Encounters (8 page)

She could feel him looking at her; imagine the thoughtful puzzlement with which he was watching. And she knew she would not be fooling him for an instant. She looked up at last and met his gaze, smiling. ‘You’ll have to do without me, Duncan. I think it’s best.’ She could not fight a sick enemy, one she had never seen. Another flesh and blood woman, yes, with nails bared and teeth set, but not this pale consumptive image, with her overtones of tragedy.

Duncan stood up and came round the table. ‘Annette …’

‘No, please. Don’t say anything. Make my apologies to Paula. Perhaps I’ll come back after …’

After what? Christmas? His marriage? His birthday? After it stopped hurting?

In the afternoon she packed slowly not waiting to read the Sunday papers with him by the fire, taking from the kitchen a couple of carrier bags to put all the extras in. The things which she had grown used to leaving behind week after week. Her records, her boots, a couple of books, the heavy Aran sweater she never wore in town. She piled them by the front door and took the old duffle coat off the hook. That, too, must go back. When she looked round he was standing in the doorway watching her.

‘My mother did this.’

‘No, Duncan. I always knew it wouldn’t last. I just didn’t know how long I’d got.’

He put his hands on her shoulders and drew her to him. ‘Supposing I told you I’d change. I’ve grown so fond of you, Annette. I don’t know that I can live without you. Not now.’

She felt her throat constrict. ‘You must,’ she whispered.

He took her to the train at last and found her a corner seat with her bags, then he jumped off as the train was already moving – no time for any goodbyes. But there was no one sitting opposite her to shame her into holding back her tears and she felt them run scalding down her cheeks as she turned her face to the window and saw the countryside gathering speed until it blurred and faded behind the dirty glass.

On Friday, in case he came, she rang the office and told them she had a migraine. The following week she went in as usual, thinking she felt more able to cope, but she did not have to. He did not appear.

She did not know whether he came up to see Kevin Spiggs again. She suspected he had never really needed to anyway, after that first time. He had come only to see her.

It was three months before she heard from him again. He phoned her at the office. ‘How are you, Annette?’

Her heart, cured, distracted, no longer his, turned upside down at the sound of his voice.

‘I’m fine. How are you?’

She thought she managed to sound casual. She fixed her mind determinedly on Robert, the new man in her life, who would be taking her out later that evening; Robert who had three times asked her to marry him.

‘Can I take you out to lunch tomorrow?’ Duncan sounded uncomfortable and quite suddenly she forgot her own unhappiness in a wave of sympathy for him.

‘That would be nice. But it will have to be fairly brief I’m afraid. We’re very busy at the office at the moment.’

‘Fine. I’ll pick you up around 12.30.’

She got up an hour early the next day to dress with special care and put on some make up, and one look at his face told her that there had been no point. His love for her, if that was what it had been, had gone. Rising from her desk she picked up her bag and followed him out into the street.

‘I wanted to tell you myself that I’m getting married.’ He said it at once, before they had even ordered.

‘I’m glad for you.’

She realized as she said it that she meant it. For herself she was desolate, but the shining happiness she had seen on his face was so special she could not grudge him. Not that. That was what love did to a man, or a woman. ‘To Celia, I take it?’

He nodded and grinned. ‘So you did know. Afterwards I was so angry with myself. I thought perhaps I’d misled you. I couldn’t have borne it if I’d hurt you, Annette.’ His hand was on hers on the table. ‘You’re very special to me, you know. You always will be.’

‘And you to me, Duncan.’ She drew her hand away gently. Had he really never guessed how much she loved him? Had he really believed they were both just passing the time? She looked up at his face and then sadly she looked away.

They saw each other twice more after that. Once by accident in the foyer of the office building and once for coffee in the lunch hour two weeks before his wedding. He had a brown paper parcel under his arm.

‘This is for you. From Celia and me. A wedding present for you.’

It was an exquisite sweater in soft chocolate-coloured wool.

She did not tell him she had given Robert back his ring. If you did not love someone with the all-consuming joy with which Duncan loved his Celia, there could be no future. She was sure of that.

She had not heard from Duncan again for two years. Then had come the letter asking her to be godmother to his first child.

At first she was angry; then she cried. Then she laughed, and after writing two indignant letters of refusal tore them up and rang the farm. Duncan answered.

