The Accidental Proposal (15 page)

To be honest, for something that’s supposed to be not such a big deal, she seems to be spending a lot of time organizing it, and while I can’t of course be resentful of this, it means we’re not seeing as much of each other as I’d like at the moment. Then again, I’m getting her for the rest of her life, so I suppose I shouldn’t complain.

I’ve decided I’d better come clean about seeing Jane the other day, and possibly about inviting her to the wedding, though, of course, I need to pick my moment. And while I’m aware that the moment probably isn’t when Sam spots her at the registry office, I’ve been unable to think of a better one. To that end, I’ve gone for a walk along the seafront to try and work out how best to broach it, although I’ve taken a diversion via Kemp Town to pick myself up a little something from Muffin To Declare – something I feel is justified given the healthy rocket salad I’ve just eaten for lunch – when I catch sight of Sam, walking in the opposite direction on the other side of the road.

My first thought, or rather my second, as my first is to swallow quickly the mouthful of muffin I’ve been chewing and get rid of the rest of the evidence, is that I’ve been rumbled, but luckily she hasn’t seen me. I fall into step behind a tall, impeccably dressed man and, using him as cover, drop the bag containing the rest of the muffin in the nearest bin, and I’m just about to cross over the road and say hello to her when the man I’ve been shadowing does exactly that.

I jump back onto the pavement, then – as he walks over to where Sam’s waiting outside a coffee shop – duck into the nearest doorway, watching as he leans down and kisses her on the cheek, before opening the door for her. I’m just about to follow, but as Sam looks up and down the pavement before walking into the café, I hesitate. I don’t feel I can go over and interrupt them, in case he’s a new client – Sam often meets new clients at lunchtime – but as far as I’m aware, unless she’s decided to adopt the same marketing strategy as Natasha, Sam doesn’t greet her new clients with a kiss. In any case, it seems rather inappropriate to meet someone who’s potentially interested in losing weight in a place with a huge sign in the window advertising their hand-made speciality cakes and, as I think about it, there’s something about the way Sam checked that the coast was clear before going inside that’s making me feel a little uncomfortable.

I peer uneasily across the street at the café. It’s one I’m never likely to go in to, particularly with Muffin To Declare so close by. And anyway, Sam thinks I never go to Muffin To Declare, because, of course, she thinks I don’t eat muffins any more, so she’s going to assume I’d have no reason to be in this neck of the woods. While that’s not unusual in itself, she usually meets new clients in the café on the seafront, because that’s where most of the training takes place.

Almost immediately, I dismiss my fears as ridiculous. Sam’s not going to be up to anything – and certainly not so close to the wedding. I feel bad about being suspicious so, with a shake of my head, start walking back to the office, only to stop after a few paces. What if she
is
up to something?

For a second, it occurs to me that maybe I should just pop in and say hello. See if she introduces him to me. But what will that prove? If I was her, and there was something suspicious going on, I’m sure I’d have a cover story worked out for such an eventuality. And what happens if it is all innocent but I, to use Dan’s words, ‘get the wrong end of the stick’ again, and end up making a scene and costing her a client? Not a smart move, particularly since (given my recent jewellery expenditure, and the cost of hiring the Grand ballroom) we could do with all the new clients she can get.

Keeping on the opposite side of the road, I walk back to where I can get a clear view through the coffee-shop window, lurking behind a lamp post while I peer inside, and after a few moments I spot the two of them, sitting at a corner table.

Every now and then, Sam glances out of the window, which I can’t help but assume is due to nervousness in case she’s caught – although I’m feeling pretty nervous that she’ll catch me too, as the lamp post’s not providing much cover. I’m wondering whether I should move, but don’t know how to do it without being seen until, fortunately, a van comes and parks in the space in front me.

Using the van as cover, I walk along the pavement a little and take up a better position, crouching behind a postbox, while wondering why I feel so uneasy. Am I jealous because he’s good-looking? Is there something I don’t like about their body language? Is it because she’s meeting him in an out-of-the-way place? Or am I simply transferring my own guilty feelings about seeing Jane the other day onto Sam?

