Sally (21 page)

‘Finish the story, Richard!' squealed Catherine as she licked her fingers but then plumped for another dumpling. ‘What happened?' she said, noticing with some horror that Jimi Hendrix rubbed shoulders with Bach (
‘B' should be before ‘H', and surely Jimi should be on the shelf below?
)

‘She ran away.'

Do I really want to relive this? To share it? No amount of halving this problem is going to solve it.

‘Did you talk to her?'

‘No.'

‘Whyever not?'

Richard raised his eyebrows.

‘Are you
sure
it was her?' Bob quizzed, making neat piles with shrivelled tulip petals which lay forlornly on the floor.

Richard raised his eyebrows further and grabbed the dumplings off Catherine. ‘Of course it was her.'

‘Couldn't you've?'

‘No.'

‘
Shouldn't
you've?'

‘Not possible.'

‘Why?'

‘I wasn't alone. I was with someone else. A woman. It's all a complete nightmare.'

Bob and Catherine sat gawping; Catherine had a trail of seaweed hanging on to the corner of her mouth, Bob's chin was smeared with Sweet and Sour sauce. Suddenly, Richard felt like bursting out laughing but, reading their true concern and bewilderment, resisted and continued unprompted.

‘This woman is a client. Nothing happened. Well, I mean it did, but it is of absolutely no importance to me. You know, just a dose of good old sex – only it wasn't very good. It wasn't a casting couch job – the contract was already in the bag. I just wined and dined her.'

‘And sixty-nined her?' Catherine couldn't resist it, as if she needed to make light of it to contain the deep dismay she felt.

Richard, Richard – maybe you haven't changed all that much.

‘
She
seduced
me
,' spelled out Richard, determined that the Woodses would not think him the perpetrator. ‘Okay, I let myself be seduced. Only it wasn't very seductive. I'd given up on Sally. Well, what I mean is, I'd given up on her ever coming back to me. God, I want her back! Anyway, I'm in Hampstead, reluctantly breakfasting this
fling thing
when she points over the road to a “quaint li'le English gal” which just happens to be Sally. My, she did look quaint! In fact, she looked absolutely gorgeous. She was wearing this extraordinary amalgam of flowery frock, Aran knit, floppy hat – and trainers would you believe it! It was a revelation to me and yet so very Sally too. Well, I was horrified and thought a hasty retreat should be beat – I knew it would be too awful if we saw each other. But it happened. We just stood and stared and then Sally was gone.'

‘Did she see the other woman?' Catherine felt quite sick.

‘That's the cruellest part. Desperate to get away, I was trying to drag her physically. That's when I caught Sally's eye. I was turned to stone. I couldn't do a thing. My hand was stuck to this woman's awful skinny waist.'

‘Nightmare,' Catherine groaned.

‘Nightmare,' agreed Bob.

‘Nightmare,' confirmed Richard. ‘Only something strange happened this evening. She was here!' Again the Woodses' mouths fell and again Richard swiftly diverted his gaze from the debris still adorning them. ‘Well, she was and she wasn't. It was so spooky – I had been thinking about her, about her doing a real “Sally” and just suddenly turning up in a tutu or something. Anyway, I was so engrossed in the fantasy that I went over to the window just to check. Chrise-Orlmighty if her car wasn't double-parked right outside! It gave me one hell of a shock – I quickly hid! What a berk!'

‘What a
berk
!' confirmed Catherine, racking her mind for a solution – or a good idea at the least.

‘
What
a berk!' chastized Bob.

‘And then it was all too late. I heard the car start up and I just watched her drive away.' Richard shook his head and the Woodses' heads' shook in sympathy. ‘What am I going to do, guys?'

Catherine looked from Richard to his CD collection. With its former thematic, alphabetic splendour gone, it served to accentuate Richard's malady.

All really is not well. Schubert is as out of his depth next to Van Halen as Richard is without Sally. Think. We have to get through to him, raise and restore him.

