Aphrodite's Workshop for Reluctant Lovers (30 page)

‘Very well, thank you.'

‘Last night was wonderful.' He had lowered his voice and I could hear his breath against the receiver.

I moved it a fraction from my ear. Then I realised that he was waiting for a reply. Thinking that an ‘It was fine' most probably wasn't the reply he was after, I settled for an indistinct mumble that could be thought of as agreement.

‘Are you free this evening?'

‘I'm not, actually.' There were at least three TV programmes on that I wanted to watch.

‘How about Sunday lunch? We could drive out of London. There's this great little pub I know just this side of Oxford.'

The forecast was good. I wouldn't have to cook.

‘That would be lovely,' I told him.

In the weeks that followed it was tempting to play along with the spring sunshine and the chirruping birds and act like a woman in love. We made a nice couple. We walked hand in hand, some of the time. We laughed at each other's jokes. We enjoyed some of the same films and we liked a lot of the same kind of food. So what about the irritation that sat at the base of my chest? It threatened to spill over when he didn't wring out the dishcloth and left it sopping wet in the sink, or when he made a joke with a waiter and then went on trying to explain even though the man clearly didn't understand him. And today it had made me smack
his hand away when he reached round from behind and pulled me close as I was standing by the kitchen table reading the paper.

‘What's wrong with you?' he complained. ‘You're always grumpy these days. I thought we were having a good thing here.'

I turned round and smiled and apologised.

‘I'm just worried about work, that's all.'

‘You're always worried about work.'

‘I know. I'm sorry. Let's go out and eat.'

‘You're not regretting us, are you?'

‘Of course not. It's really good being relaxed in a relationship for once. To be two independent adults who enjoy spending time together without the dramas and the panting and the sighing and the losing weight and sleep. Anyway, shall I call and book a table?'

‘Let's go to Paris,' Lance said.

‘Paris?'

He laughed and took my hands.

‘You know Paris? The city. The capital of France.'

‘Maybe not Paris,' I said.

‘So what about Rome?'

I thought of jasmine-scented nights and walks along the shady side of the street. I thought of pasta and red wine and late afternoons in bed and drives out to the ruins of Hadrian's Villa. For some reason I wanted to cry.

‘Not Rome,' I said.

He looked surprised but he didn't question me.

‘New York?'

‘Amsterdam,' I said. I've never been to Amsterdam.'

‘OK. But it's not the most romantic place, you know.'

I did know.

The next morning I woke to a soft caress with a rough finger on my cheek. I opened my eyes and saw Lance smiling down at me, a tray with coffee and croissants balanced on his other hand.

‘Good morning, darling,' he said as I sat up, blinking and wondering what on earth I looked like in the unforgiving light. He placed the tray on my knees and perched down next to me. ‘I used to love my place but lately I don't want to be there at all.' He ruffled my hair. ‘I wonder why that is?'

‘But your place is lovely,' I said. ‘Really, really lovely.'

‘Mmm.' He bent down and kissed me. ‘But you're not there.'

I looked at the clock on the bedside table.

‘Oh look, it's almost eight. You'll be late for work.'

He checked his watch and got to his feet slowly, as if he were being peeled away.

‘I don't want to go,' he said, pouting, reminding me of Dominic. ‘And I won't see you tonight either – I've got that work thing.'

I sat up straighter against the pillows.

‘I know, such a bore. Still, I'll see you tomorrow.'

Mentally I was mapping out my morning. Breakfast and the papers. A fast half-hour walk to clear my head and then work. Later in the day, and if work had gone well, I might see if Matilda or Maggie was free to go and see a film. I hadn't seen either of them much since I had started meeting Lance and I missed them.

He leant down and kissed me one more time. He was a good kisser.

‘I'll get out of the dinner. Yup, that's what I'll do. Wasn't there that Jane Austen film you wanted to see?'

‘Yes, but …'

He put his finger on my lips.

‘No buts, I want to be with you.'

‘No.'

