Lying Together (3 page)

I knew Radnor's knock immediately. Short and imperative. And then his pale face at the window, pressed icily against the glass. My heart was pounding, but I had to let him in. I'd got my story ready, but wasn't sure how good I'd be at lying to him. He hardly acknowledged Evie, just edged me into the kitchen, holding me by the top of my arms, demanding to know where I'd been: ‘I've looked everywhere for you, Anne. I've been at my wit's end.'

I didn't trust myself to look him in the eye. ‘Something came up. I'll tell you later. I can't talk now.' I indicated Evie, who was sitting on the sofa in a red bustier and five-inch heels.

He threw a short, disapproving look in her direction. ‘Tonight, then. Seven fifteen. I'll collect you.' He turned and left. He'd been in the house about thirty seconds.

‘Wow, who's that?' Evie stared after him, like men usually stare after women. I should have known then, I suppose, that things might take an unexpected turn. But I thought Radnor was hardly her type.

‘That's Radnor,' I said, carefully fitting the lid back on the cake box.

‘He's the bastard in question, then?' She raised her eyes to me, half an éclair poised in her hand.

‘Good grief, no. No. Just a friend. Someone I see at lectures.'

‘Really?' She made big eyes. ‘Maybe he likes you more than you think. He was standing very close.' She laughed. ‘
Kissing
close, in fact.'

‘Don't be daft.' I put the cake box back on the table.

‘Daft? I beg your pardon, Annie, but if there's one area that Evie Richards is expert in, it's the body language of men. And that man's is perfectly
smouldering
.' She shivered appreciatively.

The shiver ran through me too, but for different reasons. ‘Not my cup of tea,' I said airily. ‘He's altogether too intense.'

She perked up. ‘You mean brainy?'

‘That too. He'll be a professor before he's forty. He's got it all planned.'

She licked her lips dreamily, savouring the last hint of cream from the cakes. ‘I'd like to date a really clever man for once. Someone to look up to.'

‘You're supposed to be off sex, remember?'

‘I can still look. That won't hurt. After all, he's not
married
, is he? Maybe my luck will change.'

‘You'll have to tell him,' I say when we're on to the zabaglione. (Or rather, when I am; Evie's not eating pudding, and she's only toyed with the pasta.)

‘I can't. I'm just too scared.'

‘But Evie, what's the alternative? He's going to smell a rat if you won't have those tests …'

She gives me a beatific smile. ‘There is a way out. It's perfect. You can tell him, Annie dear.'

‘Me?' She has no idea how horrifying that is. I feel the sweat along my back. ‘What good would that do, for God's sake? It won't matter who tells him, it's –'

‘He'll listen to you. You're a serious person. You'll be able to put it in the right way.' Her faith in me is pathetic. And misplaced. Eight years on, she still thinks Radnor and I are some sort of intellectual chums. She doesn't notice we never talk to each other.

‘There
is
no right way, Evie. And you'll do it just as well as me. Just don't go into detail. Fib if you have to. After all, he can't exactly look at your medical notes to check.'

‘He'll get it out of me. You don't know what he's like with his questions. I'll just break down and tell him everything. Then he'll leave me. Please, Annie.
Please.
'

I know why men fall for her; that sumptuous beauty, that wide soft mouth; she's irresistible. But I can't help her; I mustn't.

I say it's out of the question.

The traffic's bad on the Bristol Road, and Clive's out by the time I get back. Eileen's on reception downstairs, Luke's off taking the second lot of replacement glass shades round to Waterside Court, and I've got the upstairs office to myself. I try to get on with the VAT, but I can't concentrate. I look at the phone. I pick it up. I put it down again. I try translating the technical specifications of the latest stuff from Milan. Clive's left the diagrams on my desk with a note –
You're a scientist, work this out.
I'm not and I can't. I look at the phone again. Suddenly my fingers are tapping out the numbers like old friends. I'm not breathing as I count the rings. He won't be there, I'm sure. He'll have changed his extension, moved up in the world. It rings a long time. I imagine it ringing away in some dusty office, some unoccupied Portakabin. I'm just going to put the receiver down when he answers: ‘Dr Messiter.'

I force my voice, brightly. ‘Hello, Radnor. It's Anne.'

