Almost Love (23 page)

“What could he possibly want from me? His status in the world of archaeology is significantly greater than mine and he certainly earns more than I do.”

Carolyn frowned some more.

“He could be going through a late male menopause, I suppose. It could just be sex, plus an old man’s vanity, testing himself to see if he can ‘pull’ a younger woman. But I still think that there’s more to it than meets the eye. What about the business opportunity that you described? Do you think that’s what it’s all about?”

“Hardly! I must admit that I hadn’t considered Edmund as a business partner – and it was certainly he who talked me into working with him, not the other way around. But he didn’t need to sleep with me to achieve it. By the same token, if I hadn’t thought it would work, that he was my lover would have made no difference. As it is, his idea of joining me is probably what will make the idea workable, because Tom’s made it clear that he’s not interested.”

“I still think that he’s after something. Perhaps it’s something that he hasn’t asked for yet – something that you don’t know about. Or perhaps he does just want to have an affair and I’m wrong. Talking of which, how do you feel about it? Really feel about it, I mean? Do you want it to continue, or would you be relieved to put a stop to it? I must say it doesn’t sound as if it’s been very romantic so far and I can’t think of any other reason for going on with it.”

Alex wanted to burst into tears. She covered her face with her hands. Carolyn tugged gently at her wrist.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“It’s OK. I need to pull myself together. To answer your question, I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t know if I agreed to it out of boredom, out of vanity, as you say – it isn’t only old men who are vain – or from a kind of despair, because of where Tom and I appeared to be with our marriage. But I’m not sure about any of this. Tom and I have just had a wonderful weekend. And when Edmund first tried to proposition me, I turned him down. I guess that the real truth is that I just fell into it.”

“Don’t worry – it happens more often than you think. It happens to me all the time, actually. The thing to do now is to just fall out of it – and quickly. When will you see him again?”

“I’m not sure. He wanted to meet me off the train this evening for supper in Peterborough. I told him that I would probably be having dinner with you in London. He said he’d text me to check.”

“And has he?”

“I don’t know,” said Alex, taking her mobile from her bag. “No. Not yet.”

“Can you text him and say that you can meet him after all? But don’t go to dinner with him. Go for a drink at the station buffet – or at the hotel. There’s a hotel over the road from Peterborough Station, isn’t there? And finish it then. Tell him you still value him as a colleague and all that stuff.”

“What about the business idea?”

“You can still do that. Tell him you’d like to work slowly – try out a few ideas on your own before you bring him in. If he doesn’t agree, postpone the whole thing and then start again in six months or so when all this is part of the past. Will that work?”

“Yes,” said Alex doubtfully. “It will work well as far as our jobs are concerned, because we’re both starting to plan for the busiest period of the year. But I’m not sure whether Edmund will want to agree, especially as he’s come to the arrangement with the trustees now.”

“It’s your idea, don’t forget, not his. You don’t have to be corralled into doing what Edmund wants. Go to see the trustees yourself, if necessary. They like you, don’t they?”

“I suppose they do – as much as they like anyone. They’re the biggest bunch of misanthropes that were ever gathered together under the pretext of sharing similar interests. Misfits is probably a better word, actually. They’re well-heeled misfits.”

“Well, use your charm, sweetie. You’ve got plenty.” Carolyn looked at her watch. “My God, it’s almost four o’clock. I’m going to have to dash. I need to take all my stuff back to the hotel and freshen up a bit before Matthews arrives. I’ll get the bill.”

“Let me pay,” said Alex. “It’s the least I can do after spending the whole time we’ve had together talking about myself.”

“Certainly not,” said Carolyn. “It can be my treat.” She winked. “Well, Matthews’s treat – he’ll be picking up the bill for this, though he won’t know it.”

Carolyn sashayed up to the turquoise bar in her black patent stilettos, swaying just a little now that she had consumed a bottle of wine. When she had paid, she returned to Alex, who was now standing by the table, and kissed her on both cheeks.

“Now, remember,” she said. “Be strong. Be firm and kind with him and don’t let him talk you into changing your mind. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

Alex nodded obediently and followed Carolyn to the door.

