Letter from Paris (12 page)

Just before twelve o’clock, she dragged a comb through her hair, grabbed her scarf and bag and left the house. She walked quickly past the local restaurants and shops at the end of her street, marveling that life was proceeding normally all around her – the usual gaggle of teenagers hanging around the chip shop, the mothers pushing strollers, the homeless guy curled up in a sleeping bag in a doorway.

As she turned into the park, she looked up through the sycamore trees at the remarkably blue sky. Nothing around her on this beautiful summer’s day reflected her inner turmoil. Surely there should be rain, a threat of thunder, something ominous in the atmosphere, she thought, as a couple of kids whizzed past her on bicycles and an ice cream van pulled up discordantly chiming “Greensleeves.” Luella paused by the railings to let a dog walker go past and then, swallowing hard, she approached the bench where Peter stood waiting.

“Hello, Peter,” she said after a few awkward moments of silence. “Shall we walk?”

Luella dug her hands deep in her pocket as they past stragglers and skateboarding teens and the picnickers dotted across the lawns. They followed the gravel path along the side of the lake.

“Lu…” Peter started. “Lu, I am so sorry. I don’t know where to begin.”

Luella felt tears stinging the back of her eyes. “Me either,” she said, staring out across the water at the steady pull of a rowing boat. They stood for a while. Eventually Luella broke the heavy silence between them.

“Before you say anything, Pete, I want you to know that I’ve had time to give this a lot of thought. I’m over the first shock and…” she turned to face him “…and it was a terrible shock, but I am trying to come to terms with it, whatever ‘it’ is. I’m sufficiently mature to recognize this can’t have been easy for you…and, well, I want you to know that I’m not angry anymore. I’m terribly sad if you want to know. Terribly sad.”

Peter motioned to interrupt and she put her hand up toward him to stop him. “I suppose what I’m saying,” she said slowly, “is that I need to understand. Pete, are you in love with this man?”

Peter stared at the ground. “I wish it were as simple as that, but yes.” He sighed.

They reached a park bench near an old wooden summer-house and sat down next to each other awkwardly.

“Do you think it might help for us to see a counselor?” he volunteered, breaking the silence.

“A marriage guidance counselor?” Luella was incredulous. “I think that’s hardly appropriate given we can’t possibly rescue our marriage.”

Peter sighed heavily. “But maybe, if you understood, we could salvage our friendship. I can’t imagine my life without you in it, Lu.”

Luella’s voice shook. “Pete. Do you know how degrading it was for me to walk into Dr. Robert’s surgery and ask to be tested for STDs?”

“You didn’t need to. I told you. I’ve only had one lover.”

Lover. Luella winced. He could have said ‘relationship’ or ‘experience’ but no, he’d said ‘lover.’ How incredible that one simple word could carry such weight.

“Come on, Pete. Are you trying to tell me this man has been celibate his entire life? Are you screwing the pope? Not that THAT would rule anything out of course,” she added bitterly.

“Lu, I’m sorry I put you in that position, but for what it’s worth, we’ve been practicing safe sex and…”

Luella blanched.

“…and it’s not about sex. Well, the attraction is, but it’s more than that.”

“So did you never find me attractive? Did you ever enjoy sex with me?”

Peter stared at the ground kicking at the grass with his shoe. “Lu, of course I found you attractive.”

Luella lit a cigarette, inhaled deeply and exhaled the smoke in a loud rush. “Forget that. I suppose I’m asking if our whole life together has been an act for you. Look at me. Answer me,” she demanded. “Have you always known you liked other men? If we’d not lost the baby, would that have changed things? For fuck’s sake, Peter, did I ever know you?”

An elderly woman walked past flashing Luella a disapproving look. “Fuck. Yes. I said fuck,” Luella muttered. “It’s a fucking park not a fucking church…and…if you want to know, this is my husband here and he’s been fucking another MAN!”