Long silence. If I didn't know him I'd think the line had gone dead, but I know he's there. I try upbeat, assured: ‘Look, I really need to see you.'

Another long silence. ‘I can't imagine why.'

‘It's about Evie.' I rush it out.

Another pause. ‘
Evie
? Why?'

‘Well, it's something she wants you to know.'

‘Why can't she tell me herself?'

‘That's the problem.'

‘It sounds highly dubious.' He's off-hand, irritable. ‘I'm not sure –'

‘Are you busy now?'

‘Well, I've got –'

‘Like this minute?' I know I have to pressure him. I have to do it today before my courage drains away.

‘I see.
That
important. I'm almost curious. Well, Anne, you'll have to come to
me.
I'm very busy.'

‘Give me half an hour.'

‘Very well.' I tell Eileen to hold the fort, get back in the car. It's hot and I'm almost out of petrol, but I'll have to risk it. Radnor hates people to be late. I look in the mirror, comb my hair and take a deep breath. I drive off, feeling a bit like Thelma or Louise, taking a flying leap over the precipice.

Afterwards, I ring Marsha. I have to dampen her need to meddle, stop her saying something silly to Evie at this stage. ‘I've had a word with Radnor,' I tell her. ‘Over the baby business.'

‘My God, Anne! Talk about biting the bullet! What did he say?'

‘He was pretty furious –'

‘Oh God.'

‘Furious with
me,
actually.'

‘With
you
?' Marsha is shrieking down the phone. ‘That's so totally unfair!'

‘A case of shoot the messenger, I suppose.'

Marsha's excited voice goes up an octave. ‘This guy gets crazier by the day! But are you saying Evie's really off the hook?'

‘Well, he seems to accept that it's not her fault.'

‘Clever girl! You've managed to deflect his anger onto you. I am
so
impressed.' I can feel Marsha's deep forensic interest vibrating the phone line. ‘How exactly did you do it?'

‘Just one of my hidden skills.'

‘Anne, I need detail! It sounds like you've worked a miracle.'

‘I just happen to know a few of Radnor's weaknesses.' I twiddle with a free ballpoint Clive's picked up from somewhere – a horrible green and orange with a white button and ‘Daley's Garage' written in black. I thought Clive was supposed to have taste. I throw it in the bin.

‘Ah, I thought so. You and Radnor did more than share the same bit of space, then?' Marsha never forgets a conversation, sod her. ‘Which exact “weakness” did you exploit?'

‘No comment.'

‘Anne, you're so secretive! I could kill you.'

‘Thanks. I appreciate the negative energy.' Marsha believes in all that stuff, her flat's been Feng Shui'd out of existence.

‘Oh, I didn't mean that literally! It's just that for Evie's sake … you know how she relies on me. I need to have accurate information –'

‘Well, let's just say I called on some shared experience.'

‘Well, thank God you did. I guess Evie's over the moon.'

‘I haven't got hold of her yet. For once she seems to be out earning some money. Unless she's gone home with a hangover, which wouldn't surprise me the state she was in at lunchtime. I've left her a message. Basically he wants her to carry on as usual. Not talk about it. Not mention it.'

‘What?' Marsha's roar nearly deafens me. ‘That Radnor is really
weird
.'

‘You're in a funny mood tonight.' Steve watches me over the dining table. He's come home early, done his famous Chicken Surprise, using up all the pans and leaving his toolbox on the worktop. He feels he's owed some sort of thanks and I haven't managed it. I feel a little queasy. Reaction, probably. I go on eating, avoid his eyes, wonder whether I should say anything. Eventually, and in a casual way between bites of bread, I mention that I'm pleased because I think I've sorted things out for Evie.

‘What? This thing that's been going on for weeks? Her and Radnor?' Steve picks up a chicken bone, savages it with his teeth. Then a thought strikes him and he looks up. ‘You've been to see him, haven't you?'

I should have known he'd guess; he's got antennae a mile long where Radnor is concerned. ‘Well?' He sits there, holding the chicken bone, brow furrowed.

‘Well what?'

‘Well,
did
you?'

‘Ten out of ten. This chicken's terrific, by the way. Good thing I like garlic.'

‘Bugger the garlic. Are you completely mad?'

