of wind. She clung to him, pushing her body hard against his.

“Oh God, I’ve missed you so much,” he groaned. “I hate being away from you.”

She was silent, and he knew what she was thinking. That they need not be apart. That it was him, and only him, that forced their separations. That if only he would allow it, they could be together, always. And in his heart he knew that they could not carry on as they were. It wasn’t fair to her. She deserved more than these snatched meetings, the secrecy, the hidden looks, the furtive telephone calls. She was young and beautiful. She should be shouting her love to the world, living life fully with a man who could give her everything. But he could not give her up. He loved her too much.

“Will you stay with me tonight?”

She nodded, and felt the familiar flutterings inside.

“At the house?”

She looked at him. “Why at the house?”

“Linda’s going to be ringing me sometime, I’ll have to be there.”

The mood was broken, and Ellamarie pulled away.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“It’s all right.” She buttoned her coat and picked up her hat.

“She’s ringing to tell me what time to collect my mother from the station on Friday.”

“I see.”

“My mother is coming to stay with us for Christmas.” He wished he would just shut up.

“Oh yes, Christmas,” she sighed.

“Have you decided yet what you are going to do?”

She turned to face him. “I’d like to spend it with you.”

He gathered her in his arms, not wanting to see the tears that were shining in her eyes. “And I want to spend it with you too. But you know that’s not possible.”

“I know.”

“You won’t be alone though, will you? I mean, what about your friends, what are they doing?”

“I don’t know,” she lied. She wanted him to be guilty. She didn’t want him to know that she had already been invited to spend the time with Kate and her family.

“You’ve been invited to lots of parties, you’ll enjoy yourself.”

“Oh for Christ’s sake, Bob, don’t be so goddamned patronising. Yes, I can take care of myself. But it doesn’t change anything. It’s still you I want to be with, it’s still you I want to wake up to on Christmas morning. Instead I have to think of you with her! Waking up to her, and sharing the day with her, and wondering if you think of me at all.”

“Ellamarie, I think about you all the time. Every moment I’m away from you I spend wanting to be with you. You know that.” He caught her by the shoulders. “I love you. I love you.”

“But there’s always your wife.”

“I’ve told you so many times how it is with us. We have no life together, you know that. My life is here with you.”

She didn’t answer.

He looked at her face, sad, and thoughtful. He hated himself for the lies he told her. “Come on,” he said, glancing at his watch, “it’s time we were getting back.”

As they walked, her hands were so firmly thrust into her pockets that this time he linked arms with her.

Inwardly she mocked herself. Here she was, Ellamarie Goold, who had had her life so carefully mapped out. The success, the recognition, the brilliant performances she would give, on and off the stage. And everything had gone according to plan, until Bob McElfrey had come into her life. Bob McElfrey, who had fought so hard to win her, until finally she had thought, “Oh, what the hell. I’ve never had an affair with a married man before. It might be fun!” She had never once thought about the consequences. Such a child she had been then. Thinking only of those she knew who had such affairs, and the glamour that seemed to be attached to them. The awe with which they were all treated. The, was it envy? at the tasting of forbidden fruits, at the excitement of being swept off into the night at a moment’s notice. Tales of nights of passion, of love that supression only made deeper. Oh, how wonderful it had all seemed, from the outside.

But now she was facing the truth. The reality of unfulfilled promises. The waiting that turned to misery and pain, which he must never know of. The heart that filled with hope that must never be spoken of. The snatched moments of happiness that were never real, only borrowed. The stolen ecstasy of feeling his body against yours, of hearing him tell you that never before has he felt like this. And you believe him because you want to. Because you have to. Why is it that the passion that burns for this man is stronger than any other? That the love is deeper, the joy greater? Or is it? Is it just the great myth of the Eternal Triangle? The triangle that deceptions, suicides and murders were made of?

She was becoming introspective again.

FIVE

With a sigh, Kate closed the book she had been reading and turned over. Her eyes were misty, but there was the shadow of a smile on her face. Finishing a book always left her with a heart and mind full of conflicting emotions.

She glanced up at the clock. It wasn’t even six in the morning yet. She pulled the sheet up around her face and closed her eyes.

Beside her she could hear him breathing quietly, not yet awake. She let her hands fall to her sides, and willed him to wake up.

A few minutes later she wriggled further into the bed as she felt his hand brush over her thighs and up across her belly. She parted her lips, and waited for the warmth of his mouth over hers. And as her nipples began to expand under his touch, she felt his tongue push deep into her mouth. She turned to him, and against the soft mound of her tummy she felt him harden and grow. He took her hand and placed it round his penis, and slowly, very slowly, she began to move her fingers back and forth.

Keeping his mouth firmly on hers he lifted her leg and placed it round his waist. With a brief and gentle push he was inside her. They moved together, gently, pushing closer and closer. He moved his hands under her, lifted her, and as he gave one final, deeply penetrating thrust, he whispered her name.

Kate lifted her hand to stroke his face. The pillow was cool beneath her fingers, and she opened her eyes. The reality of no one there was so awful she closed them again. It had felt so real. But didn’t it always?

As she moved she felt the moistness on her thighs, and sighed. Her body was on fire, tingling, and achingly aroused.