“By the way,” said Carolyn, as she donned her coat and gathered up her parcels and the suitcase, “do you know that woman archaeologist that’s disappeared?”

“Vaguely,” said Alex. “I met her once. And I’ve read quite a lot of the books and papers that she’s written. Edmund knows her, too.”

“He would do, I suppose. Very odd case. She’s almost certainly dead, I’d say.”

“Why do you think that?”

“Common sense. People don’t just disappear like that and turn up perfectly well again later on, do they? Not often, anyway. And not old ladies who can barely walk.”

Chapter Thirty

Alex didn’t receive a text message from Edmund. She did not keep her promise to Carolyn, either. She couldn’t face talking to Edmund tonight. She wanted to go home, take a bath, relax with Tom, pour some wine, retail to Tom an edited version of her day. The train she had caught was the first of the evening commuter services from King’s Cross to Peterborough. The other passengers were mostly male businessmen and office workers. They were either talking loudly on their mobiles or slumped untidily in their seats sipping like babies at lidded plastic cartons of tea and coffee, the odd one swigging from a can of lager. Alex closed her eyes, willing the journey to be over.

The train was delayed for twenty minutes outside Peterborough. The female guard announced on the tannoy a ‘signalling problem’ and apologised for ‘any inconvenience’, as if most of the passengers were expected to be quite content just to sit there. Incensed by this nonchalance, the occupants of Alex’s carriage grew restless and disgruntled. They began to complain to each other in loud voices. Alex dreaded being drawn into their futile rebellion and tried to indicate that she was otherwise engaged by attempting to call Tom to tell him to wait supper. She could not get a signal. She closed her eyes again.

When the train finally shuffled into Peterborough Station, a heavy rain had begun to fall. Alex was wearing only a lightweight jacket and she hurried along the platform, her head down. In a few seconds, she was soaked, wet strands of her hair clinging itchily to her face, her trousers uncomfortably wet just above her knees where the jacket finished. She presented her ticket to the surly clerk at the barrier and was preparing to sprint for the car park when she felt a hand on her sleeve. At first she thought that someone was brushing against her by accident and pulled away to her right. But the hand remained, its grip tightening. She turned, brushing away the strands of sodden hair from her eyes and saw Edmund standing beside her.

“I thought you were going to text me. Or call,” she said, defensive because she knew that she had been relieved that he hadn’t.

“I thought you were going to call me if you decided not to dine with your friend,” he countered, emphasising the last word.

“I didn’t know until the last minute that she had an appointment this evening. Besides, I need to get home to see Tom.”

“Oh, you do, do you?” His tone was cutting. “Very cosy. Lunch with the dear friend, supper with the loving husband, is it?” He was almost sneering at her. His grip on her arm tightened.

“Why are you being like this, Edmund? You can see that I’m soaked, and I’m cold and tired, too. I need to go home.”

He released her arm and took hold of her by the shoulders, so that she was forced to look at him.

“I’m sorry,” he said, suddenly deflated. “Can’t you see that I’m desperate, Alex? I need you, too. Come for a drink, at least. We have to talk.”

“OK. Just one drink, though. I agree that we should talk.”

He preceded her to the automatic doors, waiting on the other side for her to emerge. Then he took her hand. It was a curiously intimate gesture and it made her feel unsettled. In her head, she repeated Carolyn’s advice like a mantra. She could and would curtail the strange romance upon which she and Edmund had embarked. She would try to preserve their professional relationship, but she wanted to pursue the business idea on her own at first. Edmund must surely agree. Their liaison could not have made him any happier than it had made her and she would not appear to be cutting him out of the business partnership, just postponing it.