‘What d'you mean?'

‘You know what I mean.'

‘Not really. And anyway, I don't want a big scene about this. I was only getting him to see sense.'

‘And?'

‘And I did.'

‘And?'

‘And that's it.'

‘That's it? I thought women liked to
share
things. Details. So we men are always being told.'

‘Well, I'm just bucking the trend. Especially when you're so paranoid about everything to do with Radnor.'

‘I'm not paranoid. It's just that every time you talk about him – or even think about him – you get upset.'

‘Rubbish.' I concentrate on the chicken breast, cut it up very small.

‘Why do you always deny it?'

‘Because you always exaggerate. He's in the past.'

‘Oh yes?'

‘Okay, then. Tell me. Am I upset now?' I look him full in the face. Surely even Steve can't tell how fast my heart is beating.

‘Don't pretend with me. I can practically
see
his face behind your eyes. Just like last night. And the night before. In fact, I'm fucking sick of being in bed with him.'

‘Now you're being stupid.'

‘Stupid. Thanks, Anne. Yes, that's my level. I'm not Doctor Professor bloody Radnor, M.A. Ph.D., honorary this, prize-winning that. I just don't match up, do I?'

‘What's so great about a couple of degrees? When he's such a psycho underneath? You're miles better than him in every way. Why don't you believe it?'

‘Why don't you?' He looks at me fiercely.

I try evasive action. ‘Why does it matter so much anyway? What d'you think he did – seduce me on top of his desk?'

‘I wouldn't put it past him.'

‘Or me, apparently.' I get up, remove the plates, move out of his sight line.

‘Okay, I didn't mean that. Sorry.' Steve grabs for my hand as I pass. ‘It's just the way he goes around looking so stiff-necked and pleased with himself. I just want to punch him in the face.'

‘You don't need to prove anything to me, Steve.'

‘So you keep saying. But then you go and do something that makes me feel I have to –'

‘I know, I know. I'm sorry. But Evie was so desperate.'

‘You care more about her than about me, then.'

‘Please don't put it like that, Steve. It wasn't a choice.'

I didn't do it just for Evie. No one's
that
altruistic. But I didn't mean to upset Steve, either. I don't really know what I had in mind when I made that phone call. Up till then, I'd managed to avoid a face-to-face with Radnor. It hadn't been difficult; he's never been a social animal – and the rest of us had got used to Evie arriving everywhere without him, breezing in with a ‘Hi, gang!' and a raft of excuses for why he was occupied elsewhere. Over the years, he and I had found ourselves in the same room a number of times, but I'd given him a wide berth; hadn't met his eye; hadn't addressed him at all. I'd keep repeating to myself all the time, like a mantra, ‘Don't forget, this man is a bastard.' Yet when I stepped into his office that day he looked exactly the same as when I first saw him: pale face, blond hair, freakishly beautiful. And yet with a look that was almost kind. Maybe I had misjudged him. Maybe he wasn't so bad. Maybe we could be grown-up about things.

He put down his pen, scrutinized me carefully. ‘You look tired, Anne. Husband of yours not looking after you?'

‘I'm not here to talk about Steve, thank you, Radnor.' Defensive already.

‘Ah. No of course, it's about Evie. Well?'

‘She's in a state.'

He raised his eyebrows. ‘
In a state.
What exactly does that mean?'

‘Haven't you noticed how much weight she's lost?'

He hesitated. Clearly he hadn't. But he wasn't going to admit it. ‘Women are always losing weight. And gaining it. That can't be what's brought you here at such short notice. I told you how busy I am.' He indicated the piles of exam papers, folders, sheets of paper, all stacked neatly: annotated, labelled, assessed, valued.

‘She's desperately unhappy, Radnor. And she feels she can't talk to you.'

‘Nonsense. Evie is not secretive like you, Anne. She's a high-spirited, open person.'

‘Yes, I know all her good points. She's my best friend, remember?'

‘So she is. And therefore you're aware that there isn't a devious bone in her body. That's what's so lovely about her.' He'd apparently forgotten how he'd once called her ‘that tarty-looking girl who takes up all your time'; how for a year he'd tried to break up our friendship because she was ‘trivial-minded'. He had a different view of her now she belonged to him.