Lance had been on his way to the door but now he stopped and turned round.

‘I thought you wanted to see it.'

‘I do.'

He frowned.

‘So what's the problem?'

‘I want to see it with Matilda,' I said, sounding, I realised, like a truculent five-year-old.

‘Oh.'

‘You're going to be really late,' I said.

‘I'm fine,' he snapped. ‘Why don't you want to see it with me? Aren't we meant to be doing these things together?'

‘Of course. Sometimes.'

He walked back to the bed and sat down. He took my hands, which I had made into claws, in his.

‘What's the matter?' he asked. ‘You seem out of sorts.'

I pulled the claws from his grasp.

‘I'm not.'

‘Call me a romantic old fool,' he said, smiling now, twinkling, in fact. ‘But I enjoy spending time with you. It's what lovers do, remember?'

I thought about it.

‘Yes, it is,' I said.

‘Good.' Once again he got to his feet and made for the door. ‘I'll see you about six then.'

‘No.'

‘What do you mean?'

‘Lance,' I said, ‘I don't think we should see each other again.'

I listened to the front door banging shut and with a sigh of relief I lay back against the pillows.

It's nice, being just us
, Coco said.

It is
, I agreed.

MOTHER IS BEING TOTALLY weird. She didn't even mind when Rebecca went to bed with that other bloke. Which suited me in a way because it got me off the hook for a bit. But, and this is a
big
but, I think the reason she's not pissed off is because she's decided to have John Sterling for herself. I know, I know, it's my fault. I'm the one who messed up. But she is Aphrodite. She should be able to rise above it. But no, she's wafting around with this goofy smile last seen when she was hanging out with Adonis and we all know how
that
ended. So it looks like we've well and truly blown it, which really depresses me.

Then just as I think it's all over and that we've lost the bet with Athene I get some good news. Rebecca Finch has dumped the Lance guy. He's pretty sore but he's the type that heals fast so I don't anticipate any real problems there.

So I go and find Mother to try and make her see sense. I mean someone has to be mature around here.

‘Rebecca Finch has dumped him. So we're back to plan A, right?'

But she turns misty eyes on me and says, ‘Oh Lance will do. I'll make sure they're in the same place one more time and then you get her and everything will be fine.'

‘No.' I slam down my bag of arrows on the marble. ‘We've been through all this. You said it yourself. The wager is about something else. We were going to get these two specific guys together and it would last and we would show everyone the power of love. That was the deal. I mean
come on
, this is about us getting back some respect.' And about me getting my own seat at the table. But I don't say that because I don't think she really cares about that bit. ‘And it's not like you have a future with John Sterling. He's a mortal. You know the rules. I seriously can't believe that you're prepared to throw it all away for a fling. I can't believe you're that irresponsible.'

Mother waves her hand in a dismissive kind of way. She doesn't care. She is in
lurve
.

‘And isn't that just typical of this place,' she says instead. ‘Gods can love a mortal, no problem at all, but when it's a goddess then it's against the rules,
verboten
. And whose rules are they?
His
, of course.' She gesticulates towards the great hall.

Has she no fear? I look around me but luckily there's no one else there.

‘You're meant to turn Rebecca back into a worshipful mortal, remember? Get her back to writing those lame books.'

‘Maybe she will now she's in love.'

‘But she isn't.'

‘Then shoot her when she's with Lance Cooper, I've told you already.'

‘No! It's not enough. Not this time. This time it's meant to be different. You're the one who said it. And you were right. They're just not suited. He just pretends to like the same stuff as her.'

‘They all do that.'

‘Yes, and that's one of the problems we're always facing. And it goes deeper than that. They don't get each other's souls. So it would be short-term, again, and she'll end up even more bitter and twisted than she is now. Just think what that'll do to our credibility.'

‘Credibility-senility: it's just a wager.'

‘Just a wager!'

