What She Wants (56 page)

man,’ he said in serious tones. ‘He’s unscrupulous, chatting up married women like a wolf looking for …’ ‘Hush,’ said Delphine, putting a finger to her lips and gesturing to the children. ‘Little pitchers have big ears.’ ‘What’s a little pitcher?’ asked Millie, bored with being ignored. Delphine began to amuse the children, using their crayons to draw pictures on the paper placemats, and Eugene finished making his point, this time in a whisper. ‘I don’t trust any man who has so little respect for other people, that’s all.’ Hope was grateful when their food arrived. She did not want to answer questions about how well she knew Christy De Lacy or hear anyone talking about his fatal fascination for married women. She merely wished someone had told her all this before she went to work for him. Lunch arrived and as they tucked in, Matt made them all laugh telling them about the clients for his beer campaign, who couldn’t agree on which beautiful girls should feature in the ad. ‘They were only background actors after all, but arguing over which ones they wanted took longer than the decision about which campaign to go with.’ ‘You can’t talk,’ said Hope, ‘you and Dan spend hours picking models for campaigns. You had more model cards than the fashion editor at Vogue when you were casting the insurance company advert. They have this game where they figure out who’ll be suitable for which product,’ she told Delphine and Eugene. ‘It can get very rude at times. They decided that the sales assistant in the local chip shop, who had the glossiest lips and,’ she whispered, ‘a definite boob job, was perfect for marital aids.’ Delphine giggled.

‘What are marital aids, Mummy?’ inquired Millie, who had ears like a bat. ‘Band aids for married people,’ said Matt blandly, knowing that at the first sign of a word she shouldn’t say, Millie would be roaring it at the top of her voice for days.

Delphine giggled some more. ‘What should I advertise, then, Matt?’ she asked.

He shook his head. ‘We never do it on people we know,’ he said.

‘Oh go on,’ urged Delphine.

‘Shampoo,’ suggested Eugene, running a hand through his girlfriend’s rippling auburn hair.

‘No, let Matt decide,’ she said. ‘He’s the expert.’

‘Shampoo would be great,’ Matt said hurriedly.

‘What’s a boob job?’ Millie asked loudly.

‘Let’s change the subject, please,’ Hope said.

They ordered coffee and Matt and Eugene talked about football, while Delphine filled Hope in on the latest saga with her mother. She and Eugene were still plucking up the courage to announce their wedding plans.

‘She rang me at work yesterday to tell me that my second cousin in Tipperary was getting married and that she’d heard that I’d been sent an invitation for two. Naturally, she was ringing to beg me not to bring Eugene.’

‘That’s terrible,’ sympathized Hope with feeling. ‘I just don’t understand your mum. I know she’s religious but that’s no reason to be so unchristian.’

‘When you love someone, you can cope with these things, can’t you?’ Matt said, holding Hope’s hand in his firmly. ‘Love will find a way.’

Feeling more like a charlatan than ever, Hope squeezed Matt’s hand in return and tried to stop herself breaking into tears. She was a bad, bad person. She hated herself and she certainly didn’t deserve him.

The Widow herself, Belle Maguire, arrived at their table in a cloud of Chanel No 5, gold bangles jangling on her tanned, skinny arms. Determinedly blonde and expertly made-up, she welcomed them all, smiling particularly at Matt, whom she hadn’t met before. ‘I hope you’ve all bought tickets to my charity night,’ she said. ‘It’s for the guide dogs for the blind people and we run it every year. The more the merrier, I always say. We’ve got bands lined up and a buffet.’

‘We’re going,’ Delphine told her. ‘What about you, Hope?’ ‘Er yes,’ said Hope. ‘Good. I could do with another ticket seller.’ ‘I’m afraid I’ll be away,’ said Matt, on being told when it was. The Widow’s black-lashed eyes swept over him. ‘Pity,’ she said. ‘But there’ll be other times.’ It was after three when they all finally left, with Toby declaring that he felt sick because Millie had put so much pepper on his chips. ‘Didn’t,’ she said truculently. ‘Did!’ said Toby, giving her a fierce glare that shut Millie up for once. ‘Now kids, stop fighting,’ said Hope mildly, but she was secretly pleased to see Toby standing up to his older sister. He was definitely getting more self-confident. ‘Eugene’s a sound bloke,’ Matt said, fastening Millie into her car seat. ‘Although he was coming over all Victorian about that De Lacy chap. Probably scared he’ll start hitting on Delphine.’ Matt smiled. At Curlew Cottage, Matt was impressed with how big the hens were, how many eggs they were now laying (three to four eggs most days from the six hens) and how hard Hope must have worked to have cleared out the big briars at the front of the cottage. ‘It’s nothing,’ said Hope of the enormous task that had taken her three whole, back-breaking days. More penance. Her hands, arms and legs were scraped with endless thorns and her shoulders ached from wielding the saw and the spade, but the bonus was that she’d finally got a nice clear space to plant flowers. There were some lovely bedding plants outside the supermarket that would look lovely there. While Matt unpacked with Millie and Toby clinging to him, Hope went about her daily chores, tidying up the kitchen and pouring some homemade marinade over chicken breasts for dinner that night. Even more penance. She’d spent

