A Night on the Orient Express (24 page)

Jack was unrepentant when she finally got back to the flat, although she could tell by his pallor that the incident had shaken him.

‘Listen,’ he said. ‘I’m one of many where Miranda’s concerned. If she’s fallen for me it’s because I don’t exploit her, not like some of the other bastards who are only after her money. And she’s twenty-three. She’s hardly a child.’

‘Oh, that’s OK then. If she’s twenty-three,’ retorted Adele. ‘The perfect age to cut your wrists in someone’s bedroom.’

‘She’s unstable.’

‘Then you shouldn’t have got involved with her!’ she shouted.

‘I’m not involved with her!’ he shouted back. ‘I dragged her out of Simone’s one night when she was in a bad way. I brought her back here and looked after her. I didn’t lay a finger on her.’

Adele could imagine him soothing her, spoiling her.

‘Really?’

He looked her in the eye. ‘I’m not a total monster. I know your opinion of me is low . . .’

‘Because you do nothing to reassure me otherwise.’

She sighed with exasperation. Jack was defensive.

‘I’m honest with you about the fact that I’m easily tempted. But for your information, there’s been no one but you for some time now.’

‘So why do you let me think otherwise?’

‘Because I can’t take the pressure? Because I don’t trust myself? Because once I’ve said it, then I can only spoil it?’

‘That’s ridiculous. Don’t you have any self-control?’

‘No! No, I don’t. Don’t inflict your view of how people should behave on me, Adele. We’re not in Shallowford now. I’m not a doctor. And I’m sorry you think so little of me. Sometimes I don’t know why you bother with me at all.’

Adele looked at him. ‘Neither do I.’

And in that moment, she realised the whole relationship brought her far more unrest and distress than contentment.

She put her head in her hands.

‘I can’t deal with this anymore, Jack. The whole thing. It’s too much.’

He looked at her. ‘No one ever asked you to,’ he said.

He was right, of course. And she had known from the start that he would break her heart. Yet it was pointless wishing she had never gone for that first lunch. It was her own fault for being unable to resist temptation. For being vain and shallow and needing attention when she was the luckiest woman she knew. What was so twisted inside her that she felt the need to jeopardise a perfectly happy marriage?

She went to embrace him but he put his hands up to stop her. Jack, when aggrieved, could play hard-done-by ad infinitum.

It was certainly easier to leave him without physical contact. Touching him always melted her resolve. She looked around the flat, as if she was trying to memorise it, although she already knew every corner, every surface.

The pile of sheets covered in Miranda’s blood lay in a crumpled heap.

‘What are you going to do with them?’ she asked, practical to the end.

‘The laundry will deal with it,’ he told her. ‘They never ask questions. Or judge.’

She flinched. It was true. She did judge him. She judged him by the standards of her other self, the doctor’s wife, not the adulteress, and she knew that was a fault. She knew it was the kiss of death for their relationship.

‘I’m sorry.’ Her voice started to break as she said it. She didn’t even know what she was apologising for. Adele walked to the door before she broke down. If she cried, she would throw herself at him and beg forgiveness. She owed herself a modicum of dignity.

A little bit of her hoped that Jack would learn something from today. That if he carried on playing fast and loose with people’s hearts and not being open and honest that he would end up with nothing.

Adele was more shaken than she thought by Miranda’s suicide attempt. Several times she started to cry when the image of the girl’s inert body on that bed hit her in the middle of the day when she least expected it. She wondered how she was, and if there was any way she could find out. She decided it was best not to delve. She’d turned her back on that world, and anyway there was nothing she could do or say to help the girl.

If William noticed that she was remarkably sensitive, he didn’t say anything. She did tell him she was under the weather, and missing the boys, which she was. She longed for their boisterous presence to plaster over the hole in her life. When they were around, the day had momentum and energy and she could feel carefree.

