More Than You Know (99 page)

Gina walked forward, right up to their table, and, squaring up to them, said, “Is this a private love-in? Or can anyone join in?”

“Damn! Shit! Bloody animals. Oh, look at it. And it’s Friday evening; all the garages will be closed. Oh, bloody hell …”

The cause of this outburst was a couple of sheep that had clearly escaped their field and were ambling peacefully along the country lane; a corner had obscured them from view until the very last minute, whereupon Toby had braked, swerved violently, and slithered safely but rather irrevocably half into the ditch.

Eliza got out and looked at the car.

Toby got out and joined her. “We should have stuck to the main roads,” he said.

That
we
was generous, she thought; it had been her suggestion that they struck off the A road, which was thick with traffic.

He scowled at the car. “Bloody thing. But … point is—what do we do now?”

“God knows. We need a tow …”

As if on cue a very old Ford Anglia pulled up beside them, and a
doughty-looking elderly lady peered at them. She was dressed in a Barbour, and Wellington boots, in spite of the lovely evening, her grey hair piled up in a straggly bun on the top of her head.

“Looks as if you need help.”

“Indeed,” said Toby, “and kind of you to stop. But I don’t think your car …”

She looked at him witheringly.

“Of course not. But there’s a breakdown garage in Deep Mallow; that’s the village a few miles along. Want a lift there?”

“That would be very kind. But won’t they be closed?”

“Oh, without doubt. But Jim—that’s the owner—lives on the premises. He’ll come and sort you out; come on; hop in.”

Eliza and Toby hopped.

Jim Douglas was clearly in awe of the old lady. He revealed as they drove back to the car that she was the widow of one Colonel Rockingham, resident of the manor house and the uncrowned queen of the village.

“Very nice lady, very generous, but you ’ave to do what she says or you’re sorry.”

Jim Douglas managed to tow the car out of the ditch, but there was some damage to the wheelbase. “Can’t do nothing with that till tomorrow, if then.”

“Oh, dear. We rather need to get back,” said Toby.

“ ’Fraid you won’t. Not in that.”

“Is there anywhere we could hire a car?”

“Not this time of night. In the morning, maybe. If you want to make a few calls, there’s a pay phone in the workshop, but I doubt you’ll ’ave any joy.”

They didn’t. Everywhere was closed.

“Looks like we’re stuck. No … no buses, I suppose.”

“What, this time of night? Last one goes at five thirty.”

“No taxi service?”

“What, in Deep Mallow?” He seemed to find this very amusing. “No, you’re here till tomorrow. There’s a very good pub down the road; you could get a meal there, and then my auntie—she’s got a B-and-B—she might be able to put you up; I could ring her. Just the one night, would it be?”

“Yes, but—”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

He came back smiling. “Yes, she’s got the one room; nice one, she says, looks over the meadows. Fifty bob with breakfast, OK?”

“Yes, but—”

“I’ll tell her then. It’s just two houses down from the pub, called White Cottage, nice and convenient for you. You’ll be very comfortable; I can vouch for that.”

“Mr. Douglas—”

“That sounds perfect,” said Eliza. She smiled sweetly at Toby. “Very, very kind. Thank you.”

Toby stared at her, his expression a mixture of horror and amusement.

“Well, honestly,” she said, tucking into the very good pie and chips that the pub served, “we have to stay somewhere—we can’t sleep in the ditch—and it was obviously very clean. And so sweet of her, offering to lend us toothbrushes and stuff.”

“Yes, but … I mean … Eliza—”

“Toby, stop it. I’m not trying to seduce you, if that’s what you think. It was quite a big bed; we’ll manage. You can put a bolster down between us if you really want to …”

“Oh, God.” He looked quite desperate; she felt half-amused, half-insulted. “Did … did you speak to your mother?”

“Yes. I just said we’d had to stop for the night in a hotel; she’ll obviously assume two rooms and all that. Emmie’s gone to bed, and unless you’ve got any serious commitments you haven’t told me about, I don’t see why you’re quite so worried.”

“Legal protocol,” he said. “Surely you can see this is appallingly compromising.”

“Toby!”

“No, it’s true. Personal relationships between counsel and client are absolutely unethical. It would give your husband and his legal team the perfect opportunity to say I was unable to do the job I am required to do, that of advising the court as well as the client.”