‘Are you serious?’ she asked.

‘Perfectly. I want my daughter to grow up with humour and understanding. Who better to teach it to her than you?’

Was that really the way she had reacted?

‘What happened to Robert?’ he asked after a pause.

‘No sense of humour and no understanding!’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘So am I.’

Behind the half drawn curtains the christening party was in full swing. But in the garden it was very quiet. Rick was watching her.

‘You’re telling the story against yourself,’ he said gently. ‘I think Duncan was a bastard.’

She shook her head. ‘When you think about it, he displayed all the virtues. It just happens they were not directed at me.’ She shivered suddenly. ‘Shall we go back inside. I expect they’re going to cut the cake or whatever they do at christenings. Did you go to their wedding?’

He shook his head, ‘Did you?’

‘I wasn’t asked.’

Suddenly Rick laughed. ‘Do you know who I am?’

‘No. Should I?’

‘I’m the man who asked Celia to marry him in Switzerland. And she nearly said yes. The only reason she didn’t was this mysterious man she’d left in England who, she said, would wait for her no matter what. I told her she was mad.’ He took Annette’s hand and she found herself enjoying his warm grasp. ‘So we’re in the same boat, you and I. Rejected lovers.’

He grinned, looking anything but sad about it and suddenly she found herself laughing with him. ‘You mean if I’d stayed with Duncan and fought, you’d have married Celia? She wouldn’t have been left alone to fade away after all?’

That’s right.’

Annette was speechless for a moment. ‘But she does love Duncan?’ she asked hesitantly, after a long pause.

‘Oh yes, she loves him again now.’

‘And are you still sorry you lost her?’ She looked at him squarely. He was staring up the steps towards the house, his expression enigmatic, his eyes narrowed in the dusk.

Slowly he shook his head. ‘Not in the least. They deserve each other. After all, theirs is the classic love story. The happy ending against all odds.’ He was still holding her hand as he led the way back into the house.

‘And we were the odds?’

‘I’d say so, wouldn’t you?’ He turned and winked at her as they slipped into the crowded room. Surreptitiously she looked at Duncan. He had grown stouter in the last two years and his hair was already thinning slightly. Perhaps, after all, she had not been as much in love with him as she had thought. She glanced up at Rick and found he was watching her.

‘Do you think being godparents was the consolation prize?’ she asked solemnly.

‘It is often the custom, I believe.’ He took two glasses of champagne from a tray and handed her one. ‘Let’s drink to Natasha Anne who introduced us!’

O
f course it had to be a bouquet of flowers for St Valentine’s Day. I chose them carefully, one by one, in the florist. Not less than 50p a bloom. She had always liked pink so those were the ones I selected. ‘Would you like them gift-wrapped, Sir?’ the girl in the shop asked, simpering, but I shook my head. That aspect of things I would deal with myself.

When I had finished with them I must admit they looked good. I tied an enormous bow of red satin ribbon round the bottom and stood back to admire the finished article. There was no way of seeing the little glass bottle deep amongst the glossy leaves until the bouquet was unwrapped. The bottle said Dior. I tied it in with thread to make sure it was secure; I didn’t want it breaking and spoiling my surprise.

I knew she wouldn’t be able to resist opening it and smelling it to make sure. And that, I confidently expected, would be the last inquisitive thing the lady ever did. It had after all been her nosiness which led to her finding out about me and to her lucrative career, at my expense, in blackmail. It’s strange how some women take to that particular hobby.

I knew delivering the flowers would be a problem and I still hadn’t decided at breakfast exactly how to do it. Obviously I couldn’t do it myself. One sight of me and she would suspect something.

Carefully I loaded the flowers into my car, propping them on the seat beside me and drove to The Avenue, which was just two streets away from her place. Then, pulling in to the side of the road, I sat and thought.

It was so easy of course, in the end. Two little boys came down the road, neat in identical grey shorts and blazer.

‘Hey fellas!’ I wound down the window. They stopped and looked at me suspiciously. I winked. ‘Want to earn yourselves a pound on the way to school?’ They looked at each other and hesitated. ‘Each,’ I added; that’s inflation for you! ‘Listen; it’s not difficult.’ I beckoned them close and lowered my voice conspiratorially. ‘It’s St Valentine’s Day, right?’ One of them smirked, and the other raised an eyebrow with horribly adult cynicism. I ignored it. ‘I want you to take these flowers round the corner and give them to a lady. That’s all. No problem?’