Luella stamped out her cigarette, trembling uncontrollably. The woman walked on quickly, looking over her shoulder a few times as she went. Luella leapt to her feet.

“I’m not ready to talk, Pete. I have to go.”

Peter took her arm gently. “Please, can we meet again soon?”

“Maybe,” she said. “Yes. Yes, okay. Just give me a bit more time. I can’t think straight right now.” She pulled out a Kleenex and blew her nose. “Look at me; I’m a complete mess and I have to go into the office this afternoon.”

“I can’t find words to tell you how dreadful I feel for putting you through this,” he said.

“You know, Peter, some mornings I wake up and I’ve forgotten for a moment that this is happening. Then the enormity of it floods over me. I feel engulfed. I am trying so desperately to understand and to accept it, but…I think I am still in shock.”

“I understand,” he said softly. “I really wish I had been brave enough to tell you, rather than you finding out the way you did.”

“I have to go,” Luella said, turning to walk away. “I really do.”

Immediately after the seatbelt signs had been turned off, India grabbed her wash bag and went to the bathroom. She freshened up as best she could, scrubbing her teeth and splashing her face in the tiny sink, losing her balance on the way back as she squeezed past the flight attendant serving drinks.

“I’m really sorry,” she mumbled, attempting to climb over Henry’s outstretched legs, then catching his shoulder to save herself from landing in his lap. God he smells good, she thought as he leaned forward to steady her and she caught a glimpse of dark chest hair under his unbuttoned shirt.

Yes. It’s official, she thought. He’s hot. Very hot…disturbingly hot and…

Their faces were now inches away from each other and India was stuck straddling him.

“I’m kind of enjoying this.” He grinned.

Summoning all her strength to resist the almost overpowering urge to kiss him, India righted herself and stumbled into her own seat.

“I’ll have a gin and tonic, not too much ice,” Henry told the flight attendant, who had made no attempt to help India and was focusing her attention solely on him. “Care to join me for a cocktail, Miss Butler? We’re off the clock now.”

“Yes,” India said, pulling out her tray. “White wine, please.”

Her glass of wine was delivered with a charmless nod. Henry raised his glass in India’s direction. “Cheers,” he said, holding her gaze for the longest time. “Here’s to a bump-free ride.”

India registered the double entendre and lowered her eyes. “Are you pleased with how the project’s going?” she asked, hoping that the heat rising to her cheeks would not betray her.

“Very. But as I said, we’re off the clock. Here, have some warm nuts.” He laughed, handing her a dish of hot cashews, then adjusting his headrest and closing his eyes. “I’ll see you for dinner. Order me the steak when she comes around again will you?”

India stopped short of telling him to stay awake and order his own food. She pulled the screen divider up between them, reclined her seat so that she couldn’t see him and pulled out the airline video player. A few minutes later, she’d settled into a rerun of
Ab Fab
when the flight attendant pushed the divider back down to take her meal order. India unhooked one earpiece.

“Oh. Sorry. I’m not sure yet,” she said, lifting the menu from the pocket next to her, very much aware that Henry had one eye open and was looking at her again. She settled on the chicken with green beans and turned back to her program. The system refused to reboot and stayed stuck on Joanna Lumley’s freeze-framed image. India pressed her call button and waited.

“I can’t get it to play,” she told Henry after about fifteen minutes. He yanked out his player.

“Mine’s dead too,” he said, pressing his call light.

The flight attendant appeared at his side instantly, twiddling buttons, apologizing and offering him another cocktail, a customer feedback form and complimentary air miles.

Next, she’ll be offering him a blow job, India thought, as the girl hovered over his seat, untangling his headset. “Mine isn’t working either,” she told her.

“I’ll be with you shortly, Madam,” the attendant snapped, turning back to Henry with a flashing smile. “I’m sorry, Mr. Cowan. Please let me know if there is anything more I can do to make your flight more enjoyable.”