He held open the door of the Station Hotel and she took the opportunity to draw away from him. Outside, the hotel’s grim and grimy architecture proclaimed it to be mid-Victorian. Inside, it had become suspended in a 1950s time-warp. The reception area consisted of a tall booth like a pulpit whose dark polished wood panels concealed from view any activity that might take place behind it, and, unless they made an effort to show themselves, also the identity of the person standing there. Alex could just see the curly dark top of a man’s head. It was bent forward, presumably over some book-keeping task. The man did not look up or greet them. They therefore made their way to the lounge unimpeded and unescorted. It was a room furnished with fat red plush sofas and solid round tables set about with sturdy plush-upholstered chairs. The dusty red curtains were looped back to reveal elaborate but dingy nets. A sole waitress stood to attention beside a vast ungainly sideboard. She was middle-aged and lumpy. She wore a black dress on which a tiny frilled apron had been superimposed. It looked as if her whole ensemble had been sewn together into a single garment and she had come upon it by rummaging through a dressing-up box. She remained stock-still until they had selected a table and seated themselves, then advanced with her order pad.

“What would you like?” asked Edmund humbly.

“Tea, please,” said Alex firmly.

“No afternoon teas after four-thirty,” said the waitress uncompromisingly. She spoke with an unattractively strong local accent.

“I don’t want afternoon tea. Just a cup of tea.”

“This room’s for bar snacks after six,” said the waitress triumphantly “or drinks from the bar. You can have tea or coffee with food,” she added helpfully. “Would you like to see the menu?”

“Yes, please,” said Edmund. The woman retreated temporarily to her sideboard.

“You know that I don’t want supper,” said Alex in a low, furious voice. “Order for yourself if you like.”

“Of course I don’t want to eat alone,” said Edmund snappishly. “Will you at least have some wine?”

Alex nodded, defeated. When the waitress returned, Edmund waved away the menu and asked for the wine list.

“A bottle of Merlot, please,” he said.

“You’ll have to drink most of it yourself,” said Alex. “I’ve been drinking already today and I have to drive home.”

“OK, fine. I’ll just pour you a glass and you can dilute it, or drink water with it as you please. A jug of water, as well, please,” he added to the waitress.

The conversation was taut while they were waiting for the drinks to arrive.

“Did you have a good time with your friend?” Edmund asked, after a protracted silence.

“Yes. But we could only have lunch as she had to work later on.”

“You’re very late back in that case.”

“It was a long lunch.” There was another silence.

“How are things at home?”

“Fine. Tom’s working hard, but he’s managing to make time for me, too. For us, I should say. What about you?”

Edmund shook his head. “Krystyna’s very depressed,” he said. “I’ve not seen her as bad as this before.”

“Has she seen a doctor?”

“Yes, he’s prescribed some form of medication. It’s not very strong – not strong enough, probably. But she won’t take Valium any more. She says it makes her feel like a cardboard cut-out.”

“Perhaps you should spend more time with her.”

“Perhaps. The fact is I no longer love her. There’s no reason for it – she’s a perfectly nice woman and she’s forgiven me completely for that affair I had ten years ago. But there it is.”

The waitress arrived with an opened bottle of red wine and a jug of water on a tray. She slid the tray carefully on to the small round table that separated them.

“I’ll be straight back with some glasses,” she said, stumping off again.

“Do you think that she knows about us?”

Edward’s blue eyes irradiated alarm. “Christ! What made you suggest that?”

“It’s not such an outlandish suggestion, is it? You may have been very careful, but it’s possible that she suspects something. After all, as you’ve just said, it’s happened before.”

“You certainly know how to hit below the belt, don’t you? You’re hardly whiter than white yourself. But no, I don’t think she does suspect. If her behaviour last time is anything to go by, she wouldn’t suffer in silence. She’d come straight out with it and accuse me.”

The waitress returned, bearing four glasses on her tray. She unloaded them slowly, one by one. She was obviously intrigued by the couple she was serving and took her time. Alex thought that she’d probably caught some snippets of their conversation.

“Thank you,” she said, as the woman hoisted the water jug aloft, “we can serve ourselves now.”

The waitress eyed her suspiciously.

“Would you like to taste the wine, sir?” she said to Edmund with almost ceremonial politeness.

“What? Oh, yes, I suppose so,” he replied distractedly. The waitress shot Alex a triumphant glance. Alex did not respond. She just wanted to be rid of the woman as soon as possible.