ages searching for the correct ingredients to make up the marinade from her Queen of the Kitchen book. Every time she bought fresh basil, it went limp and hopeless within days, so now she’d bought some fresh herbs in pots and was attempting to grow them in the shelter of the walled garden.

When Matt reappeared, he leaned over her shoulder and made impressed noises at the marinating chicken. ‘You have been working hard,’ he said, planting a kiss on the top of her head. ‘Now, I know you want us to have time as a family but,’ Matt looped his hands around her waist, ‘I think we need time as a couple too. I asked Finula if the kids could stay with her for the weekend. You and I are driving to Kinsale tomorrow morning. It’s going to be just you and me, with a big double bed and a town with some of the best gourmet restaurants in the country, so everyone says, anyhow.’

Hope gulped. There was no point saying anything. What could she say? Her thoughtful husband had organized a fantastic romantic weekend away for them and it was only her deceitfulness that rendered it agonizing. She thought of saying that Millie wasn’t actually that keen on Auntie Finula but knew that as both children loved Ciaran, that excuse wouldn’t really work.

Kinsale was even prettier than the guide book Finula had inevitably produced, with narrow winding streets, scores of restaurants tucked away in every corner, and a pretty harbour where all manner of yachts and crafts sat moored side by side while the owners sank pints of Guinness in the harbour bars. Under normal circumstances, Hope would have adored it.

Matt held her hand as they wandered the streets before choosing a pretty pub with a bright pink facade for their lunch. They sat in the snug, warmed by a blazing fire despite the heat outside, and Matt insisted that Hope have a glass of Guinness.

‘It’s medicinal, apparently,’ he said, laughing as she screwed up her face at the first taste. ‘You look so pale that you need a tonic’ Afterwards, they took a brisk walk along the road out of town, before ending up on a sliver of beach where Hope happily collected shells for the children, ending up with a cache of the palest pink scallop shells and dolls’ house sized mother-of-pearl cowries. Millie loved shells and would be raging to think that she hadn’t had the chance to pick these ones, Hope thought fondly. That night they ate fresh crab and dug out the flesh of a delicious lobster in a dimly-lit restaurant with lilting Irish music in the background and plenty of laughing and talking from the patrons in the foreground. People who came to Kinsale liked to enjoy themselves it seemed, soaking up the atmosphere and the fabulous food and drink. ‘I love it here,’ Matt sighed, sitting back in his chair, replete. ‘There is a laid-back atmosphere in this country, for sure. I tried to explain what it was like to Betsey but I couldn’t. She has this idea that if you’re more than three hours away from London, you’re on the far side of the moon.’ ‘Betsey wouldn’t let herself enjoy Ireland. She secretly wants to live in Manhattan,’ Hope pointed out. ‘She thinks that if only she could off-load Dan and the kids, she’d be Carrie from Sex And The City and spend her life drinking cocktails, wearing vintage dresses and being chatted up by handsome men with houses in the Hamptons and trust funds.’ ‘She doesn’t want that,’ said Matt with a grin. ‘She does.’ ‘You’re very anti-Betsey these days,’ Matt remarked. ‘Back home in Bath, you seemed like best friends.’ Hope fiddled with her wine glass. ‘We were, we are,’ she said. ‘But Betsey hasn’t been exactly killing herself to keep in touch with me and when she does, she spends the entire time going on about what I’m missing in Bath. It’s very

annoying. And she thinks my having hens is hilarious,’ she added crossly, ‘as if they’re living in the house with us, perching on the fridge and laying eggs on the couch. Honestly, she hasn’t a clue about country life, for all the articles she says she’s written about it.’

Matt roared with laughter. ‘You’re so funny when you’re angry,’ he said. ‘You used to be in awe of Betsey, she bossed you round like nobody’s business. You’ve changed, you know.’

Hope looked warily at him. She certainly had. In Bath, she wouldn’t have looked twice at the likes of Christy De Lacy, never mind have two passionate encounters with him. ‘I suppose I have,’ she admitted.

