Authors: David Nobbs
Pratt a Manger (43 page)
He loved her. How he loved her. Why had he not told her recently how much he loved her?
He’d make up for it tonight.
He locked up, and settled himself into the Lamborghini. It wouldn’t take long to get to Cheltenham. There wouldn’t be much on the roads tonight.
‘I’ve loved you since the first time we met. I’ve loved your body, your lips, your eyes, your talent, every spare elegant word you’ve ever written has excited me.’
‘Thank you, Nigel.’
He put his hand on her knee.
‘I would say, quite sincerely, that I am a happily married man,’ he said, ‘yet there hasn’t been one day, not one single day, when I haven’t thought of you.’
‘I don’t like hearing that,’ she said. ‘I don’t like it one little bit.’
‘I know you don’t love me.’
‘I wouldn’t go as far as that, Nigel.’
‘What?’
‘I never thought of anybody but Henry. It just didn’t
occur
to me that I could fancy any other man. I knew you were dashing and good-looking. It didn’t mean a thing.’
‘And now I’m bald and I don’t dash. What chance have I got?’
He smiled.
‘A pretty good chance, actually, Nigel.’
His smile froze. He was astonished.
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘Dear dear Nigel. Sadly, I don’t think it would matter much to Henry any more. He need never know, but, do you know, even if he ever did know, I don’t think his pain would be remotely as great as your joy. Not now, sadly. Love you? Oh yes. It’s a love born out of a lifetime working together. It may not be a love that’s enough for a lifetime, Nigel, but it’s enough for one night if you really want it.’
She stroked his leg very gently.
The Croatian waitress approached them, smiling. She had been eating out of their hands since they’d praised Dubrovnik.
‘Same again?’
‘No, thank you,’ said Nigel. ‘I rather think we may be going to bed.’
He was driving too fast. Over ninety. He’d had a few glasses, but he wouldn’t be over the limit, not with the amount of time that had elapsed. Besides, he drove better when he’d had a few drinks.
He roared down the dip at High Wycombe, soared up the other side, overtaking everything. There wasn’t a great deal on the road. It was well past midnight.
Exultation drove him on. He had been mad to even think of going to bed with Sally. Hilary was wonderful. To lose her again would be dreadfully careless. He shouted it in his Noël Coward voice. ‘To lose her again would be dreadfully careless.’ He wound down the window and shouted it to the dark beech woods. ‘To lose her again would be dreadfully careless,’ he shouted, loud enough to shock owls and awaken red kites. He laughed. How mad he had been. How much he loved her.
He wouldn’t do the European chef’s tour, even if they begged him.
‘I am sorry to say that during the interminable delay while you made up your little minds I have decided not to do it.’
He wound the window down again.
‘That’ll teach them,’ he shouted.
The white van was in the middle of the road, and swerving from side to side.
He unbuttoned her trousers and pulled them off gently, then rolled her tights down. He kissed her thigh and gasped. His pleasure hurt.
She ran her hand over his genitals.
‘I’m afraid there’s not much there at the moment,’ he said. ‘I’m so terribly nervous, Hilary.’
‘Oh don’t be, Nigel. It isn’t an exam,’ she said, ‘and there’s plenty of time. I’m not going anywhere.’
He braked hard, almost lost control, tried to overtake on the inside of the van. There wasn’t room. He was on the hard shoulder, his off-side wheels were on the grass, the
car
was spinning, he turned the wheel desperately. He heard the crunch of metal, the scream of tyres, the agonised cry of the driver. He heard the alarms of the ambulance and the police cars. He saw, in his mind, Hilary’s stricken face.
At that moment her face was not stricken. It was smiling with gentle love.
‘Don’t worry,’ she said. ‘Relax. Enjoy this moment, dear, darling Nigel.’
She kissed his lips, gently, lovingly, reassuringly.
He realised that he was still on the road, driving in the right direction, on his own. He looked in his rear-view mirror. The van was there, unharmed. It wasn’t just Hilary’s stricken face that had been in his mind. All the noises had been in his imagination in that moment of terror.
He longed to pull over on to the hard shoulder and stop, but he didn’t dare. The van driver might be awkward about his speed.
He drove on, towards Oxford, towards Witney, towards Cheltenham, towards Hilary.
They lay side by side, fondling each other gently. He felt her stiffen.
‘You’ve stiffened,’ he said. ‘I should have stiffened, but you have.’
‘You were just beginning to,’ she said.
‘Yes. Yes, I was.’
‘Oh, Nigel. Nigel …?’
‘I know what you’re going to say. Don’t say it. Allow me the dignity of saying it myself.’
‘Of saying what?’
‘Of saying what you were going to say. “Oh, Nigel. This is all wrong. I shouldn’t be here in your bed. I still love him. I always have loved him. I always will love him.” ’
‘Oh, Nigel.’
She stepped out of his bed. They both sighed.
Past Burford, on on on. Hilary, here I come. ‘Hilary, darling, I don’t give a damn about fame and fortune and fast cars any more. I don’t care about being loved by the whole world. I only want to be loved by you. I always did, that’s the stupid thing. I always did. We’ll sell Clapham and all the Cafés and live at The Manor House and I will retire and you will write and we will make love and have Mrs Scatchard and her bisexual bicycle repairer from Bicester to dinner.’
She couldn’t get to sleep. She so wished Henry was there.
‘Henry, darling, I think you should take the European job if it comes up. I’ll come with you and write in the hotels. I can write anywhere. We’ll sell The Manor House and just live happily on Clapham Common and travelling around Europe while you do your book. I never much liked the village anyway, and I certainly don’t like the thought of being so near to the eerie Mrs Scatchard. Henry, darling, I’ll be a proper wife to you from now on.’
*
In the event, perhaps luckily, neither of them said anything much. They just stood hugging each other, and then they both had something warm and lovely, and it wasn’t cocoa.
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Epub ISBN 9781409065548
Published by Arrow Books 2007
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Copyright © David Nobbs 2006
David Nobbs has asserted his right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work
This book is a work of fiction. Names and characters are the product of the author’s imagination and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental
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First published in Great Britain in 2006 by William Heinemann
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ISBN 9780099469094