Edmund downed the splash of wine that he had been poured and set the glass back on the table. He was about to seize the bottle when he realised that the waitress was still hovering.

“Is it all right, sir?”

“Hmm? Yes, yes, thank you.” Edmund took the mock-leather pocketbook from her and signed the chitty. He placed two pound coins on top of it and closed it before handing it back to her.

“Thank you, sir.” The woman gave a curious little bob before she walked away. Alex could hardly believe her eyes; she realised that she had just witnessed a curtsey, albeit a brief one. She wished that it had been Tom sitting opposite her so that they could have shared the joke. Edmund seemed not to realise and she couldn’t be bothered to explain it to him.

“Will you have some of this?” he said to her now, waving the bottle at her.

“Just half a glass,” said Alex, her tone softer. His face was bleak. She regretted what she had said about Krystyna.

“What did you want to talk about?” said Edmund, swirling his wine in the glass. Alex sensed that he wanted to down it in one go and was trying to make himself wait for as long as possible before he did so.

“The business idea,” said Alex. She blurted it out quickly, knowing that if she thought about it too much she would chicken out of discussing it.

“You’re not getting cold feet, are you?” The words came out accusingly, rattled off one after the other like machine-gun bullets. “I sincerely hope not, because I’ve really stuck out my neck with the trustees so that you can do it.”

“I know that, and I’m very grateful,” said Alex more gently. “And no, I’m not getting cold feet. I just think we should take it slowly, that’s all. We both need to prepare for the busiest time of year at work and neither of us wants to let anyone down. I think we should start small, now that the trustees have agreed to it. Just do it in our own time, perhaps for a year or so. And I was wondering if it might not be better for me to go it alone at first just to see if it works. If it does, of course I should like you to join me later, as we’ve already said.”

Edmund put his head in his hands for a few seconds. When he raised his eyes to meet hers, he seemed close to tears.

“Whatever you say. I can alter the arrangement with the trustees now that it’s been broached. I’m sure that they will be very grateful to retain all of your official services for the summer. Just don’t give me the brush-off, that’s all. This means so much to me. You mean so much to me,” he added, a second too late.

“I can see that,” said Alex, not without irony. Apparently he did not pick up the edge in her tone.

“Besides,” said Edward. “There’s quite an important project that I’d like to get my teeth into. I want to do it on my own, if you don’t mind. When it’s finished, it can be a surprise for you. It will put the business on the map; that I do assure you.” He was suddenly animated, more fully engaged than she had ever seen him and also, she could see, fearful of what her reaction to this might be.

“That sounds very intriguing,” she said as archly as she could. “I’m not sure that I can wait to be surprised – I might die of curiosity before I find out what it is. Couldn’t you just give me a little clue?”

Edmund took in the new playfulness of her tone and immediately echoed it.

“No,” he said teasingly. “But I do promise you that I’ll start on it straight away, in order to keep you in suspense for as short a time as possible. I’ll start tomorrow, in fact. I’ll come to the Archaeological Society after work and begin then.”

Alex immediately felt uneasy, though she couldn’t explain why. All they were proposing to do was to catalogue boxes of flints and bones after all. What could be the harm in it?

“All right,” she said. “Just for an hour, though. I don’t want to be there too late tomorrow.”

“You could have a key cut for me if you like.”

“You know that I need permission from the trustees to do that.”

“Yes, of course. Don’t bother, then. An hour should be fine for making a start. And Alex?”

“Yes?”

“I know we’ve been going through a rough patch and I’m certainly not the world’s greatest lover, but I do love you. Please don’t take that away from me.”

Alex sighed. She was cold and tired and had no energy left to argue.

“All right,” she said, “but we shall have to see how it all works out – for both of us. And with Krystyna and Tom, as well.” She rose and put on her jacket. “Now, I really must get home,” she said. “And so should you.”

Edmund stood up and kissed her near to her mouth, but with closed lips. He sank back down into his seat again. He had drained the first glass of wine without her noticing and now poured himself another.

“And don’t sit here drinking until you’re not fit to drive,” she added.

He raised his glass to her.

“No,” he said, “I won’t.”