Swan (21 page)

‘Oh right. I see.’

The rain hit the window hard, transforming the
traffic outside into a beautiful coloured mosaic. I squirmed with
embarrassment.

‘God, is that the time already?’ I said, looking at
my watch. ‘My lunch is almost up. I forgot I only get half an hour.’ I stood up
and hurriedly started putting on my coat.

William looked at me dejectedly. ‘My, how the time
flies when you’re having fun.’ For a second we stared at each other. There was
a glimmer of desperation in his face. I felt a terrible pang of guilt. I hated
upsetting people, but I couldn’t possibly accept his invitation. It wouldn’t be
fair to David. Plus, I didn’t fancy him in the slightest.

‘What about just going for dinner one night?’

I exhaled slowly, quietly. The man really wasn’t
getting the hint, was he? ‘To be honest William, I’m kind of seeing someone at
the moment, so it probably wouldn’t be a good idea. Thanks for the coffee,
though. I’ll see you back at the office.’

Without another word, I buttoned up my coat and
stepped out into the pouring rain.

Chapter Sixteen

Christmas was a very fraught affair. Despite me
wanting to spend it alone, Beth insisted I spend it with her. She had invited
Phil to move back in with them, and as this was to be their first post-affair
Christmas, she said she needed some moral support. Reluctantly, I agreed -
fully aware of the potential nightmare ahead.

The house was like a battlefield. Neither spouse
addressed the other directly; rather, I served as the go-between in an awkward
three-hander. If Beth wanted Phil to lay the table, she’d ask me to do it
instead of approaching him herself. If Phil wanted to know if she’d bought any
cranberry sauce, he’d shout the question out to me, making sure she heard.

I felt like I was torn between two tribes, a
headless chicken being dragged from pillar to post – Phil wanting to know
if Beth had seen anyone else during their brief separation, my sister wanting
to know if Phil seemed genuinely remorseful for his adultery. Meanwhile, in the
midst of it all was poor Vicky, banging her little fists against the dining
table in the throes of one of her violent tantrums.

At one point I felt like telling them all to pack it
in. Telling them all to get a life. My nerves were shattered, and I acquired a
constant throbbing headache. Even when things eventually quietened down on
Christmas night, and we settled down to watch some festive TV, there was still
tension in the air - a constant threat that the volcano could erupt.

I was so relieved when Beth drove me home on Boxing
Day. All the way back she tried her best to convince me to stay, but I was
having none of it. No, I told her, it was best for her and Phil to have some
private time to resolve their domestic issues. I was just an obstacle, a thorn
in the side of their peace negotiations.

I spent the rest of the week in blissful isolation.
I had booked the entire week off work so was free to indulge my favourite
pastimes – watering my plants, cooking, watching Chet Vincent movies and
thinking about David.

The night before New Year’s Eve, I was lolling on
the sofa, watching
Johnny Come Lately
for the umpteenth time, when I heard my letterbox slam. Startled, I raced to
the door and found a purple envelope addressed to me lying on the mat.
Gingerly, I opened it and took out a note.

Dear
Madeline,

I’m back. If you’re free tomorrow night, I’d like to
take you out to dinner. If that works for you, then I’ll see you at
seven-thirty.

Love, David.

‘Yes! Yes!’ I screamed, punching the air excitedly.
‘Yes!’ Then hurriedly, I unbolted the door and stared out into the darkened
landing.

Nobody was there.

Seven-thirty seemed to take forever to come. I’d
spent the best part of an hour trying to decide what to wear. It had been a
toss-up between a shimmery purple number and an emerald green dress from
Debenhams. In the end, I went for the green, as I thought the colour went well
with my new hairstyle.

I stared at my reflection. My hair shone with
vitality and my make-up looked immaculate. Had I overdone it with the red
lipstick though? Was it perhaps a little too much?

Then the doorbell rang and I knocked a pot of
compressed powder all over my bed. I cursed under my breath. I was so nervy I
couldn’t see straight.

With my heart thudding in my ears, I unlocked the
front door.

When I saw David standing there, I was swallowed by
a tornado of emotions. Letting out a shrill cry, I threw my arms around him.
Clung to him in an embrace that seemed to last for eternity.

‘I’ve missed you so much,’ I breathed.

David didn’t answer. He just hugged me closer, like
he never wanted to let me go. Then, after a few minutes, we drew apart. He
stared at me, completely overwhelmed by my transformation. His eyes wandered
from my face, to my dress and then back again, taking in every last detail.

‘What’s this, you’ve changed your hair?’ he
murmured, touching the side of my face. ‘And you’re wearing make-up.’

I nodded eagerly, too excited to speak.

‘You look fantastic,’ he said. Then he took my hand,
we locked up and stepped out into the frosty night.

David had booked a table for us in a popular Italian
restaurant located within a railway arch under London Bridge station. It was
packed to the rafters with people out celebrating the New Year. I counted at
least two office parties and what looked like a pensioners’ reunion. It was so
busy I considered us lucky to have gotten a table at all. However, there was
some consolation to be found in the hilariously cheesy Tom Jones and Neil
Diamond covers in Italian being played on the loud speaker.

Our table was at the back of the restaurant, cramped
between two couples: an elderly man and his wife and a young Asian couple. I
would have liked somewhere a little more private, but understood that at this
time of year one couldn’t be choosey.

‘So what do you want to drink?’ David asked after
he’d studied the drinks menu.

‘Er, I think I’ll just have an orange juice.’

‘Wouldn’t you rather wine or something? It’s New
Year’s Eve, Madeline. We should celebrate in style.’

‘No, I’m fine, really. Perhaps I’ll have a little
glass of something around midnight.’