No problem. They took the flowers, listened politely to my instructions and to my threats of what would happen if they dumped the flowers and ran, and exchanged giggling glances when I gave them the address. Then they pocketed their money.

I sat back and watched them round the corner. They were just about young enough, I reckoned, to do as I asked with no lip. When they were out of sight I drove as fast as I could go to the office.

It was a pretty ordinary sort of day really, considering. I wondered when I would hear what had happened. I doubted if it would be on the evening news. It depended when that stuffy husband of hers came home and found her. I caught myself smiling quietly. After what she had done to me, the blackmailing interfering beautiful bitch, she deserved everything she was going to get. I glanced at my watch. Perhaps it was already over.

There was a lot of work to get through that day, so I ordered a sandwich lunch. When the phone rang I had just reached for my can of beer.

The strange thing was I didn’t recognize her voice at first. Then she said, ‘Thank you for the flowers, David.’ Then I knew. She went on, sarcastically I thought, ‘It was such a touching thought. Really the last thing I expected from you. You obviously chose them with such care.’

‘What flowers?’ The sweat stood out on my forehead suddenly. I had nearly been caught out and said, ‘I’m glad you like them’, or something equally fatuous.

‘Oh come now,’ her voice purred slightly. ‘You don’t have to pretend with me, David. Only you would send such a perfect bouquet. Your taste was always impeccable.

I stuttered slightly before regaining my cool. ‘I’m glad someone still sends you flowers, love. Not me though, I’m afraid. Didn’t they send a note with them or something?’

‘No; no note.’ She paused. ‘It was so sweet, too, to put a bottle of scent in, David. You shouldn’t have. Really. And Dior as well. You know, that’s been my favourite perfume since we first met all those years ago.’

My hand was shaking a little as it held the receiver. ‘Have you sniffed it to make sure?’ I tried to laugh. ‘You can’t always believe the label, you know.’

‘Oh indeed you can’t, David.’ She chuckled, and I could feel the small hairs on the back of my neck standing up at the sound. ‘I’m afraid I didn’t get the chance to smell your little gift, my dear. You see I’m afraid I dropped it. By mistake of course; out of the kitchen window actually. You’d never believe how concentrated they make perfume nowadays, David. It must have cost you a fortune. Do you know, it burned a hole right through the concrete. Imagine what it might have done to my poor nose.’

‘Imagine!’ I agreed sourly. The cunning female had seen through everything.

‘What made you think it was from me, my love?’ I asked casually. ‘You know I can’t afford to spend that kind of money on you. Not any more. You’ve milked me dry.’

She laughed, a beautiful tinkling sound, as though she were really happy. ‘You had a spot of bad luck there, David. You see one of the little boys you bribed was my son. He’d been spending the night with a friend in The Avenue. You never met him before, did you? It just happens that they’re both very keen on cars. You see you’re the only person we know, dear, with a Bentley Continental with your initials on the number plate. Really, you should have come by taxi!’

I reached for my beer and swallowed the lot down fast.

‘I don’t think I will admit to anything,’ I muttered. ‘It might spoil the whole romantic illusion.’

‘It would rather, dear.’ I could actually hear her smiling. ‘The trouble is, David,’ she went on. ‘I felt I had to tell my husband that you’ve started sending me flowers and I’m afraid he’s immensely angry. You see he’s a very jealous man. And he thinks you’re in love with me.’

‘More fool him,’ I couldn’t resist saying, but she went on as if I hadn’t spoken.

‘He really took it very badly, David. In fact he’s on his way over now. I thought, for old times’ sake I’d warn you,’ and she hung up on me without so mach as saying goodbye.

I sat gazing at the empty beer can for a few minutes, wondering. She couldn’t be serious. Could she?

I don’t quite know how he got past my secretary, but he arrived quite unannounced. He stood in front of my desk for a long minute, then he smiled.

‘No other man woos my wife with flowers,’ he said very solemnly.

‘Dead right,’ I was about to say, ‘they don’t,’ but he forestalled me. He took a revolver out of his pocket and hooked his finger over the trigger. He never gave me any time to explain.

But I won in the end: now I haunt them both.