I know I’m probably being stupid. Let’s face it, there are a hundred and one other reasons why Sam might be meeting him. Okay, maybe not a hundred and one, but at least, well, two that I can think of, although one of those
is
the fact that she’s having an affair.

While it’s hard to see Sam and her mystery man clearly, given that they’re sitting as far away from the window as possible, one thing I can make out is the way Sam leans in towards him as he speaks. What’s worse is how every now and then he touches her; not somewhere intimate, but just an occasional hand on the arm. Immediately, I hate him.

From what I’ve seen so far, it certainly doesn’t look like a meeting with a new client, and now I think about it, he doesn’t look like he needs a personal trainer in the first place. And then, something happens that really sets my alarm bells ringing. A waitress walks over to their table and sets down a plate of what, to my experienced eye, looks like various slices of cake.

I watch, horrified, as the man picks up a piece, holds it out to Sam, and . . . Noooo! She’s taken a bite. The kiss on the cheek I could just about deal with, but this? Sam and I never eat cake together. I turn away in shock, unable to watch any more. I feel cheated – and on more than one front. After all her lecturing, Sam’s not only eating something bad for her, but she’s doing it with another man.

I can’t believe what I’ve seen, especially after all those things she said about me in front of Dan and Madeleine the other night. There’s a strange feeling bubbling up inside me, and it’s the one I remember all too well from back when I found out that Jane was having an affair: jealousy.

I pull myself up to my full height, look left and right, and start to cross the road, mentally rolling my sleeves up, then stop suddenly on the edge of the kerb. This is
Sam
, I tell myself, who’s never, in all the time we’ve known each other, given me any reason to doubt her. And besides, would she have suggested we get married if she’d been having an affair? Of course not.

Unless . . . Unless
he’s
married. You do read about these people – or rather, Dan’s read about these people, thanks to his regular subscription to
Cosmo
, then told me all about them in admiration – who lead these double lives, even getting married, and bringing up a family, while having another partner stashed away somewhere else.

But not Sam, surely? We live together, so how could she have kept it a secret from me? Unless . . . Being a personal trainer is the perfect cover. Who knows what she’s wearing under that tracksuit – her best lingerie, perhaps? And when she disappears off at strange hours in the morning, or comes back home all flushed and perspiring, then heads straight for the shower . . .

Fighting the waves of nausea that are rolling over me, I turn my attention back to the two of them. Sam’s on her second slice now, nodding appreciatively as she chews, and I can hardly stand it. Every now and then, in-between bites, she leans back in her chair and laughs loudly at one of his jokes – a little too often for my liking. In fact, given the frequency, Sam seems to think he’s some kind of comedian, although I’m not finding any of this in the slightest bit amusing. Does she ever laugh with me like that? I wonder. Or has she been laughing
at
me all this time instead?

I take a few deep breaths, trying to fight a creeping sense of despair, unable to believe it’s happening to me again. In hindsight, I can recognize some of the same tell-tale signs from when Jane cheated on me: the unusual Saturday-morning meeting, abruptly ended phone calls, even shutting the laptop quickly when I’ve walked over to where she’s been sitting, but they’re hardly proof Sam’s having an affair. And anyway, I trust her enough to let her have coffee with whoever she wants. Whenever she wants. And wherever she wants – even somewhere she knows I’m unlikely to catch her. Besides, maybe he’s just an ex-client. Or an ex-boyfriend – although I have leafed through her old photo album in a moment of insecurity, and I’m pretty sure he’s not one of them.

With the greatest of efforts, I decide not to confront her, so just turn around and start walking back towards my office. The first few steps feel as if I’m wading through quicksand. But I know it’s the right thing to do.

And even though I tell myself that’s because I’ve got absolute faith and trust in her, in reality, it’s because I’m way too scared to find out if my suspicions are true.

2.13 p.m.