“But we’re not
in
a personal relationship,” said Eliza.

“And who would believe that? Christ. Sharing a room and a double bed. Please, Eliza, use your brain.”

“I don’t have much of one, as you know. And who is going to tell? I’m not; you’re not. I doubt if Jim Douglas’s auntie will. So do stop fussing and eat your pie; it’s awfully good.”

He looked at her and grinned suddenly. “You seem very cheerful about it.”

“I am. It’s a wonderful distraction from Monday. Now do try to stop fussing, Toby. It’ll be all right.”

Mrs. Rockingham appeared in the pub just as they were finishing their meal. She nodded at them, went over to the bar; Toby jumped up.

“Let me; it’s the least I can do. You’ve been so kind. What are you drinking?”

“Guinness,” she said. “A pint, please. Very good of you. May I join you for a bit? I won’t stay long; never do, just the one and I’m back off home to bed.”

“Us too,” said Eliza with an innocent smile at Toby. She was suddenly hugely enjoying this.

“Gina, please!”

“Please what, Matt? ‘Please go away’? ‘Please leave me to what is clearly a very enjoyable evening’? ‘Please don’t be embarrassing’?”

She nodded at Louise. “Hallo. Nice to see you again. You must forgive me for intruding. I’ve heard how much you’ve been helping Matt with his case. And I might say you’re doing a lot better with him than I am. He won’t even appear in public with me, never mind snogging. This is a very nice hotel, Louise; I presume you can have a room at very short notice. Most convenient. Well, I’ll let you get on. Enjoy your evening.”

And she was gone, her high heels clacking across the hard wooden floor.

“Oh, God,” said Matt, “I’m sorry, Louise. She’s a bit … highly strung.”

“You could say that. Or you could say she was a bit rude. Or a bit mad. Are you still seeing her, then?”

“Not … not really.”

“It sounds as if you are.”

“Look, you must feel very embarrassed in front of your manager and everything; maybe we’d better go.”

“What, up to a room, as the whole bar will now be expecting? I don’t think so. I think we should stay here, nice and calm, and carry on with the champagne.”

“Oh, Louise …”

“Matt! What’s the matter; what’s gone wrong; you look as if you’re going to … to cry.”

“I feel like crying,” he said. “Because I’m a complete and utter bastard. And I’ve made a complete and utter hash of everything.”

“Not a complete and utter hash. Complete and utter bastard—well, arguable, I’d say.”

“No, don’t. Don’t start trying to make me feel better about myself. You can’t. I’m a bastard, and I didn’t deserve Eliza, and I’ve behaved appallingly towards her, for years and years, and I don’t deserve Emmie, and I’m behaving appallingly to her, and … Oh, shit. Shit, shit, shit. Oh, Christ, I think I’d better go home.”

“No. No, don’t. Why don’t you come back to my place. Just for a bit. Just for some … whisky. Whisky and sympathy.”

Eliza woke up feeling very hot and longing for a pee. She eased herself cautiously onto her back and lay there for a bit, listening to Toby snoring. His concern about their situation was clearly not severe enough to keep him awake.

She slid as carefully as she could out of bed, cursing the creaking, worked her way towards the door and opened it, switched the landing light on, and scuttled along to the loo.

God, it was hot.

Back in the room, she tried to open the window, but it seemed to be jammed. She looked at her watch: only half past two. A long time ahead, to be this uncomfortable. Well … maybe …

She pulled her shirt off and lay down again. And then her pants. Toby was far too deeply asleep to notice.

She’d never get back to sleep—never. She lay there trying all the
tricks: relaxing all over from her toes up, saying the alphabet backwards, counting backwards, counting sheep—she sighed. At least the snoring had stopped …

“You awake?” said Toby.

“Yes. Are you?”

“No.”

She giggled.

“It’s awfully hot, isn’t it?”

“Yes. I might try to open the window. Let’s see … Oh, damn, stubbed my fucking toe—I’ll have to put the light on …”

He sank onto the bed, rubbing his toe, and then turned and saw her. Sitting up, stark naked.

“Oh, God,” he said, and then again: “Oh, my God,” and then: “Turn the fucking light off, for Christ’s sake.”

It all happened very quickly after that.

She lay down and turned her head to him. And he reached out a hand and touched one of her breasts very gently and slowly. And then he said, “I … don’t think I can stand this any longer. You?”