A Rural Affair (24 page)

I too had been surprised when Luke had rung that morning, to change the venue.

‘Um, I know I said lunch in London, Poppy, but I’ve been thinking. What about dinner instead? At the King’s Head?’

The King’s Head was a fearfully expensive restaurant down by the river on the other side of the vale. It was very much London
prices and fancied itself hugely; in fact it may even have been equipped with some Michelin stars. It was quite a number and
not what I’d been expecting. On the other hand, I didn’t have to trek to London and pretend I’d been having a lovely time
in Sloane Street, shimmying in and out of outfits, which, in my present mood, I was secretly dreading. I dreaded a lot at
the moment. Wasn’t sure I had the heart any for any of this. Luke must have felt me hesitate.

‘I’d so love it if you said yes, Poppy. Please come,’ he said urgently.

It was a long time since anyone had insisted on a date with me, urgently or otherwise, and the King’s Head was a treat. I’d
only been there once, on Phil’s birthday, and yes, obviously his mother and sister had come too. I rallied and agreed.

Tuesday night at eight, then, with Felicity, Angie’s daughter home for half term, babysitting, I made my way down the
lanes across country, having elected to drive myself and maintain some independence. The hedgerows shivered darkly in the
breeze, shaking themselves dry after the rain, the fields behind them damp and browned off for the winter. It was a beautiful
soft autumn evening and I was tempted to just drive on up to the Beacon and sit in the car, watch the stars gather over the
wide flat valley floor below, such a treat it was to be out of the house at night, no children. I knew the rules, though,
and dutifully turned left where the lane plunged through the wood to Cumpton, then swung round the corner and under the arch
of the pretty white inn, clad in dazzling red Virginia creeper, to the car park.

Luke was already in the dining room when I arrived: a good sign, I felt. I’d relied a lot on signs recently. I crossed the
room to his table in the corner, remembering to hold my tummy in.

‘Poppy!’ He stood up, one hand holding the bottom of his tie. ‘How lovely. You look amazing.’ We exchanged a peck.

I didn’t really. I looked OK. I had on my usual Jigsaw black, which had seen better days, and a bit of make-up, but I hadn’t
made a huge effort. Not because I didn’t like Luke, but because I was flat inside. Odd.

These last few days, instead of rallying a bit after Sam’s revelation, getting angry even, I’d dipped. Dived, perhaps. Yesterday
I’d even found myself mechanically going through the motions. Of living. Having been there once before, I was terrified. My
hands froze on the tin of beans I was opening. Second tin that day. I ran upstairs, riffled through my drawers and found the
old bottle, which was empty, of course, because I’d flushed the pills away. But then I rang the nice GP and she prescribed
some more, surprised I’d stopped taking them so soon. We had a bit of a chat over the phone
and I assured her I was fine really, just feeling a bit low. But I’d come off the phone exhausted. At the effort of sounding
fine. Had to sit on the side of the bed for a few minutes, holding my knees.

Yet now, here I was, cranking up a smile in this softly lit, plushly carpeted dining room, taking my chair opposite Luke,
who looked for all the world as if Angelina Jolie had sat down to join him.

‘I thought we’d have champagne.’ He indicated a bottle already chilling in a bucket beside him. ‘Is that OK with you?’

‘Perfect,’ I assured him.

Within moments, a suave sommelier had glided noiselessly across to pour some for me, purring, ‘Madame,’ as he did. The King’s
Head was a bit like that: gliding waiters, melba toast, elaborately arranged pink napkins, puddings from the trolley. Expensive,
but old-fashioned and parochial. The sort of place where, if you had the right parents, you might easily have been taken as
a child. All quite easy to mock these days but, having not had the parents, I rather liked it, I decided, as the waiter slid
away as if on roller skates. Luke raised his glass.

‘To a lovely evening,’ he murmured, smouldering over his glass, eyebrows waggling.

Relieved he was playing it for laughs, I raised mine back in mock salute. ‘A lovely evening,’ I agreed with a grin.

‘Isn’t that what we’re supposed to say in this sort of joint?’ Luke’s eyes roved around incredulously, taking in the flickering
candlelight, the napkins in the shape of swans, the throne-like chairs, the well-heeled couples chatting politely over aperitifs.
He leaned in. ‘Then you’re supposed to ask me if I had a good day at the office,’ he hissed, ‘and I ask you
how your day has gone. If you got the ironing done.’ He grinned and popped a large chunk of bread roll in his mouth, chewing
hard. ‘How was it, anyway?’ he asked out of the side of his mouth, amidst a few crumbs.

