Marriage and Other Games (41 page)
‘Maybe not.’ Sebastian hadn’t considered that. Yet again, he hadn’t thought his plan through. Was he ever going to learn?
‘At least let me take you for lunch,’ he offered finally. ‘You look as if you haven’t eaten for days.’
‘No way. I’m not going into the Trout with you. Not after all those terrible articles—’
‘Do you know what?’ Sebastian interrupted. ‘The funny thing about down here is actually nobody gives a toss. They might be inveterate curtain-twitchers, and know the intimate details about your business, but they’re not actually bothered. They don’t judge. It’s not like London, when people give you the cold shoulder or cut you dead.’
‘Really?’ Charlotte looked doubtful.
‘Honestly. It’s why my parents moved here. All their friends used to behave dreadfully, but it didn’t matter in Withybrook. They could get up to all manner of nefarious activities and still be given the time of day. Basically, I don’t think people here understand the nuances, so they just let you get on with it.’
‘I haven’t dared go out for days, for fear of what people might be saying.’
‘You shouldn’t care anyway,’ said Sebastian stoutly. ‘You’re not actually guilty of anything.’
‘True. But there’s guilt by association, I can assure you.’ Charlotte still remembered the ignominy of being blanked in Sainsbury’s car park, and the churning feeling it had given her in her stomach.
‘Come on.’ Sebastian wasn’t going to be dissuaded. ‘You need one of the Speckled Trout’s game pies, and some lemon pudding.’
‘OK,’ she relented. ‘But let me go and put something decent on.’
‘No!’ said Sebastian. ‘I keep telling you. It doesn’t matter. No one cares.’
‘I do,’ said Charlotte firmly. ‘At least a clean jumper and some lipstick.’
Twenty minutes later they were ensconced at a table by the inglenook fireplace with a gin and tonic each. The pub wasn’t full of people whispering and nudging, as Charlotte had imagined. Everyone seemed quite open about it. Norman hadn’t batted an eyelid at their appearance, just took their order cheerfully and poured them their drinks.
‘Hey, London Lady. Saw you in the paper.’ Darren walked past on his way from the bar and raised his glass to her with a cheeky grin.
‘Yes, and just for the record, I’m not shagging her,’ Sebastian informed him, tipping back in his chair.
Charlotte blushed scarlet. Darren dug Sebastian in the ribs.
‘Wouldn’t blame you if you were,’ he declared.
‘Excuse me!’ said Charlotte. ‘I am sitting here.’ But she couldn’t help laughing. Sebastian was right. No one in Withybrook gave a monkey’s about her past. Or her present, for that matter. Suddenly she felt as if she could breathe again. She’d shut herself in the cottage for days, only scuttling out when she had to, filling up at the petrol station the other side of Comberton for fear of bumping into anyone. Particularly . . .
She banished that thought from her head. She didn’t want to know what Fitch might think of her. Not a lot, she suspected. She had been steeling herself to go and see him and set the record straight, but hadn’t quite plucked up the courage. But now she thought perhaps she would.
She realised that Sebastian had asked her something, and snapped back to attention.
‘What?’
‘How am I going to get Catkin back?’ he asked plaintively. ‘She won’t even answer the phone to me. How am I going to get her to believe that I didn’t set out to hurt her?’
He looked utterly anguished.
Charlotte realised she’d seen that expression before. But not on his face. On Ed’s. The agonised expression of a man desperate to be understood. She picked up her knife and fork and cut through the crust on her game pie.
‘I’m sure she’ll come round eventually,’ she told him, knowing that she sounded totally unconvincing.
‘She’ll never forgive me.’
‘Of course she will.’
Sebastian stared at her intently. ‘Do you really think so?’ he demanded. ‘Women aren’t all that forgiving, you know.’
‘Yes, they are. She probably just needs time. And a bit of space. To think.’
‘Like you?’
‘What?’
‘Isn’t that why you came here? To give yourself time and space?’
‘I suppose so . . .’
‘So. Have you forgiven your husband for what he did?’
Charlotte was floored for a moment.
‘Why the interrogation?’
‘I’m interested. Have you?’
‘What he did was different,’ she protested.
‘In what way?’
‘He knew exactly what he was doing. And it was despicable. Totally premeditated.’
‘So why did he do it? Just because he thought he could get away with it?’
Charlotte looked down at her plate.
‘Because he wanted us to have a new life,’ she managed finally. ‘He wanted me to stop work, and get a house in the country. Because he wanted . . . to keep on trying for a baby.’
She swiftly put a piece of pie in her mouth so she could swallow down her tears with it.
‘Jesus,’ breathed Sebastian, enthralled. ‘He must have loved you very much.’