Instead, she focused on the gallery. She made plans for a grand opening. The word was out in the town, and people seemed excited by the prospect, which gave her a little cheer. She prepared business cards, sent out press releases, wrote up the history and provenance of every painting she had bought. She had each one re-framed, making sure that whatever she chose showed the picture in its best light.

At last she was ready. She spent an entire weekend hanging all the pictures. It was exhausting – people thought it was just a question of banging a few nails in the wall, but there was an art to an effective display. She swapped and changed and rehung and bashed her thumb with a hammer and dropped a picture on the floor, damaging the frame, until finally she was satisfied.

One Sunday afternoon, she gave William the grand tour.

‘I am so proud of you,’ he said, and gave her a spontaneous hug. His sudden warmth took her breath away. ‘Come on – let’s go out for dinner and celebrate.’

‘But I look a mess,’ she protested.

‘You look beautiful,’ he teased. ‘Your hair’s all over the place and you’ve got dust on your cheeks, but there’s a light in your eyes you haven’t had for a while. You’ve never looked better.’

At dinner, he apologised for his lack of attention. ‘I’ve been totally preoccupied with the new surgery. It was a difficult change for me, and I know I was pretty bloody. I’m sorry. Can you forgive me?’

‘Of course.’ Adele felt a sense of peace. Her marriage was back on track. Everything was going to be all right.

Adele planned her grand opening party for the first week in December. That way, she could take advantage of the festive season to decorate the gallery, and leave enough time for people to make purchases for Christmas if they so wished. She hoped and prayed that they did. She had made a huge investment in terms of time, money and emotion.

It was when she came to send out the invitations that she made her fatal mistake. She had been so busy, the memory of Jack had faded to just an occasional twinge. She didn’t indulge herself in reminiscence or longing anymore, or relive the passion as she lay in bed at night. Her relationship with William had revived itself now she felt on more of an equal footing. Not passionate in the same way, but deep and strong.

For some reason, this made her think she was resilient enough to invite Jack to the opening. She wanted to prove that she was over him, mostly, but also to show him first-hand what a success she had made of the gallery. After all, she reminded herself, Jack had given her a huge amount of help and advice. It was churlish not to invite him. Of course she would be able to cope with seeing him. William would be at her side. It would be very civilised. And grown up.

She tucked the invitation into an envelope, wrote Jack’s name and address on the front and added it to the pile, ready to take to the post office. By the next morning, it would be on the doormat in the entrance hall of his flat. Someone would pick up the post and put it all on the hall table. He would pick it up. Would he come?

The night of the opening party was bright, cold and crisp. Adele estimated that over a hundred people would be coming. It didn’t unsettle her. She was a great hostess, and very organised. What could go wrong?

She and Mrs Morris spent the week preparing. The kitchen was a fug of baking smells. They made sausage rolls and vol au vents and cheese straws and mince pies. Adele concocted a brandy-based fruit punch. William tried it and pronounced it like rocket fuel.

‘If I get the guests drunk,’ she smiled, ‘they might empty their pockets.’

She polished their two silver punch bowls and borrowed extra glasses from the local hotel. And then she set about decorating the gallery. She wanted to create something memorable that people would come back to. She spent an afternoon in the woods with the boys, gathering holly and greenery.

The afternoon of the party, she made a final inspection.

The banisters, the fireplaces and the larger paintings were all swathed in holly wreaths tied with festive red ribbon. Everything was lit by candles. Silver trays laden with glasses were waiting to be being passed around by the two waitresses she had hired. She had bought a Christmas tree to put by the fireplace, crammed with sparkling baubles that reflected the light, and underneath were piles and piles of presents. Not real presents, but books from the house that she had wrapped in gaily coloured paper. She had bought an LP by Johnny Mathis to put on the record player – Christmas songs that she would play just loud enough to be atmospheric but not intrusive.

Everything was perfect. She had bought a fitted off-the-shoulder black dress with diamante buttons. Her hair had been set the day before – it had grown a little, and the hairdresser had cut her a fringe and backcombed the rest into a bouffant style that made her look a little like Jackie Onassis.