I despair, really I do. It's like we've reached the end worse off than when we started. Mother will have zero respect, and me? Well, I'll be on my own. I had set my heart on moving up here. I thought Mother quite liked the idea too. She's never said as much but she's not the demonstrative type, well, not with me anyway. But it seems she really doesn't give a damn. She doesn't give a damn because she's got her sights on John stupid Sterling. I knew it, I knew there'd be trouble the first time I clamped eyes on him.

And guess who has been listening after all, hovering behind a pillar? You've got it, Athene. Now she steps out of the shadow with this sickly smile; it's so sweet I reckon it'll stick to her teeth.

‘We should have known, shouldn't we?' she says, her voice all soft. ‘We should have known something like this would happen. But we shouldn't blame you, Aphrodite dear. It's in your nature, after all. Just like it's in my nature to be wise.' The smile drops like there's weights attached to the corners of her mouth. ‘So there we are. I won.' And she turns and glides off. I swear to you even her behind looks triumphant.

‘Bollocks you did,' I yell. ‘Mother and I haven't finished yet.'

JOHN WAS SHOPPING LATE at his local Sainsbury's, trying to find the various things his daughter liked to eat. Her favourites changed from one visit to another so he had checked with her over the phone before he went off.

‘Spinach and ricotta ravioli,' she had told him. ‘And pomegranate jelly. And Fizzy Fish.'

As he was searching in vain for pomegranate jelly there was a light tap on his shoulder and he turned round to find Angie Bliss in a floaty white dress, a black beret pushed down on her Titian locks. She was smiling at him.

‘Fancy seeing you here,' she said.

‘I work just round the corner,' he pointed out. Then he asked her about the jelly and she said she didn't have the faintest idea but wouldn't this do? She pointed at a packet of raspberry jelly. John said probably not, but he got some anyway.

They ended up having a cup of coffee together in a cafe down the road.

It was hard not to stare at Angie Bliss. Everyone did: men, women and children. Only dogs kept their distance. John had noticed that she was attractive before, of course, but away from the formal setting of her consulting rooms she was more than that, she was beautiful. Beautiful in a curiously old-fashioned way, with her soft curvy body and wide, somewhat flat face.

As he stood at the counter waiting for their second coffees, full milk latte with a caramel shot for her, black for him, he asked himself if it were possible that she was hitting on him. He told himself not to be ridiculous. He, with his life centred round the law and his child, and added to that his OCD, was hardly a catch. He must seem tediously dull to her. Thinking about it, he probably was quite dull. Then again, what was so wrong with that? In the past few months of living on his own with no relationship to speak of and therefore no one to disappoint but himself, being him – a little dull, no doubt, not quite human possibly, obsessive and workaholic undoubtedly – did not seem like such a big problem.

‘You're looking happy.' Angie Bliss said as he sat down.

His smile grew wider.

‘I was thinking that our sessions must be yielding results. I'm feeling more relaxed than I've felt for years.'

‘Well, isn't that marvellous.' Her voice was soft as she leant in towards him. ‘I'm so glad that I've been of help. After all, it's what I live for, helping others. It's my mission to make the world a better place.'

John shifted backwards in his chair. Was she actually saying those things? She sounded like a contestant in some third-rate beauty contest. She looked at him as if she was expecting a reply.

‘That's … that's very laudable,' he tried.

‘Laudable,' She giggled, her small white hand touching his sleeve. ‘What a sweet word.'

‘Is it? Well, that's good.' Is it? Well, that's good. He sounded like a complete idiot.

Angie Bliss did not seem to mind, though, as she gazed at him with eyes that were Irish blue and sparkling.

Surely she wouldn't risk her career by attempting a relationship with a patient? Whatever he might think about her methods it was clear that she was dedicated to her career. He was just misinterpreting her; easy to do seeing as she had such a different approach to … well, to everything really. Usually he found women like that interesting. Angie Bliss was more odd than interesting, though. Away from the purposeful exchanges of the consulting room she was quite difficult to talk to. He himself was no good at small talk. He needed a proper topic to warm up with, something specific.