Charlotte had to lie down after lunch. Two double gin and tonics, a heavy meal and all the emotional upheaval had exhausted her. Talking to Sebastian had silted everything up again. She just didn’t know what to think any more. She lay on her bed, her mind racing, trying to sleep. But sleep eluded her, just as it had the last few nights. She was physically and emotionally exhausted.
One thing she had to do, she decided, was talk to Fitch. She knew he’d have seen the news. And the longer she left it, the harder it was going to be to talk to him about it. She decided she would walk down to his workshop on the pretext of choosing a bit of slate for the fireplace in the dining room. She slid back out of bed and went to look at herself in the mirror.
She looked awful. She’d have to spend at least an hour on her appearance to look even half decent. She decided not to bother. She was only going to see Fitch to explain things. She pulled on her coat and stuck on her boots, then went out into the high street.
Fitch’s workshop was adjacent to his house. She tapped on the door and stepped inside. He was slicing up pieces of stone with a circular saw. All around him were pieces of marble and granite waiting to be cut up into headstones or fireplaces. Everything was covered in a fine layer of stone dust. The noise from the saw was tremendous, and totally drowned out the afternoon play on Radio Four that was burbling from a digital radio perched on a shelf. Dido jumped up as soon as she saw Charlotte and came running over. Fitch turned off his machinery and took off his mask.
‘Hey.’
He smiled. Politely, Charlotte thought. He didn’t look exactly thrilled to see her.
‘Hi.’ She stuffed her hands in her pockets. It was freezing in the workshop. ‘I came to see about a piece of slate. For the fireplace.’
‘No problem. Have you got the measurements?’
She nodded, pulling a scrap of paper out of her pocket on which she’d written the dimensions. He took it from her, studying it carefully, not meeting her eye.
‘And . . . I came to say sorry.’
He looked up, raising an eyebrow. ‘Sorry?’
‘You must have seen the papers.’
‘Well, yes. You couldn’t exactly miss them.’
‘I should have told you.’ She sighed. ‘Christmas night. I should have explained.
He shrugged. ‘It’s none of my business.’
‘No. But you trusted me with your business—’
He put a hand on her shoulder. She felt a warm tingle.
‘Charlotte, it’s not a problem.’
‘And I haven’t been shagging Sebastian,’ she blurted out. ‘In case you thought I had.’
He laughed at that. Properly laughed, and she saw the wariness go out of his face.
‘What are you laughing at?’ she asked indignantly.
‘You,’ he replied. ‘You worry too much.’
Charlotte felt a little bit disgruntled. Here she was swallowing her pride and trying to apologise.
‘Well, I’m glad you think it’s funny. I didn’t want you to get the wrong end of the stick, that’s all—’
‘Of course I didn’t.’
‘Well, good.’ Flustered, she looked down at the cement floor, not knowing where to go with this next.
‘Come here, you.’
Fitch pulled her to him and enveloped her in a big hug.
‘The important thing is,’ he said, ‘are you all right? It must have been awful.’
She sank into his warmth. The softness of his thick padded shirt. She loved the comfort of his arms. She rested her head on his shoulder.
‘It was awful. But it’s over now. I can try and get back to normal. The house is nearly finished. You should come and have a look.’ She shut her eyes, wondering if she dared ask. Yes, of course she did. ‘In fact, why don’t you come for supper? I’ve got a proper kitchen now—’
‘Actually,’ said Fitch, ‘I’ve got some news myself.’
Something in his tone of voice made her step back and look at him. She couldn’t quite read his expression.
‘What?’
‘Hayley’s back,’ he said finally.
There was an awkward pause.
‘Oh,’ said Charlotte brightly. ‘That’s good. Isn’t it?’
‘Yeah.’ Fitch nodded. ‘I think so.’
Charlotte suddenly felt like crying. She blinked hard.
‘The bastard lamped her one,’ Fitch explained. ‘She came home with a black eye. But at least he knocked some sense into her. She wants us to make a go of it. Get back together.’
‘Right.’
‘The girls are thrilled.’
‘Of course they are.’
‘I guess it’s what I wanted.’
Charlotte looked at him doubtfully. ‘Even after what she did to you?’ ‘Hey,’ said Fitch. ‘Everyone’s allowed one mistake.’
‘Really?’
‘Of course. We’re only human.’
Charlotte started to shiver. The air in the workshop was icy and the floor was freezing. The cold was seeping up into her bones.
‘That’s great, Fitch,’ she said. ‘I’m really happy for you. Anyway, I’ve got to go.’
‘I’ll drop the slate up. Tomorrow?’
‘Whenever. Thanks.’
She nearly tripped over Dido in her haste to get out. As she shut the door behind her she heard the sound of his saw start up.
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