David nodded and called over the waitress. Handing
her back the drinks menu, he ordered himself a martini and me an orange juice.
Then he turned and smiled at me. I smiled back. There was an intense look in
his face, a kind of suppressed hunger that sent a chill through me.

‘So how was Paris? I want to hear all about your
escapades, David.’

‘Do we really have to? I’d much rather talk about
you.’

‘Oh.’ I paused, slightly taken aback. ‘Well, there
isn’t much to tell. London is just as boring as ever. I can’t imagine it being
anywhere near as exciting as France.’

David shrugged. ‘You’d be surprised. Anyway, how was
your Christmas? Did you spend it with Beth?’

‘Yes.’

‘I had a feeling you would. Have she and Phil
resolved their issues yet?’

‘Yeah, I think so. Of course, it’s early, but I
think things will work out eventually.’

‘That’s good to hear. Send her my regards.’

‘I will.’

At that point, the waitress returned with our drinks
and set them down on the table. I took a moment to study David’s attire. He
looked like he’d made a real effort. The shiny grey suit coupled with a smart
but casual shirt gave him an element of thrift shop chic. Very snazzy. Perhaps
the Paris fashion houses had worked their magic on him after all.

‘Madeline, I can’t get over how different you look,’
he said, shaking his head. ‘If I’d met you in the street I swear I’d have
walked straight past you.’

‘Is it a good different?’ I asked.

‘Yes, definitely. The hair, the make-up ... it
brings out your natural beauty.’

My cheeks flushed. His words were like music to my
ears. I tapped my foot against the table leg, played flirtatiously with my
hair.
Grinned like a moron.

‘So David,’ I said, ‘what are the girls like in
Paris? Are they really as beautiful as everyone says they are?’

‘French girls are just like everyone else. They’re
normal. You get some pretty ones, and some not so pretty ones. Thin ones, short
ones, tall ones...’ He spread his hands in front of him. ‘Mind you, now we’re
on the subject, some of the models I’ve worked with had absolutely terrible
skin. You’d be amazed at how much airbrushing goes on.’

I laughed conspiratorially. ‘Are most French girls
skinny? That’s what they’re known for, isn’t it? They can eat whatever they
want without gaining weight.’

‘Can’t say that I noticed. But then, I don’t look so
much at bodies – more at faces. The eyes are the windows to the soul, you
know. And speaking of eyes, Madeline,’ he added quickly, ‘yours are uncommonly
beautiful.’

He reached over, touched my cheek. I felt myself
melting. I took a massive gulp of my orange juice to calm my nerves.

There was a short silence.

‘So there wasn’t any romance in Paris then?’

‘Excuse me?’

‘I mean, no special lady?’

‘How do you mean?’

I rolled my eyes coyly. ‘Well, I just thought
perhaps you’d made some lady friends out there.’

‘What? You mean like you?’

‘Uh-huh.’

David peered at me through his spectacles. My face
must have betrayed something because the next thing he did was reach across the
table and give my hand a reassuring squeeze.

‘Believe me, Madeline - there were no lady friends.
No dates. No going out at all. Nothing. Just work, work, work. And anyway, I’ve
been to Paris so many times, it doesn’t hold any surprises for me anymore.’

He abruptly took his hand away. I smiled insipidly.

The waitress reappeared clutching her notepad like
her life depended on it. ‘Are you ready to order now?’ she asked brightly.

David and I exchanged glances. ‘Do you know what you
want, Madeline?’

I hadn’t even bothered to look at the menu so I just
blurted out Spaghetti Bolognese, which was the first Italian dish I could think
of.

‘Don’t you want any starters?’

I stared down at the plastic food menu and
deliberated for a second. ‘Yeah, okay I’ll have some garlic bread as well.’

‘Right, we’ll have two garlic breads and then
Tagliatelle alla Bolognese
and
Tagliata all'aceto
balsamico for our mains.’

‘Grazie,’ the waitress nodded, clearly pleased at
David’s attempt at an Italian accent.

‘What did you order?’ I asked after she’d gone.

‘Steak and grilled vegetables.’

‘Is that nice?’

‘Yes, delicious. Haven’t tried it here before, but
I’m sure it’ll be fine. It’s one of those dishes you can’t go wrong with. You
should have got something a bit more adventurous than Spaghetti Bolognese,
Madeline. Live it up a little.’

‘Maybe next time I will. I’ll probably taste some of
yours.’

Our garlic bread arrived shortly, and we sat chewing
in silence for a minute or so. It tasted delicious.

‘Actually,’ I said, wiping the crumbs from my mouth,
‘something kind of funny
did
happen
while you were away.’

‘What?’

‘Well ...’ I began. ‘Oh, nothing.’

‘No, please go on. Don’t leave me in suspense. What
happened?’

‘I went to see a psychic about you.’

David chuckled. ‘You don’t believe in all that
spiritual hocus pocus to do you?’

‘Yes! Sometimes they
do
see things, David. Things that have actually come true.’

‘Oh Really?’

‘Yes,
really
.
One time, this guy said I’d receive an unwanted gift, and the very next day I
walked under a pigeon.’

David exploded with laughter. ‘You’re something
else, do you know that? You’ve got such a crazy sense of humour, but it’s one
of the things I love about you.’ His face glowed orange in the flickering
candlelight. ‘So what exactly
did
this psychic tell you about me?’

‘He said that you have a lot of surprises in store
for me.’

David grinned mysteriously but didn’t say anything.

‘So,’ I continued, ‘what surprises
do
you have in store for me? Are you
going to start talking Italian like Robert De Niro?’

‘What’s Robert De Niro got to do with anything?’ he
asked, looking around the restaurant fearfully. Then, he leaned forward and
whispered, ‘What are you talking about, Madeline?’

‘It was only a joke, David.
Robert De Niro’s Waiting
.’

He continued to stare at me.