‘Well,' she said breezily, hoping she sounded reassuring, ‘for a start, I think the very fact that she was here tonight should raise your hopes. You are obviously in her thoughts but I reckon Hampstead must have knocked her for six. I mean, you can't undo what happened – you did sleep with this woman and you did bump into Sally with her. That's a nightmare. You can't undo what happened but you could
reinvent
the past you know. And you
can
salvage Sally – I think that's probably what she wants but I think it's up to you.'

‘Rein
vent
the past?' Richard probed. Catherine cocked her head and Bob finished her theory, utterly in tune with her drive.

‘No sex. Business breakfast in Hampstead. Plane to catch. Contract won. White lie – smallish one. That's all.'

‘Bloody brilliant!' exclaimed Richard. Though his problem was neither halved nor solved, it now seemed more manageable.

‘Call her. You
must
call her,' insisted Catherine with very intense eye contact.

‘You bet,' Richard nodded vigorously, ‘bloody brilliant.'

‘Tummies full. Problems solved. Time we were off,' announced Bob, handing Richard the tulip debris. ‘We're trying for a baby, you know,' he beamed, ‘every night! It's wonderful! Only if we don't wend our way home now, I'll be too shagged to …'

‘Shag?' ventured Richard, absent-mindedly compacting the petals before dumping them in a take-away carton. Catherine gave Richard's arm a supportive stroke.

‘Precisely!' she giggled. ‘Only you'll have to wash all that goop off your face first, Bob.'

‘And you, dear wife, must extricate that fine piece of seaweed too.'

So there was a phone call for Sally in the staff-room. Had she not seen Catherine the night before, quite possibly she would have refused the call.

‘Sally? Catherine! I'm taking you out for dinner tonight. It's top secret. Bob's been told I'm cooking for my brother. I shall pick you up at eight sharp. Okay? 'Bye! Oh, Sally?'

‘Yes?'

‘Okay?'

‘Yes.'

‘'Bye for now.'

They had gone to a particularly nice brasserie in West Hampstead, safe territory for both. They sat opposite each other, elbows defiantly on the table, heads together in enthusiastic conspiracy. Sally spoke first.

‘Are you pregnant, Catherine?'

‘No.'

‘I'm sorry. Are you still trying?'

‘But of course.'

‘In secret?'

‘No.'

‘Oh! How's Bob then?'

‘Frightened but happy – he's rather enjoying all the practice it requires! In fact, I'm six days late but trying not to think about it. You know, be nonchalant, cool and collected,' Catherine said, nibbling her lip and fidgeting with her hair, eyes bright and dancing.

Sally assessed this happy turn-about. So if pregnancy was no longer the problem, why the illicit dinner? Catherine's go.

‘Sally?'

‘Yes?'

‘Are you in love?' The rocket and roast pepper salad had arrived.

‘Yes.'

‘With Richard?' Catherine ventured with her mouth full.

‘Yes, with Richard,' Sally confirmed, licking her lips. ‘Who else?' she grinned.

And so began a luxuriously long meal. Sally felt thoroughly safe with Catherine and was desperate for news of Richard. She was moved by what she learnt. Catherine told her about the end of the party. She thought hard for a moment and then decided to tell Sally all that Richard had said to Bob that night. And how he had said it. Sally felt wretched. She could have left the restaurant and gone straight to him, holding him in her arms and saying sorry. But she stayed because she wanted to listen and she wanted to talk.

‘But I don't hate him, I never hated him. I just didn't want him to fall in love with me.'

‘But whyever not?'

‘Because I didn't want to fall in love with him.'

‘Whyever not?'

‘Because it would complicate things.'

‘What things?'

‘Life!'

‘Oh, Sally, how pretentious and how silly. What do you mean, “life”?'

‘Well, if you give yourself away, you leave yourself open to hurt.'

‘True, but if you keep yourself to yourself, think how much life would lack. You can enjoy your own company, but if there are two of you, it is logical and it goes without saying that there is twice as much of everything – happiness, fun, sex, normality – they are all so much more
colourful
, they're all
bigger
, they are all so much more
worthwhile
.'

Sally smiled meekly at Catherine, timid at the thought of this colourful, big, worthwhile life lying tantalizingly close and potentially there for the taking. Catherine told her of their recent visit to Richard, to feed him and listen to him. Waiting for Sally to probe deeper, she spoke of the dead tulips and the fact that Jimi and Johann Sebastian now shared the same shelf. Unalphabetically.