She reached out and fumbled in the drawer beside her bed. Her fingers closed round the cold shaft of the vibrator and she sneaked it beneath the covers. She turned on her back and began to tease herself towards orgasm.

After several minutes she stopped. It was no good. There was no warmth, no real comfort to be gained from what she was doing. It wasn’t only sex she craved, it was love too.

She jammed the vibrator back into the drawer and got out of bed. Turning on the shower she began to sing, at the top of her voice. Mrs Adams from upstairs banged on the ceiling, so she lowered the volume. The water was lukewarm, the song cheerful. By the time she got out of the shower she felt better.

At nine o’clock she was ready to leave. Into the car, along the Fulham Road, cross over to Sloane Square, where she stopped off at Peter Jones to see if her new curtains were ready. No. On then to Victoria and
Gracious Living Magazine.

She had intended to give up journalism altogether when she’d left the magazine three months before, and concentrate solely on her novel. However Margaret Stanley, the formidable features editor at
Gracious Living
, had continued to call her up on a regular basis and send her off on assignments. Margaret Stanley was a woman who did not take no for an answer.

Jillian, the photographer, was waiting when Kate arrived, so ditching her car in Margaret Stanley’s space in the small car park, the two of them braved the armpits of commuters and took the Tube into the West End. They were doing an interview with the cast of
Les Misérables.

The morning went well, a whole stack of splendid interviews piling into her notebook. Kate was sorry she couldn’t join the cast for lunch, but, she whispered to Jillian, she was quite hopelessly broke, so really had to go and meet Daddy. Jillian grinned and winked at her. Kate knew what Jillian was after. Or, more to the point, who Jillian was after.

Her father was pleased to see her, he always was, and they talked over the novel she was writing. She hadn’t plucked up the courage yet to tell him about all the sex in it, she’d blame it on the editor later. Providing she got an editor. But her father had influence, he would see to it. He had seen to practically everything else in her life. Not that she didn’t have talent, of course. But with the world being the way it was, talent didn’t always count for everything.

Back at the theatre in the afternoon, Kate noticed that Jillian had made her play for the member of the cast she’d had her eye on all morning. By five thirty the two of them were ready to start the preliminaries of the sexual encounter that would come later.

Kate grinned and shook her head at Jillian as they parted company. “Don’t you ever want more?”

“More what?”

Kate shrugged. “Well, more of him.”

“I don’t know how big he is yet.”

Kate burst out laughing. “Serves me right for asking a silly question. Have fun.”

“Be sure of it, darling,” Jillian smiled, and headed off in the direction of the wine bar where she had arranged to meet the actor.

Kate was already plotting how she would write about it later.

As she let herself into the flat the phone was ringing. “Kate? It’s Jenn.”

“Oh, hi. I’ve just got in. Where are you?”

“At home, packing. I’ve got to go to Brighton tonight, we’ve got an early call there tomorrow, so I just wanted to let you know I won’t be able to make it this evening.”

“Oh, pity. Well, don’t worry. What about Ashley? Have you spoken to her?”

“She’s probably on her way. Today’s the day, you know.”

“Sorry?”

“Blanche. She flies in tonight. Ash is in a pretty bad way. I told her not to go back to work, but she insisted. I don’t know how she stands it, seeing him every day like that.”

“Me neither. I’ll go and crack open a bottle of wine. Give me a ring soon as you get back, OK?”

“Will do.”

Ashley arrived ten minutes later.

“You look terrible,” said Kate.

“Thanks. I feel it.”

“Did you see him today?”

“Of course.”

“Speak to him?”

“Yes.”

“What did he say?”

“Good morning, Ashley. How are you?”

“And what did you say?”

Ashley smiled. “I said, ‘I’m fine thank you, Mr Arbrey-Nelmes, I hope you are too.”

“God. And Blanche is arriving tonight?”

“Yep.”

“What time?”

“I don’t know. She’s flying into Gatwick at eight thirty.”

“Is he going to meet her?”

“I don’t know. Yes.”

“He would be, the rat!”

“He’s not really a rat, you know, Kate.”

“No, sorry, of course he’s not. He’s just pretending to be.”

Ashley smiled despite herself. “Well, I haven’t come here to talk about him, God knows I’ve done enough of that lately. What have you got to drink?”

“How would a bottle of Châteauneuf-du-Pape suit?”

“Start pouring.”

Their conversation was stilted; it was all too obvious that Ashley’s mind was elsewhere. But every time Kate tried to broach the subject of Julian, Ashley was firm.

“Talking about it never mended a broken heart,” she said.

“But it helps to soothe it,” Kate insisted.

“And you’ve soothed me enough lately. If I talk about him now, tonight, I think I might go mad.”

“OK. Then how’s Alex?”

Ashley’s face softened immediately. “Wonderful. I spoke to him earlier – well, at least I got a quick hello out of him. But Dad was taking him off somewhere so he told me I had to be quick.”

“You’re so lucky really, you know. Ash.” Kate’s expression was almost wistful as she spoke. “He’s a lovely kid. I hope I have children one of these days.”

“You will,” said Ashley, “but don’t be in too much of a hurry.”

“I’m thirty,” Kate pointed out. “I wouldn’t exactly call that a hurry.”