My day was like all my days: hear Archie cry, get up, give him a bottle, get Clemmie out of my bed, where she’d been sleeping
the last few nights, take her to school, put Archie down for a nap, collect Clemmie, entertain children, push push push that
buggy, bed.

‘Oh, you know, pretty hectic as usual. Every day is different, which is so nice.’ I tried to sound breezy. ‘How about you?’
I was keen to turn the tables; didn’t want to talk about myself. Didn’t want to talk much at all, really. ‘D’you know, Luke,
I’m not entirely sure I even know what you do. What exactly is re-insurance?’

‘Re-insurance?’ He looked surprised. ‘Oh God, it’s bollocks. You borrow a shed load of money, and then you lend it to someone,
and then you borrow some more and lend it to someone else, and then it all comes back to you, and everyone takes a cut along
the way. Pretty cynical, if you ask me, but am I bothered?’ He gave a dazzling smile as he chewed hard. ‘Not remotely!’

I laughed despite myself. No way would Phil have described his job in such derisory terms. No way would he have not wanted
to sound important, either. But then, if I compared every man I met to Phil, they’d be bound to look good, wouldn’t they?
I must stop using him as a sounding board.

‘I’m just a little cog in the wheel,’ Luke went on, popping in more bread. ‘A minion, who’s shunted from pillar to post rather
like the cash. But who isn’t, in a financial organization these days? Unless you’re up there with the fat cats, you’re
bound to be taking orders. Course, come the revolution, it’s guys like me who will rise up and give the management a run for
their money.’ He tapped his chest. ‘The real workers.’

‘I thought Angie said you had your own business?’ I said without thinking, then realized it sounded as if we’d been talking
about him, which of course we had. I blushed.

‘Did she?’ He looked up from buttering his bread, surprised. ‘Oh, well, I suppose I did start Parkers with some other guys,
but no way do we own it. That’s just Chinese whispers got out of hand. No, as ever, there’s a brace of Ruperts at the top,
typical old-school types, although my immediate boss, my particular cross to bear, is called Gary, who’s definitely comprehensive
material. In fact my mum would have him down as secondary modern. Sweet man, he’s got a dotted line tattooed around his throat
saying: Cut.’

‘You’re kidding.’

‘I am not. He’s a barrow boy made good. He had that pleasing feature adorned on his body on his eighteenth birthday. No doubt
rat-arsed and with his mates giggling outside.’

‘God, I bet he regrets that.’

‘Just a bit,’ he said cheerfully, popping in the last of his roll. He was moving onto the bread sticks now. ‘You don’t see
it until he gets hot and bothered and loosens his collar and tie, then he suddenly remembers and does it up in a hurry. We’re
always turning the heating up and switching the air con off. So yeah, he’s my line manager, then above him is Rebecca, a red-haired
vamp who wafts down the corridors in very tight skirts, desk-perching along the way. If she asks you to step inside her cubicle
you keep your hands on your belt and your wits about you. She’s been known to pounce in broad daylight.’

I giggled. ‘You wish. That’s just boys fantasizing. I bet she’s thoroughly professional and you’re all scared stiff of her.’

He grinned. ‘Yeah, you’re probably right. Although she did snog the new trainee at the office party. Still, we’ve got to have
something to talk about in between haircuts, haven’t we? Something to brighten our day.’

‘Is that how you chart your life? With haircuts?’ I was feeling a bit better now. Slightly warmer as I looked at the huge
menu I’d been presented with.

‘Well, it’s not a bad staging post, is it? And it’s amazing how nothing much happens in the six weeks or so in between. And
don’t you love the way you can tell barbers anything and it’s going nowhere? Giuseppe – he’s my man – asked me the other day
how it was going, and I told him I’d made a million on the markets before lunch. He was hugely impressed. We had a good old
chinwag about what a clever chap I was. He’d probably forgotten it by the time he moved on to the next client, but I went
back to the office with a massive grin on my face, thinking I
had
made a million. It’s got to be the way forward, hasn’t it? Better than any therapy crap?’ He took a huge gulp of champagne.

I laughed, enjoying his candour. ‘Perhaps you really will make a million? Then you can set up on your own without Gary and
Rebecca.’