India packed away her system and extended the seat into a sleeping position. What a man’s woman, she thought. You’re welcome to him. He’s all yours. I shall be having a little snooze. Now where did I put my purse?

India woke up with a jolt. She seemed to be moving. What was going on? She eased herself up and looked out of the car window at a line of garages and a wire-fenced playing field she didn’t recognize. Scrambling around for a reference point, she came up with a blank.

Omigod, I’ve been kidnapped, she thought, stifling a scream. Stay calm, say nothing, think. Think. She let out a whimper.

“You’re awake.”

The voice was coming from the driver’s seat.

“Let me out of here,” she screeched, trying the door as the car pulled up at a set of traffic lights. “You won’t get away with this you know. They’ll find you. Let me out NOW.”

“Calm down, Miss Butler.”

India paled. “Henry?” she said. “Is that you? What on earth are you doing? I don’t understand. Where are we? We’re supposed to be on a plane.”

“We
were
on a plane and now we’re in my car.”

“I don’t understand, Henry. Why am I in my pajamas and in the back of your car?”

“I expect the last hour or so might be a little blurry for you. Yes?”

“What are you talking about and by the way, where are we going? I can’t go to a meeting dressed like this,” she said, relieved to see that her purse was on the seat next to her and that she still had her wallet and phone. This was all very disturbing; had Henry had some kind of mental breakdown?

“I am taking you home.”

“Well that’s a relief.” She sighed, but what’s going on, she wondered. “What happened? Do I have a concussion? Was there an accident? Did the plane crash?”

“I believe the accident was all you.” He laughed, grinning at her through the rearview mirror. Don’t you remember anything? At one point you seemed to be making sense, then you conked out again.”

“Last thing I remember…Oh!”

“Yes?”

“I took an Ambien.”

“Didn’t anyone ever tell you you’re not supposed to drink with those things?”

“Did you have to carry me off the plane or something?” she asked, unsure if she wanted the answer or not.

“You were very sweet,” he said. “You offered no resistance. The only tricky bit was getting you through immigration.”

“Look. You may be finding this all highly amusing and don’t think I’m not grateful for the lift home, but if I haven’t committed a crime and I’m not blacklisted by the airline I think I’d like to forget the whole incident if that’s okay with you.”

“Fine by me.” He smirked. “However, I shall treasure the thought of what you would like to do to me when you get my trousers off.”

“Very funny.” India blushed. “It would appear I was drugged,” she said, climbing out of the car unsteadily now that they had reached her house. “I have no intention of taking your trousers off.”

“Pity.” He grinned, lifting her case up the path for her. “By the way, who’s Adam?”

12

“Sarah, I’m mortified. I think I’m going to have to resign. I can’t remember anything much after the plane took off.”

“Resign? Bollocks!” Sarah snorted. “Don’t be ridiculous. Anyway, we’ve come here to relax remember? This place is called
The Sanctuary
for a reason.”

“You’re right.” India smiled, adjusting the towel on her head. “Happy birthday.”

“This is so great. Thank you. I love this spa. I can’t believe I have the whole day to do nothing. I haven’t been here for years.” Sarah sighed happily, trailing her hand in the lily pond and watching a woman sway back and forth across the swimming pool on a roped swing.

“I come past here most days. Henry’s office is just up the street. That’s what made me think of it,” India said. “Shall we order lunch soon. I like the sound of the quinoa salad.”

“Here, let me look. What time’s your next treatment?”

“Not till three,” India said, leaning over to catch sight of a shoal of Koi carp. “So you think I should just pretend it never happened?”

“Well from what you’ve said you can’t remember much anyway.”

India took a sip of her watermelon juice. “That’s the problem. I keep getting awful flashbacks, and apparently I said things I don’t remember.”

“Like what?”

“You don’t want to know.”

“That’s funny; I DO want to know.”

“Okay…well apparently I said something about taking off his trousers. I don’t remember. He told me that’s what I said.”