Out of the Blue (39 page)

“No,” I said, fiddling with the pepper pot. “I was perfectly happy as things were.”

“You never wanted even a
little
change?”

“I think we’ve had enough change, thanks.” I looked at him. “Peter, you were playing with fire.”

“Yes,” he said, “I was. And I
loved
it. I loved the way it shook me up. And you were going on and on at me about being unfaithful to you, and I thought dammit, I’ll have a fling. And that’s all it was. Just a fling. I didn’t intend it to damage
us,
but before I knew it our marriage was lying in broken shards. But it’s not too late, Faith,” he added desperately. “Can’t we stick it together again?” Ah. I stared down at my plate of dressed crab, conflicting thoughts shouting in my head:

He’s just in a panic at the thought of being single!

Stick with Jos, he treats you well!

There’s too much blood under the bridge now!

He did it once, he could do it again!

“Say something, Faith,” said Peter urgently. “Tell me we can work it out.”

“Peter,” I began carefully. “It’s not that easy.”

“Isn’t it? Why not?”

“Because the fact is, I’m…involved.”

“But you’re not happy, are you?”

“That’s very presumptuous of you, Peter, and actually—yes. I am.”

“I don’t think so.”

“I’m very happy,” I said as I snapped a breadstick in half.

“I don’t believe you, Faith. That birthday card you sent me, for instance, hinted at a desire to be reconciled.”

“No it didn’t,” I said indignantly. “I just happened to like the design.”

“And it was significant that you didn’t say, ‘Happy birthday’ to me, Faith. You said, ‘Many Happy
Returns
.’”

“You’re reading far too much into all this,” I said. “The fact is, I’m happy with Jos.”

“Faith,” said Peter, “you can’t lie to me. I know you off by heart. Freud said the truth leaks out of us from every pore. And I’ve seen the truth about you.”

“I
am
happy with him,” I insisted as my salad arrived.

“Really?”

“Mmm. Of course. Admittedly we had our teething problems,” I added as I picked up my fork, “and he can be a little…complex. And sometimes there are things I’m not quite sure about.” I found myself staring into the middle distance now. “But apart from that we’re very compatible,” I concluded, “and, well, we’re…together now.”

“But
why
are you together? I mean, what do you like about him?”

“For God’s sake, Peter!” I said suddenly. “It’s bad enough getting this from Katie. I’m not climbing onto the psychiatrist’s couch for you.”

“But I’m simply curious to know what draws you to Jos. If you were really keen on him, you’d say.” Ah. Right.

“Well,” I began matter-of-factly, “he thinks a lot of me, and I was feeling very lonely and insecure after you and I split up. Jos came along at that time, and made a beeline for me. I find him very attractive, and he’s also very talented, and he’s good to the kids and um, oh, I don’t know, Peter, I’ve sort of got used to him now.”

“Used to him? You make him sound like a piece of furniture you don’t really like. So is that it, Faith? Are those the reasons?”

“Yes,” I said. “They are.”

“It’s not enough.”

“
Isn’t
it? People stay together for
much
less.”

“But there’s one thing you didn’t say, Faith,” he added as he picked up his knife. “There was one vital telling omission.”

“What do you mean?”

“You didn’t say that you love him. Did you?”

“Well…”

“That’s the
one
thing you didn’t say.”

“I didn’t
need
to say it,” I shot back, “because…obviously I do.”

“It isn’t obvious at all.”

“You’re beginning to annoy me, Peter!”

“And you’re kidding yourself,” he replied.

“Look,” I said crisply. “I’m sorry your affair has turned out to be so disappointing, but if you think that gives you the right to pick holes in my current relationship, then I’m afraid you’re quite, quite wrong.” Peter smiled one of his irritating little smiles—then leaned back in his chair.

“
Current
relationship?” he said quizzically. “Are you sure you intend it to last?”

“Of course I’m sure,” I snapped. “Jos and I are going to get spliced.”

“Spliced? What does that mean—split?”

“No. You know, spliced. As in getting married.”

“Really? Oh. So it’s serious, then?”

“Yes. It’s very serious indeed.”

“So where does he think you are now?”

“Sorry?”

“Where does Jos think you are tonight?”

“Er…” I swallowed.

“I mean, does he know you’re with me?”