‘But, Catherine, what about Richard? That woman?'

‘Woman? Who?' Catherine feigned innocence so Sally told her of Saturday bloody Saturday. Catherine felt the tiny white lie was in order and Sally felt stronger for hearing that the vamp was merely one of the Americans for whom Richard had designed the Georgian folly. A client. Just business. Just a business breakfast. That's all.

‘And Richard said what was so ghastly,' concluded Catherine, ‘was that it was his own mercenary greed that led to his come-uppance in bumping into you like that. Now what did he call her? Something along the lines of an infuriating, attention-seeking transatlantic tramp. She was being evasive as to whether the company would take the work so he had to wine and dine and give her a breakfast-tour of London before she caught her plane.'

‘Did it work?'

‘Yup!'

‘Good for Richard. But you should have
seen
her.'

‘She can't have been that great because we all know that Richard's
hobby
is to have and hold the most beautiful and perfect of things. He
loves
beauty – in anything, I mean look at his bloody hi-fi, his Sabatier knives, his Alfa flipping Romeo! (By the way, his Alfa's
filthy
at the mo'!) He loves beauty and appreciates it in a very objective way. Well, he didn't once mention this woman in terms of any of her physical attributes. But you! My, how he waxes Lomax lyrical! We could never shut him up. It was quite possibly the most boring Christmas I've ever had, listening to him drone on about Sal-this and Sal-that, and Sal's eyes and Sal's smile. He even relates your tales of the classroom. I feel I know Rajiv and Marcus personally. What an old bore Richard has become. He's yours, Sally, just go to him with honesty – and a pretty please.'

Sally blushed and said nothing. Deep inside she was brimming with song and laughter. Catherine continued, unprompted.

‘You know, in the past, Richard's women have all been rather, um, I don't know. He always had one, but I never warmed to them, and nor did Bob. Probably because Richard was so obviously not taken with them himself. He had a reputation, you know.' No, Sally did not know.

‘I remember Bob pointing him out at a University Ball and calling him “Herr Heart-Breaker”. He didn't break hearts willingly,' she continued, ‘it's just he never fell for any of the people who fell for him. And anyone who ever dated him fell hopelessly for him of course. So he became known as “Pump and Dump” and a whole host of other names.'

Sally hooted with laughter and Catherine thought how pretty she was. ‘There was never anyone special, Sally, not till you. You wouldn't believe what being with you has done to him. Done
for
him. He's dropped that outer reserve, he's not so aloof, he's more open and he seems so much more at ease. He's happy – that's it. Really happy, true happiness. I mean,' corrected Catherine with dramatic emphasis, ‘he
was
.'

Catherine trailed off and Sally felt sad. They sat still in silence awhile, Catherine gazing at the flickering candle and Sally looking at nothing in particular. Any awkwardness dissipated with the arrival of the dessert-trolley to which the women turned their attention with an expert eye and wicked delight. Sally felt simultaneously exhausted and high. Her head was zipping with the insights Catherine had so sweetly given her.

‘Call him,' Catherine suggested, laying a warm and comforting hand on Sally's leg as she pulled up alongside her flat.

‘Hey, Cathers, it's been the most wonderful evening. I really mean it, and I want to thank you for being so supportive and such a good listener.'

Catherine, who'd never been called Cathers and actually rather liked it, brushed away the effusive compliments and patted Sally again on the same leg.

‘Call him.'

It wasn't a suggestion, it was an order. Sally always did what she was told.

Sally had summoned the courage and decided that it would indeed be this day, now, and not the infamous tomorrow, when she'd lift the receiver and make amends. Richard, however, beat her to it. He feared her driving away right out of his life as she had driven away, out of his street. Anyway, Bob and Catherine had urged him to call her, Diana too.

‘Richardrichardrichard. You must
call
her. I saw her and she's totally devastated. If you are with this other woman then call Sally so that she doesn't suffer much longer. If you're not, then call her and try and work things out.'

‘Diana, is Sally suffering?'