William came behind her to fix the rope of pearls she had chosen to wear at her neck. When it was done up, she looked in the mirror. She felt pleased with how she looked. William dropped a kiss on her neck.

‘I’m very proud of you,’ he told her again.

The party was a roaring success. Even more people than she had invited seemed to have come. Luckily Mrs Morris had insisted on cooking double the quantities Adele had estimated she would need. Mrs Morris lived in horror of food running out. Several people bought pictures. Adele felt a rush of pleasure and excitement. She was going to be a success. The gallery was going to be a success.

And then she saw Jack on the other side of the room. She felt her heart quicken just slightly, but it wasn’t the powerful reaction she used to have on seeing him. She felt quite calm, and ready to speak to him. She would be gracious and serene.

Then she saw that he had someone with him. It was Rosamund. It had to be. She was ravishing, of course. Dark hair cut quite short, and creamy skin, and navy-blue eyes – an unusual colour combination that made her stand out from the crowd. She wore a red dress that suited her perfectly, and in her ears were a pair of sapphires.

The calmness Adele had felt dissolved into panic. The roaring fire made the room too hot and she’d had two glasses of punch. Jack was leading Rosamund over to her. She had no idea what to say or what to do.

Jack, of course, was as suave as ever.

‘My dear, merry Christmas. And congratulations. This is a triumph.’

Adele managed to murmur a thank you, just as Jack drew his wife forward.

‘Darling,’ said Jack. ‘This is Adele Russell. Adele, this is my wife, Rosamund.’

Rosamund was poised, perfect, polished. She took Adele’s hand and held it for a fraction longer than was necessary whilst meeting her eyes, just to assert her superiority over her. Adele felt like an ogress next to her. The black cocktail frock that had seemed so right earlier made her feel matronly and outmoded.

William came forward and Adele found herself having to make hasty introductions.

‘What a clever wife you have,’ said Jack. ‘I’ve no doubt this gallery is going to be a huge success. She has a great eye.’

‘Well, she’s worked her socks off,’ said William in reply. ‘She deserves any success she does get.’

Adele was furious. They were talking about her as if she wasn’t there. Rosamund gave her a smile. She had no idea if it was a gesture of solidarity or a smirk of superiority. Rosamund was a blank page. A beautiful blank page.

‘Excuse me,’ she managed with a modicum of grace. ‘I must go and circulate.’

Adele hid herself away in the cloakroom for five minutes while she gathered herself. How on earth had she imagined that she could cope with having her erstwhile lover in the same room as her husband? Hearing them chuckling about her accomplishments had been excruciating. And she had never in a million years thought Jack would bring Rosamund. But of course he had. It was Christmas. Party time. Why wouldn’t he? Her palms were wet with anxiety. How idiotic she was. She’d brought it on herself by sending the invitation, foolishly and recklessly.

She came out of the cloakroom and took a deep breath, ready to go and mingle with her guests once more. People were showing no signs of leaving. The noise level had gone up a few decibels. The heat had risen.

When she felt a finger on the back of her neck, she thought she was going to faint.

‘I’ve missed you.’

She could smell Zizonia. His finger moved in a small circle, massaging her gently. With each turn, she became weaker and weaker.

‘Stop,’ she told him. She didn’t want him to, of course.

He was right behind her. She could feel the heat of his body as he spoke into her ear.

‘I made a terrible mistake,’ he said. ‘I didn’t realise how much you meant. I need you, Adele.’

Oh God. The very words she had longed to hear all the time they had been together. When he had insisted on tormenting her.

‘I don’t want anyone else,’ he went on. ‘I want you. You mean the world to me.’

She’d dreamt of him saying this so many times.

‘It’s too late, Jack,’ she said. ‘It’s over. I can’t go back. I’m happy now.’

‘You’re not,’ he said. And he was right. She could fool herself she was content, but nothing William said could match the thrill of the words Jack was whispering in her ear. Or the feelings that his hands on her waist awoke.