I’m in the office, trying to concentrate on work, but unable to get this lunchtime’s events out of my head. When Natasha comes back from lunch, it’s about two minutes before I can’t help but ask.

‘Tell me something, Natasha. What are your views on fidelity?’

Natasha finishes applying her lipstick in the reflection of her monitor and swivels her chair round to face me. ‘I beg your pardon?’

‘I just wondered, you know, as someone who’s, er . . .’
- this is tricky to word without having something thrown at me - ‘been involved with a few other . . . well,
involved
people, what your overall view of the subject was. As a consumer.’

‘What? Is it over-rated, you mean?’

‘Not really. I was just curious as to whether it was ever . . . acceptable. Cheating.’

Natasha considers this for a moment, then shrugs. ‘That’s hard for me to answer. Because while most of the men I’ve gone out with have cheated on their wives to see me – which of course I’ve accepted – that of course means they’re the cheating type, so even if they had left their wives and moved in with me, I’d still have worried what they’d been up to.’

‘So, there’s a cheating type?’ I say, suddenly feeling a bit brighter. As far as I know, Sam’s never cheated on anyone. Or not admitted to it, anyway.

Natasha nods. ‘Oh yes. Just like there’s a faithful type.’ She leans back in her chair and crosses her legs. ‘There are those who would never do it, because it’s just not in their nature. Like you, Edward.’

‘Thanks.’

‘And then there are those who have had it done to them, and it makes them feel so utterly horribly bad that they’d never dare do it to someone else, because they know how it feels and would never inflict that on another person.’

‘Right. That’s me again. In terms of being cheated on.’ While I didn’t tell Dan back when it happened to me, I’d had to admit it to Natasha. It was hard not to, given that she found me blubbing like a baby in the office one morning. ‘By, you know, Jane.’

Natasha stares at me until she’s sure I’ve finished. ‘Then there are those people who do it the once, find it’s not such a big deal, and realize they’re quite happy to do it again. And again.’

‘Like Dan, you mean?’

‘Oh no.’ Natasha laughs. ‘Dan’s completely different.’

‘How so?’

‘Because he doesn’t think what he’s doing is cheating. Even though most women assume because you’re sleeping with them, you won’t be sleeping with anyone else . . .’

‘Sort of like a given?’

‘Exactly. But in Dan’s mind, he’s never made a commitment to these women in the first place. And while for most normal people, sleeping with two different women at the same time wouldn’t be on, as far as Dan’s concerned, it’s just what he does. And that’s why he doesn’t think it’s a problem.’

‘So would you forgive a . . . lapse?’

Natasha raises one eyebrow. ‘What’s brought this on, Edward? Been up to something you shouldn’t?’

Even though I’m sitting down, I’m aware that I have to think on my feet. ‘Nope. I was just thinking about, er,
Jane
. Whether her cheating on me was my fault. And whether I should have, well, forgiven her.’

Natasha looks at me sympathetically. ‘You know, sometimes people tell you that their cheating was your fault. That you drove them to it by your lack of attention – that kind of thing. But as far as I’m concerned, that’s rubbish. If someone wasn’t paying me enough attention and I still wanted to be with them, then the last thing I’d do would be sleep with someone else.’

‘Yes, but I suppose it shows the other person is desired, doesn’t it? Like sometimes when we’re trying to get one of our candidates a job offer from a particular company, we tell that company that someone else is interested in making them an offer to try and spur them into action.’

‘But this isn’t the same, is it?’

‘Why not?’

‘Because our candidates don’t actually speak to anyone else. We make it up. Whereas Jane did. Or at least had an oral interview.’

As I shudder at the memory, Natasha smiles. ‘Someone who’s so unhappy in a relationship that they go and have relations with someone else shouldn’t be in that relationship any more, because any normal person would try and fix what was wrong
before
you got to that point, surely? The men I have my affairs with – well, they’re different, in that they usually can’t leave because of the kids, or the house, or the fact that the wife will take them to the cleaners, which is why they do what they do. But someone like Jane or Dan? What’s to stop them heading for the hills?’