“Well, no,” I said as I sipped my white wine. “He doesn’t, actually.”

“Ah
ha!
”

“He thinks…”

“Yes?”

“That I’m at a seminar.”

“So you lied to him, then.”

“No.”

“Yes!”

“Oh, not
really,
” I repeated as I fiddled with the stem of my glass.

“You did,” he said triumphantly. “You lied to him because you didn’t want him to know you were seeing me.”

“Well…”

“But if the relationship was as good as you say it is, you’d have told him the truth.” I drummed my fingernails on the table cloth. “You didn’t want him to know.”

“Look,” I said crossly, my face beginning to burn. “The fact is I’m with Jos.
He’s
never
hurt
me,” I added pointedly. “And yes—I like him a lot.”

“But do you
love
him?”

“That’s not the point.”

“It
is
. And why don’t you look me in the eye?”

“Let me repeat: I can’t simply ditch Jos, Peter, just because you’ve decided to dump her.”

“Yes you
can!”
he said intensely. “Of course you can! What’s six months compared to fifteen years? Come back, Faith,” he added. “You don’t love Jos. Come back, and let’s start again.”

“I can’t, Peter,” I said. “It’s dishonorable, and Jos and I are enmeshed. I mean, we see a lot of each other these days, and we’ve got a holiday planned.”

“Oh Christ,” Peter exclaimed, looking at his watch. “It’s nine thirty. I’ve got to go.” He paid the bill, then we both stood on the pavement waiting for a cab.

“You’d better take this one,” I said as an amber light came into view. He gave the driver Andie’s address, then turned to me once again.

“I don’t want to lose you, Faith,” he said quietly. “So please think about it, before it’s too late.” I looked at him.

“I can’t.”

“You’re tempted, Faith,” he added. “I know you are. You’re tempt
ing
Faith,” he added with a smile.

“Look, Peter,” I sighed. “I really don’t want to hurt your feelings, and I am glad we met tonight, and I’m very sorry you’re not happy, and I appreciate that it was hard for you to admit you’d made a big mistake, but if you think I’m going to get myself into another serious emotional mess just because you’ve now decided, having caused a
huge
crisis in our marriage, that we should conveniently get back together like characters in some romantic novel, then I—” Suddenly Peter had grabbed me, wrapped his arms round me, and planted his lips on mine. A wave of adrenaline shot through me like forked lightning. He hadn’t kissed me like that for years.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered as he pulled away. “But I love you, Faith. I always have—and I think you still love me.” He opened the cab door and climbed in, then pulled down the window. “Don’t you?” he said.

“No,” I replied faintly. “I don’t.”

“Oh yes you do. You’re still angry, so you’re making it hard. But you do love me, I know you do.”

“Didn’t you hear me?” I said crossly. “I
don’t!
”

“That’s a
lie!”
he shouted cheerfully as the cab pulled away.

“I AM not LYING!” I shot back.

“You DO still love me, Faith,” I heard as the cab rounded the bend. “That’s why you’re still standing there!”

“I don’t bloody well STILL LOVE YOU!” I shouted back. “And I AM not still standing HERE!”

* * *

“Oh, it was
really
interesting,” I told Jos the next day when he phoned to ask how the seminar had gone.

“And where was it?” he enquired.

“At the Royal Geographical Society,” I replied with a plausibility which filled me with a strange kind of pride. “Global warming is a very serious issue,” I said, warming, as it were, to my theme.

“Any new developments?” he asked.

“Er…yes,” I said. “A few.”

“Like what?”

“Well, meteorologists are…re-evaluating the situation.”

“In what way?”

“Well, we’re convinced that the atmosphere
is
getting warmer, but what we don’t yet know is—whether or not it’s temporary. It’s a fascinating phenomenon,” I added. “In fact, there’s a series of twice-weekly lectures coming up on the subject and I’m rather tempted to go. You see, the point about greenhouse gases is that—” Suddenly Graham emitted a volley of rapid barks. “Sorry, Jos, there’s someone at the door, I’ll call you back.”

“Mrs Smith?” said the delivery man. He was clutching a huge bouquet.

“Yes?”

“Floribunda. Could you sign here?” I took the proffered bouquet of fat pink roses and, smiling wonderingly, shut the door. Then I ripped open the envelope and read the message.
I’d like to keep Faith,
it said.