‘Yeah, I’d love to do that,’ he said wistfully. ‘Except it’s getting harder these days. It’s not like in the eighties when
you could do it in your tea break and have a pile in Gloucestershire by the weekend – swimming pool, helipad, all the toys.
The banks are less accommodating now. Back then you could blag your way into making anything sound like a new business venture,
but they’re a bit more savvy now, not so quick
to hand over the loot. You need a bit of capital too. Anyway,’ he said quickly, ‘enough of me and my crummy little life. What
about you, Poppy? How are you? That’s a lovely necklace you’re wearing, by the way, really catches the light.’

I touched the fake turquoise pendant from Accessorize around my neck, amused. I rather liked Luke’s blatant attempt to charm
me every so often. Any minute now he’d go down on one knee and break into ‘Love Me Tender’, like Dad.

‘Thank you, I bought it specially,’ I told him. ‘I thought it matched my eyes.’

‘Well, it would if they were blue. Nice try, Poppy, but I’d already spotted they were brown.’

I laughed. ‘Just checking. Wouldn’t want you to be flattering me.’

‘Flattery? Me?’ He widened his eyes in mock protest. ‘Perish the thought.’ He cheerfully filled up our glasses. ‘Well?’ he
asked.

‘Well what?’ I studied the menu.

‘I asked how you were. Only …’ He hesitated. ‘You didn’t seem yourself at the book club the other day.’ It was said kindly.
I looked up, startled at the change of tone.

‘Really?’

‘Yeah, you were … well, distracted.’ He gave a small smile. ‘I even found myself giving Saintly Sue the eye in defence. Might
even have made a prat of myself. Sorry, if I did.’

I stared at him, surprised. Right. I had been distracted, but I hadn’t known it had shown. And actually, I did remember Luke
greeting me very enthusiastically at Angie’s: bounding across the room, giving it lots of chat. But I’d been thinking about
Marjorie and Cecilia at the time, had lost track of what he was saying. As he’d talked animatedly, I’d gazed beyond him, to
Angie’s horses in the field, thinking what a nice life
they led: no dead husbands, no in-laws, just friends, snoozing together, nose to tail. I’d possibly even forgotten to answer.
And now I came to think of it, had his face fallen? Had he looked a bit piqued? And then later, when we were leaving, had
he tried to make me jealous? Perhaps he’d been deliberately flirting in the garden with Sue? Suddenly I realized this was
quite an up-front admission; a genuine apology too. I also remembered how hard it had been to get up this morning. Clemmie
shaking my shoulder when Archie cried, saying it was time for school, Mummy. Quickly swallowing my pill. How I’d almost taken
two. I put the menu down. Regarded my dinner companion. His eyes across the table were warm, concerned.

‘Sorry, Luke. I had a lot on my mind at the book club.’

‘D’you want to talk about it?’

I considered this. Then shook my head miserably. ‘No. D’you know, if you don’t mind, I don’t think I do.’ How many more people
needed to know my dead husband’s family had sided with his mistress? No more, I felt. And this was supposed to be a pleasant
evening out.

It helped, though, getting that out of the way, and we glided through the first two courses. There were no smouldering looks
over the Dover sole, no observations about my jewellery. Just nice, general chit-chat.

‘You’re not supposed to know we call her Saintly Sue, by the way,’ I chided him as I tucked into a heavenly chocolate mousse.
‘That’s a girly secret.’

‘Well, it’s not a very well kept one. And I got it from one of the girlies’ mouths too. Angie told me. She’s massively indiscreet,
by the way, which is great,’ he grinned.

‘I know. Peggy calls her The Only Virgin In The Village.’ The wine had clearly got the better of me.

‘Who, Angie?’ He feigned astonishment.

‘No, idiot. Sue.’ I laughed.

‘Ah yes, so I gather. Angie told me that too. Apparently she’s Keeping Herself Nice For Her Husband, which is lovely, isn’t
it?’ he said naughtily. ‘So very twenty-first century. And something of a challenge too.’

I burst out laughing, a sound I hadn’t heard for a while. Not a combust like that, anyway. ‘Fancy rising to it?’ I asked.

‘God, no.’ He shuddered. ‘Too pi for me. Massive knockers, of course,’ he added reflectively, and with mock regret.

I laughed. As I savoured the last of my mousse, licking my spoon, a thought crossed my mind. ‘How did you start playing the
organ, Luke?’

He gave a knowing twinkle across the table. ‘You mean, what’s a likely lad like me doing with something as sensitive as a
musical instrument? Tinkling the ivories?’