‘And remember when you complained that you didn’t want to leave Bath and how you said you’d never fit in here?’

‘I was wrong,’ Hope replied. ‘I love it.’ She gazed at him frankly. ‘It seems as if you’re the one who hasn’t fitted in.’

It was Matt’s turn to look discomfited. Hope was getting very blunt in her old age. ‘I have fitted in,’ he said. ‘My working in Bath is just a temporary thing. I haven’t given up on the novel,’ he added, crossing his fingers under the table and hoping that the novel hadn’t given up on him.

His arm hung over her shoulder as they walked through the bustling town to their hotel. In their room, Hope undressed slowly, the guilt lying like lead in her heart. The previous night, Toby had had a bad dream just before Matt and Hope had gone to bed. By the time she’d calmed him and given him some soothing hot milk, Matt was asleep, sprawled in the middle of the bed, giving Hope a night’s grace.

Tonight, she had no excuse. She unpinned her hair, letting it fall in soft curls to her neck, and took off her amethyst cardigan and matching camisole. As she unzipped the long black skirt that flared out over her hips, Matt put his arms around her and nuzzled into her neck.

‘I’ve missed you,’ he said, holding her close against him.

He was stripped to the waist and his strong torso was warm and familiar. He smelled of the aftershave he’d been wearing for years and his skin was warm to the touch. They’d made love so many times before that they fitted together expertly, like much-loved old clothes that hung comfortingly even after many washes.

Tonight, Matt caressed her the way he always had, the way she loved, his recent absence adding extra passion. His hands unhooked her bra and held her heavy breasts, stroking and caressing, while his lips roamed over her soft neck and shoulders. Hope, who longed for him and couldn’t bear his touch with equal measure, leaned her head back and felt the prickle of tears behind her eyelids.

How could she bear this when she felt so guilty?

They ended up on the bed, Matt finishing undressing her before undressing himself. Naked, he climbed on top of her, kissing passionately and touching hungrily, his voice hoarse as he told her how much he missed her and how many nights he’d lain in Betsey’s spare room thinking of this moment.

‘I love you, Hope,’ he murmured, as his wife tried to caress him back with even a quarter of his passion, all the while trying to obliterate the nagging little voice in her head which told her she was a liar and a cheat.

She tried, oh how she tried. But it was so difficult to feel Matt’s fingers on every part of her body, excitingly exploring those exact places which turned her on most, when she felt so bad about betraying him and when the image of Christy’s glittering, dangerous face mocked her. Every endearment from Matt’s lips made her want to cry out that she didn’t deserve it or him.

‘Hope, my love,’ Matt said hoarsely when he finally slid into her, urgently, fiercely, desperate in his need of her. And in spite of her guilt, Hope’s body answered his. Those many long nights when she’d yearned for him meant that when Matt cried out in orgasm, Hope reached a glittering climax too, holding him as tightly as she could, crying his name

and then just crying, as great juddering sobs racked her body with the emotion of it all. ‘Oh my love, are you all right?’ gasped Matt, his mouth in her hair. ‘I’m fine, I’m fine,’ she cried. ‘I missed you, that’s all.’ And then she sobbed harder because it wasn’t exactly the truth. They lay spooned together, with Hope’s eyes tightly shut as if she could stop any more tears from falling. Normally, they cuddled and chatted after making love. ‘What’s wrong, Hope?’ asked Matt, idly running his fingers up and down her arm. Hope held her breath. ‘Nothing,’ she answered after a moment. ‘I just feel a little emotional, that’s all. I’ve missed you, I’m missing the children. And I’m a bit premenstrual.’ With luck, Matt wouldn’t think it odd that she was premenstrual two and a half weeks before her actual period. Infidelity was such hard work and required so many lies. ‘Oh,’ he cuddled her more closely. ‘I’ve been thinking, Hope, now that Toby’s nearly three, do you want another baby? I know you always said you’d like three children. You said yourself that you’re so happy in Redlion, wouldn’t this be the perfect time?’ Beside him, Hope bit her lip. It was vital that she said the right thing, vital that she didn’t give Matt the impression that she didn’t want his baby, when she loved everything about him. In truth, she didn’t know if she did want another child. She adored her children and loved being a mother but Millie and Toby took up so much of her energy, could she cope with a new baby? It had taken a year after Toby’s birth for her to come to terms with having two children to care for instead of one. Yet the last thing she wanted to do was give Matt the impression that the idea of another child with him was one she couldn’t bear. ‘I haven’t thought about it for a long time,’ she said carefully. ‘Our pair are such a handful, it’s hard to imagine