“Thank you, Peter,” I said, thirty seconds later, my fingers trembling on the phone. “Thank you,” I repeated. “They’re lovely.”

“Well, I know you like pink.”

“Oh, I do.” Then there was a silence in which neither of us seemed sure what to say.

“It was lovely to see you last night,” he added.

“Mmm.”

“I don’t want to lose you.”

“I know.”

“Have you given it all some more thought?”

“Yes.”

“And?”

“I’m afraid the answer’s still no.”

“Then we’d better have dinner again, don’t you think, mm?” I fiddled for a moment with the telephone cord.

“Well…yes. I suppose we had.”

* * *

I decided not to tell Lily about my little meetings with Peter. Normally I tell her everything, but in this case I felt she’d disapprove. She’d say I was mad to do anything to risk my relationship with Jos. But it was quite innocent. After all, I reasoned, I wasn’t being unfaithful. So no-one was going to get hurt. In any case, I mused, why
shouldn’t
I be friends with my soon-to-be-ex-husband? After all I didn’t answer to Lily, or, for that matter, to Jos. I was careful, however, to conceal the card Peter had sent with the flowers. When Jos asked me who had sent them, I said they were from a fan.

“Who is he?” he said as he stared at the thirty long-stemmed roses in their vase.

“I don’t know,” I replied. “Some bloke.”

“Well, he’s obviously very keen on you.”

“Mmm,” I said vaguely. “I suppose he is.”

“Do you know anything about him?”

“Well, you know, just a bit.”

“Perhaps you should build up a psychological profile.”

“Yes. You may be right.”

“Be
very
careful of stalkers,” said Jos, seriously. “If he develops an obsession, then let me know. Will you do that, Faith? Will you tell me?”

“Don’t worry,” I said. “I will.”

The following Thursday I met Peter again, this time in Docklands, at the Pont de La Tour. It was lovely sitting outside in the gloriously warm air as the Thames glinted like beaten silver in the sun.

“It’s magnificent, isn’t it?” said Peter as we gazed up at Tower Bridge. I nodded. “I dream about bridges,” he went on. My glass stalled in mid-air.

“That’s funny,” I said. “So do I. I dream about icebergs, too,” I went on as a river cruiser chugged by. “And I have recurring dreams about spiders’ webs.”

“How’s Lily?” he suddenly asked.

“She’s fine. Same as ever. Very busy working on
Moi!
and she’s been away quite a bit for the new collections. I haven’t told her that I’m seeing you, by the way. I didn’t think it was wise.”

“Seeing me?” he echoed with a smile. “You
are
seeing me, aren’t you?” I leaned forward and picked a piece of fluff off his collar.

“Whatever makes you think that?”

“And where does Jos think you are tonight?” he added quietly as he stroked my hand.

“At another seminar on climate change.”

“So is the atmosphere getting a little warmer, then?” He smiled.

“Well, yes. I think it probably is.”

* * *

“You see,” I explained later to Jos, “the climate has always had natural variations, but the main problem with what’s going on now is that no-one knows precisely by how much the temperature’s going to rise. It could get warmer, or it might just stay the same. But that’s what we need to know.”

“How’s it caused?” he asked.

“Well, by greenhouse gases,” I explained, “notably carbon dioxide which comes from car pollution. Burning coal, oil and wood also produces CO2, and methane from rice fields and cattle farming is a major contributor as well. Then there are the CFCs of course—otherwise known as chlorofluorocarbons—from aerosols and fridges.”

“You do seem to be getting a lot out of these seminars,” he said.

“Do you know, Jos, I think I am.”

Over the next few days Peter rang me more often, and his calls became the highlight of my day. When he told me he was going to the Frankfurt book fair I felt a huge pang of regret. But despite the fact that he was so busy there, he still phoned me a lot.

“How’s it going?” I asked him, aware of the babble of publishers in the background.

“Well, you’d find it very interesting Faith, because there’s an awful lot of hot air. In fact there are enough inflated egos here to launch the
Hindenburg
—and speaking of big egos, guess who I just saw?”

“Not Charmaine and Oliver?”

“The very same! He was carrying her bag!”

“What a creep. Did they talk to you?”

“Oh, no!” he snorted. “It’s no speakies. They think I’ve got too big for my books.”